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imaginespazzi · 16 hours ago

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Part 14: The End And The Beginning

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me that I wanna keep (please don't leave)

(In which an infrequently-updating writer finally didn't take a month to update)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff and I guess a little bit of Hurt/Comfort

Words: 9.2K

TW: Swearing (and I believe that's it)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 It's a little past 2 AM but y'all wanted a chapter at an ungodly hour so here it is. It's insane to think that there will only be one more chapter of this fic. In all honestly I did have ways to drag it out for a little longer but ultimately, this felt like the right path to take. I feel like some of this chapter is a little OOC (though my lovely friends have said maybe I'm just being paranoid) but whelp it was for the plot so! Like I said, ungodly hour chapters means barely any editing for now but I will go over and fix things later. In the meantime if y'all wanna point things out in terms of grammar and typos, please feel free. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see as this story comes to an end. Have a lovely rest of your day (night?) my loves <3

June 2033

Azzi thinks she might have every detail of her rather uninteresting bedroom ceiling memorized by now. After all -for almost 3 weeks now- instead of sleeping, all she’s done is stared up at it, her mind wandering off to a thousand places, all plagued with the same face. Azzi hadn’t thought it was possible for her heart to ache as much as it had the morning after the proposal, when the regret had hit and she’d rushed into Paige’s room, only to be told by KK that the older girl was gone. The days following had been torture, like enduring a heart attack over and over again, the pain crescendoing until she’d gone numb from it.

But last time there had been no false notions, no open-ended goodbyes, just a clean break and somehow that had been easier to live with. These last few days -filled with the unbearable waiting of maybe today she’ll come back to me- have been worse. Perhaps it’s because of the innate hope flickering like a candle within her. And even though the flame of it seems to get smaller and dimmer every time she sees Paige and the older woman still can’t quite make the promise to stay, Azzi knows that until that hope of hers is either completely shattered or fulfilled, there is no moving on from this hurt.

Sighing to herself, Azzi grabs for her phone. The screen lights up to countless notifications and she bites her lip when she notices the one from Clémence. Dinner had been uncannily awkward last night in a way that it had never been before when the French woman had been a much more frequent presence in her and her daughter’s life. But in between Azzi being completely lost in thoughts of her and Paige’s conversation in the locker room and Stephie somehow managing to find a way to relate every little detail back to Miss Buecks and her face-falling a little every time she did, well it was suffice to say even Clémence’s attempts as making the dinner more cheerful hadn’t been enough to make the evening less of a disaster. Azzi had almost let out a sigh of relief when she’d finally dropped the other woman off at the hotel, trying to not to wince when Clémence had leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek. But cleary she hadn’t been inconspicuous enough -and neither had Stephie, who’s voice had been rather devoid of her normal Clémence related cheer when she’d wished the Frenchwoman a goodnight- and the guilt from the way the other woman’s smile had faltered, still lingers in Azzi’s stomach.

Chewing at her bottom lip, she swipes the text open. It’s a simple “it was good to see you two again.” and perhaps it doesn’t mean much -maybe Azzi’s doing that overthinking thing again- but there’s something about the formality of it, about the full stop at the end of the sentence feels rather definite. Azzi almost feels like she should apologize for something, perhaps for being so aloof last night or maybe even more. She knows that Clémence had wanted something else from her, had patiently waited for her to turn their relationship into something beyond just casual, something Azzi had never been ready to give to her. But it almost feels too late for any of that and so all she says is “it was good to see you too.” and she hopes that Clémence knows that despite everything, she means it.

Throwing her phone back on the dresser and now feeling perhaps even worse than she had a couple minutes ago, Azzi pulls her blanket above her head, almost pleading with her brain to just shut off. She’s about to give into the impulsive urge to scream into her pillows, when instead her door creaks open and she immediately throws the comforter off of herself, reaching over to turn on her bedside lamp as she sits up straight on her bed.

