#i've been feeling this lately with every chapter

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | chapter 4

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꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (no use of y/n)

꩜ CW: swearing, mentions of smoking, tension, yearning (lmk if i missed any)

꩜ WC: 9.7K (UMMMMM)

꩜ A/N: this is a LONG ASS chapter, and holy fuck it is some chapter, i’m edging yall atp. (if u caught the jackieshauna reference i love u)

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

Since the shopping trip with Ellie—and all the unspoken tension that came with it—Friday flew by. The diner was as packed as ever, but with Maria’s guidance, you held things down. Before you even realized it, you’d survived your first week as assistant manager. You gave yourself a well-deserved mental pat on the back.

Back at your apartment, Sally was nowhere to be seen. You figured she was probably out with her boyfriend, which meant you had the place to yourself. Heaven. You took your time unwinding—long shower, softest pajamas, candles lit, and the warm flicker of the TV glow filling the room.

You curled up on the couch with dinner and a dumb sitcom playing in the background, halfway through your meal when it hit you: you hadn’t texted Ellie all day. That was... rare. But understandable, with the week you’d both had—her prepping for the gala, you juggling work.

You reached for your phone and opened her contact.

“Hey there, how’s everything going?”

Her reply came seconds later:

“helloo, sorry I've been arranging all my shit for tomorrow, hbu?”

“Just chilling, long day. Glad it’s finally the weekend.”

There was a short pause before the next message came.

“Can I be honest for a sec? I’m kinda terrified about tomorrow.”

That one made your chest ache a little. Ellie always had a hard time accepting good things—like she didn’t deserve them, or worse, like she might mess them up before they could even begin.

You didn’t waste time replying:

“I get it, Els. But you’ll do amazing as always—and you’ll look hot while doing it, so there’s really no need to worry.”

Ellie stared at the message a little too long. Her stomach twisted—but this time, not from nerves.

It was almost midnight. You yawned, stretching out.

“You should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. We don’t want you walking around like a zombie out there.”

She smiled, already feeling lighter.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sleep deprivation is getting to me. I’ll pick u up tomorrow at 6pm sharp.”

“Yes ma’am. Goodnight, Ellie ;)”

“Night :)”

She tossed her phone onto the bed and groaned, flopping backwards like gravity was suddenly ten times heavy. “What am I doing?” she muttered to no one. Eventually—after flipping around and staring at the ceiling like it held answers—she finally drifted off, all her worries vanishing away. Tomorrow would be a whirlwind.

Late morning sunlight cut through her curtains, hitting her square in the face. Ellie groaned, eyes scrunching shut before she blinked awake, freckles bathed in warm light. She sat on the edge of the bed, hair sticking up in every direction, she rubbed the sleep off her eyes, staring at the neatly folded clothes on the armchair—laid out with unusual care the night before.

White button-up. Black slacks. Blazer. Loafers, cleaned and polished. She made her way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, blinking at herself in the mirror. Wide-eyed. Awake now. After that she headed to her small kitchen, grabbing some milk and cereal for breakfast. Could never go wrong with it.

Her camera bag was sprawled on the small dining table, along with all the equipment she had already double checked, but would probably check it again later. She’d charged all her batteries, packed backup lenses, made sure she had her extra SD cards— She could do this in her sleep. Still, her leg bounced as she sat, stomach tightening.

This wasn’t just another gig. It was the gig. The one that could open doors, land her work in bigger publications, finally get her name out there in the way she always said she didn’t care about. But now that it was here, she did care. A lot.

And then there was you.

Her chest tightened at the thought of seeing you in that dress. Standing beside her. Laughing. Maybe letting your arm brush hers like you always did, like you didn’t even notice it anymore—though she always did. You were going to be there. Looking…well. However you were going to look, it would be stunning. You always looked good no matter what.

But tonight? In a dress? At her side? Ellie felt like she needed to lay down. Again.

She needed to stop these thoughts, you probably weren’t even thinking about her like that. Shit maybe, you didn’t even notice it. But the truth is, you noticed. Every little detail. The way her eyes glistened when she saw you, or her nose scrunched just a bit when she laughed. It made her feel like an idiot, but she couldn’t bring herself to face… whatever this was.

She ran her hand through her hair and stood up, forcing herself to move. Shower. That would help. Hot water and routine. Maybe call Joel too.. She peeled off her hoodie, grabbed a towel, and headed into the bathroom. But the second the water turned on, her thoughts spiraled again.

What if you looked too good? What if people thought you were her date? Worse—what if they didn’t?

What if you felt out of place? What if you regretted coming?

“Get it together, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, scrubbing her hair like it personally offended her. “It’s just a job.”

But even as she said it, she could already picture the way your eyes would light up when you saw the venue. Or how you’d lean in to whisper something, your shoulders brushing hers.

Her stomach flipped.

She got out of the shower and dried off quickly, throwing on a clean shirt and boxers before stepping back into her room. Her phone buzzed with a text. It was you.

“Morning sunshine. Ready for the big day?

Ellie smiled, thumbs hovering.

"I’ve been triple checking all my equipment since last night, I think I'm getting there."

You smirked at the message, still laying in bed, too warm to get up.

“Well, if it makes you feel better I already looked up pictures of the venue and the fundraising and everything”

“lol, you’re a weirdo”

“u love it”

You tossed your phone to the side, finally getting out of bed, saturdays were always for slow mornings, you didn’t care about waking up early. The apartment was quiet as usual, just the sounds of the outside world, and the soft hum of the tv in the living room.

Sally sat curled on the couch, coffee in hand. “Morning. There’s still some in the pot.”

“You are an angel.” you replied, heading to the kitchen counter and pulling your favorite mug out of the small cabinet, the mug felt warm in your hands, steam blowing out of the dark liquid. You joined Sally at the other end of the couch. Both of you falling into the usual chatter, tv playing in the background with some news channel. You really enjoyed Sally’s presence, even if both of you were extremely different, you got along well.

You made some actual breakfast (which was more of a brunch considering the time) and ate it on the table, gossiping every now and then or just doom-scrolling on your phones. You checked the time and it was almost 3p.m., time to start getting ready. Standing up you excused yourself off the table and dropped both plates on the sink, heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth and do your skincare routine.

Sally hung in your room for a bit, helping you get your hair done, tossing it into rollers that made you look ridiculous—but she swore the blowout would be worth it. You trusted her.

Barely.

Still, your brain kept drifting. Would Ellie think you looked good? Was it too much? Too little?

Your overthinking wasn’t helping at all. You reached for your makeup bag and started applying your foundation with a soft brush, blending it carefully all over your face, while a playlist hummed from Sally’s phone, you continued applying more products while she did your hair, it was almost therapeutic.

Meanwhile, Ellie stared at her open closet like it was some kind of puzzle she couldn’t solve.

The button-up was already laid out—crisp white, freshly ironed. Beside it, black slacks and the blazer she wasn’t sure looked cool or like she was going to a job interview. She adjusted the sleeves again for the fifth time, then stepped back like that would somehow make the outfit look better.

This was stupid. It was fine. It was neutral and professional and not trying too hard. Except… her brain wouldn’t stop poking at the same thought over and over again: What if you looked at her and didn’t feel anything at all?

She huffed and ran a hand through her hair, combing it with her fingers.

There was nothing else to tweak about her camera bag. She’d gone over every lens, every battery, every backup memory card like a maniac. Her whole gear kit was triple-checked, zipped up, and ready to go by noon. Which meant the rest of the day was just… waiting. And spiraling.

She sat on the edge of her bed, fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve, before grabbing her phone. She dialed Joel’s number.

“Hey kiddo, everything alright?” His voice was warm, grounding.

“Hey Joel... yeah. I guess. Just a little nervous about this gig I’ve got later. It’s kinda a big one.” She tugged at her shirt hem as she talked.

“You mean that fancy fundraiser thing? Where you gotta play nice with the rich folks?” He chuckled.

“Yup. That’s the one.”

“Thought you said you weren’t worried about that?”

“I wasn’t. Now I am.”

Joel was quiet for a beat. “This about the gig... or the girl?”

Ellie groaned. “Don’t start.”

“Can’t help it. You’ve only mentioned her about two dozen times.”

“She’s coming as my plus one,” Ellie muttered. “Not—like—not a date. Just… kind of.”

Another chuckle. “Ellie, I’ve seen you more relaxed on a rooftop during a thunderstorm. You sure you’re just nervous about the photos?”

She went quiet.

“Look,” Joel said, his voice softer. “You’ve done way harder things than dress up and take pictures. You’ve worked your ass off. You deserve this. And from what I’ve seen, that girl’s lucky to be standin’ next to you tonight.”

Ellie rubbed her forehead. “I just… don’t wanna mess it up.”

“You won’t. You’re gonna knock it outta the park. Just be yourself. Take the shots. Let yourself enjoy it. And maybe—if the moment’s right—don’t be afraid to tell her how you feel.”

But that’s the thing. Ellie didn’t know how she felt. And it was killing her inside.

Ellie gave a breathy laugh. “Now you’re pushing it.”

“Maybe. But sometimes you need a little push. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

She smiled, a quiet warmth settling in her chest. “Thanks, man.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

She hung up, feeling just a little calmer.

She laid back down, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, it was still early to pick you up, so she decided to have a smoke, maybe that would relax her a bit. She leaned against the window, cigarette burned between her fingers, smoke curling lazily toward the sky.

She took a drag, exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dance in front of her.

You were probably finishing your makeup, or fixing your hair. Maybe pacing. Maybe not even nervous at all. That made her stomach twist worse.

“This is so stupid,” she muttered to herself, flicking ash onto the pavement. “It’s not even a date. Just work, a big one.”

Except it wasn’t just work. And it did feel like a date. Because you’d said yes. Because you were getting dressed up—for her. And that meant something.

She finished the cigarette, stomping the butt on the ashtray by her bedside. Then she glanced at the time.

5:30 PM.

“Shit.” she grabbed her camera bag, along with the case that contained her tripod and stepped out the door.

You smoothed your palms over your dress for the fifth time.

Sally was standing behind you in the mirror, carefully removing the last roller from your hair like she was defusing a bomb. “Okay,” she said, voice hushed with reverence. “Turn around.”

You did. Slowly.

And when she beamed—hands clutched dramatically to her chest—you knew she wasn’t faking it.

“Oh my god. Babe. You look hot. Like... ruin-a-man’s-life hot.”

You laughed, nervously adjusting the straps. “It’s not too much?”

“It’s perfect,” she said, tugging your hands away from your waist. “Stop fidgeting. Ellie’s jaw is gonna hit the floor.”

You tried to play it off with a shrug, but your heart was pounding. You’d never gone all out like this—not for a date, not for anyone. But tonight? You didn’t want to just look nice. You wanted to look like someone Ellie couldn't look away from.

Back in your room, you added the final touches. Lipstick. Perfume. Earrings that caught the light. You stood in front of the mirror, hands on your hips, trying to steady your breathing.

“You’ve got this,” you whispered to your reflection. “It’s not a date. It’s just... a gala. With Ellie. Who is your best friend. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. You were spiraling.

What if you were overdressed—or worse, underdressed? What if she looked at you and saw right through you? Saw all the messy, fluttery feelings you kept trying to shove into the background?

The knock on the door snapped you out of it.

Sally opened the door, greeting Ellie politely, like she had done before.

“She’s just adding the final touches—” Sally said as she let Ellie in the apartment “she’ll be out in a second, have fun at the gala” and with that she disappeared into her room. Ellie sat on the couch, hands clammy, hair tied in a half up, half down bun. Suddenly she heard your voice down the hall.

“Sorry, I was battling with these earrings but I’m all done—” Your gaze hadn’t met hers yet, but when it did, the world narrowed to one thing: her.

Ellie stood there, hands stuffed into her pockets, blazer sharp, button-up crisp. But that wasn’t what stopped you cold.

It was the look on her face.

Like she’d just forgotten how to speak.

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “…Wow.”

You laughed under your breath. “Good wow or bad wow?”

She blinked hard, eyes dragging down the length of you and back up like she was trying to memorize every detail. “Good wow,” she said, finally. “Like… insanely good. Holy shit.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

She scratched the back of her neck, looking helpless. “You, uh… you clean up nice.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased. “Very professional.”

“Good,” she muttered. “’Cause I’m gonna be winging the hell out of this.”

You both laughed, the tension breaking slightly—but the air between you still buzzed with something you refused to address.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then Ellie glanced sideways at you, her voice softer. “Seriously… you look incredible.”

And you—despite your best efforts—blushed. “Thanks, El.” you said, eyes falling into the poorly tied tie around her neck. It made you giggle.

“Ellie,” you breathed out a laugh, stepping closer. “What the hell is this?”

“I know, I know,” she groaned, hands raised in surrender. “I watched three YouTube videos and still managed to screw it up. It’s cursed.”

“Come here,” you said, tugging gently at the fabric.

She swallowed hard as you stood close—close enough to smell your perfume, to see the tiny shimmer of highlighter on your cheekbones.

Your fingers worked quickly, but your eyes kept flicking up to hers. “You really didn’t have anyone growing up to teach you how to do this?”

“Joel wears bolo ties,” she muttered. “The man’s useless in the formalwear department.”

You giggled and kept tying.

Ellie couldn’t focus on anything. Not your hands, not your lips, not how soft your voice got when you whispered, “There we go. All fixed.”

She looked down at you. You looked up at her.

And for a second, everything stilled. The hallway faded. The air crackled with electricity.

Neither of you moved.

Then you gave her tie one last tug, playful but firm. “Okay, now you look like you know what you’re doing.”

She cleared her throat, stepping back. “Cool. Cool, yeah. You, uh. Ready to go?”

You nodded, clutching your purse, heart pounding in your chest.

Sally popped her head out from her bedroom. “Don’t you two look fancy. Have fun and don’t let the rich people steal your souls.”

“Noted,” Ellie said with a salute. You waved goodbye and stepped out into the doorway beside her.

Your fingers brushed as you walked side by side. Neither of you pulled away.

The drive started quiet. Ellie’s truck hummed steadily down the road, golden hour casting everything in that honey glow. You sat with your hands folded in your lap, legs crossed at the ankles, feeling the nervous heat spread through your skin like your body couldn’t decide if it was freezing or burning up. Maybe both.

Soft music played from the speakers—something chill and vaguely indie, the kind of playlist Ellie always had on in the background but never skipped a single song from.

You fidgeted nervously with the zipper of your purse, pulling it up and down, up and down, the faint zip sound filling the silence in between the songs. Meanwhile, Ellie’s fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel, pinky twitching, ring finger drumming.

You caught her stealing a glance.

Quick. Like she hadn’t meant to.

But she did. And you did too.

You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting hers for half a second before she snapped them back to the road. The corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

Then Ellie cleared her throat. “So uh… the venue’s downtown, just off Main. It’s at this weird, bougie museum-turned-ballroom thing. Pretentious, honestly.”

You laughed gently. “Sounds perfect for you.”

“Oh, 100%,” she nodded, finally letting out a real smile. “Nothing says Ellie Williams like white wine and too many people pretending they’ve read The New Yorker.”

You grinned, relaxing into your seat a little more.

The car turned onto a wider avenue. The sun had started to dip behind the skyline now, streaking the sky in lavender and rose. You could still feel her sneaking glances—watching you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. Your hands. Your legs. The way your lips moved when you smiled at something on the radio.

Her knee bounced.

Your heart did too.

You turned slightly, voice softer now. “You okay?”

Ellie nodded quickly, eyes on the road. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just…” She exhaled through her nose, then gave you a sideways glance. “A little nervous.”

You smiled shyly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re going to do amazing Ellie, there’s no need to worry.”

The tension softened—but it didn’t go away. It just shifted. Only if you knew that the thing making her nervous was you in that dress…

The closer you got to the venue, the more your stomach fluttered. Ellie turned onto a side street, passing a long line of fancy cars parked in front of the tall glass-and-marble building up ahead.

People in gowns and suits walked across the entrance plaza under strings of lights, the early evening glow making everything look like a scene out of a movie.

Ellie pulled into a parking spot a few blocks away, engine cutting out. Neither of you moved for a second.

She looked over at you again, this time slower. A little longer. “Ready?”

You nodded, voice quiet. “Yeah.”

You both stepped out of the truck, feet clicking softly on the pavement.

Ellie walked a half-step ahead of you as you made your way toward the venue, but she kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure you were close behind. Your dress swayed with every step, catching the soft breeze, and Ellie—despite the nervous buzzing in her chest—managed to hold the door open for you like it was second nature.

The moment you stepped inside, your breath hitched.

“Holy fuck,” you murmured.

The lobby alone looked like something out of a dream—gleaming marble floors, tall arching ceilings wrapped in soft, golden light, modern art installations scattered between sculpted pillars. A string quartet played somewhere deeper inside, the music echoing through the open space like silk in the air.

Ellie let out a low whistle next to you. “Jesus. This place is… yeah.”

You both stood there for a second, completely still, like tourists in a museum too fancy to touch anything. And for a moment, it didn’t matter that Ellie was here to work, or that this was technically a fundraiser gala. It just felt like the two of you had stumbled into someone else’s glamorous night.

She turned to you, lips parted to say something, but stopped herself. Her eyes flicked down your figure and back up again—slow, deliberate, a little dazed.

You blinked at her. “What?”

She shook her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Nothing. Just—hope you’re ready to be the hottest person in the room.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed. “Please. I’ve never seen anyone look better in a suit.”

Ellie laughed, tugging at said blazer like she’d just remembered she was wearing it. “Alright, alright. Let’s find the event coordinator so I can check in. Then we’ll scope out the best free food.”

You gave her a mock salute. “On it, boss.”

Ellie led the way deeper into the venue, camera bag slung confidently across her shoulder now, while her other hand gripped the tripod case firmly, shoulders squared like she was finally slipping into her zone. But every few steps, her hand would twitch like she wanted to reach for you. Every time someone walked by and glanced at you both, she’d glance back—just a second too long. Protective.

You couldn’t stop glancing either.

She looked like someone out of a magazine—tie straight now, eyes focused, jaw clenched just enough to make your heart jump. The same Ellie you knew, but sharper, more composed, like she didn’t realize the effect she had on you.

The ballroom was even more breathtaking up close. Tall arched windows framed the setting sun, casting soft golden light across linen-covered tables topped with elaborate floral arrangements and flickering candles. Staff moved like clockwork, setting wine glasses, placing silverware, adjusting napkins folded like origami swans. It reminded you somehow of the diner, but way less fancy.

Ellie scanned the room quickly, eyes sharp behind her lashes. “There she is.”

You followed her gaze to a woman in a sleek pantsuit, clipboard in hand, giving instructions to a cluster of servers. Ellie straightened her posture and motioned for you to follow before approaching with practiced ease.

“Hi, Eva is that right?” Ellie said, offering a small but confident smile. “Ellie Williams, photographer.”

Eva turned to her with a brisk nod and a once-over glance at her equipment bag. “Perfect. Glad you’re here on time. We’re expecting guests to start arriving within the hour. You’re cleared to shoot during the cocktail hour, dinner, and key speeches. Avoid flash during performances or when people are eating.”

“Got it,” Ellie said, already mentally running through the list. “Any VIPs I should keep an eye out for?”

“The keynote speaker—Dr. Rosalind Carter. She’ll arrive closer to seven. And the foundation’s director, Mr. Bennett, and of course Dr. Anderson, he will want a group photo with the board around dessert. I’ll flag you when it’s time.”

“Cool. Mind if I set up now?”

Eva nodded and gestured toward the far end of the room, near the stage. “There’s a designated corner for your gear and charging station. If you need anything, I’ll be by the entrance.”

With that, she disappeared into the controlled chaos.

Ellie exhaled through her nose. “Alright. Showtime.”

You trailed behind as she headed to the gear table, helping her unpack her bag and started working in focused silence. Out came two camera bodies—one with a wider lens, one with a longer zoom—followed by her trusty light meter, extra batteries, a pouch of memory cards, and a tripod she tucked discreetly behind a curtain near the back.

You watched her slip seamlessly into her element, eyes sharp, fingers steady. She checked her white balance, adjusted her strap, wiped a smudge from her lens, and held one camera up to her eye, framing a test shot of you.

“Hey!” you muttered under your breath.

She glanced over, smirking slightly. “What?”

“Focus on the real celebrities here”

Ellie blinked at you, she knew what she was doing. A little pink crept up her neck, but she tried to play it cool, swapping cameras like it was no big deal. “Yeah, well. I needed to test the lens.”

You laughed and leaned against the nearest table, still watching her move—focused, grounded, magnetic.

The ballroom started to fill slowly as the first guests arrived—well-dressed couples stepping through the main doors, the soft hum of classical music weaving through their chatter. Ellie slipped her camera over her shoulder and gave you a quick look.

“I’ll be around. Try not to fall in love with any rich assholes while I’m gone, alright?”

“How could I?” You rolled your eyes, but she was smiling as she turned and walked into the crowd, lens raised, already disappearing behind a group of socialites in tailored suits.

You wandered toward the refreshment table, a glass of something bubbly in hand—not quite champagne, not quite soda—trying not to look out of place as the room filled with soft laughter and swishing fabric. The guests were glamorous in that effortless kind of way. It was clear who belonged here… and who felt like they were just tagging along.

Still, you held your head high and smiled politely at anyone who made eye contact. Fake it till you make it, right?

“First gala? Never seen you before” a voice said beside you—smooth, warm, a little amused.

You turned, nearly spilling your drink when you caught sight of the broad-shouldered woman in a tailored black tux with her blonde hair pulled back in a braid. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine ad for expensive cologne and probably lifted weights for fun.

“Uh—yeah, kind of obvious, huh?”

She smiled, teeth sharp. “Nah, you’re pulling it off. Most people don’t know how to stand near the wine table without looking like they want to run away.”

You laughed, grateful for the ease in her tone. “I’m doing my best. You a regular at these things?”

“More than I’d like,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “My dad hosts these every year. Fundraising, networking, all that jazz.”

Wait.

“Wait—your dad is…?”

“Dr. Anderson,” she said with a small, self-aware bow. “Abby.”

You blinked. “Oh. Wow. Nice to meet you, Abby.”

She smirked. “You too. And you are…?”

Before you could answer, a voice cut in—tight and familiar.

“Dude this place is huge—”

You turned slightly to find Ellie standing a few feet away, camera strap across her chest, expression carefully neutral but her eyes—her eyes were screaming "What the fuck?"

Abby raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. “You’re with the photographer?”

“Yeah I invited her” Ellie said quickly, too quickly. “I’m her… friend.”

She was absolutely spiraling.

Abby chuckled. “Right. Got it. Guess I’ll behave, then.”

She turned to Ellie, a little too pleased. “Anyway, I think you’re supposed to get a shot of me and my dad before he heads to the stage.”

Ellie cleared her throat, clearly trying to refocus. “Yeah. Right.”

You watched as Abby waved over Dr. Anderson, who approached with the kind of air only people who owned entire institutions carried. He smiled warmly at Ellie.

“Ms. Williams, pleasure to have you here tonight. Eva tells me you come highly recommended.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ellie said, lifting her camera. “Just over here by the floral arrangement, if that’s okay?”

Dr. Anderson nodded, and Ellie snapped a few quick photos—Abby standing beside her father, one hand in her pocket, posture relaxed. When they were done, he gave Ellie a respectful nod and turned toward the stage.

The lights dimmed slightly as the event coordinator stepped up to the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, please find your seats. We’re about to begin.”

You and Ellie locked eyes briefly as everyone started moving toward the rows of tables. She walked backward, camera raised, already snapping shots of the crowd settling in, the soft lighting glowing over their shoulders.

Dr. Anderson took the stage, greeted by polite applause. Ellie raised her camera again, eyes in the viewfinder, already focused.

“Thank you all for joining us tonight,” he began. “This fundraiser is not only about financial support—but about vision. About believing in the stories we still have to tell…”

You found your seat near the edge of the room, heart still racing a little—half from Abby’s easy charm, half from the look on Ellie’s face when she saw it.

Ellie stayed standing, moving like a shadow along the edge of the room, capturing the moment in quiet bursts of the shutter. But every now and then, her eyes flicked back to you.

And your eyes flicked right back. Magnetic.

Dr. Anderson’s voice flowed through the speakers—confident, practiced, charismatic. He spoke about stories that shaped communities, about the importance of funding creative programs, about the photographers, writers, and artists who hadn’t yet been discovered.

You sat quietly, watching him, trying to absorb the atmosphere—the clinking of glassware, the hushed murmurs of the crowd, the way the light reflected off the hanging chandeliers like golden dust in the air.

Ellie had moved closer to the stage now, snapping photos from different angles—Dr. Anderson behind the podium, the crowd’s reactions, the attentive expressions, the elegant chaos of the evening frozen in delicate frames. She moved like she belonged there. Like she was in control of the moment.

But even through the lens, her focus kept drifting.

She found you in the crowd, the soft slope of your shoulders relaxed, your eyes fixed on the stage with that thoughtful look she’d seen a hundred times before—at the diner, across a booth, behind a coffee mug.

She adjusted the lens.

Click.

You turned slightly, just enough for the soft lighting to kiss the side of your face.

Click.

You didn’t even notice her. You were too focused. Too beautiful.

Her heart beat faster.

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. But—

Click.

One more. Just for her eyes to see.

After the speech, soft music filled the room again and waiters began to circulate with trays of fancy entrees and drinks. Dr. Anderson stepped down from the stage to applause, mingling quickly with key donors and guests. The fundraiser had officially shifted into cocktail hour.

You stood from your seat, smoothing your dress and heading toward the refreshment table again—half for something to sip on, half to keep your hands busy. You felt lost without Ellie, but she suddenly reappeared beside you, camera now resting against her chest.

“Hey.”

You turned toward her, smiling. “Hey. You killed it up there.”

“I just pointed and clicked,” she said, brushing a hand through her hair.

You gave her a look. “You also climbed on a chair at one point.”

Ellie shrugged, smirking. “Gotta get the shot.”

A pause settled between you both. Soft, warm. Your shoulders nearly touched. The hum of music and voices blurred into the background.

“You looked like you belonged up there,” you said quietly.

Ellie’s eyes searched yours for a beat. “You’re bluffing.”

You blinked. “You know I would never”

She shifted her weight awkwardly. “Are you enjoying it? Or you’re too bored without me?��

It came out in that teasing tone of hers.

“Well I was having fun with Mrs. muscles until someone cockblocked me” you gave her a slight shrug.

“Oh yeah right, this is your way of getting at me for Cat”

You smiled “Why you jealous?”

“Why would I? I’m prettier” she scoffed, but the red on her cheeks was giving her up.

A waiter passed and you grabbed a small plate of hors d'oeuvres, offering it to her. Ellie shook her head—probably too nervous to eat—but she lingered close.

Your eyes flicked toward her camera. “Did you get good shots?”

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “Some good crowd reactions. Got Abby and her dad. Anderson’s speech.”

You tilted your head. “Can I see?”

Ellie stared at her drink. Remembering the candids she had taken of you. Fuck. “It’s boring really”

You gave her a look. “Ellie come on.”

“Fine…” You practically snatched the camera off her hands, flicking through the pictures until you came across some photos that definitely weren’t Dr. Anderson. Your stomach fluttered at the sight.

You blinked. “These are boring too?”

She rubbed the back of her neck. Slapping herself mentally. “The lighting was good. I just… I wanted to remember it. That’s stupid. Forget I said that.”

Your chest ached, but in the good way. The fuck, say it again way.

You touched her arm lightly. “I love them Ellie.”

She looked up. Your eyes met again, that same magnetic, breathless tension pulsing between you like a second heartbeat.

And then someone called Ellie’s name—one of the event staff—and the spell broke.

She cleared her throat, stepping back. “I, uh—I’ll be right back. Save me some fries.”

You nodded, watching her disappear into the crowd. Her camera bouncing gently against her hip, her tie still just slightly crooked from earlier.

You touched your lips without realizing it. Had she taken those voluntarily? She thought you looked good. And of course the Abby thing made her jealous. She was a bad liar. But then again, it was funny seeing her get all red and jealous of that. After all, it is kind of a payback for Cat.

The fundraiser buzzed with renewed energy now that the formalities were done. Music had shifted to a softer jazz track, blending with the ambient clinks of glasses and low conversations. You wandered through the crowd with a fresh drink in hand, soaking it all in—the clothes, the artwork on display, the glittering city skyline beyond the ballroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

That’s when you spotted Abby again.

She leaned casually against a pillar near the hors d'oeuvre table, nursing a glass of something that looked expensive. Her suit jacket was off now, sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing toned forearms that didn’t seem fair on someone also so confident.

She caught your eye and smiled. “Hey, it’s the mystery date.”

You laughed, half-glancing behind you. “You know my name.”

Abby grinned. “Yeah, but this way I get to keep asking.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Is that your go-to line?”

“Only when it works.”

She was charming. There was no denying that. And there was a spark of playfulness in her tone that made it hard not to lean into it just a little. So you did—trading jokes and playful banter while your drink slowly disappeared.

Across the room, Ellie watched with her jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked her molars.

She was adjusting her camera settings, trying to get better lighting near one of the centerpieces, but her gaze kept sliding over to you and Abby—laughing, leaning in a little closer, your lips parting around something you said that made Abby smile like that.

Ellie didn’t hear what you said.

Didn’t matter.

She looked away. Back to the camera. Check the aperture, adjust the white balance, focus, click. Her finger tapped against the shutter button harder than necessary.

She wasn’t jealous. Of course not. Why would she be?

You weren’t hers.

She didn’t have a claim. Couldn’t even bring herself to say half the things she wanted to. God she couldn’t even acknowledge all these feelings she’s been pushing down. Could barely meet your eyes when you fixed her tie earlier without burning alive on the spot. So what right did she have?

Still, when she glanced back and saw Abby tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a teasing smile—Ellie nearly dropped the camera.

“Fuck” she muttered under her breath, turning sharply away.

Her expression tightened, mouth set in a hard line as she walked toward the other side of the room to "get some crowd shots," even though the lighting was worse over here and she’d already covered it twice.

She needed to do something.

Anything but stand there and watch you smile like that for someone who wasn’t her.

The conversation with Abby flowed easily. She was charming and smooth with her words, making you laugh a few times. But still, your eyes kept drifting to the crowd, scanning for a familiar auburn head of hair.

Eventually, you made your way back from the refreshment table, balancing a small plate of appetizers in one hand and french fries in the other. Your eyes moved carefully across the room until you spotted Ellie off to the side, fiddling with her camera strap. Her jaw was tight, shoulders stiff—like she was holding herself together by threads..

You approached her with a soft smile. “Hey, thought you might be hungry. I grabbed you something.”

She glanced at you—barely—and then looked back down at her camera. “Thanks,” she muttered bitterness in her tone, but didn’t take the plate.

Your smile faltered. “I—I mean, it’s fine if you’re not. I just figured…”

Ellie let out a breath through her nose. Not quite a sigh, but close enough.

“I’ve gotta go take some shots of Mr. Anderson with a few of the donors,” she said quickly. “He just gave me a list.”

“Oh. Right.” Your throat tightened.

She still wouldn’t look at you. And you had no idea why. You hadn’t done anything wrong. But Ellie’s head was a mess tonight, jealousy clawing at her chest, and she couldn’t trust herself to say anything without it spilling out sideways.