Stephie stands in the doorway, a fluffy teddy bear cuddled to her chest as she stares up at Azzi with big doey eyes and the older woman’s heart constricts when she sees the hint of sadness sitting heavily within them. Her little girl had been quiet all day -really since dinner last night. With today being a rare off day, the two of them had spent most of it lounging on the couch watching movies. But Azzi could tell something was off about Stephie. Her daughter, normally ever the commentator, had been dead silent, cuddling into her mother’s side and barely even chuckling at the comedy scenes. Truthfully, Stephie hadn’t been quite the same ever since they’d left Paige’s that morning -and with the amount of nights she’d snuck into Azzi’s room since, her mother had almost been expecting it tonight- but it seemed like something else had shifted last night.

“C’mere baby girl,” Azzi says softly as she holds her arms open and Stephie dutifully climbs into them, burrowing her head into her mother’s chest, “what’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” comes the muffled response from her daughter as Azzi gently rubs the little girl’s back, “can I sleep here with you?”

Azzi smiles, pressing a gentle kiss against Stephie’s hair, “of course you can sweetheart,” she whispers, before falling back into her pillows with her daughter still securely wrapped in her arms.

She continues to brush her hands through Stephie’s hair, listening to the sound of her little girl breathing as she hums a lullaby.

“Mama,” Stephie says tentatively, after a while.

“Yeah Stephie-bean?”

“Yes-er-day when we were at dinner-,” the little girl swallows nervously and Azzi’s squeezes her shoulders, hoping it conveys that she’s listening, ready to hear whatever it is that’s been bothering the little girl, “yes-er-day at one of the other tables, I saw- I saw a woman with gold hair and she- she had it in a bun like- like the one Miss Buecks usually has.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, “go on sweetheart.”

“And she- she was-,” Stephie drops her voice down to a whisper, “she was kissing someone who looked a lot like you Mama.”

“Oh,” Azzi manages to get out as she feels her lungs compress.

“And there was a little girl too and they both gave her lots of kisses too,” Stephie’s voice is small as she says the fact and Azzi has to bite her lips hard to keep in the sob that’s threatening to escape her lips. And she remembers the exact people Stephie’s talking about, remembers the way her heart panged as she’d seen the way three of them -the two women and their little girl- were practically giddy around each other. They’d looked almost like an exact replica of Paige, Azzi and Stephie, not that long ago. Azzi had, had to tear her eyes away from the scene, not wanting to let the tears that were dangerously close to her waterline slip down her cheeks. She hadn’t looked in their direction again. But Azzi hadn’t even imagined that maybe Stephie would’ve noticed that too, that her daughter would’ve felt the sting of the happy picture the same way she had.

“Oh sweetheart-”

“My friend Anya has a Mama and a Mommy,” Stephie rushes out before Azzi can console her any further, “and my other friend Lena didn’t understand how that was poss-ble cause she has a Mommy and a Daddy like most of my other friends but Anya said it’s poss-ble and that her Mama and Mommy love each other just like Lena’s Mommy and Daddy love each other.”

“Anya’s right,” Azzi says softly, smiling at how simple children make everything sound even though she’s not quite sure where Stephie’s getting at with this story, “I’m sure her Mama and Mommy love each other a lot.”

“Anya says they kiss on the lips- just like- just like the women at the restaurant and like Nana and Pops or like Uncle José and Aunty Tully,” Stephie scrunches her nose as she finally untucks herself from Azzi’s chest, “Anya says that’s what people in love do but I think it’s kinda gross cause kissing on the lips looks kinda yucky.”

Azzi laughs, booping the little girl’s nose, “it does look a little funny.”

“But Anya says her Mommy and Mama do other things too. Like her Mama takes care of her Mommy when she’s sick and when her Mama cries over a movie, her Mommy laughs but then gives her Mama a big hug. And Anya says that sometimes when Anya’s Mama isn’t looking, Anya sees her Mommy looking at her Mama with a big smile,” Stephie stretches out her arms for emphasis as she climbs off of Azzi’s lap to sit on the bed next to her.

“That sounds sweet,” Azzi says wistfully, still a little confused why she’s being told everything about Anya’s two mothers.