You tried to keep it casual. “Okay. No worries. I’ll just… wait here for you.”

Ellie finally looked up, just for a second. Her eyes softened like she wanted to say something. Needed to—but swallowed it instead. “I’ll be right back,” she said quietly.

She felt like the worst person in the world. That look on your face—she’d put it there. And it made her heart ache. But she needed space. Just for a minute. Not from you, but from her feelings.

You nodded, stepping back, the plate still in your hands. “Yeah. Of course.”

And then she was gone—already walking across the ballroom, camera raised, posture sharp like she had something to prove.

You stood still, the noise of the crowd growing distant. The laughter, the clink of glasses, the low hum of chatter—it all blurred. Like you were underwater. You didn’t know why her sudden coldness cut so deep. Or what had even triggered it.

Maybe she was just stressed. Maybe she couldn’t get the right shot?. Maybe you were overthinking it.

Still, the ache didn’t go away.

You sat back down in silence, surrounded by strangers, the plate of fries growing cold in front of you. The one person who brought you here felt miles away.

Thirty minutes passed, and no sign of Ellie. Your stomach twisted with irritation, your appetite long gone. You set the plate aside and rose to your feet, deciding to take a walk around the exhibits. Maybe clear your head. Maybe have a smoke.

You checked Ellie’s camera bag—she’d left it on her seat—and found the Altoids tin tucked inside like you knew it would be. You slipped it into your purse and started wandering through the venue’s wide halls, taking your time with each display, forcing yourself to admire the artwork even as your thoughts drifted.

Eventually, you found a side exit and stepped out into the cold evening air. Marble stairs led down into a quiet courtyard. You sat on the top step, reaching for the tin, taking a cigarette between your lips.

“Fuck,” you muttered. No lighter.

Of course. Ellie had it. She’d used it earlier before leaving her apartment. She always kept it in her pocket.

You sat there defeated, arms wrapped around yourself, cigarette untouched. The cold settled in, seeping into your bare shoulders.

A few long quiet minutes passed.

Then, without a word, something warm draped over your back. You turned quickly.

It was Ellie—her blazer resting across your shoulders. She didn’t say anything at first, just pulled the lighter from her pocket and flicked it on, igniting the cigarette still tucked between your lips.

Your eyes met hers.

Both static.

The flame hovered for a second longer than necessary, and then she let it go out, the soft click of the lighter closing cutting through the silence like a spark.

There was this look in her eye, a spark of regret glistening in her gaze, Ellie sat down beside you without a word, elbows on her knees, hands clasped loosely between them. The silence lingered for a few moments, just the soft sound of you exhaling smoke and the distant thump of music echoing from inside the building.

“I thought you had ditched me for a second” she said finally, her voice low.

You glanced at her, brows lifting slightly.

“I was a dick,” she continued. “And I’m… I’m sorry.” Almost like she hated saying it out loud.

You didn’t answer at first, just took another drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke sit in your lungs a second longer before exhaling. “Yeah,” you said softly. “You kinda were.”

Ellie winced a little but nodded. She deserved that.

“I don’t know why I acted like that,” Ellie said, thumb running over a scratch on her knuckle. But deep down, she knew exactly why. “Actually—I do. I just don’t wanna say it because it sounds pathetic.”

You looked at her again, eyes softening just a little. “Try me.”

Ellie let out a bitter huff of a laugh. “I just—it’s stupid but, seeing you with Abby, laughing and flirting with her… It made me feel so—I don't know—replaceable? Like maybe you don’t need me at all. And it sucks because I think I might always need you.” Her voice caught at the end, a knot forming in her throat.

You blinked, caught somewhere between shock and the tiniest flicker of hope.

“It’s stupid because you can talk to whoever the hell you want. I just—” she paused, jaw tightening. “I hated how much I hated it.”

You were quiet again, the smoke curling lazily from the end of your cigarette.

“Ellie,” you said softly.

Her eyes met yours. Both of you were facing the other now, close enough that your knees almost brushed. The space between you felt like it was narrowing by the second.

“I could never in a million years replace you. There’s no one quite like you. Abby didn’t mean anything at all. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You know that, right?”

But oh, how you wished it could be more than just that.

“Yeah, I know,” Ellie murmured, but her chest ached. Was that all she’d ever be to you?

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

You gave her a soft smile. “You didn’t ruin anything, Els. The night’s not over yet, you know?”

Ellie snorted gently. “Yeah. I’m still supposed to be working though.”

You both sat there in a silence that felt lighter now, as if something had finally been unclenched between you.

Ellie glanced over, her voice quieter now, sincere. “You look beautiful tonight,” she said. “Meant to say that earlier. Didn’t.”

You looked at her. Really looked at her. Hair a little messy, shirt slightly wrinkled, the tie now hanging loosely around her neck like she’d forgotten it was there. And those eyes—open, unsure, and a little scared.

You nudged her shoulder. “You look pretty good too. Even when you’re being a jealous asshole.”

Ellie smiled—real and warm.

“Still mad at me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Your faces were so close now, just inches apart.

You took one last drag from your cigarette, and without thinking, Ellie reached out and gently plucked it from your lips, slipping it between hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Maybe,” you said, your breath fanning her cheek.

“How much?” she asked, her eyes flickering from your mouth to your eyes again—lingering this time.

Your heart was pounding. Her fingers were still brushing yours from the cigarette exchange. You could feel her breath now, warm and shallow, and your lips were so, so close.

Ellie leaned in—just a few centimeters more and—

“Miss Williams!”

The voice shattered the moment like glass.

You both startled slightly, turning toward the source. It was the event coordinator, heels clicking against the marble as she approached in a hurry, clipboard in hand.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need you immediately. Dr. Anderson’s about to do the donor photo and you’re the only photographer he’ll work with.”

Ellie blinked, her jaw clenched like she wanted to scream. “Right. Yeah. Coming.”

The woman was already walking off, clearly expecting her to follow.

Ellie looked back at you, guilt flashing behind her eyes. “I—shit. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Go.”

She hesitated for a second longer, then stood up, fixing her tie absently as she followed the coordinator inside.

You sat there alone on the steps, your skin still buzzing from the almost.

And all you could think about was how close she’d been. How close you had leaned in. And how— it had almost happened.

You stayed outside for a minute longer, letting the night air calm the fire still burning under your skin. The almost-kiss sat heavy on your lips, like a phantom touch. You couldn’t stop thinking about it—how close she’d been, the way her breath had hitched, how she’d looked at you like you were something sacred.

Eventually, you rose from the marble steps, brushing off the back of your dress and adjusting Ellie’s blazer on your shoulders, as you made your way back through the halls, heart still thudding.

The ballroom was less crowded now, the lighting slightly dimmed to a golden hue. The gentle hum of music played under the laughter and clinking glasses. You kept your head high as you re-entered, trying to blend back in like nothing had happened. Like you weren’t seconds away from kissing your best friend out on the stairs.

You spotted Ellie immediately. Of course you did. She was near the podium now, snapping shots of Dr. Anderson with his donors. Her camera was up, but her eyes kept shifting. Scanning. Searching.

For you.

She found you in an instant, her breath catching when your eyes met. And for a moment, everything stilled.

You gave her the softest smile, the one you knew only she got to see. She blinked, like you’d just knocked the air out of her lungs. Then her camera moved again—too quickly. She almost fumbled it, forced herself to look away and pretend like she wasn’t absolutely spiraling.

Ellie tried to focus on the shot—adjusting the aperture, lining up the angle—but every frame looked wrong. The lighting was too harsh, the smiles too forced. Her mind was still outside on the steps, with you. The curve of your mouth. The softness in your voice when you said “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Friend.

She cursed under her breath and took another picture, jaw clenched.

Neither of you could pretend it didn’t happen. And neither of you could figure out what the hell came next.

Her hands were steady. At least, that’s what she was trying to do.

Focus. Aperture. Composition. Lighting.

She adjusted the zoom with mechanical precision, the lens shifting slightly as she snapped another picture of Dr. Anderson with one of the donors. The camera’s shutter clicked, a sound she usually found soothing, grounding. But right now, it just felt like static.

Because all she could fucking think about was you.

You, sitting on the stairs in that dress that made her heart stop. You, leaning into her like maybe—maybe—you were about to kiss her. And then the goddamn coordinator’s voice cutting through the moment like a knife.

She hated how fast she stood up, like she’d been caught. Hated that you pulled away so quickly, face flushing as if maybe you regretted it.

She didn’t even get to say anything. Didn’t get to ask if you’d mean to.

Now, you were somewhere in the crowd—probably trying to act normal—and she was up here trying to be a professional while her chest was in knots and her brain was looping the moment on repeat like a broken record.

Ellie lifted her camera again. The lens focused on Dr. Anderson shaking hands with a man in a green suit. Her fingers pressed the shutter. One click. Two.

She barely registered the images. Her throat was dry, and she realized she hadn’t spoken in a while.

“Can we get one more, just by the stage?” the coordinator asked.

“Yeah. Sure.” Her voice cracked slightly. She cleared her throat.

She repositioned herself, stepping back and lifting the camera again. But her eyes flicked sideways, automatically. Searching for you. Needing to know where you were.

And there you were—leaning quietly against the far wall, Ellie’s blazer still draped over your shoulders, looking so painfully soft it made her knees weak.

You gave her a small smile when your eyes met, and it wrecked her. Gentle. Reassuring. A little sad, maybe.

She should’ve said something out there. Should’ve kissed you.

But now she was here. She forced herself to look away again. Let the camera be her shield.

Because if she didn’t, she was going to walk across that ballroom, wrap her arms around you, and kiss you in front of every single donor in the room.

And she wasn’t sure she’d survive what would come after.

She was on her way back to you—eyes already scanning the crowd for the familiar shape of your shoulders, the soft curve of your profile. The blazer still hung loosely around you and Ellie swore she’d never wanted to be a fucking jacket more in her life.

She’d barely taken two steps when someone called her name.

“Miss Williams?”

She turned, a tight smile forming automatically. A tall man in a tailored suit—gray streaks at his temples, glass of champagne in one hand, walked toward her. He looked vaguely familiar. Probably one of the board members Dr. Anderson had introduced her to earlier.

“Yes?” she said, polite.

“I just wanted to say—your work is phenomenal,” he said, “The way you capture people—it’s got heart. That’s rare.”

Ellie nodded, eyes flicking again toward you. You were sitting at a table near the far end, fiddling with a fork, head tilted slightly like you were deep in thought. You looked tired. Beautiful. Miles away.

She forced herself to smile at the guy. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

He kept talking. Asked about her process. About gear. Lighting. “Do you do exhibits? Ever consider a book?”

All she could think about was the way your lips had parted earlier. The way your eyes dropped to hers. The way her heartbeat had been deafening in her ears.

She gave him a few more distracted answers, promised to email a portfolio link, and then finally, finally, the man was called away by Dr. Anderson himself.

Ellie made her way back across the room in a daze, her footsteps slower now. Nervous. Her fingers still tingled from where they’d grazed your hand earlier.

You didn’t say anything when she sat down beside you, but you did nudge a plate toward her. Fries, a little cold now. Chicken skewers. A tiny cupcake. A napkin folded under the fork with her name scribbled on the corner. Her chest ached.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, eyes down.

You just nodded.

Ellie started eating—not because she was hungry, but because her mouth needed something to do other than say something stupid. Like: Were we about to kiss? Or: Did you want me to?

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, just… careful. Like neither of you wanted to say it first. Neither wanted to break the spell if it turned out it had all been in your heads.

So you both sat there, shoulders brushing, not talking about it at all.

The music dimmed. The lights shifted.

People began leaving in pairs or clusters. Thank-you speeches echoed distantly. Ellie chewed on the edge of a fry, eyes still on you.

And still, not a single word about what almost happened. Because it’s easier to pretend it didn’t. Even when both of you are sure it did.

The gala wound down slowly, the last of the champagne glasses emptied and the string quartet packing their instruments in velvet-lined cases. People exchanged cards and polite goodbyes.

You helped Ellie gather her gear, carefully placing her backup lenses in padded compartments, holding her camera bag open while she zipped everything up with methodical precision. Her fingers moved quickly, like muscle memory, but her eyes kept darting to you. Like maybe you’d disappear if she looked away for too long.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, slinging her camera strap over one shoulder. “Gonna give these to Dr. Anderson and the coordinator.”

You nodded. “I’ll wait by the truck.”

She watched you go, the hem of your dress swishing softly with each step. A part of her wanted to call after you. To say something real. Something brave.

Instead, she turned and approached the crowd of remaining staff, handed out the cards, exchanged quick thank-yous and nods. Dr. Anderson complimented her again, and asked her about future projects. She smiled, but her mind was already in the parking lot.

By the time she got back to her truck, you were leaning against the passenger door, arms folded gently across your chest, face lit by the soft amber of the lot lights.

“All done?” you asked.

“Yeah.” she said unlocking the door.

The ride was quiet at first, the city bleeding past in blurred streaks of gold and blue. Then Ellie started talking, voice low and a little raspy from the long night.

“Some of the donors came up to me,” she said. “Said nice shit about my work. One of them asked if I ever thought about putting together a gallery, which is… ridiculous, but whatever.”

Your head dipped against the seat, lids heavier with each word.

“It would be amazing honestly,” you said softly. “All your best pieces of work gathered together, I think you could do it”

Ellie glanced over. “Someday maybe”

You were dozing. Lips slightly parted. Hands curled in your lap.

She smiled, soft and aching.

“I don’t really care what they say, though,” she whispered. “Not really. Not if you’re not the one saying it.”

You stirred faintly, but didn’t wake.

The rest of the drive was filled with low music and even lower thoughts.

When she finally pulled up to your place, she cut the engine, letting the silence settle between you before reaching over gently.

“Hey,” she murmured, brushing your arm.

You blinked awake, groggy. “We’re here?”

“Yeah.”

You yawned, stretching, eyes half-lidded as you turned to her. “Thanks, Els. For taking me. I really enjoyed tonight….”

Ellie chuckled quietly. “Yeah. Me too.”

She walked you to your door, hands in her pockets.

You turned to her, suddenly unsure if you should say something else. But instead, you just leaned in—arms wrapping around her shoulders, her face pressed briefly into your neck.

The hug lasted a second too long.

Neither of you moved to let go right away.

And when you finally did, Ellie gave you a small smile.

You took off the blazer from where it previously laid. Warm on your shoulders, handing it back to Ellie, fingers brushing at the exchange.

“Goodnight Ellie” you said, going up to your doorstep.

“Goodnight” she whispered, backing down.

You watched her go, heart thudding loud against your ribs.

And then she was gone—taillights glowing dimly as her truck rolled out into the quiet street, taking your almost-kiss and every unsaid word with it.

You stepped into the apartment, the door clicking softly shut behind you. With a sigh, you kicked off your heels, letting them fall where they may, and pulled your phone from your purse, fingers trembling.

The weight in your chest had been building all night—tightening with every glance, every unsaid word, every almost. You couldn’t hold it anymore.

You found Dina’s contact and hit “Call,” bringing the phone to your ear as it rang once… twice…

“Hello—”

“I think I’m in love with Ellie.”

You said it before she could even finish her greeting, the words pouring out in a single breath, rushed and delicate—but honest. So honest. And the second they left your lips, something unknotted inside your chest. A confession, quiet but earth-shaking.

Simultaneously, Ellie sat in her truck, hands gripping the steering wheel long after the engine had gone quiet. The hum of the night outside her window did little to quiet the storm inside her chest.

She stared out through the windshield, heart thudding like a drum in her throat. Her tie was still loose around her neck, the scent of your perfume lingering faintly on her blazer. That almost-kiss haunted every corner of her mind.

She pulled out her phone, thumb hesitating for a second before tapping Jesse’s name. It rang twice before his voice came through, hoarse and confused.

“Dude, it’s midnight. What the fuck—”

“I think I’m in love with her.”

The words came out low, like if she said them too loud, they’d become too real.

There was a pause on the other end. “With… her her?”

Ellie slumped back in her seat, covering her eyes with her hand. “Yeah. Her her.”

It was real. It was undeniable. She was in love with her best friend, like some fucking cliche—and the weight of it settled over her chest like a secret too big to hold. It pulsed through her veins, raw and terrifying, because loving you wasn’t something she could undo, and the thought of it never being returned made her feel like she might break open right there in the quiet of her truck. It was everything, and it was too much. And still, she wouldn’t take it back.

.

taglist <3

@liasxeatt @80saturn @eleanorsghost @youusunshineyoutemptress @jazzyxox @lesoulew @fangirlinc @hitmehardmommy @liztreez @chwekriz00 @vahnilla @elliespotion @haithone @stwolfhardimaginez @thxtmarvelchick @purinukie @lavenderseedling @elliesfavwife @mikellie @iadorefineshyt @thebadwritersposts @gayandsuffering26 @flynnph0bias @adoreasellie

lmk if anyone else wants to be added !

[stormyrainyday]

How to Read MFB Like a Professor: Introduction

One of the assigned readings in the AP literature class in my high school was Thomas C. Foster's How to Read Literature Like a Professor; I'd read a chapter of it for 10th grade English, and for a novice analyst it opened my eyes to a new way to read the . Unfortunately though, due to scheduling reasons, I didn't take the class in which this book was read.

Lately, though I've been dipping my toes back into media analysis for fun in my free time, and I ordered the book in hopes of getting similar insight as I did in that earlier English course. The thing about HTRLLAP is that it doesn't tell you necessarily how to interpret a scene; rather, it provides knowledge of common symbolism and where it is usually used, and encourages you to further analyze with that knowledge in your arsenal. For example, the introduction of the book suggests that, in literature, any trade or deal could be analyzed with the perspective of a "deal with the devil". Of course, not every book will have a devil, but that's not the point. The point is to pay closer attention to the items up for barter, and what those items could represent to each character. In the book's given example from A Raisin in the Sun, the item for sale is the family home, a symbol of the main character's pride, history, and soul. That is not what every trade deal in a story would represent; however, it teaches you that when something is being traded, to look closer at what the components mean to each character and how they fit into the overarching themes of the story.

All that being said, reading a book on how to read analysis may teach me the theory, but if I want to hone my own skills, I need to put them into practice. Which brings me to this post-series, How to Read Metal Fight Beyblade Like a Professor. I've decided that for each chapter of HTRLLAP, I'll do a short analysis of the relevant symbolism in MFB. Hopefully by the end of it, I'll be a little better at analyzing media.

(Most of the posts will be related to Metal Fusion. It's my favorite season, I'm the most familiar with it, and the characters that I like the most appear in this season. I also find the plot to be the most grounded of all the series. It is, at the end of the day, about Gingka growing strong enough to get L Drago back-- most of the arcs serve that narrative. While I like Masters, I feel the focus of the season shifts quite dramatically when the Hades plotline is introduces, and I don't remember enough of Fury to speak much on it.)

Each post will be titled similarly to this one, and will reference the chapters of HTRLLAP. Post 1 will be chapter one, and titled How to Read MFB Like a Professor: Chapter 1, with the subtitle Every Trip is a Quest (Except When It's Not) to coincide with the chapter subheading. I'll be tagging the posts HTRMFBLAP and linking chapters at the end of each post. Expect varying lengths for the posts, as well as inconsistent times between them. I am not a literature students and I am really just doing this for love of the game, but that means that a lot of the time life will get in the way.

Quite frankly if anyone reads any of the analysis, I'll be elated. I love MFB and I love analysis and I've been filled with indescribable excitement at the thought of doing this.

[lachesismoonmist]

I've Been Watching You - Chp 7

On the Bucket List

Rating: Mature. Minors dni

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook / Reader

Words: Total: 73k

Status: Complete. 7 out of 26

Story Summary: There's a hot new guy in the gym. You can't keep your eyes off him, and it seems he can't keep his off you either. What starts out as Friends-with-Benefits turns into something a lot more complicated as your past comes back to haunt you and you find out your best friend's long-kept secret.

Originally posted on AO3

MY MASTERLIST

Chapter 7: On the Bucket List

Chapter Summary: JK and the MC continue to spend time together, and conversations start to creep towards dangerous territory, which the MC wants to avoid. The MC gets to strike one item off her bucket list. Sexy times ahead!

Author's Note: I'm back! This chapter took a while, because it was one of those where a lot had to be covered, and was before another peak in the story. Longest chapter so far. Also, there's smut! The smut is a different kind again - not sure if you guys noticed, but every smutty scene is slightly different. I hope it doesn't disappoint! JK and the MC spend some quality time together. Paintball might seem a little clichéd (think '10 Things I Hate About You' starring Julia Stiles and the late Heath Ledger), but I've always wanted to try it but never got around to it. There's also a Star Wars reference (I'm a total fan). Darth Vader was the ultimate badass in Episodes IV, V and VI. Tall, dark and ... Well he was wearing a mask most of the time, but he was quite handsome in a Episodes I, II and III. Are you still with me? Heh heh heh. Also, a shout out to @azurefangirl. She's one of my inspirations - I've been reading all her stories, enough times that I could convince myself that maybe I could write one too.

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

It was shoulders and back day. After doing lat pull-downs, I was at the far end of the gym doing the landmine press. Jimin came strolling over. “What did you do over your long weekend? Jiho left yesterday right?"

“Yup. After the club that night, Jiho only came back after breakfast. He said he needed to crash, and had overdosed on chocolate. We went out for a late lunch, then I sent him to the train station around 5pm. I came to the gym in the morning, but didn’t see you. Soo….. what happened to your booty call?”

“When I got to his apartment, he’d just showered. He came to the door looking like sex on legs. He got all protective too when I told him about Hajoon.” I added rolling my eyes. “Then he spent the rest of the night making sure I didn’t have any bruises anywhere. Hmm, actually, he made it his mission to give me bruises.” I pulled aside the neck of my tee shirt to show Jimin the enormous hickey.

“Oh my god! That must be the biggest hickey I’ve ever seen!” “I know right? And I’ve a matching one on my boob!” I complained. Jimin burst out laughing. “No way, he gave you one on your boob?” he cackled. “He’s a biter, huh? Is he good with his tongue?”

“Well, he did eat me out on his kitchen counter before bringing me to the bedroom. And last evening we christened my couch”.

“At last!” Jimin hooted. “I thought that couch was going to die a virgin. Wait, you went over to his place after the club, then last evening you christened your couch? Did you spend all day yesterday together?”

“No, not exactly. We fell asleep at his place after the club, but I left around 4am.”

Jimin sighed “Y/N, it’s been four years. Don’t you think you need to move past this?”

“I don’t know, Jiminie. I mean, Jungkook makes me feel safe, like he wouldn't hurt me. That’s how I managed to fall asleep at his place after the club. He was so sweet. He cleaned me up again, then just held me. But I’m scared, Jiminie. I don’t think I’ll survive getting my heart ripped out of my chest again”.

“Y/N, anyone with eyes can see the attraction and the chemistry between you two! You look like you fit together, even more so than with Nam….”

“Don’t, Jiminie”, I put my hand on Jimin’s chest “Don’t say his name”. Jimin grabs my hand with his, cradling it to his chest as he says gently “Y/N, you have so much love to give. You’re smart and funny, you deserve to be happy. You deserve more than just casual hook-ups, even if the sex is mind-blowing.” Jimin sighed again. “Speaking of mind-blowing sex, where is Loverboy this morning?”

“Oh, he had a wedding shoot. At the beach, no less. He said it would run well into the afternoon. I’m going over to Artemis anyway. Have to look in on Nuri. Oh, and guess what, yesterday Ginger came out to the front of the clinic and rubbed herself all over Jungkook!”

“That slut! She only ever hisses at me or runs away…. waaaaiiit….. did you say Jungkook?”

“Yup”, I replied, picking up my towel and water bottle.

“You brought Loverboy to the clinic?!? You’ve never brought anyone to the clinic! Well, except me of course.”

“Yeah, I felt bad about leaving in the middle of the night, and he’s obviously an animal-person. Besides, he brought his dog Bam there for the yearly check-up two weeks ago, so it’s not like it was his first time there.”

Jimin held up his hand up, “You don’t have to explain, Honey. I get it. I told you right, this time it’s different.”

Just then, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket.

[Hot Gym JK] Hey Sweetness, the photo shoot got cut short. What are you doing later after lunch?

[Sexy Vet] Oh! What happened to the shoot? I'll be at the clinic, but I'm free after 3pm.

[Hot Gym JK] Awesome. I’ll swing by the clinic to pick you up then. Tell you the story about the shoot later.

[Sexy Vet] Where are we going?

[Hot Gym JK] It’s a surprise. Wear comfortable shoes and slacks or berms.

[Sexy Vet] Ok, now you’ve got me intrigued. Give me a hint!’

[Hot Gym JK] And spoil the surprise? Nope. You’ll just have to wait to find out. See you at 3pm, Sweetness.

[Sexy Vet] Ok. C u.

Jimin was watching my face closely. “That HAD to be Loverboy. You should see the way you’re smiling right now”.

“Nonsense! This is my normal look.”

“And I’m the queen of England. Face it Y/N, there’s something between you and Jungkook. You can deny it all you want.”

I smiled, thinking about him.

“See! You didn’t even try to deny it!”

“Whatever,” I huffed.

“So you seeing him today I take it?”

“Yeah, he said he’d pick me up from the clinic. Told me to wear comfortable shoes and said it was a surprise.”

“Well, I guess that means you’re not going to do ballroom dancing.“

"Probably not," I laughed. "Gotta go Jiminie. Catch you later k”.

“Go, go, go. Say 'Hi' to Loverboy for me”.

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

Right on the dot at 3pm, Jungkook turned into the carpark in front of the clinic. I was already sitting on the bench outside the clinic, nursing a peppermint mocha, watching two kids playing with the Golden Retriever that had just been discharged today. Jungkook pulled up beside me and opened the passenger side door “Hop in, Sweetness”. I got in and showed him the second cup I was holding.

“I wasn’t sure how you like your coffee, so I just got you a Flat White, no sugar. I’ve got some sugar packets in my bag if you want some.”

“Actually I’m more a tea drinker, but a Flat White no sugar is fine”. He reached over to squeeze my knee.

“So what happened with the photo shoot?”

“The bride-to-be didn’t really want a photo session on the beach saying she hates the sand, but the groom-to-be had pressurized her into it. Today she just couldn’t bring herself to do it and broke down in tears. I think it’s the wedding stress.”

“Yikes! Was it a deal-breaker?”

“Naah. The groom-to-be panicked and told his fiancé he’d shoot the photos anywhere she wanted. She said she’d wanted to do it in the flower gardens on the other side of town, and but they are closed today. She’s a florist, so having flowers in the shoot was actually quite a big deal to her. In the end we went to her shop and took some nice but tight shots there. We picked another day for the gardens shoot, but they felt bad about the whole thing, so they paid us for half-a-day’s work and bought us lunch”.

“Ok, so everything’s fine then. Can you imagine what they’d tell their grandkids? ‘Your grandma almost didn’t marry me because I wanted our wedding photos taken at the beach.”

“Yup, everything’s fine, and thanks to them I get to spend my afternoon with my favorite vet”. He grinned at me as we pulled into the parking lot of what looked like a refurbished warehouse. ‘Got You in My Sights’ was spray painted on the front wall, along with a impressive mural running the length of the long building. I saw in smaller print ‘Paintball. Lasertag. Air Rifle Shooting’.

“You brought me here to shoot me?!?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Shoot AT you. Paintballs, that is. I was told we have the whole place to ourselves today.”

Two white jumpsuits, goggles, helmets and paint guns loaded later, I found myself hiding behind a bale of hay, hoping to catch Jungkook unawares. He hadn’t seen me duck down into this small trench so this was my best shot. I saw him creeping behind some trees, unaware that I was behind him. I lined up my sights, then pulled the trigger. A big yellow blob appeared on his jumpsuit, right in the middle of his back. He spun around, eyes wide open in shock. “You drew first blood! I’m coming for you!” he shouted and started sprinting towards me.

Now, the sight of a 1.78m tall man, all geared up, carrying a loaded weapon running towards you is downright terrifying. I yelped and sprung up, legs pumping to put as much distance as I could between me and Jungkook. I found a waist-high wall made of sandbags, leapt over it and turned towards my pursuer. He was running across open ground, so I had the upper hand. I fired at least 5 shots at him, but only had the satisfaction of seeing one hit him on the shoulder. That didn’t stop him though, he just kept coming. I jumped up away from the wall and continued running. This time, I felt the paint hit. Two on the back, one near my knee and one hit my helmet. I went sprawling, falling into a dip behind a slight rise. I drew my knees in and just sat there, trying to catch my breath. Trying to listen out for foot falls. The plan was to wait till Jungkook was almost upon me, fire one to the chest then run.

Of course that didn’t happen. I felt a shadow fall over me, and looked up to see Jungkook standing over me, smiling smugly. He held his hand out to me.

He made deep breathing sounds. “Join me, and together, we will rule the galaxy” he said in fake boomy voice.

“You did not just quote Darth Vader!” I burst out laughing.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

I couldn’t take it. I sat down on the ground laughing at Jungkook’s Darth Vader impressions. “Stop! Stop!”

He grinned and looked at my jumpsuit, then back at his jumpsuit. Mine was covered in green, whilst his had just one yellow spot on his shoulder, and the other one on his back. “How did you only manage to hit me only once when I ran towards you? I was completely in the open on purpose! ”

“I told you first person shooter games aren’t my thing, right?” I cried as I got to my feet. “I can’t shoot while moving, and it looks like I can’t even shoot while staying still! That first shot I got on you was a pure fluke.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t put my life in your hands if we were in a gun fight.”

“Rude!” I shouted, then shot him in the chest at point blank and ran away cackling.

“OW! Come here you!” Jungkook shouted, running after me. After what felt like an eternity of running and hiding, Jungkook finally called time. I got shot at least half a dozen more times, while I didn’t land a single shot.

When we removed all our gear, our hair was plastered to our heads with sweat. I looked down, and realized my white cotton blouse was stuck to my skin, and a bit see-through. Thankfully I was wearing my nice, lacy white set. Jungkook’s eyes widened, and he suddenly leaned over and kissed me hard on the lips. I kissed him back, our tongues dancing.

I put my hand on his chest but he hissed and pulled back. “You know, shooting someone at point blank will cause bruising right?” he complained as he slowly lifted his tee shirt. There, right in the center of his chest was a big bruise.

I didn’t say anything. I was so transfixed by his abs, I just stood there, blinking slowly.

“Helloooo, earth to Y/N?” He waved a hand in front of my face.

I blinked twice. “You were saying?”

“You gave me a big bruise by shooting me at point blank range.”

“Ah, now we’re even. Two for two. Told you I’d claim the other half of my payment”.

“How can you even equate a hickey to paintball injury?!? One is given in pleasure, the other is an injury!“

“Tomay-toes, tomar-toes. Now we really both match – one on the neck, one on the chest”. I gave him a double thumbs-up and a wink. He rolled his eyes.

“You hungry? Wanna go grab some food and head back to my place?”

“Sure,” I said, fanning my blouse in an attempt to unstick it and dry out a little. “Any craving?”

“How about Thai food? ‘Buy My Thai’ is on the way.”