There’s a moment of silence before Stephie drags in a deep breath as she stares intently at her mother, “I never seen you and Miss Buecks kiss, Mama.”

Her words loom in the air as Azzi’s mouth falls open, everything suddenly beginning to click, “Steph-”

“But when Miss Buecks was sick, I saw you make her soup and make her eat her med-cines even though Miss Buecks said they tasted yucky. And when you cry over Mr. Olaf melting in Frozen, Miss Buecks always says ‘Az you’re so silly, you’ve seen this so many times. How can you still cry at it?’”Stephie recites, doing an almost perfect impression that has Azzi’s letting out something in between a sob and a laugh.

“But then she gives you a big hug anyways. And Mama,” the little girl continues, “when you’re not looking, I see Miss Buecks looking at you with this big, big, big, smile all the time.”

“Stephie,” Azzi chokes out, trying to hold herself together.

Her daughter looks at her with something almost like wonder, “you and Miss Buecks- you were just- you were just like Anya’s Mama and Mommy?”

“Yeah,” Azzi whispers, as she grasps the little girl’s hands in her own, bracing herself for whatever Stephie might say next, “yeah I guess we were.”

But Stephie doesn’t say anything for a while, sitting all quiet and contemplative for a moment until she slowly climbs back into her mother’s arms, resting her head right against Azzi’s chest.

“Mama,” her voice is small when she finally does speak, “I really miss Miss Buecks.”

Azzi feels her heart constrict, finally losing the battle against her tears as they drip down her cheeks, and she tightens her grip on her daughter, “I know baby. I really miss her too.”

***

April 2025

“What are you doing?” panic filters into Azzi’s tone as she watches Paige slowly get down on one knee, her heart pulsating as she slowly begins to understand why her girlfriend had set this whole thing up. Really she should’ve known as soon as KK and Ice had excitedly bound into her room, mischievous knowing smirks on their faces as they’d made her change into something nice before practically dragging her onto the roof. She should’ve known when she’d seen the candles and the pink roses and Paige just a little too dressed up in the midst of it all, that this was more than just one of the older girl’s lavishly planned date nights.

Paige smiles up at her, either not hearing the distress in the brunette’s voice or perhaps not quite understanding the gravity of it. She reaches for Azzi’s hands, soft fingers entwining with the younger girl’s like their holding onto a lifeline. An unfamiliar sensation builds in Azzi’s stomach, one she doesn’t think she’s ever felt in Paige’s presence before.

“Paige,” she whispers helplessly.

“I’ve got you baby,” Paige squeezes her hands gently, mistaking whatever it is that Azzi’s feeling, for simple nerves.

But it’s not that. Azzi knows this unsettling feeling that’s tornadoing around her isn’t just nerves or butterflies or whatever else it is that one normally feels before a proposal. It’s something much, much worse. Something almost like dread. And Azzi can feel all those suppressed emotions that have been building for the last couple of weeks-the whispers of thoughts that she’d brushed away as nothing serious- suddenly rushing through her body and settling like a large, immovable lump at the back of her throat.

She remembers the first time she’d felt it, that unfamiliar twist in her stomach. It had been at a press conference after some easily won Big East game with UConn’s Big Three sitting diligently at the media-table. And it had suddenly occurred to Azzi, just as they’d finished their media availability, that she’d been asked exactly one question about her own performance -a respectable 24/4/3 statline- from the pool of reporters. Every other question of the four that had been directed her way, had been about Paige. She’d come to a stop outside the press room, letting herself sit with the thought for a second until her girlfriend -with her bright blue eyes and just-for-Azzi smile- had come bounding up to her. And suddenly, as it always seemed to be when it came to Paige, Azzi couldn’t think about anything else anymore. Not when the blonde was lacing their fingers together and putting her lips dangerously close to her ears, whispering all the sinful things they could get up to that night.

But then it happened again two games later. One question about her own performance followed by a cycle of questions about Paige during a presser where the blonde wasn’t even in attendance. This time Azzi had thought about it a little longer but then she’d chided herself for it, chalking it up to her brain doing that overthinking thing again. It was natural to be asked about teammates, especially superstar, generational, teammates who were likely to go #1 in the upcoming WNBA draft.

And then it happened again.

And again.

Until it was the Elite Eight and Azzi found herself, after a 28/5/4 statline and two clutch free throws to win it all, still somehow fielding more questions about Paige -and how the blonde had impacted Azzi’s game and recovery and their relationship as best friends- than about her own performance.

That’s when she’d finally begun to understand what that twist in her stomach had been. She’d felt sick at the idea that it could be envy -how could she ever be jealous of her Paige’s success- but she’d understood then, almost gawking at the reporter who’d had the audacity to ask her, her fourth Paige-related question that night, that it wasn’t that. Maybe it would’ve been easier if it was.

It was fear.

The fear that her own identity in the basketball world was slowly withering away under the weight of her relationship.

“Hey,” Paige’s voice feels like it’s coming from a distance even though she’s right in front of Azzi and the brunette swallows hard as she tries to pry herself away from her thoughts to focus on her girlfriend.

“Paige,” she whispers back helplessly, as her eyes begin to water.

Every time Azzi had imagined Paige proposing -the first time had been when she was 15 and she’d woken up from the dream, almost shaking but still filled with the serene calmness that came from knowing something was inevitable- she had always in fact pictured tears in her own eyes.

But not like this.

Because these little droplets cascading down her cheeks that Paige’s fingers diligently reach up to wipe away aren’t the tears of a girl whose dreams to marry her best friend -the love of her life- are coming true. They’re the tears of a girl who’s bracing herself for an inevitable fight when she puts her career before a relationship, when her head wins this fight against her heart.

Blissfully unaware, Paige continues on, “I’ve um- I’ve thought of this a million times. Actually maybe a billion or a trillion or quadrillion. Point is I’ve been thinking about it pretty much ever since I met you.”

Stop, Azzi thinks but all that comes out is a whimper.

“So you’d think, considering I’ve thought about it that many times, I’d have an actual speech prepared or something. And I did you know. I uh- I wrote one and then I hated it so I deleted it all and then I wrote another and then I deleted that one too,” Paige laughs and the sound of it, that had once felt like a warm blanket shrouding all of Azzi’s senses, now feels a lot like a wintry chill settling around her body.

“And what I realized,” there’s moisture pooling in the blonde’s own eyes now, “is that I don’t need a speech. I don’t need hundreds of words. I just need three. I love you,” Paige presses a kiss against Azzi’s knuckles and the other girl shudders, “I love you so fucking much Azzi Fudd. And I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

She lets go of the brunette’s hands to retrieve a black velvet box from her pockets and Azzi bites her lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood overwhelms her taste buds.

“Azzi Jazlyn Fudd,” Paige says softly, flicking open the box to reveal a heart-cut diamond ring, “will you marry me?”

“No,” it comes out so soft, almost blending with the wind, that for a second even Azzi doubts she’d said it.

“”What?”

Azzi clears her throat, “no.”

“No?” Paige repeats, blinking up at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipatory dread.

“No,” Azzi says again, her voice much stronger now as she takes a step back, the tears freely falling from her cheeks.

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” Paige, still on one knee, stumbles a little as she tries to formulate the right words, “you- you don’- no?,” her eyebrows furrow in confusion, “you don’t want to marry me?”

I do, Azzi wants to scream.

“I can’t,” she says.

Paige stares up at her, something akin to disbelief etched across her beautiful features, “what does that even fucking mean you can’t?”

“I just-” Azzi struggles against the jumble of thoughts in head as she tries to piece together a coherent sentence, “I can’t.”

“Bullshit,” Paige snarls.

“Paige-”

“Do not Paige me,” the older girl seethes, her expression darkening, “you better fucking explain yourself.”

“I- I will,” Azzi stutters, trying to make herself small as she wraps her arms around herself, “can you- just,” she eyes Paige, who’s still kneeling one one knee, “can you please- please just stand up.”