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

“Mmm…. This Pad Thai is soooo good!” I closed my eyes after slurping my noodles and chewed happily.

“Right? The place is co-owned by a couple. The wife is Thai. I did a photo shoot for them about 4 months ago for their new menu. Now I get extra shrimp in my Tom Yam Goong.”

I smiled and nodded, too busy chewing to reply. “So you don’t have a pet now?” Jungkook asked.

“No, no time for one. I don’t go to the clinic everyday, but when I do I spend long hours there. Besides, all the patients are like my surrogate fur kids. Where’s Bam? You mentioned him but he doesn’t live here with you.”

“Bam is at my parent’s. I just moved back to the city about 10 months ago after spending a few years abroad. Bam stayed with my parents while I was away. Been thinking of bringing Bam over to my place. What do you think? I’d love to have your professional opinion on it.”

“Well, you do have nice grounds here, good for walks. Your apartment is large enough for a Doberman. Is he potty-trained? I mean trained to use a tray?” Jungkook nodded. “That’s good, so he can relieve himself even when you’re not at home. I’d suggest getting some rugs for the floors that are slippery. Sliding on slippery floors may lead to increased risk of hip or elbow dysplasia.” Jungkook nodded in understanding, looking around at his floors. “Another thing is, are you going to be away a lot? If he gets more attention and company at your parent’s, you may want to think about leaving him there. But you can bring him over if you’re going to be home for a stretch.”

Jungkook started collecting the empty cartons and bowls. “I will have to travel a little on and off, but for the most part I’ll be around. Thanks for the advice though. I’ll just bring Bam over here if I’m going to be around for him.” Jungkook smiled, took my hand and squeezed it.

“Come, I wanna show you something”. He led me to his bedroom, and pushed open the double glass doors I’d seen the last time I was here. The balcony outside had a set of comfy-looking outdoor furniture – a small low table and two chairs that were large enough to sit two. A little tealight holder on the small table had a lit tealight in it, giving off the smell of geraniums. I walked over to the railing and looked out over city.

“This is such a gorgeous view.”

“Yes, it is” Jungkook said, looking at me, stroking my arm. He pulled me against him, my back to his front and whispered in my ear “Look up.” I gasped when I did. The night sky looked like a deep velvet canvas, with stars scattered all over.

“Wow”, I said quietly. “You can’t see the stars from the city. I’d forgotten how beautiful the night sky can be”.

“This is one of the reasons I fell in love with this place. I often come and sit out here when I’ve had a rough day. The night sky reminds me that I’m just a little speck in the big scheme of things. Wait here”, he squeezed me, then walked back into his bedroom. I continued gazing up when he came back with a huge grey woolen blanket and wrapped me in it.

“Come have a seat, I'll go make us some tea.” I settled into the large chair at the end of the balcony. I looked around. Because of the shape of the apartment building, I couldn’t see any of the neighbor's homes. It was just a clear view of the surrounding area and the city skyline. Breathtaking.

Jungkook came back not long later with a small pot and two tea cups on a tray. The tea smelled heavenly. “This is jasmine tea with natural rose oil” he explained as sat down next to me and proceeded to pour tea into both cups. “It’s great after you've had oily food.” I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and savoring the fragrance. I took a tentative sip.

“Wow!" I closed my eyes and took an extra deep breath.  A few more sips later, I opened my eyes to see Jungkook staring at me over the rim of his teacup. "This might be the best tea I’ve ever smelled or tasted! Makes me wanna bathe in it”.

“Well, I do have good taste” he smiled, then leaned closer to me “speaking of good taste….” He took my cup from me and put it down on the table. His warm lips found mine. His hand wound into my hair, holding my head in place, angling it to kiss me deeper. He kissed me slowly, but no less hungrily as he explored my mouth. His hand travelled down, squeezing my breasts before moving his hands to my waist, shifting me so that I was facing him, straddling his lap. He kissed his way down my neck and pressed gentle kisses to the hickey he gave me. His hands reached for the bottom of my white blouse and he pulled it up and over my head.

“I saw the white lace earlier after paintball. I’ve been dying to see it up close” He ran his finger down the shoulder strap, over the tops of the cups, making me shiver. Then he suddenly pulled down the cup, freeing my breast. He closed his lips over my hardening nipple, sucking so hard I let out a whine. He reached up and freed the other breast, shifting his attention to it. “Your breasts look so sexy like this, held up by your bra.”

“We’re out in the open, Jungkook. Someone might see.” I said worriedly, looking around.

“No one can see us while we’re here. But if it makes you feel better..." he reached past me to pull up the large grey blanket and draped it on my shoulders. He reached back then and pulled his t-shirt off in one smooth move. As always, I was mesmerized by his bulging arm muscles, the swell of his pectoral muscles, the ridges of his abs and Adonis belt. I ran my hands over his stomach and chest, then leaned forward to kiss him, as I pawed at the buttons of his cargo shorts. Then I reached into his boxers and freed his hard cock, giving it a few pumps. Jungkook moaned, then pushed his shorts and boxers off his hips so that they rested near his knees. I reached down and pushed them the rest of the way off his legs.

His hands went to the button of my slacks, pulled down the zip slowly. He brushed his fingers against my white lacy panties, then growled. "I wanna see”.

He lifted me off his lap and made me stand between his legs. He spun me around to face away from him and slid my slacks past my hips. They fell to the floor. “Your ass looks terrific in white lace” he purred, rubbing both ass cheeks with his hands. He slipped his fingers in and pulled the lace down, then helped me step out of it. I pulled me towards him to face him again. He looked divine – bare chest heaving, muscles all on display, cock standing erect. The ache between my legs grew stronger. I sat on his lap, shuffling forward till I could rub my core on his cock.

“So wet for me” he groaned, as he massaged my breasts, thumbs rubbing over my nipples. I lifted myself up slightly, then impaled myself on his cock. He moaned loudly, burying his face between my breasts. “Move please,” he choked out, his arms crushing me to him like a vise. My breasts rubbed up and down on his chest as I put my knees on the seat of the chair for leverage to take him in again and again. He held my hips in a crushing grip as he helped move me up and down. By now the large grey blanket had fallen onto the ground but neither of us cared. It was just him in his naked glory, me with my ass bare and my breasts trussed up in my bra. He pressed his thumb onto my clit, moving it in time to when our bodies closed the gap, watching how my pussy sucked him in.

“Harder, Jungkook, harder” I panted.

He applied more pressure with his thumb and my world exploded. I squirted onto his lap as he came, moaning my name.

We sat like that for a while, our arms around each other, coming down from our highs, till our breathing evened out. I lifted myself slowly off him, feeling him slide out. I rested on his lap, not wanted to separate just yet. He stroked my back lazily while nuzzling my neck with his lips.

“You know, having sex under the stars, out in the open has always been on my bucket list.”

“And you’ve never found anyone to do it with?” Jungkook asked curiously. I shook my head, as he stood up, carrying me with him.  I buried my face in his chest to avoid answering his question.  I inhaled deeply.  He smelled of his cologne, but underneath that was a very manly smell, of sweat and sex.  

“Let’s get you cleaned up” as he walked to the bathroom. He set my down gently on his marble counter, took a wash cloth and wiped our mess from the insides of my thighs and his crotch. He also wiped my breasts slowly, then pulled the cups back up. He kissed me, then went to wash the towel in the sink.

“I wanted to tell you, I have to leave tomorrow morning for a magazine photo shoot for a week. In Paris. The following week there will be a photo exhibition cum charity ball here in the Grand Ballroom at Four Seasons. I’m one of three photographers who have been invited to take photos for the exhibition. It’ll be great exposure, and it seems the guests move in high circles, so it’ll be a great chance to network. “

“That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you. It sure sounds like a great opportunity for you.”

“Come to the ball with me? As my plus one?” he asked earnestly, holding both my hands as he looked at me with puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t do the puppy dog eyes thing! I cannot resist it!” I cried, covering my face with my hands.

“But it’s my greatest weapon in getting what I want,” he said smugly. “Seriously though, say you’ll come with me? I’ll even get you a dress from Paris.”

“Oooh… high fashion from Paris, huh? You sure you know my size?”

“Oh, I know your size,” he said in a low voice as he claimed my lips with his again. My knees turned to jelly, along with my will.

“Ok,” I breathed when we finally separated, our foreheads resting together. "What time is your flight tomorrow?"

"It's at 6am. I’ll call you when I land. I'll be pretty busy during the day, we can talk at night, although you’ll be a few hours ahead of me," Jungkook said

“Ok, Big Boy, sounds good. I need to to go too anyways, I have a surgery early tomorrow morning.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you back to the clinic to get your car.”

We drove in a companionable silence, once again with his hand resting on my leg, this time, on my thigh. He insisted on driving back with me to my apartment building after that, and walking me up to my door. Outside my door, he kissed me till I was dizzy, and wouldn’t have stopped if not for my neighbor who had to walk past us. We both laughed after my neighbor croaked out a very awkward “Hi…” and slinked into his apartment. Jungkook held my face in his hands and kissed me on the nose, then on the lips. “Good night, Sweetness. Dream of me k?” and blew me a kiss as he walked down the stairs.

Previous (Chp6)

Tags: @bhonbhon, @azurefangirl

[eemamminy-art]

Maybe it's a silly thing to take solace in, but I suppose in the end a big inspiration in writing coming around again has been to work through some of my unprocessed grief from losing my parents a decade ago, and I keep thinking of these lines from the chapter about Alex's late mother:

“I always think I’m fine and I’m over it, but every year it hits me just as hard as it did the first time.”

(and then, a little later in the chapter)

“Well, I’ll be fine,” Alex sighed. “I’m like this every year, and I always get better. I keep hoping one day it won’t hurt so much.”

Even though I know I've said similar things myself, and I'm the one who wrote him saying these words, something about it makes me feel a little bit reassured

Like yeah, it's a pain that doesn't really go away but like. You survive. You keep going. My dad made it very clear that he wanted me to keep looking ahead and not dwell on the past, and I do try but it's hard sometimes. Just feeling pretty low after mother's day this past weekend, and knowing it's still not done as the date it's celebrated on where I'm living now is in two more weeks, but I'm trying to find comfort and peace where I can and I wanted to share that

[50calmadeuce]

EOL - Chapter 9

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know.

I also do not own the right to 'In Case You Didn't Know' by Brett Young. This song just fits the mood perfectly.

It was late when you arrived home, the house nearly dark except for the faint glow of the lights your mom left on for when you kids came home late.

You climbed the stairs, your mind replaying the events of the night. You’d shared everything with Nolan—Jake, your history, the complexities of it all. You learned more about Nolan and his family, and though he was a great guy, he wasn’t your guy.

You opened the door to your bedroom and flipped on the light. The sight that greeted you was unexpected—a pile of letters and a few boxes stacked neatly on your desk.

“What the fuck?” you muttered to yourself, walking over to the desk and picking up the top envelope.

They were all addressed to you...from Jake.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at the familiar handwriting on the envelope—Jake’s handwriting. It had been years since you’d seen it, and the sight of it brought a wave of memories crashing through your mind. You set the envelope down for a moment, your fingers trembling as you glanced over the stack. There were at least six or seven letters, each one sealed, each one waiting.

You could feel the pull of them, the weight of what they represented—the years, the silence, the unanswered questions. Jake had written you. All this time, he had been reaching out in a way that you hadn’t known about.

You couldn't take it anymore, so you reached out, grabbed a letter, tore it open and unfolded the letter.

You carefully unfolded the first letter, your fingers trembling slightly as you began to read.

Y/N,

I’m writing you this letter because I don’t know how else to say what’s been on my mind for the past few months except that I miss you.

I know. I probably sound desperate and probably even pathetic, but you're the only one I've ever showed that side to, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I've tried asking where you are, but all I get is that you're busy with school. Which is what I know you wanted to do.

I've been busy with school as well. I'm currently stationed at Naval Air Station Kingsville in Texas.

I drove home on some vacation and drove to your school. They said you were gone on an internship.

Your heart squeezed as you continued reading, each word heavier than the last.

I don’t know if you ever think about me anymore, but I think about you every day. I think about the days we spent together, and the way we talked about the future like it was something that belonged to us. And I think about how, when I left, I told myself I’d come back and everything would still be the same. But nothing’s the same anymore, and I don’t know what happened.

I can’t change the past, but I can’t stop thinking about the future, either. If you can’t forgive me, I understand. I just needed to get this off my chest.

I miss you. I miss us.

-Jake

You blinked back the moisture in your eyes, trying to steady your breath. The ache in your chest was overwhelming. You’d spent so many years convincing yourself that the past was behind you, that you were moving forward. But now, with every word in this letter, it felt like everything you’d worked so hard to bury was clawing its way back to the surface.

As you read the letter, the memory of the kiss in the stables came rushing back—how his lips had felt against yours, the way he held you close while dancing, as though time itself had momentarily stopped.

A knot tightened in your chest as the realization hit. Why were you running from him? This man, despite everything—the loss of your child, the years of silence—still loved you. He had never stopped, even after all the pain, even after six years of distance.

The weight of it all made your mind spin. Could you truly continue to hide from this, from him, when he was still so clearly holding onto you?

The letters in your hands trembled as you placed them down, the weight of their words sinking deeper. You couldn’t escape the feelings they stirred, feelings you thought you’d buried, tucked away under layers of time and distance. Jake’s voice—his words, his longing—were so tangible, so real in the letters. They wrapped around your heart like a thread you couldn’t untangle.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to clear the storm of emotions swirling within you. Every question, every "what if," seemed to batter at you, impossible to answer. It was so much easier, so much safer, to pretend that you had moved on. To convince yourself that you had built a life, a future, that didn’t revolve around the man whose heart you had broken—and yet, every step away from him had always felt incomplete.

And now, standing here in the quiet of your room, surrounded by these letters, you realized how much you had longed for closure. Not just for the past, but for the possibility of what could have been. What could still be.

"Why am I running?" you whispered, the question falling into the stillness of the room.

It was a question you didn’t have an answer to. You knew the past wasn’t easy, that there was hurt there that couldn’t be undone. But Jake’s return, his presence, his vulnerability—it brought the possibility of something new, something different, despite everything that had happened.

The stables, the dance, the words he had spoken—they hadn’t just been memories; they had been a reminder of the deep connection between you. The connection you’d once shared and, despite everything, still seemed to have.

You carefully placed the letters back on your desk, the weight of Jake's words lingering in the air. You glanced at the pile of envelopes and boxes, your mind racing. Where the fuck did these letters come from?

You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as the weight of everything swirled around in your mind. You’d figure it all out tomorrow. For tonight, you needed to let the silence of your room settle over you, to let everything sit before you confronted it.

You turned away from the desk, walked to your dresser, and began getting ready for bed, your movements slow, your mind still a million miles away. The soft rustle of your clothes and the quiet of the house seemed like a temporary escape—just for tonight.

"Morning, baby. You ready for another day at the rodeo?" your mom asked, her voice warm and steady as she moved around the kitchen.

You walked over to the cabinet, grabbed your favorite coffee cup, and then made your way to the coffee pot. You poured the dark, steaming liquid into your mug, the warmth comforting as you took a moment to gather your thoughts.

"Yeah, I think so," you replied, your voice still a little distant as you stared into your cup. The events of the night before still weighed on your mind, but you couldn’t avoid facing it much longer.

Your mom smiled, seemingly noticing the change in your mood as she moved to the stove to finish preparing breakfast. She didn't press you for details, but the concerned look she shot your way was enough to let you know she was paying attention.

"Rumor is you looked great as the Flag Girl," she said gently, a proud smile in her voice. "But, you know...I just said, 'That's my girl.'"

You couldn't help but smile softly, the warmth of her words soothing the tension that had been building inside you. "Thanks, Mom," you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. It was just what you needed to start the day, even if your mind was still tangled in everything that had happened.

"Momma? Remember how I asked about letters from Jake?" you asked, your voice hesitant, unsure of what you were about to uncover.

"Mmhm," she replied, her voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place. She turned to face you, a knowing look in her eyes.

"They were on my desk in my bedroom when I got home last night," you stated, your voice a little more strained now as the weight of the situation settled in.

Your mom set the spatula down with a soft clink, her expression unreadable for a moment. She looked at you, her gaze soft but piercing, as if she were weighing her next words carefully.

"Oh, Y/N. I don't know what to say," she said, her voice tinged with concern as she glanced at you.

Puzzled, you looked at her, trying to make sense of it all. "You don't know where they came from?"

"Why, no," she replied, her eyes avoiding yours for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again. Then it hit her. "Y/N. I would never..."

She trailed off, her face softening with the realization, as if she understood the implications of what was being said. Her voice became quieter, more sincere. "I would never have kept them from you. If I knew, I would have told you. You know that, right?"

You stared at her, trying to process the layers of confusion that were rapidly piling up. The thought that your mom might have had a hand in keeping something from you felt like it didn’t fit. She had always been open with you—supportive, understanding. This was different, and the fact that she seemed just as confused and concerned as you only deepened the mystery.

You drew in a deep breath, the weight of your mother’s words sinking in. “Yeah. I know.”

You took another deep breath, the fog of uncertainty clouding your thoughts. "Then where did they come from?"

Just then, Cole came in from outside, his boots heavy on the floor as he noticed the tension in the room. He paused, his gaze flicking between you and your mom, a quiet concern in his eyes. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Everything's fine," you said quickly, forcing a smile as you tried to ease the atmosphere. But the weight of the conversation lingered, and you could feel the questions still swirling in the air.

"Did you want some breakfast?" your mom asked, her voice warm as she tried to shift the focus.

You glanced at your watch, realizing you were running short on time. "Actually, I'll grab something at the rodeo. I have to go. Some meeting," you explained, offering a quick smile as you grabbed your keys from the counter.

"Alright, sweetheart. Take care," your mom said, watching you with a mixture of concern and understanding.

Cole gave a nod but didn't push any further, sensing you needed space. You grabbed your coffee to-go and headed out, still feeling the weight of everything hanging over you as the day started.

The day at the rodeo was a whirlwind—loud, dusty, and full of energy. Time seemed to slip through your fingers with every handshake, every laugh, every thundering gallop. You’d ended up placing third in the barrel racing, which, all things considered—six years out of competition and only three days on a horse like Skunk—was nothing to scoff at. You were proud, even if you didn’t say it out loud.

After more meet and greets and a few congratulatory hugs from familiar faces, the golden light of evening began to spill across the rodeo grounds. The crowd had thinned, and a new band had taken the stage at the bandstand, their twangy chords floating into the warm dusk air.

You found an empty picnic table near the edge of the crowd and sat down, letting the music wash over you. It was peaceful now—soft strumming, the smell of kettle corn in the distance, the hush of voices carried on the breeze. You exhaled, finally still.

Then you heard the sound of approaching footsteps—measured, purposeful.

You looked up and there he was.

Jake.

“This song goes out to Y/N Travers,” the lead singer said, his voice carrying easily over the mic. A few people turned their heads, curious, but the crowd stayed mellow, swaying to the slow change in rhythm.

Your brows lifted in surprise just as the opening notes of In Case You Didn’t Know by Brett Young drifted through the evening air. You looked toward the bandstand, heart skipping once, then twice.

Then Jake stepped closer, hand outstretched, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I have this dance?”

You looked at him—really looked at him. The softened expression, the way he held his hand like it wasn’t just about the dance, but everything that came with it. The years. The silence. The weight of all the things neither of you had said.

Slowly, you slid your hand into his. “Yeah,” you said quietly, “you can.”

He led you out into the open space near the stage, not quite a dance floor, but enough. You slipped into his arms like it hadn’t been years, like the rhythm had never broken.

Jake’s hand settled at your waist, firm and familiar, and yours rested against his chest where you could feel his heart thudding steadily beneath your palm.

You started listening to the lyrics of the song:

Baby, I know you've been wonderin' So here goes nothin' In case you didn't know Baby, I'm crazy 'bout ya

Jake's thumb brushed gently along your waist, a subtle reassurance in the middle of the song’s confession, like he needed you to hear the lyrics not from the band—but from him.

I would be lyin' if I said That I could live this life without you…

Each word hit like a wave—soft but strong, reshaping everything you thought you had packed away in a neat box labeled past.

You had my heart a long, long time ago In case you didn't know...

Jake leaned in just a little, close enough that his breath tickled your temple as he whispered, “I told them to play it… I didn’t know if I’d get the chance.”

You blinked, looking up at him. “Jake…”

“I never stopped, Y/N. Not once. I just didn’t know if I’d ever get to tell you again.”

The tears threatened again, but you held them back, resting your cheek against his shoulder, his arms tightening slightly as if anchoring the two of you in place.

The crowd melted away. The smell of dust and barbecue and worn leather boots faded. All you felt was him. The way your bodies still knew how to move together. The way the world quieted when he held you like this.

And as the chorus came back around— “In case you didn’t know… Baby, I’m crazy 'bout you…”—

You whispered the words against his chest, more to yourself than to him, but loud enough for his heart to catch it.

“I know, Jake. I think I always did,” you said, your voice barely louder than the music as the final chords began to fade.

You looked up at him, eyes catching the last traces of fading sunlight in his. He stilled, the weight of your words settling between you like dust in a quiet room.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “Your letters… they ended up on my desk last night.”

Jake froze, his hand still gently holding yours, the other resting against the small of your back. His expression shifted—hope, regret, maybe even fear—all chasing each other across his face.

“You read them?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded slowly. “I read a couple of them. Six years is a lot of letters, but I think they pretty much summed up how you felt.”

Jake let out a quiet breath, almost like he’d been holding it in for years. His gaze searched your face, uncertain. “And… how did they make you feel?”

You looked down at your joined hands for a moment, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Like time stopped every time I opened one. Like I never really let you go… even when I told myself I had.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just pulled you a little closer, the space between you almost nonexistent now.

“You should've told me,” he said finally, the words thick with regret.

You met his eyes again, steady and honest. “Maybe. But I wasn’t ready then. And maybe you weren’t either.”

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, bittersweet. “And now?”

You exhaled slowly, heart beating a little faster. “Now… I’m still figuring it out. But I didn’t walk away from that dance, did I?”

Jake’s smile deepened, something softer settling behind his eyes. “No. You didn’t.”

“And you’re not upset about losing the baby?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes shining with sadness.

Jake’s expression shifted—pain flickering behind his eyes, jaw tightening for a brief second. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, “I’m more upset that you didn’t tell me.”

You looked away, blinking rapidly. “Jake, you had your whole life ahead of you. The Academy… the Navy… I didn’t want to be the thing that held you back.”

Jake reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Y/N. You were never the thing that held me back. Not once. You were the reason I kept going.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. The ache in your chest had nothing to do with the years you lost, and everything to do with how he was still here. Still looking at you like nothing had changed—even though everything had.

“I have faith that we would’ve figured it out,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.

You looked at him—really looked—and for a second, it was like no time had passed at all. Just the two of you, hearts a little bruised, lives a little tangled, but still standing here in the same quiet orbit.

“I used to imagine it, you know,” you said softly. “What it would’ve been like. You, me, the baby. Some version of normal.”

Jake nodded, his thumb grazing the back of your hand. “I imagined it too. More than you probably think.”

You swallowed hard. “But it didn’t happen.”

“No,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean everything else has to stop too.”

Your eyes met his, full of years and heartache, but also something fragile and blooming—hope.

“You really think we could start over?” you asked.

Jake gave the faintest, wistful smile. “I don’t think we ever stopped.”

Another song started to play—upbeat, with a familiar rhythm—and the dance floor filled quickly with couples, laughter, and the shuffle of boots on packed earth.

Jake leaned in a little closer, his voice warm against the shell of your ear. “You wanna get out of here?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. That sparkle in his eye—mischief wrapped in affection—hadn’t changed one bit.

You smiled, soft and sure. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he laced his fingers through yours, the way he used to, like it was second nature. He gave your hand a gentle tug and led you off the edge of the crowd, away from the noise and the lights and the hum of voices.

The cool evening air wrapped around you as you walked, but your hand stayed warm in his, steady. Safe.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to look back.

Tags: @tylers-twister-gal @smoothdogsgirl @tgmreader @crashingwavesofeuphoria @lunatygerqueen @illisea @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @untitled-document-95 @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @justwaveandsmile @kmc1989 @fantasyfootballchampion @khouse712 @literal-tv-menace @malindacath @jackiehollanderr

[beanghostprincess]

Hello! Wat are your thoughts in the latest OP manga release especially the page spread?

!!!!!!! Chapter 1121, right? <3 Overall, I really like how the story's going and I can't wait for the next chapter. Lots of my favorite characters showed up (even if it was just for one panel) and it gave me CHILLS. Literal chills. I'm so invested I wish I could eat this manga, actually. Those are my thoughts. If you're asking me to say something more coherent after seeing Sabo and Buggy finally you won't get anything because I'm just shaking waiting for MORE. (But something about Buggy crying and Shanks drinking makes me want to throw up because their parallels with Rayleigh and Roger never end)

[remyfire]

I'm not trying to brag, but goddamn, I get the character voices so right sometimes

[edelgards]

Share a line you have read or written that impacted you

thanks for the tag, @cynical-gamer-media!

Line I've read:

"'If you are intolerable, let me be the one to tolerate you,' I said, and then I kissed her and tasted the lemon juice on her lips." — Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

idk, this gagged me when i read it for personal reasons i won't disclose. my tragic and toxic yuri </3

Line I've written:

She cups Edelgard's cheeks in her hands, her voice easing into a soft whisper as she says, "I have never experienced anything quite like you."

— iykyk

nobody look at me fr but that line singlehandedly fueled my insanity for a time and made me do something i never thought i will (write a fic)

not tagging anyone sorry social anxiety is such a bitch rn but if anyone wants to join in, consider yourself🫵 tagged by me!

[amethystina]

Anonymous raccoon here once again escaping from my garbage can. I’m really glad to hear that your former stepdad is out of the hospital and I’m sorry to hear that your aunt is in the hospital :( Wishing her a speedy recovery. You’ve definitely been getting put through the wringer both through life issues and health issues and I’m wishing that you have a moment to yourself to breathe. Taking things slowly is soooo important and I’m glad you’ve been reading at least! One of the best ways to wind down I feel like lol.

And man, in terms of the therapist I feel you. I’ve struggled with therapists due to already having done so much gah damn reading previously and learning so many strategies etc. But you’re right - you’re the patient and it’s his job to figure things out! Even if you’re possibly a trickier patient. So I hope that you find a therapist (or that this one) crunches some thoughts in his brain and finds maybe a completely different way to approach things. I’m of the opinion that there is no defined way to do therapy and sometimes it’s necessary to go a lil off the rails and off the books. Wishing you luck and sending good vibes your way in hope things are only uphill (positively) from now.

Thank you so much 💜 My aunt is being very tight-lipped about her condition, unfortunately, so at the moment it's a case of "no news is good news." I'm assuming she's doing better because I haven't heard that she's died, basically.

Taking things slow is very important, yes, and I wish I could do it more than I am right now, but the truth is that things have been unravelling for the past year and it's all coming to a head. I haven't really discussed this openly before (because I get very defensive about certain aspects of my private life) but, to make a very long story short, my wife got sick last summer which left me to take care of practically everything within the household for about six months. And I do mean everything.

Which is another reason why I've been so tired. We have a very big house and I was already burnt out and exhausted, but suddenly had to singlehandedly make sure we didn't starve or the house fell apart. And this is on top of deaths and illnesses and worrying about my wife and various stresses at work, yes. It was rough. And honestly pushed me closer to a complete breakdown than I have ever been in my entire life — which, considering the life I've had, is saying something.

So, all things considered, I'm kind of surprised I'm even functional at this point?

My wife is doing a lot better now, thankfully, but I still have to do the majority of the household chores that involve physical exertion. And, after much agonising and deliberation, I had to put on my big girl pants and talk to my wife about selling the house because I simply can't take care of it on my own. It's too much work for one person, especially considering how easily exhausted I am. And even if we love this house, we both agreed that it's the best course of action. And, while we're at it, we're going to be moving into separate apartments because it's become more and more apparent that I need more space and alone time. I want to live on my own again.

We're going to stay married, though! And probably spend a lot of time together. We're just not going to live together.

And, unsurprisingly, all of this is taking up a lot of energy and space inside my head right now. There's a lot to do in terms of the house and getting it sold, then finding apartments for us both, and getting ready to move. I'm optimistic and think this will be an improvement to my energy levels in the long run, but there's still a lot left to do before I can reap any of the benefits.

So I won't be able to take things slow for the foreseeable future, unfortunately 😅

Anyhow. My therapist has already told me that he doesn't think he can contribute all that much to how I'm dealing with my stresses and issues because I already have so many strategies in place. It took three appointments. Which is almost a new record! But only almost.

I don't hold that against him, though (and he did tell me to reach out again if things got too overwhelming) but yeah. I'm an incredibly difficult client and I think I unsettle a lot of therapists because I understand myself so well already and they're not used to that. They get confused when they don't have to hold my hand all the time and I can reach my own conclusions, often in between appointments. And I look fine, you know? And can express myself so eloquently and thoroughly, so surely my problems aren't bothering me that much? Surely I've got this covered?

Or at least that's what they tell me.

My therapist did thank me for being so interesting to talk to, though? He said it was fun and fascinating to talk to someone so perceptive, introspective, and wise. So that's a compliment, I guess? He's by no means a bad therapist, I want to point out, but it's clear that he's used to working with people who need more simple and direct guidance. So definitely not the best fit for me. But, if nothing else, I got an opportunity to voice all the thoughts currently whirling around inside my brain and could get validation from an outside source. Which is something?

But yeah. No more therapist appointments for me, apparently, and a lot of my attention is going to have to go to selling the house and moving. Though I suspect the moving won't happen for another six months or so, at the earliest. But we'll see.

Thank you so much for checking in again 💜 It feels a bit like I just keep piling on more and more tragedies and crises every time someone asks me how I'm doing, but that's just my life right now I guess? And, as mentioned, it sometimes takes a while before I'm actually comfortable or willing to mention some of them out loud. I'm, uh, a little too adept at shouldering burdens in silence. So this has actually been going on in the background for months already, I just haven't wanted to talk about it until now.

But yeah. In case you wanted another reason as to why I haven't been able to write as much lately, there you have it. Life's just been really difficult this past year.

But here's to hoping that things will get better once the house is sold and I can move into my own apartment? And hopefully get more peace and quiet? And just focus on taking care of myself for once?

I want to stay positive.

Thank you again and please take care 💜

[areislol]

being transported into their world

►— pairings. honkai star rail men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. nothing really, not proof read 🙅🏻‍♀️, caelus is the trailblazer, romantic but you can see it was platonic if you want to! girls in the astral express are mentioned for a bit, i mentioned both dan heng and imbibitor lunae so don't mind that! mentions of self attempt/bodily harm for blade, boothill is ooc probably, spoilers of penacony quest, skipping herta space station (will be mentioned in other chapters though!), sahau (self aware honkai au)

►— synopsis. their beloved creator, the one who created many worlds, including theirs, had yet to return after thousands of years. but lately, they've been experiencing strange things, feeling like a heavenly, divine figure loomed over them. could it possibly be their one and only creator?

►— a/n. i've been thinking about a self-aware au but a honkai star rail version for a couple of weeks now after my reverse isekai'd genshin sagau series. also this may be a bit biased towards dang feng (imbibitor lunae) because uh i like him, maybe you can tell?