Paige flinches, like Azzi has asked her to shoot an arrow into her own soul. And maybe she had. But she does as asked. The blonde’s movements are reluctant, almost like it pains her to stand up and when she does, the distance she puts between her and Azzi can’t be more than a few meters, but it feels like it stretches the length of an ocean.

“Explain,” Paige says scathingly.

“I just-” Azzi takes in a deep breath, barely able to meet her girlfriend’s eyes as she forces out the next words, “I don’t want to be known as just your wife.”

Paige lets out an expected noise of protest, “you wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know that,” Azzi cuts her off with a pointed look, “because right now- right now sometimes it feels like all I am is just Paige Bueckers’ best friend. It doesn't matter how many points I score or how many defensive moves I make on the court or whatever else I do on the court, somehow it all leads back to you. And it makes me feel-,” she chokes on the next words, the acidity of them leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, “I feel invisible.”

“Azzi-”

The brunette holds up a hand, needing to finish what she’s saying before she fully succumbs to her emotions, “sometimes- sometimes my entire career at UConn so far feels like- like it’s just an extension of yours. Paige you- you get to be Paige. Just Paige. The superstar. You get to go to entire pressers not having to answer a single question about me or our friendship. You get to have entire articles written about you that have just a throwaway line about me and not have half of it be dedicated to how I’m the driving force behind your success. And that’s how it should be because- because as much as we rely on each other, your success is still yours. But sometimes it feels like mine isn’t mine.”

“I’m sor-”

“No!” Azzi cuts Paige off loudly when the older girl tries to apologize, guilt flashing in her eyes, “it’s not your fault Paige. You- you’re my biggest cheerleader. You always have been. But I just- I need to have my own identity. And that’s already been so hard being known as just your best friend. It’s only going to get worse if I-” she stops, unable to say the rest but even unspoken, it lingers in the air.

If I become your fiancé.

“I need next year to be different,” Azzi says instead, “I need it to be my year. Just mine. Just for once, I just want to be known as Azzi.”

“It will be,” there’s a newfound conviction replacing the previous anger in the blonde’s voice as she takes a deliberate step towards Azzi. Bolstered when the other girl doesn’t instinctively move back, she takes another one and then another and another, until the seemingly never-ending distance between them disappears.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Paige says softly as she gently holds one of Azzi’s hands between her own, “and I hate- I hate that you feel this way. But it’ll be different next year when we’re not on the same team anymore right? Out of sight out of mind type shit? They won’t- they won’t ask you about me or make everything you do about me anymore-”

“You don’t know that-”

The older girl continues like she didn’t hear the interruption, “I just- I just don’t understand why you can be known as my girlfriend but not my-” she swallows, “but not my wife? Because Az- when we come out-,” the girl in questions flinches and Paige pauses, her expression falters at the movement.

A deadly silence clouds the air and it’s April in Connecticut and the spring breeze is just the right temperature. But as Paige slowly lets go of her hands, realization dawning on her face, Azzi thinks she’s never felt colder in her life.

“You- you don’t-” the blonde looks at her almost accusingly as she takes a step back, “you don’t want to come out?”

“Paige-”

“Answer the fucking question Azzi.”

Azzi casts her eyes downwards, digging her fingers as deeply into her palms as possible, “no, no I don’t.”

“I see,” Paige says slowly, her tone dangerously low, “and how long have you felt this way Az?”

“I-I-” the brunette stutters nervously, “I made- I made the decision after the Elite Eight.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Paige says calmly.

“I don’t- I don’t understand-”

“How long Azzi?” the blonde sneers, “how long have you had all the fucking doubts about your identity and our relationship? How long have you been questioning everything about us? How long have you bee going through this whole fucking decision-making process about our future?”

“That’s not-”

“Oh no,” Paige interrupts harshly, “that’s exactly it. That’s exactly what you were doing. So tell me. How. Long?”

Azzi gulps nervously, “since the game at home versus Nova.”

Paige blinks at her, “three months? Three fucking months Azzi. You’ve been feeling this way for three months and you didn’t once think that maybe you should tell me? That maybe we should talk about it?”

“I didn’t know,” Azzi says helplessly, “I didn’t even understand it myself Paige. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t even know there was something to discuss.”

“But clearly you did figure it out, Azzi. Because I know you and I know you didn’t make this decision without figuring your emotions out, so why not come to me then? Why not tell me as soon as possible. God fucking hell Azzi- when even were you gonna tell me?” Paige yells, all pretence of calm gone from her body, “if I- if tonight hadn’t happened, when would you have even told me?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything and Paige shakes her head, starting to pace around the rooftop.

“We had a plan Azzi. We’ve had a plan for four years. As soon as one or both of us was out of UConn, that was it. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just you and and me and we weren’t gonna care who the fuck knew about it,” the blonde pinches the bridge of her nose, “and you’re telling me that for three month- three fucking months- you’ve been questioning that whole fucking plan while I remained oblivious as fuck? Azzi all I’ve done these past few months is tell you how fucking excited I was about being able to call you my girl in front ov everyone. How excited I was to hold you in public and for us to just be us without giving a fuck who could see. And you just,” Paige’s voice breaks, “you let me. You let me do all of that- feel all of that. You let me be hopeful for a future that you weren’t even sure you could see for us.”

Azzi looks away, that rock of guilt settled in her stomach starting to get heavier and heavier with each word that leaves Paige’s mouth, “I’m just asking for a little bit more time Paige.”

“And what happens if that time doesn’t go the way you want it to Az?” Paige asks sadly, “what if we survive the next year but you decide that you can’t be attached to me to start your W career?”

“That won’t happen-”

“You don’t know that,” a sardonic smile appears on the blonde’s face, “I can’t keep hiding forever Azzi. All I’ve done is love you in secret. I can’t- I don’t- I won’t do that forever.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Azzi bursts out, her defensiveness suddenly translating into a burst of anger, “I am asking you for a little bit of time. Not even a whole year anymore. Just a little bit of time for me to establish my own identity and honestly Paige if you can’t even give me that- if you can’t understand why I need this time- then maybe-” she stops herself, eyes widening at the words -word she’d never even expected herself to think of - that are now sitting, like burning embers, on the tip of her tongue.

“Then maybe what?” Paige asks slowly, but there’s an almost resigned tinge to her tone that suggests she already knows.

“No,” Azzi shakes her head, turning away from the older girl’s piercing gaze. She looks down at the ground, still covered in rose petals. The wax of the glittering candles littered between them has melted onto them, causing their pink hue to turn into a darker shade of red. And it’s like there’s blood scattered on the remnants of Paige’s perfect proposal.

“Say it Azzi-”

“No-”

“Say it.”

“I don’t want to,” Azzi covers her ears and she wishes this were a nightmare, wishes she could open her eyes and find herself waking up in Paige’s arms. Warm and soft and loved.

“Godfuckingdammit Azzi,” Paige yells, “just say it. If I can’t understand why you need time then maybe we should what?” she repeats, waiting for the brunette to finish her own sentence.

Azzi whimpers, continuing to shake her head, “Paige please.”

“Just. Fucking. Say. It.”

The younger girl swallows, “then maybe we should end it.”

Another beat of silence.

“Maybe we should,” Paige’s voice is gravelly and Azzi doesn’t dare turn around, not ready to see the heartbroken expression -or worse, perhaps the nonchalant one- on the older girl’s face, “if after all we’ve been through, if it’s so easy for you to think those words. Then maybe we should- maybe we should end it.”

And Azzi thinks for the rest of her life she will wonder what she should have done next. If she should’ve said something or if -when she hears those retreating footsteps- if she should’ve run after her. She thinks, for the rest of her life, she will look back on this moment and dissect every single second of it, that she will wish for the time machine to go back and stop herself from doing and saying so many of the things she had on the rooftop that night.

But Paige walks away.

And Azzi doesn’t do anything to stop her.

It isn’t until the morning after -when her head does finally catch up to her heart and all she can feel is that unfamiliar sting of regret- and she races into the apartment downstairs and Ice’s expression is filled with sadness and KK’s glare is filled with accusation, that she finds out just how far Paige had gone away from her and Azzi realizes, she’s just a little too late.