►— wordcount. 4.5k

part 2

for days they've felt uncomfortable, well, slightly. it only began to happen a couple of months ago when they felt as if something, no... someone was controlling their every movement and choice.

during their adventures, they felt an unsettling sensation creep upon them like a shadow in the night—a feeling of being watched, of a presence looming over their every move.

the presence was overwhelming, their body would stiffen, and they felt as if something like a heavy, invisible blanket was casted upon them.

at first, the passengers in the astral express dismissed it as mere paranoia, attributing it to the heightened tension of their journey or maybe the warping effects in the train. but as days passed and the sensation persisted, they couldn't shake off the unnerving feeling that they were not alone, that someone or something was observing their every action.

at times, they would catch fleeting whispers carried by the wind, faint voices that echoed in the corners of their minds. yet, despite their efforts, they could never make out the words, the words slipping through their grasp like elusive dreams.

as the feeling grew more pronounced, thoughts began to gnaw at their consciousness. who or what could possibly be speaking to them? why is it that every now and then they would feel a sudden boost and surge of power?

they knew deep down that the only being in the universe could make them feel that was,it could be no other than their creator.

the mere thought that their creator was dropping hints of their arrival was exciting. and only when the astral express crew noticed how each and every one of them felt the same exact things—looking around the moment they heard a voice, their body in sync as they tensed up... it was all too coincidental not to notice.

as they talked with one another and pieced the puzzle pieces together, using the information they found along the way travelling to each region, it all became clear.

it was a pivotal moment in their journey, the truth was revealed. in a flash of realization, they discovered that the presence they felt, the elusive voice they heard, was none other than their creator—the architect of their existence, the mastermind behind their trials and tribulations.

dan heng, himeko, welt, march and caelus had a hunch that it was their beloved creator, it couldn't be anyone else. everything added up, everything made sense. they acted like mad scientists, scurrying to their rooms and digging around every nook and cranny of their room, finding any evidence and papers that mentioned you, the creator.

as they all met up back on the train they carefully placed each and every newspaper and article about you. they had to make sure that it was really you. some of the articles that dan heng bought were from way back, thousands of years ago, he refused to tell anyone where he had gotten them from.

"in the vast expanse of the universe, where time flowed like a meandering river and galaxies danced in an eternal cosmic ballet, there existed a being unlike any other—a being known simply as a creator. born out of the primordial chaos, the creator was a solitary entity who traversed the endless void, seeking purpose in a universe devoid of meaning.

for millennia, the creator roamed the expanse, witnessing the birth and death of stars, the rise and fall of civilizations, and the ebb and flow of cosmic energies. yet, amidst the vastness of space and time, the creator found itself consumed by an overwhelming sense of ennui, a profound boredom that gnawed at their very essence.

then, the creator embarked on a journey of creation—a quest to fill the void with worlds of its own design, to sculpt realities from the raw clay of the cosmos. with a mere thought, the creator breathed life into barren planets, adorned them with oceans and mountains, and populated them with a myriad of creatures both strange and wondrous.

as creator delved deeper into their newfound passion, they discovered a love for the act of creation—a love that transcended time and space, a passion that ignited a fire within its soul. with each world it fashioned, each story it crafted, the creator found solace in the act of shaping reality, in the sheer joy of bringing something new into existence.

for six thousand years, the creator laboured tirelessly, weaving tapestries of worlds and galaxies, each one a testament to its boundless imagination and creative prowess. from the smallest blade of grass to the mightiest empires, the creator poured their heart and soul into every facet of creation, infusing each world with a unique charm and character all its own.

yet, amidst the infinite expanse of its creations, the creator remained a solitary figure—a godlike being adrift in a sea of its own making, forever yearning for companionship in a universe devoid of peers. and so, the creator continued their eternal quest, weaving worlds out of boredom and growing a love and passion for creation that would endure for eternity. and we, this universe, was crafted by none other than the creator, the place we call home. it is said that only after six thousand will the creator return to us, to watch over us once more."

the article itself looked worn, it wasn't signed by anyone, and no one knew who wrote it, or how they got the information. but it seemed plausible. millenniums... it has been well over six thousand years, it was about time the creator descended.

they had to be prepared, they had to tell the rest of their friends and families, the world. as much as they would like to keep the information to themselves they knew that you deserved a much better, bigger and more beautiful welcome.

sampo, gepard and luka were more than stunned and nervous, to say the least. their creator... was finally returning back? upon hearing the news from caelus they were sceptical at first, deep down they really wanted to see you in your glory, to finally meet the creator, but at the same time, it was nerve-wracking.

what should they say? what should they do in preparation and celebration? what gifts and offers should they give to you? nothing would do. they were positive that anything they bought, even if it got them in debt, would suffice. you deserved more than a measly couple of dishes and the most delicate and fitting garnets.

it was embarrassing really, their hearts racing as they tried their best to think of what to bring to your feet. but one thing they all had in common was their loyalty to you. if it was their life you wanted then so be it.

sampo is sampo, he was sure that his creator's glory and attractiveness were over the top, he would be sure to compliment you as many times as his mouth could allow, but he was sure that your beauty would be intimidating. no matter your looks your presence was more than enough.

gepard is nervous. his mind is full of "what ifs" and "what should i.." not even his sister can calm him down. every morning and night when he closes his eyes he's anticipating the day his sister barges into his room, yelling that the creator had finally descended. although he isn't quite sure of what to offer you he knows that whenever you need him, whatever you call him for he will be there in less than a minute, by your side or feet if you prefer.

whatever you ask of him, whatever favour you need from, he will never say no.

luka on the other hand is absolutely pumped to meet you! he had heard stories of you when he was a child, and from the stories told by the adults they described you as a kind being, who soon fell in love with the art, beauty and joy of creating. well, their most favourite was creating worlds.

he was absolutely sure that you would be the most kindest, heavenly person he had ever met, what was there to worry about now? luka knew that if he ever laid eyes on you he would fall in love no doubt, he would do anything for you. maybe you would agree to watch his wrestling matches?

jing yuan, blade, imbibitor lunae, and luocha are the most excited of all, sure, everyone is elated to finally meet you with their very own eyes. but them? oh lord... they all believe to be your worshipper, having heard tales of you from their parents, this alone caused them to be awe and love-struck with you.

they were a firm believer in you, you did no wrong in their eyes. all your actions and words were justified. they followed your principles, they made sure to announce their presence every time they came to your altar and placed down the most expensive jewels, dishes and gifts. (they had a shrine of you at home don't worry)

jing yuan was the one of the firsts to get hints that you were finally returning, the divine foresight fu xuan always looked so weary and cautious, but as time grew she began to be more... happy and elated, yet everytime he questioned her she was tense up and smile like it was nothing. and only when he pried did she say that she saw things, saw a blurred face, and heard a voice. "don't be alarmed... i'm here to tell you that.."

he made sure that everyone who worked under him and every prominent person knew of this, he began to make preparations of your arrival, he cancelled all meetings and plans, only focusing on you and your arrival. everything had to be perfect. he had even forgotten about the wanted criminal blade. jing yuan booked the most fanciest restaurant for a month max, he wasn't sure when you were coming, of course, so a month it was.

jing yuan prepared every entertainment and paid the orchestra, he wanted everything to be perfect, even the most minuscule details.

blade's loyalty was and is only for you and only you. he may be cold and stone-hearted (we all know it's false) but if it's you... whatever you ask for he will do it no doubt. he refuses to take orders from a stranger even if it is his friend, but if it's you? say no more. blade knew you were a kind soul, you needed protection from the other so-called "enemies" (he proclaimed it!).

he swore that you saved his life, years ago when everything was tumbling down, when his feelings got the better of him, he tried doing the unthinkable, as he blacked out he suddenly "saw" something.. a beacon of light, it was magical and airy, he tried his best to grasp onto the light but obviously could not.

it floated further and further away, and he followed it, his eyes glued only on the beacon of light. as it stopped moving, so did he, he continued staring at the light as it shrank into a ball, it didn't speak, it didn't look anywhere, it stayed there. suddenly he woke up, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath. what was that?

sweat clung to his forehead when jingliu found him, concerned she rushed over to him, he refused to say a single word. he was left perplexed. what was the ball of light? why did he feel so at ease? why did it only appear after he...

he would make it his mission to meet you before the rest do other than the astral express crew and become your bodyguard, even if you deny his offer he will stick with you no matter what. of course, he would respect your boundaries but he knew that you didn't have the heart to deny anyone, especially your creation.

imbibitor lunae absolutely adores you, even if he was reincarnated the memories still pass on. and the tales being told by the grown-ups were famous around his area and still is. from the earliest days of his existence, tales of the creator had woven themselves into the fabric of his consciousness, painting a portrait of a being of boundless kindness and infinite compassion.

as a child, imbibitor lunae had listened with rapt attention to stories passed down through generations, tales of the creator's benevolence and the miracles they wrought upon the world. and in the quiet moments of the night, he would gaze up at the starry expanse above, whispering prayers to the creator, his heart overflowing with admiration and reverence.

when news of the creator's imminent return after six thousand years reached his ears, his heart soared with unbridled joy. in no time he set about preparing for your arrival, pouring his heart and soul into crafting the perfect gifts to present to his divine benefactor.

drawing inspiration from the tales of old, he fashioned intricate trinkets and tokens of his affection, each one imbued with his unwavering devotion and love. amidst the swirling maelstrom of feelings, one thing remained constant: his unwavering love for the creator.

imbibitor swore that once he felt or sensed a sign that would be arriving he would immediately act, he would be the first to meet and lay his eyes on your divine figure. slap him as many times as you want if you found it rude, he would only thank you.

luocha, despite remaining calm and composed on the outside, internally, he was freaking OUT. luocha found himself grappling with a myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions. on one hand, he felt a profound sense of excitement at the prospect of meeting the creator, the architect of his existence and the source of all that he held dear.

yet, on the other hand, he couldn't shake off the nagging feeling of inadequacy, the fear of not being able to live up to your expectations.

his mind raced with a flurry of possibilities. what gifts would you appreciate? what could he offer to express his gratitude and reverence for the being who had breathed life into his world? with each passing moment, the weight of the impending meeting pressed down upon him like a heavy burden, filling him with a sense of anxiety.

despite his inner turmoil, luocha maintained a facade of calm and composure, determined not to let his anxieties show. with a steely resolve, he set about meticulously planning and preparing for your arrival, carefully considering every detail in his quest to find the perfect gift.

he even resorted to asking the children about what gifts he should bring, and yes, they did laugh at him but helped him nonetheless.

from ornate trinkets to rare treasures, luocha spared no effort in his search for the ideal offering, pouring his heart and soul into each carefully chosen item. yet, even as he laboured tirelessly to ensure that everything was perfect, doubts continued to gnaw at the edges of his mind, although one thing was for sure, if you didn't like any of his gifts he wouldn't be upset rather, maybe all you wanted was his whole body and life, and he would not hesitant once to give it up for you.

they all couldn't wait to meet you.

aventurine, sunday, gallagher and boothill are freaking out. horribly. mainly aventurine.. once the news had reached them from the astral express that it was possible (about 98%) that you were the comet arriving in a week... oh boy were they NERVOUS. everything HAD to be perfect. they had everything to thank you for, during their life and death situation they were lucky enough to survive—thanks to you.

it was only natural to return the favour, you created them, their personality, their arms, legs, their body, you sculpted their face, you made them. you made the very world they live in right now, the world they call home... they were sure you were by their side, making them make the right decisions and the right thing. aventurine? oh, the amount of MONEY he will spend buying everything he thinks you'd like, the fanciest, most elegant and most expensive shoes, clothing and accessories. he would rent out an entire week or months of work at a restaurant if you'd like to dine alone or with a couple of people. he knows his luck is a part of him, he can only pray that he'll meet you first with his luck.

sunday... just the sound of your name makes him tear up. he could've sworn that one time you spoke to him, your other-worldly echoing voice speaking to him directly about the loss of his dear sister. and here he stood in his room, looking out the window, and in the far distant a light shimmering as it swiftly dived down. a shooting star. he knows that with everyone getting the news they're all aiming to be the first to meet you, and trust me, he does want to meet you FIRST. the second you land he'll be there right with you and guiding you to safety—penacony.

but first, he must pinpoint where exactly you'll land. and with his power and influence he will most definitely try his best to find you and be sure to hide you from everyone else... he needs you, desperately.

gallagher and boothill have exactly the same thoughts. to present themselves good to you and spend every minute and second with you. but with everyone gossiping and spreading rumours about your arrival it's hard to be unique. everyone wants to be with you, everyone wants your favour. but they could never worship you as much as them. they had dreamed of this moment, it seemed unreal to meet their own creator but nonetheless, they clung to their hope and boy did it not go to waste.

boothill basically pauses any mission he needs to complete, that can wait. you are eternal. he's practically on edge with the fact that at any moment the comet would crash through and there you'd be, dozing peacefully.. like an angel. he won't hesitate to cause some trouble or initiate some violence if it means that they don't get to see you first.

gallagher on the other hand tries to stay hidden and in the shadows. of course, he'd like to meet you face to face but with the feeling of an overwhelming and looming divine presence, it's all too much. and if that's too much then what would he feel when you stand right before him? he's like an overprotective dog, fiercely loyal and clingy. even if you can't spot him he'll be right there, lurking and watching.

dr. ratio and argenti are absolutely and 100% loyal and would do EVERYTHING in their power to meet you, even a glance would do, anything to feed their curiosity and desperate need to know the creator. so when they get wind that you were supposedly descending down... they freeze on the spot, their breath hitches as their eyes widen. could it really be?

dr. ratio was always a curious boy, and he has you to thank for giving him consciousness and the opportunities to venture out and earn knowledge and eventually spreading his knowledge to his students (preaching i guess you can say). he's a bit biased when it comes to talking about you to his friends or students, and speaking your name in a more positive light, not that anyone minds, if anything they agree!

although he isn't much of a gifter or "i'll spend my money on you" he's more of a "anything you want just tell me". if you told him to drop his precious books to come and tend to your needs he would do it in a heartbeat.

to argenti you are the standard and epitome of "beauty". the beauty he has been searching for his entire life. he intends to shower you with compliments and roses freshly picked by hand unless you're allergic or not a fan of flowers, fear not! compliments should do! be ready to be bombarded with such positivity, compliments and gifts from the knight of beauty.

anything you wish for he will try his utmost best to get it done perfectly and quickly. "your hair looks so pretty like this..." say no more, he will always style it and keep it exactly like that! "my feet feel so sore from all the walking" ?!!? why is his dear walking anyway!?!? don't worry, he'll massage it for you! "ugh all this work is making me tired" move aside, let him do the honours!!

It was a long ride home from work, you were currently in an almost empty bus, glancing over the top of your phone you read the time. 11 P.M.

Was it that late already? You knew this office job would be the death of you. You never wanted to work at a place like this, the cubicle life bored you and it was just so... depressing. That was the only way to describe it.

You decide to pass the time by playing your all-time favourite game: Honkai: Star Rail. The soft glow of the screen illuminated your face as you began to grind relics and exp for an upcoming character. It definitely worked in keeping you busy and awake as time passed by slowly.

All was well, everything was fine. You had everything planned in your head. Get home as soon as possible, take a nice warm and rejuvenating shower, get five hours of sleep, go back to work and repeat.

The more you thought about your daily routine the more you realised how depressing it was, but what could you do? That job was the only one that was hiring and had average pay and things like that are rare, especially when you decided to live in the city which was your first mistake.

You were barely getting by in the city, the crime rate increased, there were more breaks in, pickpocketing and murder. But despite all of that you decided to rent an apartment where it was less populated, the rent in the heart of the city was way too high.

Pushing all those thoughts and information aside you let out a defeated sigh, leaning your head on the window as you continued to tap away on your phone.

If only life went just a little bit easier on you.

Everything was fine. The silence was comfortable and the low, soft rumble of the engine kept you awake, until a loud deafening crash jolted the bus, sending people flying and falling onto the ground.

Letting out a scream you grabbed onto whatever you could to keep you steady—the head of the chair in front of you. Although it didn't do a good job of keeping you still you couldn't care less, because as you lifted your head, your eyes caught something massive charging straight at you, and before you could react, a blinding light engulfed you, followed by an eerie silence.

When you regained consciousness, you found yourself tightly packed against something dark and rocky. Just great! Something had happened to the bus and knocked you out.

You looked around, it was pure blackness, like a void. Maybe this was what happened after death... Out of all things and especially the time too!

Feeling confused and scared you try to move your body to shift into a more comfortable position but due to the lack of space, you could barely even move an inch.

Suddenly, a crack was heard. And you froze.

Then another crack, and another, the darkness began to crack and splinter and not long after half of the egg-shaped looking ball broke in half as it fell to the side.

Shards of obsidian-like material fractured and scattered around. A large amount of dust, and shiny glitter-like specs flew everywhere, it was extremely dusty.

Unfortunately, you inhaled the smoke, coughing and sputtering, you waved their hand in front of your face, trying to dispel the particles as you squinted against the harsh light that slipped through the smoke.

As the dust settled and the steam dissipated, your surroundings gradually came into focus. You found yourself in front of... one, two, three, four, and... five.... wait.. what?

Right before you stood four male figures (with the other seemed to have a more feminine build), male figures that looked awfully familiar to you for some odd reason, just why was that?

You were confused and curious as you surveyed your surroundings, realizing that maybe this was death? You would've never guessed that "life" after death would look like this. It was very.... interesting.

The buildings that surrounded you were intricate and otherworldly. Dazzling celestial landscapes and luminescent structures piqued your interest as you slowly and carefully stepped out of what you assumed was a shell.

Its' architect and infrastructure reminded you of something, it seemed nostalgic—as if you've seen this exact building before. The more you observed and watched, your eyes tracing every precise curve and detail of the buildings your heart began to pick up its pace.

Your eyes searched every corner and inch, and finally, it landed back on the five figures you had spotted before and it wasn't until you caught sight of familiar faces that you were certain that you had to be hallucinating somehow after death.

There, standing in a circle, were figures that you could hardly believe were real: Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, and Bronya. It was unmistakably them.

Their presence, their unmistakable aura of reverence, left you no doubt.

They watched you, their gazes filled with awe and admiration as if you were the embodiment of some long-awaited prophecy (and in this case, it was).

You were in disbelief. Disbelief that you had somehow been transported into the very game they were playing moments ago, but now they were tangible, real.

It was a long silence, it was both comfortable and uncomfortable with their longing gaze. You remained still as you checked around your surroundings once again before settling your eyes back on the group of people.

At your gaze they felt a shiver down their spine, and the hair on their skin stood up.

"W—Who are you guys?!" You yelled, narrowing your eyes to see if it was truly the characters from the game you adored.

Dan Heng's breath hitched at the sound of your booming voice, your voice... it was just like how they described what you would sound like in the carved stones and ancient scrolls.

The more he stared at you the more he wanted to come to you, to kneel down at your feet and profess how long he has been waiting for this moment.

With his eyes trained on your figure, he steps closer, Gepard notices and swiftly stops him from moving any further with his arm. Dan Heng looks to his side, confusion strewn on his face.

Not a single word was spoken yet with a stern gaze and the shake of a head, Dan Heng understood. Now was not the right time.

Minutes passed by in complete and utter silence, it unnerved you. Why were they so quiet? So watchful?

Finally, after what felt like hours, the silence was broken just with a couple words.

"We have been awaiting your arrival, Your Gracefulness."

note: after 5 months WOW. i've been so busy with things i haven't had the time to really sit down and work. I'm so sorry everyone!

tags 🏷️: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @goldenglow149 @rhwm @urlocalheizousimp @saltylovetale-blog @toramune @oreo-ren @backintomykpopphaseagain @serenity-loves-red @flooofity @minteasketches @yurassia @chellazhef @fulldoves @kateybuggi @wanderingconstellations @mini-shower @160ccm @rosariashield @sickize @sarah22447 @dreamlessnight @gimmealmap @bebeluvs @caramelstarlight @sukiidreams @oceanist @achy-boo @alhaitie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @that-mom-friend @v-ish @merormerry @gojoulen03 @scarletttcrow @hadischara @kithewanderingme @keiqq @livelaughlovekuni @chirikoheina @wr1t3rfum1k0 @issacdaholi @yu-ulda @alysinbshsu @vanilla-sweets @your-local-reblogging-kazoo @be-gay-do-crime-ahaha @seipaws @clavichordcleffa @uhhhiwassup @youdontneedyoknowlol @the-lazy-perfectionist @issacdarknight @lucienbarkbark @bizzybkd @obliviousariies2007 @coffee-seed

(if the usernames aren’t highlighted that’s because I can’t tag you so I’ll dm you when I post a new chapter! if i forgot to tag you im so sorry!)

for those i've taged: if you do not want to tagged for hsr drop a comment or message me.

liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[notiddygothgf]

i.

★ pairings: dante (netflix dmc) x fem reader

★ summary: After a messy breakup with Dante and a year of silence, you've rebuilt your life from the ground up. Now, Dante's back, and one thing is clear — he's determined to make you his.

★ ❝ It's been exactly 365 since I've seen your face ❞

★ c.w.:dante being a little shit, suggestive content. not beta'd, reuploading bc it got taken down?

★ a/n:HIIIIIIIII!!!! okay so i put out a poll asking about how y'all would feel if i posted a dante fic, and omg. so many of you replied. so now here go ahead and take this shit!! damn!!! jk i want him so bad so yk i had to rush to get this done LMFAOOAOA. enjoy besties! if you're from around here, you know the drill. if not, please leave lots of comments, i love the spam and your praise gives me motivation to update quicker!!

★ w.c: 10k

pretty ; chapter index

YOU AND DANTE had a messy breakup. Contrary to how it may have seemed at the time of “The Argument” (as you had begun calling it), there was nothing sudden about it. It didn’t detonate like some sort of time bomb, but disintegrated rather slowly – like water trickling through the cracks in the cement, soft and patient, until one day everything just caved in.

It didn’t always feel that way.

When you had first met Dante, it was… effortless. (Some of which was the rose colored glasses’ doing, you were sure). He was cute as hell, first of all. He was funny, too. He had no problems laughing you right out of your panties on the first date, and… well, practically every night after that. He looked at you like you were everything to him – like a dream come true, like he couldn’t believe someone like you would actually have chosen him. You got along famously.

For a while, things stayed that way. Six months, in fact. Things were good. Simple. You’d wake up to his arms around you, his voice in your ear, calling you names that only sounded pretty falling from his lips – princess, babydoll, sweetheart. His stupid jokes – the ones that always used to make you crack a tired grin. He used to make time.

But, somewhere along the way, his job started taking more and more of him. Late nights began to bleed into early mornings. You’d wait up for him with leftovers gone cold and shows paused halfway through. At first, he apologized. Said he hated missing out on time with you. But then the apologies stopped, and so did the explanations. You’d go days without hearing from him. Sometimes weeks. You’d text—hey, you okay?, can you call when you're free?—and the replies would trickle in too late or not at all.

You tried to be understanding. People get busy, right? Life gets in the way. You told yourself that a strong relationship should be able to weather a few quiet days. But it was more than just quiet. It was absence. It was like he was slipping through your fingers and pretending he wasn’t.

And when you did talk, it was always surface-level. You’d try to tell him how it made you feel—how the silence scared you, how you felt like you were in this alone—and he’d get defensive. He’d say, “I’m doing my best,” or “You know how much pressure I’m under right now.” And you’d bite your tongue. You didn’t want to add to the weight on his shoulders. But the resentment kept building. You weren’t asking for the world. Just a check-in. A sign that he still remembered how to love you when things got hard.

The miscommunications started small. A forgotten anniversary dinner. A vague answer when you asked if he’d be home. But they stacked up like dominoes, one after the other, until the smallest push sent everything toppling. You both stopped speaking the same language. You’d say, “I miss you,” and he’d hear, “You’re not good enough.” He’d say, “I’m tired,” and you’d hear, “You don’t matter.”

Then came the argument. The big one. The one that split the foundation.

You were setting the table when he buzzed the apartment door.

It was 10:18 PM.

You stared at the intercom for a second before pressing the button to let him in. No words. No "I'm here" or "Sorry I'm late." Just the click of the door unlocking and silence.

You opened the door before he could knock. Dante stepped in looking like hell—literal hell. Blood on his sleeve, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, hair damp like he’d tried to rinse off whatever mess he’d walked through before coming to you. He smelled like copper and smoke and exhaustion.

Still, your heart lifted for a beat just seeing him. Stupid, soft reflex.

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

You stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just dropped his duffel by the door like he was clocking out of something. The sight of him like this—tired, distant, barely standing—it tugged at something in your chest.

“I made dinner,” you said, a little too hopeful. “It’s probably cold by now, but—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut in, already moving toward the couch.

You stood in the kitchen for a second, hands still resting on the back of one of the chairs. Watching him. He sat with a grunt, elbows on knees, head in his hands like gravity was pressing harder than usual. You knew that posture. It meant don’t ask questions. Don’t start anything. Just let him sit in the silence.

But tonight… you couldn’t.

It had been a week. A week without him. A week of one-word texts, unanswered calls, and too many nights alone, replaying old conversations in your head trying to figure out when exactly he started slipping through your fingers.

“I waited,” you said softly. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

You waited. Hoped for more. An apology. An explanation. Something that showed he realized this mattered.

Nothing.

You took a slow breath. “Dante… you can’t keep doing this.”

That made him lift his head, eyes hazy with irritation. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Ghosting me for a week. Showing up in the middle of the night like it’s nothing. Acting like I’m just supposed to—what? Pretend we’re fine?”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I know you’ve been working. Risking your life. I get it. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care when you disappear. I can’t keep sitting alone in this apartment wondering if you’re alive.”

He blinked, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t want them to.

“You think I enjoy this?” he muttered. “You think I like being stuck in some sewer for three days bleeding out while some freak tries to tear me apart?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping forward. “But I know what it’s like in here. Waiting. Checking my phone every five minutes. Making excuses for you. Pretending this doesn’t hurt because I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, you’ll just disappear again.”

He stood then, sudden and sharp. “You think I want to be like this?”

“I think you don’t know how to let people in,” you said, quieter now. “And I think I’ve been trying so damn hard to hold onto something that doesn’t want to be held.”

He stared at you, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said finally.

“I didn’t cook for someone who wasn’t going to show up,” you said.

The room went still.

He looked away first. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and he looked at you again—really looked this time. And for a second, something in him softened. Like he saw the version of you that wasn’t angry or nagging or dramatic. Just hurting.

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

Just ran a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe this isn’t working.”

Not working?

Not working?

“You can’t be serious,” You huffed out a bitter laugh. Dante reached for you. You swatted him away. “You… We’ve been together for six months. What the fuck do you mean “Maybe this isn’t working”?”

He stood before you with his arms crossed, white hair still disheveled from his day, eyes narrowed, jaw ticked. “I mean that this…” He answered, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Isn’t working out. I don’t think– I can’t…” He swallowed, “I can’t be the man you need me to be. Not right now.”

“You’re gonna give up on us? Just like that?” You continued, still, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Then, you stepped forward, raising a hand to reach out for him, “I love you, Dante. You’re not gonna fight for us?”

“This isn’t love,” He spoke, tone final, but the slightest trembling breath beneath his words betrayed his true feelings. His fingers slipped into his hair, trembling as they carded through his white locks and tugged at his roots. “Look at you– you don’t even see the problem. You shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not your boyfriend is gonna come back alive. You shouldn’t have to put your whole life on hold for me. You still have the whole world to see. I don’t want to have to live a double life anymore.”

“Then let me in!” You hissed back. Your arms were crossed, too. “Do you think I like feeling as if I don’t know the man I love? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders, Dante, if you just–”

“Enough,” Dante sucked his teeth. “I don’t want you wasting your life away worrying over me,” After a lengthy pause, he continued, “All we ever do is fight and fight and fight– I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore, not with you. You’d be much happier without me.”

He was probably right.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shouted, your voice cracking with fury, but even then, it wasn’t enough to hide the way your heart was shattering inside your chest. When your eyes finally met his, you knew he felt the heat of it—anger and hurt and betrayal, all coiled together like fire licking at his skin.

“You’re not going to decide what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped, cold and absolute.

You took a step forward, trembling, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “You don’t know what’s good for my well-being,” you bit back, chest heaving. “You don’t even know what’s good for your well-being.”

That hit him. You saw it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, how his teeth caught the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on the guilt. Then he said the words that broke you:

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

Something in your gaze must’ve shifted then—something that startled even him. Because the anger didn’t burn quite as bright anymore. The fire was still there, but it flickered lower, smothered by something glassy, something wet clinging to your lashes. It was hurt. Real hurt. Deep, bone-deep heartbreak that swelled until your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Baby…” he sighed, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t sharp. His shoulders dropped like the weight of his decision had finally started to crush him. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I just… I can’t live with myself knowing that one day I might not come back to you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

Even if you wanted to. Even if your love for him still pulsed through every inch of your body, even if it begged for a reason to stay—how could you keep loving someone who was walking away from you like this?

Your lips parted, dry and trembling. You licked them slowly, like maybe the right words would come if you just gave them time. But all you could manage, hoarse and raw, was: “Take your shit…” You swallowed hard. God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could’ve done. “And go.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to mean it. Like he thought you’d plead. Cry. Kiss him one more time just to remember what it felt like. Like you’d make it easier for him to leave you.

But you didn’t.

“I said…” You looked up at him, every inch of you on fire, your arms folded so tight across your chest they ached. You could feel yourself shaking—fists clenched, breath shallow. “Take your shit… and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

You saw the pain in his eyes then. The flicker of disbelief. The way his entire world seemed to crumble at your feet. Two years. Two whole years. Twenty-four months of laughter, late nights, shared secrets, and silent apologies. A thousand soft I love yous whispered between sheets. A thousand more unspoken.

Was he second-guessing it now? Did he finally realize what he was throwing away?

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

When you reached the bar, it was still early. There were a few people here, but not too many. The low murmur of voices and clinking glasses provided the background noise that you desperately craved.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, the burn in your throat just sharp enough to make you feel something—anything, really. It felt like you were drinking to forget, and the first sip seemed to help, dulling the edges of the ache, if only for a moment.

Your friends noticed you as soon as they walked in. They must have heard the difference in your voice when you answered their text. They could tell something was off, but they didn’t press. Not immediately.

The first drink turned into another. And another. You weren’t trying to get drunk; you were just trying to escape. To lose yourself in the clinking of ice cubes, in the low hum of the bar, in something that wasn’t him. But as the minutes passed, the alcohol didn’t do much to stop your thoughts from spiraling back to him.

You thought about the night before. The argument. His face, so conflicted, yet resolute. The way he walked away without even a second glance, as if he knew the decision he was making was the right one. How could he be so sure? How could he leave you like that?

“Another?” one of your friends asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

You didn’t even think about it before nodding. “Yeah,” you said, a forced smile on your lips. "Just one more."

You didn’t want to talk about Dante. Not yet. You didn’t want to explain to anyone why you felt like the world had been yanked out from under you. But it didn’t matter. Your friends could see it in your eyes. They didn’t need you to say a word.

No, a year ago, your life changed.