***

June 2033

There’s a redhead and a brunette, holding hands and chatting quietly as they wait outside the school. The two women are clearly entrenched in their own world -sharing those warm gazes and bright smiles that Azzi’s just a little too familiar with- blissfully unaware that they are currently being stared at. Actually, perhaps glared at is a more accurate statement because there’s a clear tinge of envy running down Azzi’s spine as her eyes remain laser-focused on the scene in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be doing this of course -nobody really plans to come to pick up their daughter from school and somehow end up stink-eying said daughter’s friends parents for being too in love. But as fate would have it, somehow from where she’s parked, Azzi has a perfect view of Anya, infamous Mommy and Mama.

They’re sickeningly cute.

And Azzi fucking hates them.

It’s unfair of her to feel this way; she knows that. But watching them lead the life she’d always imagined for herself, is more difficult now than it ever has been when Azzi had seen them before in passing. Back then, it was just a dull ache of something she craved but knew she’d turned away herself. But now- now she’s had a taste of that life; had gotten to live it out -even if just for a second- with the girl she’d always dreamed of living it with. Until one night and a series of revelations had snatched it all away, and now Azzi’s left with nothing but the bitter feeling of waiting to see if she’ll get that back forever or if it had really only ever been meant to be a fleeting moment in her life.

A sigh of longing escapes her as she watches Anya go rushing into her mothers’ arms, the two of them catching her in perfect sync. She has the resentful urge to scoff at the scene. It’s all so goddamn dramatic for three people who see each other every day. Except Azzi’s mind is filled with memories that are almost exact replicas of the scene in front of her; just with different faces.

“Hi Mama,” it isn’t until the backdoor opens and Stephie’s voice fills the car that Azzi finally tears her eyes away from Anya’s family.

“Hey baby,” she choruses back, turning around in her seat to make sure her daughter is buckling herself in correctly, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” Stephie shrugs and Azzi feels her heart plummet at how nonchalant the little girl sounds. She misses the sound of her daughter ranting about just how booooring school is, and thinks she wouldn’t even try to reprimand her if Stephie deemed school useless like she used to. Azzi just wants her ball of sunshine, talks-a-mile-per-minute child back because this meek, quiet little girl in the back feels like a shell of who Stephie used to be.

“You excited for Mama’s game tonight?” Azzi presses as she starts to back out of the parking lot, almost relieved when it seems to cause Stephie to sit up a little straighter.

“You’re- you’re playing the Liberty right?” the little girl asks quietly, “that’s- that’s where Miss Buecks wanna go? New York?”

Azzi freezes at the question, trying to keep her hands steady on the wheel as she hums in agreement.

“They’re a good team right? Lots of champ-ships and stuff?” Stephie continues.

“Yeah,” Azzi clears her throat, “it’s uh- it’s definitely gonna be a good game.”

“Anya’s Grammy and Grandpa live in New York. Not the city-city but close to it,” Stephie says after a moment, “Anya says New York’s really nice. She’s been there lots and lots of times to see her Grammy and Grandpa forChristmas. And she- she says when she went, it snowed lots and lots.”

Despite herself Azzi smiles as her mind drifts to memories of cold Northeast winters. For the most part, they had been filled with dreary chills and darky rainy days. But then amidst it all, there had been a couple rare days of snow and when she’d been at UConn, her teammates had taken full advantage. And just like most of her memories of those years, Paige is front and center of these ones too. The blonde had never been nearly as enamored with the snow as Azzi was, and she definitely wasn’t enamored by it at seven in the morning when the brunette would wake her up squealing that it had in fact snowed and the world around them was white. Despite her grumbling, Paige had still let Azzi bundle the both of them up in winter clothes and drag her outside. And her faux irritated expression hds slowly morphed into one of admiration as she’d flicked the snow off the younger girl’s eyelashes, pulling her closer by her scarf because Azzi I’m so cold, you have to kiss me to keep me warm baby.