So, you can imagine how it felt to walk home from a day spent at the grocery store, bags tucked beneath your arms, and see him standing there.

Dante.

It had been a year since you’d last seen him, and you were doing just fine. Really. A little grocery shopping to get your mind off the usual stuff, a bag of chips here, some pasta there. You didn’t need Dante in your life anymore, and if you were being honest, you were doing better without him. You had a boyfriend now, someone who didn’t make you question your sanity. Things were... uncomplicated.

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

Dante. Standing there across the street, looking like he’d just stepped out of a scene from some movie you hadn’t signed up for. There he was, all messy hair and that familiar red coat, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You froze for a second, staring at him as if your eyes were playing tricks. Was he actually here? In your world, in your life, right now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? The universe had a sick sense of humor.

You immediately felt that familiar wave of annoyance—was it even annoyance? Maybe it was exhaustion, or some mix of both. You adjusted the grocery bags under your arms and took a deep breath. You were doing just fine. He was not about to mess with your day.

But Dante, being Dante, didn’t just stand there. No, he was coming toward you now, his long stride eating up the space between you with an unsettling familiarity.

Great, you thought, shifting the weight of your bags to one side as if they were the only thing that mattered right now. But in truth, you were already calculating the best possible escape route. The crosswalk? Too far. The alley to your left? Maybe, but the sidewalk was too narrow. Okay, girl. Focus.

You picked up the pace, shifting into a power walk as though your life depended on it. Sure, you looked a little ridiculous, but it was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. You weren’t looking back. Not now.

Behind you, you could hear Dante’s footsteps closing in, his voice trailing after you, “Hey, wait up!”

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

You’d moved on. You had a boyfriend now, someone who would never make you feel like a damn emotional rollercoaster. Someone who didn’t show up after a year of radio silence with that same unreadable stare, acting like nothing happened. No, Dante. No thank you.

Still, you could hear his footsteps, gaining on you. It was like an unspoken challenge. You had to admit, he wasn’t slow. But neither were you. You adjusted the bags once again—damn, this was turning into a workout—and picked up the pace.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him. You weren’t even going to acknowledge the way your heart still remembered his presence, the way it beat a little faster the closer he got. You weren't going to let yourself get sucked back into that mess.

His voice was closer now. “Come on, just—”

A sigh. You were really doing this, weren’t you?

A glance over your shoulder, just a quick flick of the eyes to see how much ground he’d covered, and what do you know? He was right behind you now, practically breathing down your neck. “I’m just trying to catch up, alright?”

Catch up? You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan at that. This wasn’t a race, Dante, and you didn’t need a personal trainer chasing you down the sidewalk. You could already feel the annoying tightness in your chest. The one that had always been there whenever he was around, the one that reminded you of how difficult it had been to move on in the first place.

He was getting too close for comfort now, and you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this pace. So, against every instinct telling you to keep walking, you slowed down just enough for him to catch up. You didn’t want to, but here he was, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get you to stop. And for what? So he could talk?

He stopped beside you, his eyes searching your face with that all-too-familiar intensity. His chest heaved slightly, probably from the exertion, but you’d be damned if you showed any signs of weakness.

For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes straight ahead, acting like you hadn’t just sprinted for your life.

“Alright, listen,” he said, voice softer now, “I know I messed up. But can we at least—”

You didn’t even look at him as you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I can’t. I have to go.”

And that was that. You didn’t need to say anything else. You couldn’t afford to.

You were done.

That night, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair tied up into a neat little bonnet. The faucet was running – lukewarm water trickling out – but you weren’t washing up. No, you were standing there, letting the water drip down your eyes, your cheeks, your neck. You were staring at your tired reflection.

You should’ve been washing away the exhaustion of the day, but instead, you just let it fall over you, droplets slipping down your face, down your chest, almost as if you were trying to wash away the past.

But you couldn’t. No matter how much water hit your skin, how much you scrubbed away at your tired reflection, you couldn’t erase him. Dante. He was there, in the back of your mind, in the way your pulse quickened when you saw him again, after all this time. It had been a year, and yet, when you looked at him across the street, the world seemed to stop for a moment. It was like stepping back into a dream.

You hadn’t realized how much of your heart you’d given to him, how much of yourself you’d let him take. And then, nothing. No texts, no calls, no explanation. Just silence, stretching on for months, the gap between you two growing wider, until you started to convince yourself that maybe that was for the best. Maybe you were better off without him, your life finally starting to take shape without the constant ache of waiting for him to come back, to acknowledge the mess he left behind.

Cupping your hands beneath the faucet, you splashed some more water onto your face. God, I need therapy.

But, being that your current rent situation didn’t exactly permit a visit to the psychologist at the moment, you threw your favorite fuzzy robe over your satin cami and shorts, popping your feet into your beat up pink slippers. You shuffled right over to your bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, limbs falling uselessly to the mattress.

Kill me, you thought.

That wasn’t viable, though. So, instead, you reached into your nightstand (past the vibrator you had bought eight months ago during the worst part of your dry streak) and pulled out a sheet mask. Biting into the package, you opened it and pulled the slimy thing out. The serum melted into your skin as you laid it over your face, leaning your head back against the pillows and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

Your head was blissfully empty. There were no thoughts of men with precarious jobs and swords and… devilishly handsome faces. No, it was just you. You and your favorite pajamas and your favorite skincare routine.

You flicked the TV on. You didn’t have to change it back to your favorite channel. No, that was the glory of having a shitty little apartment in the city to yourself. It was on the same channel you left off on – your favorite drama.

The characters buzzed to life. You set the remote down and watched.

The characters on screen started a new conflict, one that you knew would keep you hooked for the next hour. You sank deeper into the couch, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment wash over you. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes when you're truly alone.

Then, the sound came. A soft knock at the window outside your room, followed by a long, drawn-out silence. Your heart skipped, the peace broken. You froze, eyes still locked on the TV, the characters' voices fading into the background as your mind reeled. It was too late for anyone to be outside. Too late for anything normal to be happening. Another knock, louder this time. A rhythmic tap that sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly turned your head toward the window, your pulse quickening.

Oh, God, you thought. I’m going to die.

Still, because you couldn’t exactly ignore the sound, you slid out of your warm, comfortable bed and into your slippers once more. Then, hesitating every single step of the way, you snuck into the living room, glancing around in search of the source of the sound.

Another knock. This one louder. You held your breath, hand hovering just above the blinds. It was coming from outside. No one else came to your apartment at this hour. You knew who it had to be.

You glanced down.

There, crouched on the balcony just below your window, was Dante. His face was half-lit by the streetlights, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he waved at you. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn’t disappeared for an entire year. Like you hadn’t spent every sleepless night wondering if he was dead or alive, missing his presence as if your heart had been torn in half.

The audacity of it. There he was, grinning like nothing had changed. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark that used to drive you crazy. The same spark that made your chest ache, even now.

“He cannot be serious,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it, his grin widening.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, waiting, daring you to say something. But you couldn’t. What could you even say?

All you could do was crack the window open.

“Sorry,” He huffed out a laugh. A familiar one. One you… kinda missed, actually. “I tried calling, but I think you blocked my number.”

“I got a new phone,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make this situation any better – as if you would open your eyes and he wouldn’t be here.

But he was. 

“What the fuck are you even doing here– I mean– the balcony, Dante, really?” You threw your hands out, eyes full of exasperation. “You could have knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“Would you have answered?” He asked. “If you knew it was me?”

“Probably not,” You replied honestly. “I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, right, about that,” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. The entire encounter was so absurd that a part of you firmly believed you were dreaming. “I found out I’m, like… half demon. Crazy, right? So I don’t think I would freeze to death. Demon stamina, or whatever.”

Demon stamina. You thought. Right. Definitely awake right now.

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

“Okay…” You had many, many questions, but that was the only thing you could muster, “Should I be… scared?”

What the fuck is going on?

In all honesty, if he told you that the world was ending tomorrow, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nah,” He waved your concerns away with the back of his hand. “I’d never hurt you. Except for… well, when I broke up with you. That’s why I came here, actually. Sorry about that. I’ve done some reflection and I…” Suddenly appearing rather nervous, he trailed off, “I fucked up. I was a real asshole to you back then. God, this is hard.”

Your arms dropped to your sides as you stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“I know,” Dante said, hands up like he was surrendering. “But hear me out—”

“No, no. You don’t get to just Spider-Man your way onto my balcony, confess your demon heritage, and then act like this is normal,” you said, pointing to him like you were trying to make sense of a hallucination. “You broke up with me out of nowhere. Then you vanished. For a year, Dante. Not a word. Not even a shitty text.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he replied, offended. “I was on a mission. I was in Hell.”

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

He blinked at you. Then, very seriously, he hissed out, “No, I was literally in Hell. For a year. You can’t imagine what that was like for me.”

“Oh my god.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “You’re insane. Hell? Really?”

“I’m not making it up! You think I wanted to ghost you for twelve months?”

“Well, you kind of did. You broke up with me, remember?” You crossed your arms. “Said I should forget you. That I should move on.”

A pregnant pause.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“Well, congrats. I moved on. I did the whole crying on the bathroom floor thing, I got a therapist, I drank my sorrows away, I bought this plant—” You gestured wildly at the lonely fern in the corner. “His name is Rico. And he’s thriving. Without you.”

Rico was not, in fact, thriving. He was an exotic plant. One you had purchased on impulse at a farmer’s market that you definitely should have researched prior. He wasn’t doing too well cooped up inside of your apartment in New York City. Who would?

Dante crouched down, tilting his head, squinting at Rico. “Looks a little dehydrated.”

You glared. “So do you. What do you even want, Dante?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down for a second, suddenly quiet. “I want a do-over.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t have much control over the whole… trapped-in-hell thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, “but I wasn’t happy with how we ended things. I could’ve been better to you. I kept rehearsing what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting it to actually happen.”

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

You let out a long, flat breath. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

You raised your brows. “Because we can’t,” you said again, quieter this time. And this time, it hurt.

“Why?” He asked, as if you hadn’t made yourself perfectly clear. “I’ve changed, honest. The past year I spent without you, I realized how good you were to me. How I took you for granted – I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

Aw, you thought, That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

No. Stop that.

Instead, you propped your hand up on your hip, “Does that mean you won’t be here on my balcony ever again?”

He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay, maybe I would,” He finally admitted. “But if you would let me in–”

You cut him off right then and there, rolling your eyes. “I can’t, Dante. I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That hit its mark.

His mouth opened, then closed again. The silence that followed made you uncomfortable in a way only Dante could manage—equal parts awkward and guilty. He looked down at the floor of the balcony like maybe it had some hidden message for him.

“Oh…” he murmured. “Oh. You… You really moved on.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged, trying not to sound as tired as you felt. “That’s what happens when you disappear for a year. Life goes on.”

“Not for me,” he muttered, lips curling downward into a pout that would’ve been funny if it didn’t come attached to so much damn history. “Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest.” Then he added, almost too fast, like it slipped out before he could filter it, “I could probably fuck you better, too—”

He probably could. Honestly, your current sex life with your current boyfriend wasn’t the greatest. Still, he was consistent. He didn’t leave you hanging for nights in a row, wondering if he would come home. Not to mention the fact that, when you were with Dante, well…

You had some of the loveliest orgasms you had ever had. On the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. The kind of orgasm you hadn’t achieved once since he had left. Not with your vibrator, and certainly not with your new boyfriend.

Your stare could’ve burned through glass. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

He had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but not enough to shut up. “Did you come here just to ask for a do-over?” you asked, already backing toward the window.

“No,” he said, and then paused. “Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

You didn’t respond right away, just stared at him— hair as white as starlight, red leather coat, sword still strapped to his back, ridiculous expression like he genuinely thought charm could undo the year-long hole he’d left in your life. The silence made him fidget, scuffing the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

You sighed. You really sighed this time, long and from the chest, because there was no point in even pretending this wasn’t exhausting.

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

You were behind the counter at the diner, hair tied back, apron smudged with flour, oil, and maybe a little bit of your sanity. The coffee machine hissed in protest as you filled another mug for a trucker in the corner booth. Your feet hurt. Your head hurt. But at least it was a different kind of ache than the one Dante stirred up last night.

And then, like the universe had a personal vendetta against your emotional wellbeing, the bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t have to look up.

You felt him walk in—like some twisted sixth sense. The air shifted, and you could practically smell the cologne he always wore, something smoky and leather-soft. A second later, a voice followed.

“Damn. This place got a lot prettier since I was last here.”

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

There he was. Dante. Leaning casually against the host stand, all devil-may-care charm and a ridiculous leather jacket that made him look like he belonged anywhere but this greasy spoon diner. His eyes found you immediately.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to the coffee pot. “I swear to God,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He strolled right up to the counter, pulling up a stool like he hadn’t trespassed on your balcony twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t cracked open an old wound and kissed the air with apologies.

“You look good in that apron,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t bother looking at him this time. “You look like someone who doesn’t tip well.”

“I tip amazing,” he argued. “Just like I–”

“Do me a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, grabbing a towel and wiping down a clean patch of counter for the hundredth time. “Have you always been this petulant or is it something in the air?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he said, shrugging innocently. “I’m a man of many talents. Want me to prove it? I’ve got time.”

Oh my god.

You finally turned to face him. “Do you not have demons to fight or… hell dimensions to get trapped in again?”

He laughed. “You remembered.”

You deadpanned, “How could I forget? It’s not every day your ex disappears into Hell without a cell phone.”

Dante lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But look—I just thought we could talk. Maybe over some waffles? Syrup fixes a lot.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

“I’ll be good,” he said, drawing an imaginary halo over his head with his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you replied flatly.

“And you were never this mean to me,” he said with mock hurt.

“You were never this annoying. Go piss off somewhere. You had no problems leaving me alone for a year,” you shot back. Then you waved down one of your coworkers—a sweet girl named Lila with a bright smile and no idea what kind of emotional tornado she was about to serve.

“Hey, Lila?” you called. “Can you take counter stool three for me?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said, handing her a menu. “He’s all yours.”

Dante blinked as Lila approached with her notepad, looking confused and a little betrayed. “Wait, seriously?”

You leaned over the counter slightly, voice low. “You want waffles? Order them. You want closure? Write a poem.”

And then you walked away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was enough to tell you exactly what kind of expression he wore.

The living room was dark, lit only by the bluish haze of the TV screen flashing between killstreaks and loading screens. Your boyfriend was sunk deep into the couch, legs wide, controller gripped like a lifeline. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, completely absorbed in his game, spewing half-hearted trash talk at some twelve-year-old with better aim and a louder mic.

You shifted beside him, stretching a little, brushing your leg against his. Nothing. So you leaned over, nuzzling your nose lightly against his neck, just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet. You let your fingers slide down his chest, slow and teasing. “Want to take a little break?”

He flinched—not from desire, but because someone on screen shot him. Again.

“Babe, not now,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the game. “I’m in ranked.”

You pulled back a bit, blinking, mouth falling open in disbelief. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept clicking buttons, dead focused on the screen. “Yeah, just like… fifteen more minutes. Can you make dinner or something?”

You stared at him, chest hollowing out in quiet, stunned offense. You’d offered him your body. He asked for food.

There was a moment of silence. Your hand dropped from his chest.

You sat back against the cushion, a little colder now, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. And that was when Dante’s voice—his voice—echoed in your head from the night before.

“Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest. I could probably fuck you better, too—”

You closed your eyes briefly, scoffing under your breath. God, he was ridiculous. And yet…

You pushed yourself off the couch wordlessly, heading to the kitchen without a sound.

Behind you, your boyfriend called out, “You’re the best, babe!”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary.

And in the back of your mind, Dante's voice lingered like a splinter.

You turned the stove on, lips pressed into a thin, tired line. Maybe later you’d lie down and try to remember what it felt like to be romanced by someone who didn’t treat Call of Duty like a second girlfriend.

One incredibly sexless night later, you took the evening to decompress. That is, you lit up some candles, had a few slices of the pie you’d kept in your fridge for days just like this one, and blocked off an hour for the sole purpose of masturbation. 

What? You needed it.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit, perfectly still. You’d even put your phone on Do Not Disturb, because tonight was about you. Your fingers itched with anticipation as you laid out your night like a ritual: the robe slipping lower on your shoulder, the cool sheets turned down, your favorite toy already waiting on the nightstand like a promise.

God. You needed this. You were wound tight. Between work, the complete lack of passion from the man you were dating, and that absolutely deranged balcony visit from Dante… you were more than pent up. You were practically vibrating with unmet desire.

You let out a long, dramatic exhale, sinking down into your mattress with the kind of grace usually reserved for tragic heroines. Just you, a flickering candle, and the fantasy of literally anyone but your boyfriend.

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

You stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone had the wrong door.

Knock, knock. Louder this time. Three slow raps, followed by silence.

You sat up slowly, groaning into the air. Then, begrudgingly, you stuffed your vibrator back into the drawer, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed and walking into the living room. It was dark, of course, so you flicked on a light. When you stared into the peephole of your front door, it took all of the strength you had to not bang your head against the door.

It was Dante. Again. No leather jacket this time, just a black hoodie, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You blinked, then groaned into the back of your hand.

Another knock, like he heard you. And then, muffled through the wood, his voice.

“I can hear you in there. Demon hearing, remember?” He brought his head up to the peephole, staring right back at you. “I know it’s late, Just… let me talk to you? For just a second? Please?”

You pulled the door open.

Dante stood there in the dim hallway light, hair windswept, hands in his pockets like he’d been pacing outside for a while, working up the nerve. His gaze moved over your face with a kind of stunned reverence, like he hadn’t really believed he’d see you again.

“Hey, princess,” he said.

There it was. That nickname. The one you hadn’t heard in a year.

You stepped aside without a word. He walked in like the place still remembered him. Or maybe you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t speak. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him watch the room like it had changed without him. It had. You had. But he still looked at you like he saw the girl you were a year ago. That girl who let him ruin her, and smiled while doing it.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice low. “I tried.”

“Did you?” You answered.

“Okay, not really,” He looked at you again, more serious now. “I keep thinking about you. All the time. You’re in my head constantly, like—fuck—I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see something and just need to tell you about it.”

You laughed. Just once. It came out bitter and exhausted. “Keep it to yourself.”

“I missed talking to you about anything,” he said. “Everything.”

You shook your head, pushing off the wall, pacing just a little—like if you kept moving, you wouldn’t fall for this again. “You don’t get to come back after vanishing for a year and say shit like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been trying to act like– like I’m not completely in love with you still, and it’s killing me.”

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

His hands reached for yours before you could stop him. You let him take them.

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

“You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who treats you like you matter every second of the day,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. I could be that. I want to be that.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Because you’d heard those words before, from people who never meant them. From the person you’d curled up beside just last night, feeling more alone than ever. And yet here Dante was, saying all the right things—but he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how long it had been since someone had touched you like they meant it.

Your voice came out hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I think about you when I’m trying to sleep. I think about your laugh. Your stupid, shitty taste in TV. Your coffee order. The movies you like. I want that back. I want you back.”

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “Don’t show up and say these things and make me feel like this again. You don’t even know what you left behind.”

He looked at you, eyes open and raw. “Then tell me. Let me make it right.”

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

Silence fell between you like a slammed door. You turned your back to him, trying to catch your breath.

Then he stepped in behind you.

Not touching, not quite—but close enough that you felt the heat of him. Close enough that your body remembered every inch of him like a phantom limb. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “I know I fucked up. Can you be… like, not so mad? Just for two seconds?”

His hand slid to your hip, turning you gently toward him. You let him, still trembling, still so full of everything you never got to say.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time,” he whispered. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words were genuine. Genuine enough that you felt the tears begin to prickle at your eyes all over again – emotional at the mere thought of him, because truthfully?

You missed him, too. You just didn’t want to admit it. You missed the late nights and later mornings. You missed waking up next to him, hearing him talk about his crazy adventures as a demon hunter. You missed his kisses, the smell of him, his everything.

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

He was taller than you. Always had been. But in that moment, it felt impossible not to notice how much he towered over you—how his shadow swallowed yours, how the air itself seemed to dip around him. You didn’t want to look up at him, but you did.

You stood frozen, breath shallow, pulse racing in your throat. You didn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this. But here you were, locked in place, every part of you screaming to walk away, and every part of you still craving the comfort of his touch.

“Please…” You whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Please, Dante. Just go.”

His expression softened, like he hadn’t expected that—like he was expecting something more. You felt his fingers on your waist now, and they were warm, pressing gently into your skin. There was no escape now. You weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore, not when it felt like your body was already betraying you.

“I shouldn’t be here, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. The distance between you seemed to vanish with each word. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried to forget about you, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Don’t, Dante. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

His eyes searched yours, the guilt and longing mixing together in a way that made your heart ache. He was close now, so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. You knew what was coming, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered again, more softly this time. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I just—I can’t be without you.”

And then, without waiting for another word, he leaned in.

His lips touched yours, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t stop him. For that moment, for that brief, heart-stopping moment, you let yourself fall back into the pull of him. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

God, I missed this.

You melted against him, a wave of relief crashing over you as his kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you responded without thinking, your body moving instinctively against his. He groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding to your neck, the other pressing you closer.

You kissed him back like you were starving, like you had been dying for this. And for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered—like the last year of silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it faded away in the heat of his mouth on yours.

But then, just as quickly as the warmth had started, it turned cold.

You pulled away, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not after everything. Your hands shook as you pushed against his chest, creating just enough space to break the connection.

“No,” you said, your voice breaking as you stepped back, wiping at your eyes. “No. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He blinked at you, stunned, his face pale, but he didn’t move. His eyes were full of confusion, pain, and something darker that you didn’t want to see.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice steadying with every word. You took another step back, hand reaching for the door. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

There it was.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I really am.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and for the briefest second, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something devastating.

But then, he nodded. The motion was slow, almost resigned, and he took a step back. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed you, he stopped for a moment, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

And then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, the faint sounds of your boyfriend’s video game drifting from the other room, mingling with the hum of the refrigerator. You hated that noise—hated the sound of him so effortlessly immersed in a world that wasn’t yours, that didn’t care about the growing tension between the two of you. You tried to focus on the TV, tried to let the sitcom's canned laughter drown out the gnawing discomfort in your stomach. But it wasn’t working. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Dante had said.

I could treat you so much better.

Those words. God, they kept coming back to you. You didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to feel them pushing into every corner of your mind, making you question everything you thought you knew. But they did. And you were alone with those thoughts now. Alone with your insecurities that you usually kept locked away.

You huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you as if it could protect you from the storm of doubt forming in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about him—about Dante. You should be thinking about how your boyfriend had been in and out of your life, barely there, barely present, always distracted. But the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like it was all just a reflection of the way you felt inside: disconnected, hollowed out, drifting.

And then, as if fate was timing it just perfectly, he left his phone on the counter.

Your breath caught, the phone staring at you like a challenge, like an invitation. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t invade his privacy like this. But your fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the sinking feeling in your stomach that something—someone—wasn't right.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the decision feeling both slow and inevitable as you walked toward the kitchen. The phone sat innocently on the counter, waiting. You took a breath, a shaky, hesitant inhale. You could walk away. You could pretend you didn’t see it.

But you didn’t.

You picked it up, unlocking it with a simple swipe. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline kicking in as if you were about to do something reckless. The phone screen lit up with messages from some unnamed number. And when you saw the first message, your throat tightened.

"I miss you so much. When can I see you again?"

It hit you hard. Like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even had time to react before your eyes were scanning the next message, then the next, your stomach sinking deeper and deeper with every word.

“Last night was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp, painful gasp escaped you before you could stop it. You clutched the phone tighter, staring at the words, and then—bam—it all crashed into you. You hadn’t been wrong. You hadn’t been imagining the distance, the emotional coldness that had settled between you and your boyfriend. There it was, in black and white—proof of his betrayal.

You felt like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all. This wasn’t just about the messages. It was about everything. About the endless late nights when he came home late from “work,” about the weekends when he’d disappear into his own world, leaving you to figure out where you fit into it. And now this—this confirmation that the man you had been with for so long wasn’t who you thought he was.

You could almost hear Dante’s voice again in your head. I could treat you so much better. The words felt like salt in a wound you hadn’t even realized you had, their presence almost suffocating in the quiet of your kitchen. Were you settling? Were you really going to let this happen? Let yourself get swallowed by someone who couldn’t even give you the decency of respect?

You exhaled sharply, your pulse quickening as the next message flashed on the screen.

“I can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

Babe.

The word made you sick, twisting your stomach into knots. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—maybe because it wasn’t meant for you. Maybe because it was meant for someone else. Someone who got his attention, who got his time, his affection. It wasn’t you. You were just the woman he settled for, the one who wasn’t good enough for the effort.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, and you suddenly hated everything about this moment. The phone in your hand, the pit in your stomach, the way you had let things go on for this long. You could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to cry over this. You weren’t going to let him have that power over you.

But just as quickly, the rush of hurt was replaced by something else—a sharp anger that burned through you like fire. You weren’t going to keep doing this. You weren’t going to keep letting him make you feel small. You weren’t going to keep standing by, pretending that nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart around you.

You weren’t going to be the backup. The woman who stayed even though she knew she deserved more.

The sound of footsteps from the other room snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shoved the phone down onto the counter, just as your boyfriend entered the kitchen. His voice was casual, too casual, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey, babe. You alright?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him, your chest tight with all the words you didn’t want to say, the emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The raw anger, the aching disappointment—it was all building up inside you, suffocating you. You stood there in the kitchen, phone still in your hand, his lies echoing in your mind. Every text, every word, had become a blade, slicing through your trust, through your relationship. And now, standing face-to-face with him, it all came to a boiling point.

You couldn’t help it.

You walked up to him, eyes burning with fury, and before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, your hand shot out. The slap echoed through the small apartment, sharp and loud, breaking the tense silence between you.

His head jerked to the side from the impact. He didn’t even seem surprised. But you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Too late for that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice trembled with rage as the words spilled out. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m some kind of idiot, just sitting here while you lie to my face?”

He reached up, touching his cheek, and for a moment, he looked almost confused. “What the hell are you talking abou–”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back, trying to breathe, to stop the angry tears from spilling over. “Don’t even try. I’ve been here, okay? I’ve been here, giving you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You could feel the walls around you closing in. The kitchen—the place where you had made so many meals together, laughed together, fought together—it suddenly felt suffocating. This wasn’t your home anymore. It wasn’t the place you thought it was.

“I trusted you,” you spat, your voice cracking. “I trusted you, and you went behind my back. All this time, you were texting her—her—while I was sitting here, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.”

His eyes widened, but then he scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Come on, it’s not like that. She’s just—”

“Don’t!” You interrupted again, shaking your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what excuses you’ve got. I don’t want to hear how you’re ‘sorry’ and how ‘it wasn’t like that’ because it was. I saw the texts. I saw everything.”

There was a cold silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He was quiet now, eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had no idea how to fix it—because there was no fixing it. Not this time.

“Do you even care?” You whispered, feeling the heartbreak seep into your bones. “Do you even care that you’ve been hurting me this whole time?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was trying to form the right words, trying to make it sound like he cared, like he had some kind of reason, but it was too late for that.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I’m done.”

He froze. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Wait—what? You can’t—”

“Don’t try to stop me.” You took a deep breath, the anger dissipating just enough to feel the weight of the pain. “I’m not staying here. I’m not going to keep putting myself through this. I’m done.”

His face fell. You could see the regret in his eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you’d just found out.

You turned your back on him, heading for the bedroom to grab your things. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You could feel the tension in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not anymore. You were done.

You grabbed your bag—your jacket, your wallet, your keys—and made your way toward the door. Every step felt heavy, like you were walking away from something you had invested so much of yourself into, and yet, there was a strange sense of relief settling in your chest. You were leaving behind a lie, a hollow version of something you had once wanted to be real. 

You were leaving him.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice strained. “Please, don’t go. We can fix this. We can talk—”

But you didn’t listen. You opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, and closed it behind you. The sound of it was final. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You didn’t want to be with someone who could betray you like this.

Still, weak thing that you were, you began to cry.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

As you walked down the hallway, your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t want to look at it. 

But then, your fingers moved of their own accord, slipping the phone out of your pocket.

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

The one you’d saved with the naive hope that he might have called. You hadn’t thought about it in a while. You hadn’t dared to reach out to him—hadn’t dared to even look at his name on your phone. But now, standing there in the hallway, your heart pounding, your chest tight from everything you’d just left behind, you thought about what he’d said to you.

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought. You could still hear his voice in your head, still feel the weight of his words.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty swirling inside you. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You didn’t know what you hoped to get from it, but you couldn’t shake the pull. You wanted—needed—someone who saw you. Someone who cared.

So, in a moment of weakness, you typed the words.

YOU: I need you.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. The words felt foreign, too raw, too vulnerable, but you couldn’t take them back now.

a/n: ok so whenn i say this is gonna be short... i MEAN IT THIS TIME LOL..... maybe. anyway! part two is almost done, so comment what you thought, let me know what you'd like to see, what you loved, etc! until next time, my loves x not sure why this got deleted? but ok

I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 21: Crime and Punishment

Summary: A trip to town to run errands has you questioning everything.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,719

Warnings: Ch 21 Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, overstimulation, creampie, language, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, Ghost’s emotional constipation, unresolved sexual tension, angst, and of course fluff.

A/N: I don't think I've ever written the word panties as many times as I did here. Again, not much to say about this one, so I hope you enjoy!!

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You stare at your face in the mirror. Wisps of hair stick to your forehead from the sweat starting to bead on your skin, your lips slightly parted as you breathe heavily. Your hands grip the edges of the sink, knuckles white from how hard you’re holding on for dear life. 

Your legs are trembling, quickly turning into jello. You lean forward more, resting your hips against the edge of the sink for stability. Your mouth falls open in a moan as it changes the position of the cock pistoning into you just slightly. 

Soft grunts leave Johnny’s lips as he fucks you in your bathroom, his thrusts urgent and desperate. Five minutes, he had groaned against your lips as he pushed your door open and walked you backwards into your room. 

It’s probably been longer than five minutes, but you’re hardly in the state of mind to care. He’s supposed to be halfway across the base by now, but you’re certain he doesn’t care either. It won’t take the others long to figure out what had made him so late, and you can almost guarantee John will make him pay for choosing to play hooky and having a quickie with you in the bathroom instead of going to training like he’s supposed to. 

One of his hands leaves the vice-like grip he’s had around your hips to slide to the front of your body, his fingers frantically rubbing circles over your clit. Your back arches in pleasure as the sensations become too much, your hips pushing back against his. He’s still dressed, his cargo pants pushed down over his ass just enough to free his cock. Your pants are around your ankles, underwear pushed to the side. Your shirt and bra are pushed up over your chest, your breasts out on display for him. His eyes haven’t left them in the mirror and the way they bounce with every rough thrust of his hips. 

“Jesus christ, yer gonnae kill me.” He groans as your pussy clamps tightly around him. 

He presses his chest to your back, his hand gripping the edge of the sink as you writhe in his arms. His fingers don’t let up on your clit as you cum, your legs trying to clamp around his hand. 

“Johnny!” You squeal as the sensation becomes overwhelming. “Too much!” 

“Ye can take it.” He groans in your ear, his voice breathy and hoarse from pleasure. “Just a little more.” 

All you can do is babble incoherently as he continues to slam his hips into your ass, his breaths heavy in your ear. You can feel the pressure building again despite the burning overstimulation of his fingers on your clit. 

“Please, please, please!” You pant, your head pressing back against his shoulder as you arch further against him. 

“Fucking love this sweet little cunt.” He growls into your ear, his thrusts starting to get sloppy. “So fucking good fer me.” 

You’re cumming again, your knees buckling under you. His arm snakes around your waist, finally moving from your clit to hold you up. He lets out a loud, salacious groan as his hips slam into you one last time. You can feel his cock twitching as he cums, emptying his load inside you. 

His forehead presses against your back for a moment as you both attempt to catch your breaths. Your legs are still trembling as he begins to move, pulling his cock from you before he slides your panties back into place. He drags his hand over your covered folds, groaning quietly. 

“Better keep that in there.” He says, tugging your pants back up, doing the button for you and tugging the zipper back up. “Keep your mind on me the whole day.” 

You moan softly at his words, your pussy clenching out of instinct. He groans as he tucks himself back into his pants, staring down at your tits as you turn to face him. He curses, cupping them in his hands for a moment. 

“Fuck, I have tae go. Price is gonna kick my arse for bein’ late.” He leans down to kiss you, tugging your bra and shirt back down. “See ye at lunch, if I survive the wrath waitin’ fer me.” 

He leaves you there so casually, as if he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes fucking you relentlessly in your bathroom. Your legs are still trembling as you lean against the sink, your teeth sinking into your lip as Johnny’s cum begins to seep out of you. They’ll know, they’ll know exactly why he’s late with one whiff of his scent. He’ll smell like you, smell like the musky scent of sex and sweat. All hope of blaming it on something else is out the window. 

All you can do is pray John goes easy on him. It’s not like you haven’t made John late before, though usually both of you were late for meals because you decided you needed an appetizer, and it felt unfair to make him walk around half hard. You hope he can have a little sympathy for Johnny. If you’d said no, made him be on time to training, he might not have been able to focus at all. 

You still can’t be sure he’ll be able to focus, though. You’ve probably only succeeded in changing the trajectory of his thoughts. Instead of whistfully picturing himself fucking you, he will be thinking about how he fucked you. 

You wonder how John will punish him for being late and distracted. Pushups? Running? Maybe extra rounds running the obstacle course. Or maybe he’ll save the punishment for later. Maybe he’ll force Johnny to sit there and watch him fuck Johnny’s cum out of you, force Johnny to sit still and not touch himself or you. Maybe he’ll fuck you right over Johnny, your tits bouncing in his face just as he likes, but he’ll be restrained, forced to watch but not to touch. He’ll get all whiny, begging for any mercy as his cock gets all red and swollen, throbbing in time with John’s thrusts. 

Your pussy clenches at the thought, more of Johnny’s release seeping out of you. 

Fuck, you are going to be thinking about him all day. 

“Took your time, MacTavish.” John says, crossing his arms as the beta Sergeant saunters into the gym.

“Get your dick caught in a door again?” Simon asks, crossing his arms too. 

“More like he got his dick caught in a saucy little omega.” Kyle says, catching the overwhelming scent of sex and strawberries wafting off his fellow beta. 

Simon’s hands clench, his scent thickening just a little, but none of them seem to pick up on it. 

“Well, since you seemed to have more important things to do than your job this morning, you can go first.” John says, nodding to the mat. “Garrick, you’re up too.” 

Kyle makes his way to the middle of the mat, cracking his knuckles. Johnny saunters to the middle of the mat behind him, still riding the high of his quickie before joining them. Your scent is thick on his clothes, wafting into his nose, bringing back mental images of you bent over before him, tits bouncing in the mirror as he drove his hips into your ass over and over. Those sweet cries of pleasure, the way you shoot in his arms making his blood pump in his veins, the satisfaction making his head spin a bit. 

Kyle moves first, hoping to use Johnny’s seemingly distracted state against him. He aims for Johnny’s middle, but Johnny’s ready for it, blocking Kyle from getting his arms around him. 

Johnny uses the advantage, planting his feet firmly as he flips Kyle onto his back, pinning his fellow beta. Kyle yields, Johnny’s shoulder in his stomach not helping the spasm in his diaphragm from how he hit the mat. 

“Bloody hell.” Kyle gasps out, trying to catch his breath. “The fuck was that?”

“Just me beating you. Again.” Johnny smirks. 

“Yeah? Well I still have you beat on the course.” Kyle says, pushing himself up to stand. “Should work on your speed instead of your biceps once in a while.”

“Alright, you two.” Price says, stopping the argument before it becomes something more. “Garrick, get out of there.” He silently motions for Simon to take Kyle’s place. 

Simon moves onto the mat, staring down his beta. It’s not unfamiliar from the first time they ever sparred together. Simon has size and raw power to his advantage, but Johnny is quick on his feet. Johnny takes a defensive stance, planting his feet on the mat. Simon moves quickly, Johnny just barely managing to dodge his first hit. Simon catches Johnny's own swing aimed for his face, wrapping his arms around the beta to try and sweep him off his feet. 

His mistake is taking in a deep breath so close to Johnny's chest. 

The scent of strawberries flows straight into the back of his brain, igniting a fire in his veins. His blood is boiling, his instincts riding high off the scent of omega wafting off of his beta, creating an alluring cocktail that nearly blinds him. 

Simon rams his shoulder into Johnny’s stomach, the air leaving the beta’s lungs in a pained gasp. He flips Johnny onto his back, the back of his head smacking the mat. 

“Christ, I yield.” Johnny gasps, holding up his hands to stop Simon from continuing his assault. 

Simon’s hands are shaking, his breathing ragged. His mind is still reeling from the scent of omega on his beta. He shouldn’t be reacting this way to the scent of an omega he knows well, an omega he recognizes. He had accepted Johnny would want that kind of relationship with the pack omega early on, so why does he feel jealousy burning in the back of his mind. 

He leaves the training room, slamming the door behind him before heading outside, gulping down lungfuls of damp air free from the scent of omega. You weren’t even in the room and yet it was like you were standing before him, taunting him with your sweet scent. He leans against the outside wall of the gym, letting the air clear his head. Had they been alone and not in the middle of the base, he might have pulled off his mask, let the air touch his skin and dry the sweat that has slowly soaked into the fabric. 

He squeezes his eyes shut as the door opens, the gravel crunching under cautious steps. He can feel eyes on him, the prickling of his skin from the harsh, questioning gaze. It’s not the first time he’s found himself under the scrutinizing stare of his pack alpha. He’s used to it, the attention being on him. He's an officer, he's the one being looked to when things go wrong, when important decisions need to be made. He has to be aware, clear-headed, and focused at all times. 

That's the one thing he can't be right now. 

“It will get easier if you just give in.” Price says, leaning against the wall next to him. “I know you want to.” Price cuts him off before he can offer up any argument. “The longer you try to deny it, the worse things will get for you. I don’t want to have to question your ability to be successful in the field.” 

Simon swallows the lump in his throat, his mind reeling. He knows deep down Price is right. The longer he pushes away those thoughts, fights to keep those urges at bay, the more that tight rein on his emotions will slip. His hands clench into fists at his sides, his chest rising as he takes a deep breath. He’s spent decades now mastering control, keeping things buried when he needs to. Then you come along and fuck everything up for him. 

It’s not fair to blame it on you. It’s not your fault. You don’t even know you’re doing it. You’re not even trying. You just exist around him and he's losing control. 

Price can report that to the stupid initiative program. 

“Is this going to become a problem?” Price asks him, giving him a pointed look. 

Simon sucks in another deep breath. Is it going to become a problem? Is he going to let it become a problem? He releases the breath, shaking his head to try and clear it. “No, sir.” 

“How are you doing?” 

“Better.” You say, stretching your legs out in front of you. “I didn’t have a nightmare last night.” 

“That’s great! Small improvements are still improvements.” Dr. Keller says, writing something down on her notepad. “How are things going with your pack? Have things settled since they returned?” 

You nod. “Yeah. For the most part. There’s still...something lingering.” You chew on your lip nervously. You can’t tell her what it is, the thing that eats you alive daily. She’d have to tell your pack, and then everything would come undone. “I’m worried that any day now they’ll have to leave me again.” 

“You won’t be alone this time, though.” She says, reminding you of what John had done for you. 

“I know, but...what if they don’t come back?” 

“That is an unfortunate reality, a risk you all have to live with. There’s not much that can be changed about that, but I know they’ll do everything in their power to return home to you.” ’ She gives you a soft smile. “They care about you a lot.” 

“But...they're supposed to put their jobs above everything else. That was part of this whole experiment. Their jobs come first, and I come second.” 

“But, Captain Price has already advocated against that by requiring one of them stay behind with you when they get sent out on assignments. That’s not putting their job above you.” 

She’s right. John fighting to make things more comfortable for you was them putting their priority on you and your comfort. Of course, John had told you they had only advocated for it at this point. There was no guarantee those in leadership would approve, that General Shepherd would approve, but he said he’d fight it as hard as he had to. It wasn’t always necessary for all of them to be sent out anyway, so it was more likely there’d be at least one, if not two of them with you most of the time.

“Besides,” Dr. Keller continues. “In my professional opinion, it’s not sustainable to expect them to have an omega in their pack and also expect them to neglect their omega in favor of their jobs. The whole point of the initiative is to see if the assimilation of omegas into military packs will be helpful or a hindrance. There has to be a balance if they want even a chance at this being successful. While their jobs and what they do is important, they can’t expect full dedication to that job while also trying to care for an omega.” 

You’ve never thought about it that way before. They had been so dead set in your briefings about how their jobs were more important than you and how you had to be prepared for anything to happen because their job always comes first. 

“It’s important to keep in mind that you are essentially the trial for this initiative. There’s going to be ups and downs, things they didn’t account for in their planning, if they did any real planning, and things that have to be adjusted as they come up. There’s just some things you can’t properly predict until the trial is taking place.” 

You haven’t really thought about it that way either. You are the first omega involved in this initiative, the trial run, the guinea pig. Is that why General Shepherd came to base and wanted to meet you? Is that why they wanted cameras in your room? To ensure things really were going properly, and everyone was doing what they were supposed to do? That things really are as fine as you, and likely John, have said? 

What if they think things are going badly? What if they think the initiative is a failure? What happens then? What can they really do now that you’ve been claimed and assimilated into the pack? 

“What’s going on in your head?” Dr. Keller asks softly. 

“What if...what’s going to happen if the initiative fails?” You ask. 

Dr. Keller hums, obviously not having expected that question. “Well, I don’t think there’s much they can do. They made it far enough in the planning that they thought it was worth the chance of a live trial with an omega and an established pack. They wouldn’t have taken that risk without the belief that it will be successful.” Dr. Keller crosses her legs, setting her notebook to the side. “If, and it’s a big if, it failed, then there’s not a lot they can do, legally. You’ve been claimed, which legally puts you under Captain Price’s care, and while the military is a grey area when it comes to legality, I doubt they’d run the risk of trying to remove you from the pack at this point.” 

“They’d run the risk of their task force falling apart.” You say, the pieces starting to come together. 

Dr. Keller nods. “Exactly. If your pack is as important as they appear to be, I doubt anyone involved in this would take that risk of losing such valuable soldiers. Forcibly removing you would turn your pack against them in the blink of an eye. All trust they have in their superiors will be turned on its head and destroyed completely. No matter how loyal they are to their jobs, that loyalty will shift very quickly should something happen to you at their hands.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, your heart rate starting to kick up. So you had made the right choice in keeping General Shepherd’s visit and the cameras a secret. The last thing you want is to ruin their lives over what was probably nothing, over something that would have been inconsequential in the end. Something they possibly know about already. 

That thought lingers constantly in the back of your mind. They know and they’re waiting for you to finally spill and reveal what happened. What happens then? How will they punish you for lying to them, for withholding important information, information that puts not only you, but them at risk as well? Will they ever forgive you for not telling them right away? Could you grovel and plead with excuses of fear and naivety? Could you lie again and claim you were scruffed? John already knows of your nightmares, of your fear. You’d have to think up a reason as to why you lied to him that night too, though. 

Lying will only dig you deeper and deeper into more lies until all their trust in you is broken beyond repair. 

The trust between you will still be broken if you tell them, though. 

“Have you been thinking of this a lot lately?” Dr. Keller asks, pulling you from your thoughts. 

You nod, dropping your gaze to your hands. “I overheard John and Simon talking about it the other night. Simon asked if this was worth it if it failed, and John seemed confident it wouldn’t.” 

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it as many times as I need to.” You lift your gaze to meet Dr. Keller’s. Her face is as serious as her tone. “Your pack isn’t going to let anything happen to you. Pack loyalty to omegas is not something to be tested, especially not a pack as fierce as yours. They’d go to war for you, if they had to. I don’t doubt that one bit.” 

Your brows pull into a frown. “You really think so?” 

She nods. “I know so. You’re very lucky.” 

You are lucky. Things could have been much worse for you. 

“C’mon kitten,” Johnny says, barging into your room. 

You let out a startled shriek, nearly jumping out of your skin as you clutch your towel desperately around your naked, still slightly damp form. You just got out of the shower not too long ago, and had been deciding on what to wear on the warmest day you’ve experienced since your arrival in England when Johnny barged his way into your room. 

Barged may be a strong word for it. Your door wasn’t even closed all the way. 

Your heart is still thudding in your chest, your breaths slightly heavy as he digs through your closet, picking out clothes for you. “What the hell?” You breathe, adjusting your grip on your towel. “Scared the shit out of me.” 

Johnny turns, giving you a grin. “Sorry, kitten.” His eyes drop to where you’re clutching the towel, and you can practically see the idea flash through his mind, the idea to rip the towel off and lick every last droplet of water off of your body before having his way with you. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, trying to refocus his mind on what he was doing. 

His eyes snap back up to yours, his grin widening. “We’re goin’ on an excursion.” 

“Excursion?” You ask, barely managing to catch the clothes he throws at you and keep your towel up at the same time. 

“Got some errands tae run in town, an’ yer comin’ with us.” He looks you over. “So get your claes on and meet us outside.” 

You blink at him as he leaves your room, not bothering to close the door behind him. You stare down at the clothes in your hands, a t-shirt and the skirt that’s been hanging in your closet that you had yet to even try on. Of course he’d pick something like that for you to wear. You’re tempted to go without underwear, but that’s probably exactly what he wanted. If you were staying in the barracks, then you might have done it, but being out in public you don’t want to risk a stray breeze. The last thing you need is some alpha seeing it as an opportunity and trying something stupid. 

You finish getting ready, drying yourself off and getting dressed before pulling on a pair of comfortable shoes. Your hair is still slightly damp as you make your way out of the barracks, a car pulled up outside as you expected. 

“You promise to drive carefully?” John is saying, holding the keys up in front of Johnny. 

“Of course.” Johnny says, looking past him to grin at you. “There’s precious cargo on board.” 

“I’m putting a lot of trust in you.” John says, giving him a look before dropping the keys into Johnny’s hand. John turns to you, staring down at you for a moment before leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. “Let me know when you get there.” He murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. 

You nod, leaning up to kiss his cheek before getting into the car. 

You’re surprised to see Simon sitting in the passenger seat. You had expected maybe Kyle would be tagging along, or even John, but this is something entirely unexpected. He’s in his beanie and face mask combo again, the same thing he’d been wearing when he and John took you to town before your heat. 

The night he bought the ingredients to make you enchiladas. 

It still brings a warmth to your chest when you think about it, that he did that for you. It had been his idea to do it, his idea to bring you some comfort during the stress and insecurity your approaching heat had brought on. He does care about you, in his own way. He’s been showing it, at least for the most part, looking back on your interactions with him. 

He has to care about you, if he’s willing to do this. 

It wasn’t his decision, you know that. Johnny was likely forcing him to come along, either to appease John’s concerns, or in case of an incident. Not that Johnny’s not fully capable of handling a situation on his own, but having an alpha at your back makes it less likely someone would try something at all. 

The fact John is trusting them with you speaks volumes of his trust in his pack, in his second alpha. You know they won’t let anything happen to you, they’ll protect you just as fiercely as if you were their omega. 

You could be, if he wanted it. 

You push that thought to the back of your mind as Johnny climbs into the driver's seat, the car rumbling to life.

Johnny isn’t a terrible driver. Despite the many stories you’ve heard over the last few weeks, you had been expecting worse. Kyle had been right, of course, he takes the speed limit as more of a suggestion, and weaves around on the road, passing slower cars and farm equipment in ways that are probably not legal. Despite that, you’re not gripping the seat in fear or holding on for dear life. You had been expecting much worse when he climbed into the driver’s seat. 

Though, from what you’ve heard, Johnny is the most preferable of the two in the car when it comes to driving. 

The farmlands fade into civilization as the buildings grow closer and closer together. It’s only your fourth trip into town, but yet you’ve already begun to recognize landmarks, businesses. You could navigate if you had to, something you know they’d be proud of. You wonder if Simon would praise you for that, considering how annoyed he always seems to be about how much time you spend lost in your own thoughts. 

Johnny pulls into a parking spot on the street, and you send a quick text to John to let him know you made it in one piece. Johnny opens your door for you, offering you a hand. You take it, letting him help you out before he laces your fingers together, squeezing your hand gently. 

You’re glad you wore comfortable shoes as you walk around with them, picking up a few items from different shops. Johnny keeps hold of your hand, Simon walking behind the two of you like a protective shadow. The people you pass on the street give you a wide berth, and you know it’s Simon’s doing as their eyes skirt past you and Johnny to the big alpha trailing you. You can imagine the silent threat behind his eyes, daring them to even think of trying anything. 

“The last stop.” Johnny says, pausing in front of a familiar storefront. 

You’ve been here before, the day of your first date with John when he’d taken your virginity. The lingerie shop where you’d gotten those lacy panties the guys seemed to admire so much. Your cheeks warm as Johnny opens the door for you, the stark reminder of who you’re with suddenly snapping into your mind. This trip definitely was Johnny’s doing. Did he even know this was a stop that you were going to make? If he did, he probably wouldn’t have come along and talked Kyle into it instead. 

Or maybe he did know and he did want to come along. 

Or, maybe, Johnny pouted at him and begged until he had no choice but to agree. 

The answer is likely the latter. 

 You wonder if he’ll stay outside, or perhaps even return to the car in favor of stepping into a lingerie store. You can’t imagine him inside, the hulking alpha among the delicate lace and fabrics. A bull in a china shop. 

You’re surprised when he enters behind you, looking about as uncomfortable as you expected him to in a place like this. His shoulders are squared, hands opening and closing into fists at his sides. He’s looking everywhere but at what’s on the racks, his gaze flicking around the store instead, taking stock of everyone inside shopping. 

You let Johnny take the lead, Simon keeping his distance as you peruse the racks. You’re not just there to replenish your quickly dwindling stash of lacy underwear, you realize as Johnny begins flipping through items on the racks. He’s got some other ideas for you as well. You can see the wheels turning in his head, the concentration in his eyes as he looks over his options. 

Your face gets warmer and warmer as he holds things up in front of you, studying you and the lingerie. He’s picturing you in it, most likely in lewd positions. You’re close to combusting out of bashfulness, but also from the fire igniting under your veins. You’re trying to keep it under control, trying to keep things as discreet as possible for the sake of the other shoppers in the store. The last thing you want is to draw any unwanted attention and cause a scene. 

“That’s definitely the one.” He says, holding up a purple mess of lace and straps. You’re not sure how you’re going to get into it, much less what it will look like while you’re wearing it, but he seems to know what he’s looking at, so you’re not going to contradict him. You might just need his help getting into it, which you’re sure he won’t complain about. 

Your skin prickles as you continue to follow Johnny, warning bells going off in the back of your head. 

Someone is staring at you. 

You lift your gaze from the rack Johnny is flipping through, scanning the store to try and find who it is that’s staring at you so intently. It’s not Simon where he’s lingering against the back wall trying to avoid touching anything like it might infect him with some deadly disease, or give him the mental image of you in it. 

The prickling of your skin feels too different from the prickling you usually feel when his gaze is on you. Someone is watching you, yet the shoppers and even the employees in the store are in their own little worlds, going about their business and paying you no mind. You step closer to Johnny, your arm brushing his. It’s not unlike the feeling you get in your room, the idea that there were cameras in there, that there still might be one that you missed. That paranoid tickling down your spine that you might be being watched at any moment. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, looking up at you as you step even closer to him. 

Warmth presses against your back, making you flinch just slightly in surprise. You nearly panic, until the familiar scent of leather and eucalyptus washes over you. 

“What is it?” Warm breath fans your ear, calloused fingers ghosting down your bare arm. 

“I-I think someone’s watching us.” You say quietly, leaning into both of them. 

Both of them straighten up, and you can imagine their gazes scanning the store, profiling every single customer and worker, picking up things you could only dream of noticing. Simon’s fingers wrap around your arm, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to offer a little support as they look for the culprit of your paranoid feelings. 

There’s no tickling at the back of your neck signaling your brain picking up on a change to Simon’s emotions. Neither of them seem to pick up on a possible threat. Perhaps it’s all just in your head, some sort of trauma response after being cooped up on base for so long paired with what happened while they were away. There are cameras in the store. You are being watched. Maybe it’s just trauma fueled paranoia after all. 

Simon lets go of your arm to step up close to Johnny, speaking quietly to him. You’re not listening, your eyes scanning the store again. You slide closer to Simon, the prickling feeling of being watched gone now. Your hand lifts, fingers wrapping around his forearm, his skin warm under your touch. You’ve never been quite this close to him, this physical, that wasn’t out of necessity before. It’s exciting, the prospect of being so open with him. Just the thought that he noticed your discomfort, picked up on your worry like that makes your omega want to roll over and show her belly. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, his eyes flickering between you and Simon. 

Your gaze snaps back to him, and you nod without even thinking about it. “Yeah.” 

“You two go an’ pick out some new skids, I’m almost done.” He says. They must not have noticed anything worthy of being concerned about, nothing that could lead them to thinking there’s a threat. 

It’s just like what happened that morning when you asked Simon to open the door to your room all over again. 

Suddenly the mood shifts back to what it was at Johnny’s words, Simon shifting uncomfortably next to you. You can feel his muscles flex under your hand as he clenches his fists, letting out a long breath. 

You shake off the paranoia and the worry, putting your trust in them should something happen. You drop your hand from his forearm to his wrist, tugging lightly on his arm. “Come on. They’re just panties. They don’t bite.” You grin teasingly up at him. 

“Bloody hell.” He groans before letting you tug him over to the section of the store with the underwear. 

You find the ones that you had gotten before, grabbing one in every color. Simon stands to the side like a guard dog, arms crossed, trying to look as manly as possible amongst the lace and ribbons. You pick up a couple more in Johnny’s favorite color, the beta approaching you both. 

“Look what I found.” He grins wickedly, holding up a pair of panties.

You nearly choke as you stare at them, Simon shifting just slightly behind you. In Johnny’s hands are a pair of black cheeky panties with lace edges. They wouldn’t be anything special, had it not been for the skull pattern on the fabric. 

Your face warms as you stare at them, the meaning not lost on you. Of course Johnny would find something like that in a store with probably hundreds of pairs of underwear. You can’t help but think he might have been looking for something like that this whole time. 

Johnny steps up to you, turning you around to face Simon. His back brushes your chest as he wraps his arms around you, holding the panties up in front of your chest. 

You wish you could see Simon’s face. All of his face. His jaw is clenched, his eyes burning as he stares at the underwear in Johnny’s hands. His whole body is tense, the tendons and muscles in his forearms bulging from how tightly he’s clenching his muscles. A bead of sweat runs down your back from the intensity of his stare, his gaze shifting from the underwear to your face. They flicker back and forth, almost like he doesn’t quite know which is worse to look at: you or the panties. 

His body tenses even more, his gaze finally settling on the underwear. He’s imagining you in them. You can see it, the way his eyes get darker and darker, his scent thickening. Several thoughts run through your head as you stare at him, your stomach fluttering as you suddenly come to a realization. You lift your hands, taking the underwear from Johnny, continuing to hold it in front of your chest. 

“Fucking hell...” Simon breathes, his hands dropping to his sides, still tightly closed into fists. 

“Would...” You clear your throat, trying to shake the waver from your voice. “Would you like to see me in them?” 

His gaze snaps to yours, and it nearly has you running for cover. He looks like he wants to simultaneously devour you and bend you over the nearest table. The primal urge to run tickles in the back of your brain, to run and let him chase you. 

He looks like he would do it, too. 

Have you been misreading his actions towards you? You never thought he’d feel like that about you. Was his reluctant tolerance, his drive to keep you at arm’s length less because he disliked you, and more because he likes you too much?

His behavior and his actions begin to make sense the more you think about it. He’s not keeping you at arm's distance because he doesn't like you, because he doesn’t think you don’t belong with them. He’s not afraid of the weakness you might cause in the pack, the disruption you’ve brought to their lives. He’s afraid of how you’re making him feel. 

Has he ever been in love? Has he ever held feelings for another before Johnny? Did he even want to have feelings for Johnny in the first place, or did Johnny force his way in until Simon finally accepted he can’t change the way he feels? 

You’re not trying to invoke that kind of response from him. You’ve respected his boundaries, kept him at arm’s distance as much as you could to try and avoid making him hate you, to try and avoid ruining all the work you’ve put into just making him accept you as part of the pack. 

Maybe you had been trying in all the wrong ways. 

All the things he did for you, all the ways he treated you suddenly make sense. His disappointment at your neglecting him on the tarmac should have made it obvious to you. 

Hell, he’d let you spoon him the very next morning like it was nothing. 

Does he want to be your second alpha? Even if he doesn’t, does he want to push past that barrier and open up to that kind of relationship with you? The bond you have with him is hardly even platonic, a weak thread connecting you built out of proximity and interaction. The bond you have with Dr. Keller is stronger, and she’s not even part of your pack. 

Does he want to build that bond with you? 

Looking at him has your body warming, a fire igniting under your skin. You can’t handle it anymore, the intensity of his stare threatening to make you do something indecent in this lingerie shop. 

You turn to face Johnny, certain steam has to be rising off your body at this point. You shove the pile of panties into his hands, including the one with skulls on them. “We’re getting them.” You say, trying to ignore the grin pulling at his lips. 

You take half a second to breathe as the tension in the air is cut off, another shopper passing by, giving the three of you a look. You’re sure you’re projecting your scent, and you can imagine just how much Simon’s scent has taken over the store. 

Johnny carries the armful of lingerie to the checkout and you follow behind him, Simon bending down to whisper something in his ear before heading for the door. You watch him step outside, moving until he’s just visible through the glass from the register. You have half a mind to follow him, half a mind to confront him and ask him for an explanation, ask him why he felt it necessary to hold you at arm’s length when there’s a chance he’s been feeling this way the whole time. 

You don’t, instead sticking close to Johnny’s side as he pays far too much for the lingerie. Your heart is still racing from the exchange with Simon, your hands shaking just a little as Johnny hands you the bag. His hand is warm on your back as he guides you from the store, Simon turning as you approach him. 

“Let’s grab somethin’ to eat, then we’ll go.” Johnny says, leading you back towards the car. 

“We need to talk.” 

You almost turn tail and run as Simon’s gaze snaps up to meet yours. He sits there, frozen for just a moment, before he slowly lowers his phone, sliding it into his sweatshirt pocket. You don’t sit down on the couch next to him, instead you remain standing, wanting to keep the energy in the room in your favor. You know if you sit, your brain will slip into submission to the large alpha. At least looking down on him, you have more of a chance at keeping that illusion of dominance. 

“I want to know how long.” You say, taking half a step closer to him, one foot planted, the other half raised, ready to bolt in case this goes south. “I want to know how long you’ve had feelings for me.” 

His gaze hardens as he stares up at you, and despite your position of dominance, you wish he’d take off his mask just so you could read his face, read his reactions. You can’t back down, though. Not now, not when things have come to a head between you. There’s no going back, there’s no playing pretend anymore. You can’t move on after the events earlier in the lingerie shop.

“I want to know the truth.” You say, not backing down. You won’t submit to him so easily this time. 

“When you punched that asshole Corporal.” He says, looking away from you to stare at the black screen of the television. “Allen. Proved you weren’t just some weak, pathetic omega that was only going to slow us down, make us work twice as hard to keep you alive.” He snorts softly. “That first night with Johnny.” He continues, his voice softer than it had been. “That’s when it changed. He yapped the whole morning about what happened, what you two did, like a bloody slag.” 

Your face warms at the idea of Johnny spilling all the intimate details. It doesn’t upset you as much as it probably should, though it wasn’t like they couldn’t all hear it happening. Simon especially, sharing a wall with him. He probably could have recounted the whole thing himself if he’d wanted to. 

“I wanted to hate you. Fucking tried so hard to, but you make it so bloody hard.” He shakes his head. “I’m not supposed to.” 

A frown pulls at your brows as you listen to him. As an alpha in the pack, he technically could if he wanted to. You’re certain John wouldn’t have a problem with it, in fact he might encourage it, if it gets rid of the stick that’s been up Simon’s ass since your arrival, or maybe even before then. 

“I-I don’t understand.” You say, stepping closer to him. 

“I can’t.” He snaps, wheeling around to face you. You freeze in your approach, your weight shifting back in case you need to run. “I can’t.” He repeats, his voice softer, the tenseness in his shoulders deflating as he diverts his gaze. “It’s too dangerous.” 

Your frown deepens as you stare at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I’ll only hurt you.” He shakes his head. 

You understand it now. Those four words have given you all the explanation you need to understand his hesitation, his predicament, why it’s taken him this long to openly admit his feelings, to accept them. 

You bravely continue your approach until you’re standing right next to him. His gaze is anywhere but on you, seeming very small despite his hulking size. “You’re not going to hurt me.” You say, slowly reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “I know you won’t. If...if you’re worried about turning out like your father, then that’s enough proof that you won’t. You know, you’re aware, so you can stop it.” He goes to turn away, but you stop him, catching his wrist in your hand. “We don’t have to. If you’re not comfortable enough then that’s okay. I have that need filled plenty.” You plop down on the couch next to him as you lift his hand to your face, pressing his bare palm into your skin. “But I wouldn’t stop you, if you wanted to.” 

His hand is big and warm as it slowly relaxes against your face. His eyes meet yours, staring deep into them. You stare right back, not letting his size or the intensity of his gaze force you to submit. His thumb drags along your cheekbone, his calluses scratching across your skin, but that’s a feeling you’ve become very used to. You press your hand against his, your fingers trembling just slightly from the emotion and the intensity of the moment. 

“It’s not just me that might hurt you. I’ve made enemies, people that would do anything to get back at me.” He says quietly. 

You shrug. “So does everyone in this pack. That was a risk I was made well aware of before I was sent here. That’s why I don’t know jack shit about what any of you do. That’s why I’m basically non-existent and invisible except to a select few. I used to think about it, when I first arrived here. What if something happened to me because of your jobs? What if someone found out about me?” You shrug again, your thumb rubbing the back of his hand. “That’s a risk we all signed up for, right?” 

He stares at you for a while, his hand still pressed against your cheek. You wish you could read his mind, see the thoughts turning those wheels behind his eyes. You wish he was an open book, something you could breeze right through like the ones on the shelves. Instead, he might be the most closed off person you’ve ever met. You’ve never even seen his face 

Slowly he begins leaning forward, his gaze never leaving yours. If it hadn’t been for the mask, you might have thought he was leaning in for a kiss. You might have leaned in for a kiss, had he not been wearing the mask. Instead he leans forward until your foreheads are touching, his gaze finally leaving yours as his eyes flutter closed. You finally relax yourself, melting into him slightly as you sit there, breathing in the quiet moment. Something’s shifting, something’s changing between the two of you. 

You’re not quite sure how it’s going to end, but you can’t deny the bond beginning to form between you and Simon. 

NEXT ->

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[glowettee]

✧ if it doesn't align with the dream life, it's a distraction ✧

hey lovelies!! 🦢

omg, so, i was literally journaling last night & this phrase just hit me like… so hard. "if it doesn't align with the dream life, it's a distraction." i had to stop writing and just sit with that for a min.

because honestly? i've been feeling so scattered lately. like my energy is going in a million directions but none of them are taking me where i actually want to go. and i realized that's exactly what happens when we don't have clarity on our it-girl blueprint.

so what even is an it-girl blueprint? it's not just aesthetic or vibes (tho those matter too!!) but it's this deep knowing of who you're meant to become. it's that version of you who wakes up excited, who feels aligned, who's living in her dream apartment with her dream career and her dream people. she exists!! she's waiting for you to become her!!

this post is a bit different from my most recents, i wanted to take a little tinyyy break from my pop culture series', like the pll x glowettee and vampire diaries x glowettee series' and just focus more on self-improvement again. i also wanted to take a break from the overwhelming aesthetics i've been using in my posts, and justtttt write~~ (no small text, no crazy colors, just my thoughts) and i realized that distractions have been very prominent in my life lately... so i wanted to address it in this post, and some possible solutions <3

✧ what's actually distracting you? ✧

okay so grab your journal rn and let's get super real about what's pulling you away from your dream life, feel free to use these prompts:

that situationship that makes you feel anxious every time they text (you know the one)

the hours of scrolling that leave you feeling empty inside

saying yes to plans when your body is literally begging you to rest

the "friend" who always has drama and makes everything about them

that project you started because you thought you "should" but you actually hate

staying in that job/class/situation because you're scared to disappoint someone

comparing your chapter 1 to someone else's chapter 20 (guilty!!)

i've been doing this work myself and it's kinda scary how many things i was pouring energy into that weren't actually taking me anywhere i wanted to go??

✧ getting clear on your actual dream life ✧

before we can align with our dream life, we need to know what it actually looks like! not what instagram or your mom or society thinks it should look like, but what YOU want.

some journal prompts that helped me:

when do i feel most like myself?

what activities make me lose track of time?

who makes me feel seen, safe, and supported?

what would my perfect morning routine look like if i had zero obligations?

what kind of spaces make me feel calm and inspired?

what would i do with my time if money wasn't an issue?

what parts of my current life would i keep even if i could change everything?

i did this exercise last weekend and realized that so many things i was chasing weren't even in my dream life blueprint?? like i was stressing about getting into this super competitive program but when i really thought about it, it wasn't even aligned with what i actually want. wild.

✧ how to actually make decisions that align ✧

okay, so here's my little framework for making choices that actually build your dream life:

the body check: before saying yes to anything, check in with your body. does it feel expansive and light, or contracted and heavy? your body literally knows before your brain does!!

the future self question: what would the version of you who's already living your dream life do? she knows!! trust her!!

the energy audit: does this person/activity/commitment give you energy or drain it? only say yes to energy-givers (this one changed my life omg)

the alignment test: ask yourself "does this move me closer to or further from my dream life?" be brutally honest!!

the joy metric: if it doesn't bring you joy or lead to joy, why are you doing it?? (unless it's like… taxes or something lol)

✧ how to let go of the distractions ✧

this is the hardest part tbh. because we get attached to things even when they're not serving us! here's what's helping me:

remember that saying no to something is saying yes to your dream life

start with the easiest distractions first (for me it was unfollowing accounts that made me feel bad)

create little rituals around letting go (i write things down and then burn the paper)

remind yourself that outgrowing things is part of becoming

be gentle with yourself when you slip back into old patterns (we all do it!!)

i had to let go of a friendship a few months that was taking so much energy, and it was really hard but also?? i suddenly had all this space to focus on things that actually matter to me.

✧ your dream life alignment practice ✧

here's a little daily practice i've been doing:

morning: set an intention to notice what aligns and what distracts

throughout the day: when making choices, ask "dream life or distraction?"

evening: celebrate the aligned choices you made + gently note the distractions

it's not being perfect!! it's becoming more conscious of our choices. because every tiny decision is either building your dream life or… not.

i've been doing this for about three weeks now and i already feel so much clearer and more focused. like i'm finally moving in one direction instead of being pulled in a million different ones.

remember: you deserve your dream life. and it starts with choosing it, over and over, in all the tiny moments.

question from mindy:

what's one distraction you're ready to let go of? and one aligned action you're ready to take? (feel free to send me a message in my inbox, or just reblog answering this question.)

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[mazeeelabyrinth]

♡♡♡ Project Bunny ♡♡♡

Chapter I: Live - PixelBunny.exe

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

♡■♡■♡ Pairing: LADS MLIs x afab camgirl!reader

♡■♡■♡ Plot Summary:

By day, you're just a broke barista with a caffeine addiction, with a useless degree and a student loan nightmare, and a customer service smile stitched over your burnout. By night, you're Pixel Bunny—a bratty, cosplay-clad camgirl with a shy voice, a pastel aesthetic, and a growing fanbase that keeps your lights on and your legs open.

Except… your five most generous patrons are a little too devoted. Each a stranger with a username and a hard-on for control, slowly bleeding into your real life.

♡■♡■♡ Tags: 18+, multichapters, second pov, eventual poly, eventual orgy, dark romance, reverse harem, shameless smut, porn with plot, explicit, gradual shift into darker themes, voyeurism, praise kink, porn, ooc, canon divergence au, sex toys, clothing fetish, cosplay, breeding kink, ddlg (daddy dom/little girl), pet names, live masturbation, power play, strip tease, sex work, camgirl au, streaming culture, orgasm denial, parasocial relationship, obsessive parasocial behavior, dirty talk, stalking tendencies, reader is not mc, reader has a day job, reader is addressed as "Bunny" or "PixelBunny" on stream, masked identities

♡■♡■♡ Word Count: 7.2K

A/N: Finally dug up an old idea and use it for another LADS fanfic. I was debating whether I use an oc or just follow my usual "x reader", guess what I did? Please take this "you" persona impersonally.

A/N2: holy shit, I thought I saved it up as a draft 😂 I wasn't done editing it lmfao

MASTERLIST | AO3 | FOR TAG LIST, INTERACT HERE. | NAVIGATION

Your screen flickered to life with the soft, ambient glow of neon pinks and cool lilacs. Lo-fi beats hummed low through your headset, a curated loop of calming bass and synthetic purrs you’ve fine-tuned to make every viewer feel like they were lounging right in bed with you.

The room behind you was an aesthetic fever dream: plushies, pastel LEDs, posters of vintage anime girls with glassy eyes and lollipops too large for their mouths.

You're perched on the center of your bed, legs curled just right, clad in a baby-pink cropped cardigan that technically covers your nipples—but just barely, plaid skirt strategically rumpled that showed off your panties you’d pretend were modest if they weren’t riding a dangerous line between “cute” and “cam site terms of service violation.”

The bunny-eared headset—your signature look—bobbed slightly as you adjusted, lips glossed to a cherry sheen and parted with practiced nervousness.

A delectable morsel wrapped in pastel and lust. That’s you, PixelBunny. A camgirl rising on the other side of the internet.

Just shy. Just bratty enough.

Innocent. Dumb. Deceiving.

Click. You're live.

The chat was already rioting. A thousand hearts bloomed in the corner of your screen. Familiar names lit up the chat like a twisted bouquet of usernames you knew better than your actual friends.

Syl.Draconia 💎 has joined the stream 🐇

R.tist!c tipped 1000 credits: angel, that lipstick shade is killing me

X-Devoted upgraded to SUGAR DADDY - ULTRA VIP 💎

Mr. WhiteCoat tipped 500 credits: Don’t overwork yourself.

C.Pilot: you're late. I've been waiting Bunny. ;)

3009 more viewers have joined 🐇

You smiled sweetly. Blushed. Looked away. A beat too long, just to make them ache for it. And then, your voice—high, breathy, a porcelain teacup too full of heat—spilled into the mic.

“H-hi, everyone. Welcome back to my... super cozy Friday stream. I—I missed you all so much... I was sooo lonely today…”

A flurry of small donations exploded with the flood of emotes. Bunnies. Eggplants. Hearts. Claws. One name after another. Each one hit your account like a loaded promise. A private ping dinged—five times, exactly. Direct messages, encrypted, VIP access only.

You ignored them. For now.

The camera zoomed slightly—auto-focus tracing your thighs as they shifted. Your skin was glossed, powdered, glowing under artificial moonlight. You stretched your arms overhead, the croptop sliding just enough to show the soft curve of underboobs, a calculated ‘oopsie’ perfected by months of practice.

C.Pilot: you know you missed yesterday right?

X-Devoted: Uve been a veeery naughty bunny…

Mr. WhiteCoat: I’m monitoring your dopamine spikes in real time. They’re inconsistent.

R.tist!c: is that the cardigan i sent you? unbutton it slowly

Syl.Draconia: Shes hiding something tonight. Increased blink rate. Deviated gaze.

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

You giggled, again, hiding your face in your hands. A perfect little bunny. Tempting fate like it was a game. Innocence so carefully curated it could only be filthy. Just a girl in your safe little pastel den, alone in your apartment, with predatory men watching you burn.

You shifted, thighs parting slightly, your voice rising just a note.

“I m-might’ve been a little mean… I didn’t respond to some DMs. I went live without private previews tonight... I guess I was just feeling bold.”

X-Devoted: U will learn sweetheart

Syl.Draconia: Already running your own script. Dangerous.

Mr. WhiteCoat: This requires corrective conditioning.

C.Pilot: youre gonna make me break my keyboard Bun.

R.tist!c: keep talking, your shame is muse enough

The camera light pulsed. You leaned forward, intentionally framing your cleavage with your forearms as you pouted at the lens.

“You’re all so strict with me lately,” you murmured, voice full of mock-pout and something that wasn’t so mock. “But I know how much you missed me…”

You reached for a small heart-shaped plastic on the nightstand.

“A-and I think I’m ready to be your good bunny again.”

Then—click.

You pressed the first tip-button. The sex toy that was already inserted before the stream purred to life inside you, humming quiet and wicked.

“A-ah—mm! T-that’s... oopsie.” Well, at least the moan that slipped from your glossy lips was real.

X-Devoted: Dont play shy. U wore that choker for me.

Syl.Draconia: Zoom. 140%. Enhance the thighs.

R.tist!c: such soft curves, let me paint you like this

Mr. WhiteCoat: Keep still. I’m running diagnostics.

C.Pilot : bet she soaked the sheets already.

mr.unknown: oh yes, moan for us more 😩

zeronut: show pussy plz… 💦

"Oh... Oh Daddy..." You murmured into the mic, your eyes glazed over as the vibrations from the toy X-Devoted had chosen for you resonated through your body. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush that surely painted your face in a way that made the camera love you more. The chat was a whirlwind of lewd comments and generous tips. Each one of your patrons had a piece of you, and you knew it. You reveled in it.

You leaned back into the plush pillows, your hands sneaked under the cardigan, fingers dancing over your chest, tracing the edges of the pasties you knew R.tist!c had picked out from the last set of gifts he'd sent. His taste was always so... exquisite. You could feel your heart racing, the decorative adhesive tickling against your skin with each breath.

"Thank you for the tips, Daddy..." You breathed into the mic, a soft smile playing on your lips as you scanned the chat for X-Devoted's name. His tip had triggered the toy, and the pleasure was already pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill over. "You're all so generous tonight."

The screen was a blur of usernames and donation amounts. You bit your bottom lip, letting the anticipation build as you slowly unbuttoned the cardigan. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered dramatically for the camera, knowing it would drive them wild. The room was a symphony of virtual praise, each note hitting a different chord of your arousal.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Thats what I like to see

C.Pilot: let’s see how much you’ve been taking care of yourself Bunny.

R.tist!c: more little bun, show us everything

With a devilish smirk, you leaned forward, giving them the show they were dying to see. The cardigan fell away, revealing the purple, starfish-shaped pasties that covered your areola—nipples already peaked out and were begging for attention beneath the adhesive silicone.

The cold lens of the camera was the only thing touching them as you whispered, "Look at what you do to me, Daddy." You gave your torso a gentle shake, watching your breasts jiggle before the eyes of your devoted audience.

The chat exploded with emojis and messages. The numbers on the side of your screen spun upwards like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. You felt a thrill of power, a heady rush of adrenaline, knowing that these men were all watching you, all wanting you, all willing to give you anything to satisfy their desires. You were the puppeteer, and they were your marionettes, dancing to the tune of your siren's song.

"Would you like to taste my tits, Daddy?" You whispered into the void, watching the screen as your words sent a shockwave through the chat. The vibrator in your panties buzzed in time with your racing heart every time someone tipped, a symphony of need and greed. You cupped your breasts, your thumbs flicking over the covered areola, teasing the silicone away from your sensitive skin.

X-Devoted: Yes baby. Take off the starfish. Let us all admire ur pretty nipples

Mr.WhiteCoat: Use the adhesive fabric next time if the silicone irritates your nipples.

R.tist!c: i wish those pasties were my mouth

R.tist!c: soon you will be mine

C.Pilot: make it quick, I can feel my cock pulsing already.

Syl.Draconia: Watch yourself Bunny. Watch how beautiful you are.

You bit back a giggle, feeling a thrill of excitement at their commands. You knew they were all watching, all waiting with bated breath for the moment you'd give in. Your fingers danced along the edge of the silicone, the tension building as you paused, just for a second, to let them beg for more.

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: Take it off let the breeze kiss those pretty nipples of yours.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the message from Syl.Draconia. His requests always sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement. But you had a show to run. You had to keep them all on the edge of their seats. So, with a flick of your wrist, the pasties came off, revealing your bare breasts to the camera. The coolness of the room kissed your skin, making your nipples peak even further. You leaned closer to the camera, letting them get a good look at the prize.

But amidst the flurry of tips and messages, one stood out. C.Pilot’s text was simple, but the implication was clear. "you know I wanna fuck those tits Bunny." The chat went wild, a mix of excitement and anticipation. This wasn't the first time he'd made such a bold statement.

You looked into the camera, eyes wide with feigned shock, "Oh my... Daddy's being extra naughty tonight." You giggled, playing coy. But inside, you felt a thrill of danger. It was all part of the game, but you knew it was one you couldn't ignore for much longer.

The tips continued to flood in as you played with the strings of your skirt, tugging it down just enough to reveal the sheer lace of your panties. The camera zoomed in, capturing the wetness that had already begun to soak through. You could feel the fabric sticking to your skin as you teased them, the anticipation building. Each user's kink reflected in their words, a silent bidding war for your attention.

X-Devoted: Spread ur legs for us baby. Show us ur sweet little cunt

Mr.WhiteCoat: I can see your heart rate increasing. Keep going.

R.tist!c: imagine its my tongue licking you clean

C.Pilot: you know I’d shower those tits with my cum.

Syl.Draconia: Take off the skirt. Give us a show.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their eyes—or rather, the screens—on you. It was all a game, a dance of power and desire played out in pixels. But you were good at this dance, weren't you? You'd been doing it for some months. You leaned back, letting your legs fall open just enough to hint at the lacy treasure beneath. The toy in your panties buzzed louder, the intensity of the vibrations making you gasp.

"M-maybe later, Daddy. I-I’m getting shy now…" you whispered, batting your eyelashes at the camera in practiced timidity. The chat erupted again, the sound of keys smacking screens echoing in your mind. The thrill of control was intoxicating. You were the queen of this digital realm, and they were all just pawns in your game.

The vibrations grew more intense, and you couldn’t help but squirm. You reached down and slipped your hand into your skirt, your fingers sliding over the drenched fabric of your panties. The toy buzzed against your clit, and you let out a soft moan, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The room grew hot, the air thick with lust.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pulse is racing faster now. Tell us how it feels.

X-Devoted: Ure mine tonight bunny

R.tist!c: i can almost taste you through the screen

C.Pilot: give us a better look.

Syl.Draconia: Yes show us how much you want it.

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and your breathing grew heavier as you read the messages, feeling their eyes on you—or rather, the screens that served as their windows into your private world. The vibrations grew stronger, and you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet. You had to keep them wanting more.

"But not yet, Daddy," you murmured into the microphone, your voice a sultry whisper. "I want to save the best for later." You pulled your hand away from your panties, leaving them wet and exposed. The camera zoomed in, and you watched the chat light up with excitement. You had them hooked, and you were the master angler reeling them in, inch by inch.

With a practiced brattiness, you stood from the bed.

"Oh... so cold!~" You gasp, hugging yourself in a manner dramatic enough to tease your audience.

You turned to face the camera fully, your eyes scanning the chat for any signs of the five high-rollers you knew were out there. You strutted over to the clothing rack, the soft thud of your feet echoing through the quiet room. The outfit was a surprise, something you'd picked out just for them. A devilish smirk played on your lips as you pulled out the hanger, the fabric gliding over your fingertips like silk.

"Alright, everyone," you announced, the sound of you unraveling the garment garnering a slew of eager messages. "It's time for the main event!" The anticipation in your voice was palpable as you held the outfit against your body, obscuring your nakedness with the screen of fabric. "Tonight, I've got something extra special for you. Who's ready for a surprise?"

The chat exploded with excitement, a barrage of suggestive emojis and filthy messages.

C.Pilot: can't wait Bunny.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your secrets are the best part of the show.

R.tist!c: show us little muse

You took a deep breath, the anticipation building in your chest as you held up the lingerie set. "I've got something that's gonna knock your socks off, Daddies!" You giggled, feeling the excitement of your digital audience pulse through the air. The pastel colors shimmered under the soft light, a perfect blend of innocence and desire.

You turned around, giving them a glimpse of your bare back, the tension building as you slowly untied the strings of your skirt. The skirt softly rustled as it slid down your thighs like silk, leaving only your sheer panties that barely covered your dripping cunt and the vibrator thrumming inside you.

"Oopsie daisy!" You exclaimed, feigning clumsiness, making sure the camera captured every inch of your exposed skin. "Looks like I need to get changed!"

The chatter in the chat grew louder as you began to peel off your panties, the fabric sticking to your wetness before finally sliding away. The toy remained in place, a silent sentinel of your pleasure.

You stepped into the new set, a pair of lace g-strings that barely covered your curves, and a matching sheer bralette that left nothing to the imagination. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through your body, the vibrations syncing with your heartbeat.

"How does this look?" You asked, spinning around for them, giving a full view of the new ensemble. The chat went wild, a cacophony of lewd comments and tips. You could feel the power surging through you, a heady rush that only grew as you watched the numbers climb.

X-Devoted: Perfect. Just like I knew it would be

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your obedience is... commendable, PixelBunny.

R.tist!c: a masterpiece worthy of my canvas

C.Pilot: fuck baby. you're driving me wild.

You leaned closer to the camera, your breath hot against the lens. "Does Daddy like it?" You whispered, your eyes sparkling with mischief. The chat was a blur of eager responses, each one more eager than the last.

Syl.Draconia: Youre a vision, my sweet bunny. I could rip that in one flick of my fingers.

You winked at the camera, the toy inside you buzzing in response to the thrill of their words. "Good, because I got something extra special for you all." Your breasts bounced slightly as you turned, giving them the show they craved. "Who wants to see what I've got planned?"

The tips—smaller amounts this time—poured in faster than you could read, the screen lighting up like a Christmas tree. Your heart raced as you felt the eyes of your devoted fans, the vibrations inside you reaching a crescendo. "Alright, Daddies. Let's get this party started!"

You slid the toy out of you with a wet pop, ensuring the camera caught everything, the chat exploding in a symphony of virtual pleasure. The toy was replaced with something new, something they hadn't seen before. It was a custom-made dildo, the girthy shaft covered in bumpy, tiny lights that matched the color scheme of your room.

"This little guy is gonna light up the night," you said with a wink, turning it on. The lights flickered in time with your racing pulse, a silent promise of what was to come.

Strutting closer to your desktop, you straddled the fuschia pink-white gaming chair, posing your back against the lens. You took a moment to appreciate the view on the screen—the way the lights played off your curves, highlighting the view of your asscheeks in the air, your drenched cunt peeking through the scant g-string. Turning you into a living work of art.

Then, with a sultry smile, you placed the tip of the dildo against your entrance, the coolness sending a shiver down your spine.

"Ready for the main event, Daddies?" You teased, tapping the toy playfully against your asscheeks. The chat was a sea of anticipation, a mix of eagerness and greed. You spread your legs wider, giving them a perfect view of your glistening pussy, the fabric of your g-string the only barrier between you and their hungry eyes.

You leaned further into the chair, the cold leather against your skin a stark contrast to the heat building within you. The lights from the dildo reflected off the chrome of your gaming chair, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The plastic frames bit into your knees as you settled into the position, a slight discomfort that only served to heighten the thrill of the moment.

The chat was a blur of excitement, a cacophony of usernames and tips flying by as they watched you, rapt and eager for your next move.

X-Devoted: Slowly baby. Make it last

Mr.WhiteCoat: I’m taking notes of how many pumps you’re going to do tonight.

R.tist!c: oh i wanna sketch this

C.Pilot: fuck bunny. you're so wet, I could almost feel it.

Syl.Draconia: Use the lube I sent.

With a seductive smile, you took the lube, never breaking eye contact with the camera’s lens as you lathered it around the girthy artificial phallus. The squelching echoed to the mic as your hands pumped in a tantalizing rhythm, giving your audience the fantasy of you touching their cocks instead.

You began to rub the tip against your swollen clit, the lights flickering in time with your movements. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt through your body that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"Mm, Daddy likes it slow?" You murmured, your voice a breathless purr. "Alright, let's see if I can be a good girl." You slid the toy down, teasing the folds of your pussy. The chat was a flurry of commands and compliments, each one feeding the fire of your desire.

With a deliberate slowness that was as much for show as it was for their benefit, you brushed the string of your panties aside and pushed the dildo inside your cunt. The lights flickered in time with the strokes, creating a mesmerizing pattern across your skin. You moaned, the sound carrying through the quiet apartment, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo back at you from the screens of your devoted fans.

"Oh, yes... just like that," you whispered into the microphone, the vibrations from the dildo making your voice shake slightly. "Daddy's got me feeling so good."

Your eyes remained locked on the camera, watching as the tips continued to roll in. Each one a little victory, each one a validation of your power. You began to move the toy in and out, the lights casting a rainbow of shadows across your vaginal walls. "Tell me, Daddies," you gasped, "How does it look when I'm being such a good girl for you?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pussy looks so tight around that new toy, PixelBunny. You’re taking it well.

C.Pilot: oh fuck. that's so hot. like you're begging for the real thing.

R.tist!c: like a painting baby, a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Tell me you wish it was my cock Bunny.

X-Devoted: Ure mine Bunny. Remember that

Their reactions varied, a symphony of desire played out in digital text. Some praised your obedience, others painted vivid pictures of what they’d do to you, while another whispered dark promises of possession. Yet, none of them knew the truth behind your shy demeanor, the cynical smirk that tugged at your lips as you read their words.

With each stroke, the lights of the dildo grew more intense, painting your face with a rainbow of pleasure. Your body began to respond, your hips moving in a gentle rhythm that grew more urgent with each passing moment. You knew the act well, the dance of a siren luring sailors to their doom. You were their obsession, their escape from the mundane.

The sound of your wetness filled the room, mingling with your soft moans. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of your power. You watched the chat, eyes flickering from one message to the next. Their words were a drug, a sweet poison that made you feel alive.

You began to rock your hips, the toy sliding in and out with increasing speed. "Is Daddy proud of me?" You whimpered, your voice a siren's call. The chat exploded, each tip a declaration of their adoration. You felt their desire, a palpable force that seemed to tighten around you, squeezing out every last drop of your inhibition.

"Oh, Daddy," you moaned, the pleasure building, the lights from the dildo casting a glow across your face. "You make me feel so... dirty." The words were like honey, sweet and thick with meaning. You watched the chat, the screen a blur of tips and messages, each one more desperate than the last.

The toy slammed into you now, the plastic thud echoing through the room. Your hands were a blur, moving in a rhythm that was almost violent. The sensation was overwhelming, the lights pulsing with your heartbeat. You could feel yourself getting closer, the orgasm a tidal wave just beyond the horizon.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, PixelBunny, take it another inch deeper.

C.Pilot: so good baby. take it all for me.

R.tist!c: like youre riding my cock baby

Syl.Draconia: Mines bigger than that silly toy Bunny.

X-Devoted: Make sure u wont hurt urself

Their commands fueled you, pushing you closer to the edge. You took the toy out and licked it clean, the taste of yourself making your eyes roll back.

"Daddy, I need more," you whimpered, dropping the dildo to the floor. Slowly, you turned around to face the camera and present yourself on the chair. Your hand snaked into your g-string, your fingers finding your clit. "Is Daddy going to make me cum?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Play with yourself more, BunnyPixel. Show us how much you want it.

C.Pilot: spread those legs wider, let me see everything.

R.tist!c: i want to see that pretty pussy swollen with desire for me

Syl.Draconia: You know you want it bunny. Take it all.

X-Devoted: Ure so greedy, arent you, Bunny? But Daddy loves that about you

Their words were a siren's song that you couldn't ignore. You spread your legs wider, the fabric of your g-string stretching tightly over your swollen clit. You watched the chat as your fingers began to dance across your folds, the wetness of your pussy glistening in the soft glow of the lights.

"Look at how wet I am for you, Daddies," you breathed into the microphone, the sound of your voice sending a shiver through your body. Your thumb circled your clit, the sensation making your toes curl. "Do you like watching me play?"

The chat erupted in a symphony of affirmations, their digital applause filling your ears. You felt a strange sense of belonging, a thrill that came from being the object of their desire. It was a power trip, one that you were all too eager to indulge in.

With a wicked grin, you picked up the dildo again, the lights pulsing to the beat of the music that played in the background. "Alright, Daddies," you said, your voice a mix of sweetness and seductive challenge. "Who wants to see how fast I can make this little toy disappear?"

The chat went wild as you positioned the dildo at your entrance, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that had built up within you. You pushed it in, the lights dancing on your skin as you took it all in one go, the tip brushing against your cervix. You gasped, the sensation intense and overwhelming. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips and messages, each one more eager than the last to claim a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Bravo, PixelBunny. You’re so good at taking what you’re given.

C.Pilot: fuck yes. just like that. you're mine baby.

R.tist!c: a true masterpiece in motion

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: If its my cock filling you up, youd scream louder than that.

X-Devoted: So obedient. So perfect

You watched the tips climb, feeling a thrill at their desperation. "Is Daddy proud?" You asked, your voice a needy whine as you began to pump the dildo in and out of yourself. The lights reflected off the sweat that had begun to form on your skin, casting a glow around your body.

The chat was a blur of usernames and dollar signs, a testament to your power over these men. You felt a twinge of guilt, a tiny voice that whispered they didn't know the real you, that you were playing a role. But the rush of power was too great, the thrill of their desire too potent to resist.

You began to moan, the sound echoing through your headphones. The camera captured every inch of you, every bead of sweat, every gasp of pleasure. It was a dance of seduction, a performance honed over countless nights in front of the lens.

The chat was a furor of commands, each one more demanding than the last. But you were in control. You knew just how to play them, how to keep them on the edge of their seats. With each stroke, you felt their eyes on you, their thoughts wrapped around your body like a second skin.

"Oh, Daddy," you whimpered, the dildo moving faster now, the lights blurring together into a rainbow of ecstasy. "I'm so close." The chat exploded in a frenzy of tips once more, each one a declaration of war for your pleasure.

You felt yourself getting closer, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your hand moved faster, the dildo a blur as it plunged into your pussy. Your other hand gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles white with the effort of holding back. Its creak was a silent protest against the relentless pace of the dildo, creating a lewd harmony along with the squelching of your pussy around the glowing, bumpy, glass phallus.

"I'm... I'm gonna cum," you whispered, your voice shaking with need. The chat was a sea of fire emojis, a digital inferno of desire. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their hands moving in time with yours, imagining it was their cocks that filled you so completely.

The lights grew brighter, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. It was as if the room was alive, a living entity that feasted on your pleasure. Your walls tightened around the dildo, a silent plea for more, for harder, for deeper. The glass felt like fire in your hand, a tool of your own making that you wielded with expert precision.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby, keep going. You’re on the 496th pump and counting.

C.Pilot: that’s it slut. give it to me.

R.tist!c tipped 1500 credits: youd be more beautiful painted with my cum

Syl.Draconia tipped 300 credits: Youre so pretty when youre full of me.

X-Devoted tipped 500 credits: Ure perfect… my little whore

You threw your head back, your mouth open in a silent scream. The chat was a blur of lewd comments and demands, a symphony of desire that seemed to crescendo with every stroke. You felt their eyes on you, their hunger a palpable force that pushed you closer to the edge. The room was spinning, the lights a kaleidoscope of pleasure that painted the walls of your reality.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you with the force of a thousand suns. You screamed into the microphone, the sound echoing through the room. The camera captured every twitch of your body, every spasm of pleasure that racked your frame. The chat exploded in a cacophony of tips and messages, each one a declaration of victory.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, PixelBunny. Drink water to hydrate.

C.Pilot: I’d breed that little cunt like the bunny you are.

R.tist!c: fuck youre an artwork

Syl.Draconia: Good girl.

X-Devoted tipped 750 credits: Look how swollen your clit is

As the wave of pleasure receded, you slumped in the chair, panting heavily. Your body was a wreck, a plaything used and discarded. But there was no regret, only satisfaction. You had done your job, played your role to perfection. The tips kept rolling in, a testament to your power, to your ability to manipulate and control.

Mr.WhiteCoat: That was exquisite, PixelBunny. You pumped twenty-three times more tonight than the last stream.

C.Pilot tipped 2000 credits: you're so fucking perfect, you’re gonna make me cum on my keyboard.

R.tist!c: i want to capture that moment forever

Syl.Draconia: You never disappoint pet.

X-Devoted: Such a good little bunny letting us watch

You took a moment to catch your breath, the sweat cooling on your skin as you surveyed the chat. The room was bathed in the glow of the pastel lights, a soft symphony of colors that seemed to pulse with the aftermath of your climax. The usernames swirled like a kaleidoscope, each one a reminder of the men who had claimed a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Take off the g-string. Let us see you completely bare.

C.Pilot: you’re so responsive baby. I bet you’d scream if I was the one fucking you.

R.tist!c: i wish i could paint the way you look right now because your pussy is an art form

Syl.Draconia: Youre so open, so inviting. It makes me want to take you right here, right now.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Show me whats mine

With trembling hands, you slowly pulled the g-string to the side, fingers gliding to spread your swollen labia—exposing your clit to the cool air. The chat erupted in a symphony of desire, a crescendo of tips that sang your praises. You felt a thrill, a dark pleasure in knowing you had them all at your mercy.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Perfect. Just like that.

C.Pilot: so wet, so needy. who’s going to fill you up next?

R.tist!c: thats the look of a well-fucked muse

Syl.Draconia: Your pussy is begging for it.

X-Devoted: Remember, ure mine

You began to toy with yourself again, the dildo forgotten on the floor. Your hand moved with a newfound confidence, a silent challenge to the men watching you. You knew they were all thinking of themselves, of how they'd make you scream if they had the chance. But you were the one in control here, the one pulling the strings of their desires.

Mr.WhiteCoat: I want to see those breasts bounce, PixelBunny.

C.Pilot: play with those perfect tits.

R.tist!c: the way your titties jiggle is like watching a masterpiece come to life

Syl.Draconia: Show us your tits slut.

X-Devoted: Only for me my greedy little bunny

You leaned forward, your tits spilling out of the lingerie. Your nipples were hard peaks, begging for attention. You pinched them lightly, watching the chat for their reactions. The messages grew more frantic, a silent battle for your focus.

Mr.WhiteCoat tipped 300 credits: You’re shaking, PixelBunny. Just relax.

C.Pilot: pinch them harder, make them beg for mercy.

R.tist!c: oh baby thats the picture id sell for a fortune

Syl.Draconia: I want to feel those nipples between my teeth.

X-Devoted: Ure such a good slut for me

The room was a whirlwind of lewdness, a tornado of desire that you were at the center of. You felt a strange mix of fear and excitement, knowing that any of these men could be watching you from the shadows of your real life, and could be closer than you ever imagined.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Make yourself come again, PixelBunny. Show us how many times you can come tonight.

C.Pilot: I want to see you squirt for me baby.

R.tist!c: youre like a living, breathing fantasy

Syl.Draconia: Imagine its my tongue on you licking you clean while you squirt.

X-Devoted: Ure going to come for me arent you?

With a shiver, you focused on the task at hand. You began to rub your clit in slow circles, the sensation sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. Your nipples tightened further as you pinched and twisted them, the pain adding a delicious edge to the pleasure.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Faster, Bunny. Make it count.

C.Pilot: so pretty when you're desperate.

R.tist!c: i want your juices mixed with paint

Syl.Draconia: So close bunny. Give us what we want.

X-Devoted: Be careful not to fall on the floor

The second orgasm built slowly, a crescendo of pleasure that you couldn't ignore. Each touch of your fingers was a declaration of war, a battle for dominance that you were determined to win. The chat was a blur of praises and commands, but you were in control. This was your show, your performance, your moment of power.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby. Just like that.

C.Pilot: I can almost taste you Bunny.

R.tist!c: your body is a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Soon youll be screaming for me.

X-Devoted: Ure mine to use little slut

With a final, desperate push, you came, your body arching off the chair as your juices arced in the air—subsequently soiling your chair and the floor. The camera captured every twitch, every shiver of pleasure. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips, each one a declaration of victory. You panted, your chest heaving as you watched the numbers climb, the power of your own sexuality laid bare before you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, baby. Simply breathtaking.

C.Pilot: that was so fucking hot. you're incredible

R.tist!c: the way you come is like watching the universe unfold

Syl.Draconia tipped 1500 credits: Thats my slut. Ill give you a taste of my cock soon.

X-Devoted: Good girl

As the waves of pleasure receded, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. These men didn't just want to watch you; they wanted to own you. The thought sent a thrill down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement that you couldn't quite place.

You knew you had to keep them at bay, keep your real life separate from this digital playground. But as the tips continued to flow and the chat demanded more, you couldn't help but wonder if the line had already been crossed.

If they had already claimed a part of you that you couldn't take back.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You overslept.

The kind of oversleep that left mascara smudged in the corner of your eyes and thigh-high sock marks ghosting along your skin. Your alarm had gone off four times—each one silenced by a sleepy, swollen hand that still smells faintly of coconut oil and shame.

You’re not sore exactly. You're ruined.

Tender. Overfilled. Buzzing like your favorite toy never turned off. Your vibrator still under the pillow—taunting you like the whore you were last night. Your apartment smelled like artificial strawberries, lube, and desperation.

And your phone? Oh, bunny.

47 unread messages.

Syl.Draconia: Your audio peaked at 2:14:37. I liked that sound.

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should ice your thighs today. Hydration report pending.

X-Devoted: Still think about how u moaned my name last. Be good today

C.Pilot: saved the vod. watching it again before my morning meeting.

R.tist!c: i want to paint you mid-climax ill need the raw footage

You deleted none of them.

Your thighs stuck together as you rolled onto your side, squinting at the soft morning light bleeding through cheap blinds.

7:48 AM. Your café shift started at 7:00.

You groaned, dragging yourself out of bed. Your bunny headset laid discarded on the floor like a casualty, tangled with the cord of the bullet toy that made you scream so loud you had to bite the pillow. The heart-shaped toy from last night was still blinking faintly on the nightstand—taunting you. Judging you.

You’re still wearing the cropped cardigan. Nothing underneath. Just a smear of dried gloss on the collar and a suspicious hickey where your neck met the webcam’s frame.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You yanked on your barista apron with the grace of a drunken octopus, hair still smelling like body spray and cum-adjacent perfume, cheeks flushed with residual shame. The “CUP O' SUNSHINE!” logo stared at you like a passive-aggressive middle finger. A wrinkled pair of jeans hugged your thighs fine—inside out. No time to fix it. No bra.

Your thighs sticked slightly as you walked, the aftermath of being toyed open for hours, edged to oblivion and backed by faceless men who knew the sound of your moans better than your coworkers knew your name.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket with unread messages. The same five names.

X-Devoted: Did u eat yet baby?

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should’ve hydrated more. You lost a lot of fluids.

C.Pilot: when’s your break? I’ll call you.

R.tist!c: sketching the way your thighs shook

Syl.Draconia: You looked perfect on your knees.

You groaned and shoved it in your boring, beige, canvas tote bag.

Outside, the bus screeched past your stop without a single care for your state of existential hangover. You missed it by six goddamn seconds.

"Fuck you, rush hour,” you panted, trying to speed-walk without waddling. Your thighs screamed. Your lower back protested. You're ninety percent sure there was still some faux hickey ink blooming under your collarbone in the shape of a painted thumbprint.

Then the subway ride was hell. You shifted on the plastic seat with a soft hiss, cursing your post-stream sensitivity. The train lurched and your sore cunt clenched involuntarily. You could only bite your lip and pray no one noticed your discomfort.

When you clocked in, the coffee shop was already packed. You're over an hour late and reeking of vanilla lotion and unsanctioned orgasms.

Your workplace was aggressively normal. Neutral-toned hell. A cozy café chain squashed between a vape shop and a dentist’s office. The fluorescent lights buzzed like judging aunts. The espresso machine wheezed like a dying horse.

“Nice of you to join us,” your manager—Lysander—muttered, tossing you a stained dish towel and a name tag that read PIXEL. You didn’t bother to correct him. You were too busy hiding the fact that you forgot underwear.

You forced a smile. The same one you used on camera. “Sorry! Long night.”

As you staggered toward the counter, last night kept crashing back in wet waves.

After the ‘normal stream’—you on all fours, bouncing on a glass dildo while holding a printed-out chatlog to your chest like a script from hell.

“I-I’m gonna come again if you keep saying that, please—please don’t make me—!”

And them—ULTRA VIP chat exploding, all five usernames watching you fall apart like a perfectly wound toy snapping loose.

Syl.Draconia: Youre not allowed to finish until I say so.

X-Devoted: Slower. Hold eye contact. Now beg

Mr. WhiteCoat: Apply pressure to your clit. Precisely three fingers. That’s right.

C.Pilot: fuck, you’re gonna make me blow in my headset.

R.tist!c: cry for me, let me paint it from memory

You had collapsed into a moaning mess while the private chat was filled with tips, voice notes and possessive claims. You came so hard you nearly dislocated your mic stand.

And now here you were—Pixel Bunny’s shadow, stripped of pastel lights, lace, and fake moans. Fresh graduate, still buried in student debts, living alone, half-fucked out, and working the register for caffeine-deprived Karens and stoners.

Taking someone’s half-skim oat milk latte with a fake smile and shaky hands, your body still twitching with phantom overstimulation, your panties still sitting in a tipped-over laundry basket, and your cunt still slick from ghosts of last night’s sins.

You slapped a paper cup onto the counter like a half-dead soldier. Your bones ached. Your legs felt like overcooked noodles. You were seconds away from collapsing into the espresso grounds when you heard it:

“Medium latte. One pump vanilla.”

You didn’t look up at first. You were too busy auto-piloting through your camgirl trauma, but something about the voice made you pause.

It’s… calm and smooth. Measured.

You glanced up and your breath caught mid-exhale.

He was tall. Easily six feet. Fair-skinned and silver-haired, the kind of anime-protagonist-just-transferred-to-your-school handsome that would normally make you roll your eyes. His white sweater looked soft, expensive, the kind of thing someone would wear just to make you think about how good it would feel brushing against your thighs. His pants were dark, tailored. Hands tucked casually into the pockets.

And his eyes. Blue. Not icy—glacial.

Like he sees straight through you, and hasn’t decided if you’re prey… or his.

You swallowed. “N-name for the order?”

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a second, gaze lingering for a beat on the upside-down nametag stuck above your chest.

“…Xavier.”

Your hand trembled around the Sharpie. You barely managed to scrawl the name on the cup, your brain already conjuring the worst possibilities.

X-Devoted. No. No. It’s just a common name. It’s fine. You’re fine, you’re just sleep-deprived and overstimulated.

You slid the cup toward the espresso machine and forced your voice steady. “It’ll be right up. Um. X-Xavier.”

His lips twitched. Not a smile. Just a flicker—barely there.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.

Xavier turned to wait at the other end of the counter, hands still in his pockets. Posture straight. Like he was listening.

You sneaked one more glance as you started the order. He was staring at the pastries now. Or the board. Or maybe the reflection in the glass. You couldn’t tell.

But the prickle on the back of your neck said: be careful.

[dem0batz]

Apple Spice and Oaths

Caleb x MC!Reader // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: I've been plagued by thoughts of Caleb. My brain has been rotting and frothing since his trailer release. Not as edited as I would have liked but I needed to get this out into the world.

Summary: After years of forbidden moments with Caleb, it all finally comes to a head when he is about to leave for pilot training. 🔞Content Warnings: (adopted) brother/sister kink, virgin MC, yandere Caleb, dubcon, sexual coercion but MC wants it, references to Dawnbreaker Zayne, Dacryphilia, implied oral (—>f), PIV, cum eating, small blood reference Word Count: ~2400 words | read on AO3 | Chapter List

The bed dips behind you, a soft creak echoing through your room. A chill hits your spine, making your bones tremble before warmth presses into your back and the blanket seals the two of you in.

“Caleb…”

“Shhh, you’ll wake Gran.”

Your half-hearted protest dies on your lips when your brother’s arm falls across your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. A strong forearm slides under your neck, searching for a comfortable position for the both of you. His familiar scent of apples and spice hit your nostrils as he snuggles in closer, entwining your limbs together like so many times before.

You really should send him back to his own room. This thing between the two of you has gotten out of hand. It wasn’t normal for siblings to do the things the two of you have and someone needs to put a stop to it before it’s too late. Before you both cross that line neither of you can ever return from. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him to leave when the warmth of his breath hits your ear with a relieved sigh, his body relaxing into yours.

“You know I can’t sleep without you, pipsqueak.”

Caleb buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent with a light groan. Warm lips press against the sensitive skin as a large hand slides under your sleep shirt. His fingers are chilly as they dance across your abdomen, teasing around your navel on their path upward. Just as they reach the swell of your breasts, you press down on his hand to keep it from going higher though your nipples were tingling with desperation.

“That’s not sleeping,” you whisper.

“Can’t help it,” Caleb whispers back, his lips continuing to brush your neck even as he speaks. “You smell so good. So pretty. Feel so good in my arms. I need you, pip. Always need you. You plague my every thought ‘til there’s no space for anything else. ’m fucking crazy for you, pretty girl.”

A lump tightens in your throat. Though he doesn’t try to force his way to your chest, you can feel his fingers twitching against your ribs with the need to move. You would be lying to yourself (which you do often) by saying that you didn’t want it to. That you didn’t crave him the way he craves you. After you lost Zayne, Caleb was the only you had left and you had clung to him like a life line. The only reason he felt so comfortable crawling into your bed in the middle of the night is because you didn’t tell him to leave the first night he did it.

Agonizing dreams of an adult Zayne, bitter and lonely, kept infiltrating your peaceful sleep, morphing into nightmares that left you whimpering and trembling with overwhelming grief. It took a week of suffering these dreams before you were brave enough to tell someone. Dismissing it as exam exhaustion was enough to Gran worked well enough and she didn’t question you much after, but Caleb didn’t buy it. His thumbs had swept over the circles under your eyes, a frown on his face telling you without a single word that he didn’t believe you. Though he didn’t say anything in front of Gran, Caleb wasn’t one to let things go.

He crept into your room that night to find you tangled and sweaty in your sheets, crying in your sleep as visions invaded your dreams of sharp black ice piercing through Zayne’s body while you were frozen in place and unable to go to him. Caleb shook you awake and held you while you cried, babbling incoherently until you fell back into a deep, calm sleep in his arms.

So while Caleb claims to be unable to sleep without you, it was the opposite. Any night you had to sleep alone was spent tossing and turning until you gave up all together, the insomnia taking it’s place. You had no idea what you would do once he leaves next week for pilot training, something you were both dreading but didn’t speak of. This is why you had to learn to be without him and why this needed to end.

As much as it pained you to, you begin to pry his arm from your torso.

“Please don’t. Don’t push me away.” His voice cracks on your name, cracking your heart with it.

Caleb was your rock, so strong and sturdy to lean on. It wasn’t often he showed vulnerability, typically only in these quiet moments you shared in the dark. It was enough to make your resolve waver. Sensing your hesitation, he presses up against you, his erection digging into your lower back.

“But you’re leaving me,” your own voice trembles with the sting of tears on your lashes.

His other hand grips your jaw from it’s position, twisting your neck toward him until your breathing mingles, lips grazing one another. It’s hard to see in the dark, but there’s just enough light emitting from a soft night light nearby to see the hardening in his eyes.

“It’s not my choice!” he hisses. Your eyes widen at his outburst, so unlike the calm, loving brother you had come to known. Realizing himself, his eyes soften. “I’m sorry, pipsqueak. I just… can’t have you thinking I’m leaving because I want to. There are things I can’t explain to you right now but I promise, one day it will all make sense. Forgive me?”

With only a moment of hesitation, you nod. You would always forgive him. There was nothing he could do to make you hate him when he looked at you like this. His lips brush over each of your eyes, collecting the tears that had began to build on your lashes. They move down to press against your own, softly at first, then more insistent as his tongue prods at the crease until the salty flavor of your tears bursts on your tongue.

Your grip no longer tight around his wrist, his fingers begin to trail lightly upward once more until his now warm palm grazes your nipple with a light squeeze of your breast. A soft sigh escapes your lips at the sensation and you find yourself moving against his tented sleep pants. Taking that as permission, Caleb moves you to your back without breaking the kiss, locking your ankles together at his lower back as he settles between your thighs.

His kisses turn more aggressive, nipping at your lips and inhaling every little moan and sigh, imprinting them in his memory to use when things inevitably got difficult at the base. It would have to be enough to keep him sane until he was able to come back home to you.

Before long, Caleb’s lips make their way down your body, tugging and pulling at your clothing until you’re naked and writhing beneath his tongue, not for the first time.

“Caleb!” You whisper-hiss. “Caleb, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he whispers against your clit while his fingers work against the soft spot inside that makes you see stars. With his encouragement, you fall apart on his smooth face, body trembling from the effort as you bite the corner of your pillow in an effort to suppress the shaking moans wanting to burst free. Caleb works you through it, licking and nipping until overstimulation has you pushing his head away.

He crawls his way back up your body with eyes dark and hungry, your essence glistening on his chin. Your body quakes with the intensity of the look on his face and when he settles above you once more as his lips devour yours, a combination of his taste and your own mingling on your tongue. Now naked from the waist down, himself, Caleb’s stiff cock presses against your inner thigh, the tip swollen and sticky with pre-cum.

Reaching down between the two of you, he firmly graps himself in his hand to slide between your drenched folds. In a panic, your palm finds his chest, pushing against your brother though his weight doesn’t budge.

“What are you doing?”

“What we should have done a long time ago.”

The tip presses inside, making the both of you groan probably a little too loudly as your slick insides clench around him, inviting him in against your will. He slides in a little further but you press against his chest again.

“Wait, wait. This is going too fast.”

His head falls to your shoulder in frustration, the soft tendrils of his dark hair tickling your sensitive skin.

“Where did you think all these years were leading to, pip?” his muffled voice sounds in your ear.

Though he stopped moving, the first couple inches of his cock rest inside of you still.

“We’re siblings, Caleb,” you say, trying to be the reasonable one though you want nothing more than for him to finish what he started.

“Not by blood. Besides,” he pauses, one hand wedging between your bodies to allow his thumb to start circling your clit, renewing the delicious feeling in your abdomen. “It’s kind of hot, right? Doing something forbidden.”

Your insides quiver and you clench around him with a slick gush at the dirty words.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, pipsqueak?” he chuckles darkly in your ear, beginning shallow thrusts. Not enough to be all the way in, but enough for the anticipation to start building again. “Is my little sister gonna let me fuck her, hmm? Has anyone else ever been inside of you before?”

Face growing hot, you shake your head in denial, unable to say the words out loud.

Caleb’s body trembles above you as he presses in a little further. You can feel him right there.

“Good,” he growls in your ear. “I probably would have had to kill anyone else who touched you first and the only blood I want right now is this.”

In one thrust, Caleb pushes past your barrier, swallowing your cries with a possessive kiss as he tears through your hymen. It hurts at first, but not in a way you would have expected. It was more of a quick pinch, and while the first few thrusts were a little uncomfortable as you adjusted to the intrusion, your slick walls begin to welcome him.

“Knew you would feel good, fuck. That’s my cunt, isn’t it, pip?” Caleb moans, holding one of your legs at the knee and keeping you open for him as he grinds roughly into you.

“Caleb…” you whine, arms tightening around him while your nails find purchase on his bare back.

He hisses through the sting your nails cause, hoping like hell that you’re leaving marks behind that will take weeks to disappear. He wanted to feel you on him weeks from now, back sore with every movement during drill training. His thumb never let up from your clit, sending you higher and higher with every thrust. His cock twitches inside with the need to release inside of you, to claim you, but he won’t allow himself to let go until he gets one more from you.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Hold onto me. I’ve got you. Come for me. Come all over your brother’s cock.”

You can’t bring yourself to admit that his dirty words aided in getting you there, but before you can stop it, a tightness pulls in your lower stomach almost painfully before releasing. Spots dance behind your eyes in blinding flash of light. For a moment, you fear your heart might give out and that you’ll have to be rushed to the hospital, left to explain why you a cardiac event while naked with your brother. But the feeling passes as you start to float down, still half-blind with your ears ringing. Caleb ruts into you a few more times with curses on his tongue as you clamp down around him, ropes of hot cum splashing around your inner walls and painting them with him.

He collapses on top of you, his weight heavy and making it difficult to breathe, but you just pull him closer while your heart rates sync to a steady pace. You lay there together for several quiet moments, each of you soaking in what just happened and how this changes everything and nothing at the same time with him leaving soon.

Those thoughts are pushed away as he lifts up his head, dark hair laying on his brow as a boyish smile peeks out from beneath. His lips find yours, more bold now than ever before, like it’s his right to do so, but you don’t push him away, instead meeting him halfway. You feel his length twitch inside and he pulls away, shaking his head and mumbling against your lips.

“Don’t get me going again, pretty girl. You’re going to be sore enough as it is.”

With a final peck, he rises to his knees, pulling out of you slowly as you both watch. His flushed cock is shiny with both of your fluids, the sight making your heart stutter back to life. Caleb looks entirely too smug as he swipes through your folds, gathering some cum tinged pink with the loss of your virginity on his fingers. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them in and humming with satisfaction as the taste of both of you fills his mouth. With another swipe of your pussy, he does it again, this time bringing his fingers to your mouth. When you don’t immediately open for him, he traces his wet fingers across your lips.

“Come on, pipsqueak. Memorialize this moment with me. It will be just like when we were kids. Remember? When your hurt yourself because we were messing around, showing off our Evols.” You nod hesitantly.

“I remember ending up with a wound on my hand from the blast of our Resonance sending us both flying. I cut my hand when I landed on the pavement.”

Caleb nods too, confirming your story.

“Right. Then I cut my hand with a rock and we made an Oath to never tell Gran what we were doing because she would have kicked our asses. This will be like that, except now we’ll swear to never forget one another.”

“I could never forget you, Caleb. I don’t need an Oath to know that.”

Something painful, yet unreadable flickers across his face before the playful smile returns, making you wonder if you imagined it.

“Yeah, well how about you just entertain me for a while longer? What do you say, pretty girl?”

He offers his fingers again and this time you open your mouth to accept them.

Taglist: @comatosebunny09

[filthygalli]

When I met you: Chapter 1 “Package”

Fem! Reader x Neighbor! Hwang In-Ho

Main Master list

Squid Game Master list

Genre/Tags: Grumpy x Sunshine, Light smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow burn, Age gap (Reader is in her early 30’s, While In-Ho is in his late 40’s.) Rude In-Ho (but will eventually be soft with the reader Soon!) Literature Professor! In-Ho (Not specified what kind of literature) More Tags to come soon!

Warnings: Rude In-Ho, Some mild cursing, In-Ho’s stubborn cat Lmao, Not proof read so please bear with me.

Word Count: 1989

Author's Note: I've been writing this since earlier this morning, I was so intrigued about the song and I can't help but think 'Why not do a fiction story about In-Ho using this song as an inspiration?' then here am I, publishing the first chapter of the said fiction, I'll try to make this a long series! 🖤

< Series Master list | Next >

You worked as a graphic designer for some big company, even though you worked from home—you enjoyed what you were doing; you're a person who doesn't like to interact with so many people, except your friends, family, or someone who's close to you.

You've been working as a graphic designer for 3 years. You've gained enough money to buy a house—it's perfect for you, 2 bedrooms with one bathroom each—a cozy living room, kitchen, and a backyard that you turned into a garden. But honestly, it's too much for what you do for a living, but again, you're more than grateful.

You visit your hometown once in a while to spend some time with your parents and friends; you're more than happy to have them support you in the path that you chose. Whenever you visit, your mom always cooks your favorite dishes, while your dad, well…he always teases you about settling down. Honestly, seeing yourself being in a relationship is crazy; you're a busy person, and you're afraid that you might end up with someone who's not fit for your job and likings.

“Sweetheart, it's just…you're too devoted to your job. I know you hate it every time I tell you about this, but there's someone out there for you—who’s going to understand your busy days.” Your dad gave you a comforting look. It's true, you're too devoted to what you're doing, and you can't even go out on a date without making an ‘excuse’ that you're busy and something has come up, but the truth is…you're just afraid. Afraid that no one will love you for being a busy person, and it sucks.

You gave your dad a shy smile. “I know... I just think that it's not the right time; he'll come when the time is right.”

And that's where your grumpy neighbor showed up. He's tall; he looked old and surprisingly handsome for someone his age. He knocked on your door one night. You were reading a book called ‘Inferno' by Dante Alighieri. You're so intrigued by what you're reading that you didn't even hear that someone was knocking at your door. You hurriedly put down your book and ran towards the door. You swung the door open, seeing a middle-aged man who's wearing a black button-up shirt and black chino pants. He pushed up his glasses. 

“Are you deaf or something? I've been knocking since forever.” He annoyingly said, “Good evening to you too.” You said giving him your best fake smile, “I think we switched packages, These aren't mine.” He said, bringing up the two packages in his hand, “Oh…I didn't know–” he cuts you off before even finishing your sentence “of course you don't.” He whispered under his breath, “I'll…I'll go get yours I'll be back in a sec.” You said as you took your package in his hand as you slammed your door shut right at his face.

You sigh as you close the door, feeling embarrassed by your actions. ‘He deserves it,’ you thought. You went to your room and grabbed the unopened package; you checked the name, making sure it's not really yours.

“Hwang In-Ho…” you read the name on the parcel, liking how his name sounds. 

You went downstairs and opened the door, seeing the man leaning against your porch railing. “Thank God, what took you so long?” he groans. He leans forward as he slowly walks towards you; he looks down on you and rudely takes the package from your grasp. You're stunned at his action but manage to say something: “I'm sorry, Mr. Hwang, it won't happen again. Have a good evening.” You said, giving him a shy smile; his eyes softened upon hearing his name. “Right, good evening to you too,” he said as he turned around and walked towards his home.

You noticed his reaction when you said his name; was he expecting you to say it?

Did you catch him off guard? You just chuckled to yourself and closed the door behind you as you walked to your bedroom to continue reading your book.

Meanwhile, In-Ho sat on his couch, staring at the package that he set down on his coffee table, ‘Hwang In-Ho,’ he read in his mind. He scoffed; of course you would know his name; it's written on the damn parcel. He groans as he palms his face, “Fuck,” he grumbles. He quickly gets his mind off of you, on how good your voice sounds saying his name, the way you would give him a shy and innocent glance even though he's being rude to you. He finds it cute. But at the same time, he feels bad—but deep down he doesn't care; you're just another annoying neighbor that would give him nothing but pure hatred. 

The next day

You woke up holding a book in your hand. Great, you fell asleep again. You sigh as you sit up, lightly scratching your eyes as you yawn, making you stretch your arms in the air, groaning in response. You went to the bathroom and took a warm shower, getting ready for today.

In-Ho groans in his sleep, and as his alarm clock goes on, making him reach for his phone to turn it off, he sits up, grabbing his glasses as he goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He went to the kitchen to make his morning coffee, a classic Americano. The aroma of the coffee beans filled the air; it made him feel alive. He sighed as he poured his fresh brewed coffee into his mug. 

You went out from the shower, drying yourself off before putting on comfortable shorts and a t-shirt. You went to the kitchen to make your morning coffee. You and In-Ho brew your coffees the same; you both like black coffee. Some may hate it because of the bitter taste, but the difference between you and In-Ho is that In-Ho doesn't put sweetener in his coffee; he just likes pure black coffee, while you… you drink your coffee with 2 tablespoons of sugar in it.

You went outside to sit on the bench on your porch while you drank your coffee as you held your book in your right hand. You like doing this every morning; it's calm and peaceful. Not until In-Ho walks by your house do you watch him walk by; it looks like he just woke up too. He's wearing a dark blue t-shirt and comfortable pants—a pair of loafers too. You can't help but notice how fit he is, how his biceps fit on the sleeve of his shirt, how broad his shoulder is. Before you could think of anything, you snapped yourself out of it as you noticed that he's holding a leash... of a cat? You smiled as you saw In-Ho’s black cat. The fur of his cat is gorgeous. It was unexpected to see In-Ho with a pet cat. After your interaction with him last night, you somewhat thought of him as a person who doesn't care about anyone except himself…and, well, his cat too. 

You didn't notice that you've been looking at In-Ho for a while, he looks at your direction as he adjusts his glasses, god he looks so good with those glasses…you blushed and felt a little embarrassed, you pretend to read and quickly drink your coffee, Meanwhile, In-Ho chuckled at your reaction—He somewhat finds himself admiring you, the way you had your hair into a messy bun, the way your t-shirt hugged all your curves, your soft skin…he wondered how would your skin feels like under his touch, he imagined you lightly shivering upon his touch, he snapped himself from thinking something else as his cat, Yu-jin, leading him to your porch, he tried to pull his cat away but Yu-jin decided to be stubborn and ran towards your porch making your eyes widen, you smiled at In-Ho’s reaction—he’s shocked and decided to let his cat Yu-Jin walks towards you, usually his cat doesn't really care about people, just like him. 

“Aren't you a cute little one—!” You crouched in front of In-Ho's cat, who seemed happy to see a new person besides his dad, In-Ho. The cat purred and circled around your legs. “That's odd,” In-Ho mumbled. “Odd? ” You looked up at In-Ho, who's looking at his cat still circling around your legs. “He never does that to other people,” he said coldly, not even bothering to look at you. “Oh—maybe he likes me! ” You said, ruffling the cat's fur as he lay on his back, making you rub its belly, “He's so precious—what’s his name? ” You again looked at In-Ho, who was looking at you but quickly glanced away and said, “Yu-jin.” “Yu-jin…” you tested the cat's name on your lips, “It's cute—Hi, Yu-Jin! ” You cupped the cat's face. “He's so adorable, In-Ho—” You looked at In-Ho, who gave you a look as he looked down on you, still crouching in front of him. ‘Fuck,’ he thought. “How did you know my name? ” He mumbled, so low it almost sounded like a whisper, “What?” “Forget it.” He said as he crouched down, picking up Yu-Jin in his arms, making his hands slightly brush yours. You took a glance at his hands; they're so beautiful. The veins in his hands looked attractive; it felt so smooth against yours… He also smells like coffee, your favorite coffee.

And just like that he left without even saying anything, leaving you crouching down on your porch. You sighed as you stood up, grabbing your book and your coffee before going inside the house.

In-Ho puts down Yu-Jin far enough from your house. “That's new…you've never been like that to anyone,” he said as if Yu-Jin could understand what he was saying. They went to a vet, to check up on Yu-Jin, In-Ho treats his cat like his own child, Going to a vet at least once a week, vet means new toy for Yu-Jin, And let's not forget the treats that Yu-Jin would get on the way home, But not that he doesn't want a kid or whatever, he just never really thought of falling in love, he thinks that being in love with someone takes so much time and energy, He also thinks that no one would put up with his attitude and stubbornness—he’s also a professor, a busy one, he doesn't even bother to flirt back with his colleagues at the University who's been hitting on him since he stepped foot in that university, perhaps Yu-Jin is the only one who he needs to go through with everyday. 

While waiting for Yu-Jin and his vet, he thought of you, “Damn it.” He whispered to himself. He remembered how your face looked when you were crouching down. In front of him while playing with Yu-Jin. How beautiful your smile is; he wonders how old you are, what you do for a living, but he also remembered having a book on the bench on your porch. He tried to remember what book it is, but the book cover looks familiar. He grabbed his phone and searched for something: Dante Alighieri’s book. He pressed the search button, and multiple books of the said author showed up, but he managed to find that book that you're reading earlier. ‘Inferno,’ he thought; he couldn't help but smile to himself. It's his favorite book; it's one of the reasons that he teaches as a literature professor. He's not expecting someone like you would be reading a book like this; it surprised him. He can't help but regret being rude to you; you're such a kind and gentle person. He thought of at least being nice with you—just enough for you and him to have a good relationship with each other as neighbors.

Author's Note: Omg I wasn't expecting to publish a fiction regardless of me panicking about my first semester school works—But please let me know what you think, I would really like to make this a big series. I love In-Ho/Byung Hun so much he's way too precious! Let me know if you want to be in my taglist. 🖤