“We don’t get snow here,” Stephie says thoughtfully, unaware of the path down memory lane her mother had just taken.

“No, no we don’t,” Azzi says, almost wistfully.

“It would- it would be nice to live somewhere with lots of snow,” Stephie ponders out loud and her mother’s eyes widen as she starts to understand where this is going, “like- like in New York.”

“We could- we could have snowball fight and make snowmen like Mr. Olaf and snow angels and everything else you do in snow,” the little girl’s voice gets increasingly more and more high-pitched in excitement, “it would be so fun Mama.”

“Steph-”

“And Anya said that- that- that- she’d even visit me like she visits her Grammy and Grandpa. She promised Mama, she promised she’d come see me if I lived in New York-”

“Honey no,” Azzi cuts her daughter off heartbrokenly, “we are not going to live in New York.

“But Mama, Miss Buecks-”

“Stephie stop-”

“No Mama listen,” Stephie protests indignantly, “Mama what if- what if Miss Buecks really needs to be in New York. What if it’s impo-tant. And that’s- that’s why she can’t stay here. With us. Not cause she doesn’t want to but cause she can’t. But Mama just because Miss Buecks can’t say doesn’t mean we can’t go Mama.”

“Sweetheart-”

“And you- you just said the Liberty is a good team and you’re such a good player Mama. I think you’d be good on their team too. And I- I really, really like the Valk-ries and I would really miss Aunty J and Aunty Tessie and Aunty Joy but if you- if you and Miss Buecks played for the Liberty- I know I’d like them too. And I’m sure Nana and Pops and Uncle Jon and Uncle Jose and Aunty Tully would come visit us lots and lots and I wouldn’t even miss them lots cause they’d visit so much. I just know it. It could work Mama- I know it could.”

“Stephanie,” Azzi's voice is louder than she’d meant it to be as she pulls onto their street, “sweetheart, we are not moving to New York.”

“But Mama-” the little girl whines.

“No Stephie. That’s just-” Azzi swallows the sob stuck in her throat, “that’s now how the world works.”

“But what if I want it to work that way?” Stephie asks softly with all the innocence of a five-year old as she meets her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Oh baby,” Azzi’s so caught up in her daughter’s earnest wishful thinking that she doesn’t even notice there’s another oh-so-familiar car parked in her driveway until she almost crashes into it.

“That’s Miss Buecks car,” Stephie whispers softly, craning her neck to get a better view. Her eyes widen in tandem with her mother’s as they both catch sight of the same thing at the same time.

It’s Paige.

Paige, whose eyes are sunken in and red-rimmed. Paige, whose hair is tossed back into a messy bun -looking like it’s been in that same one for days- with little loose strands falling out of it. Paige, whose entire body is hunched over as she sits on their front porch, holding a grey hoodie close to her chest. Paige, whose hands are fidgeting with themselves because she can never sit still, especially when she’s nervous. Paige, who looks up just as Azzi parks her car -whose staring at the both of them like they’re still her everything. Paige, who despite it all, still looks like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Paige, who’s here.

It’s Stephie who recovers from the shock of seeing Paige first, the click of her seatbelt being unclasped pulling Azzi out of her own trance. The little girl pushes her door open, getting out of her car seat with quickness as she stumbles out of the car.

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out immediately but Stephie isn't listening, already rushing up the pathway as Paige -her expression hopeful- stands up at the sight of the child running towards.

It isn’t until Stephie hesitates, coming to a halt just a couple of meters away from Paige, that Azzi draws in a deep breath and gets out of the car herself. Unlike her daughter, her steps are much slower, her movement hesitant and guarded. She knows this is it; knows that this is when all that waiting she’s done in the past few weeks will finally be over, that Paige is either here to fulfill a dream or to start a nightmare.

Azzi walks up the pathway until she’s right behind Stephie, one of her hands instinctively reaching out to hold her daughter’s shoulder, conveying two messages. One to Stephie, a promise that no matter what happens now, she’ll still always have Azzi. The other to Paige is an unspoken message from a protective mother, silently begging her that if she is here to break their hearts, to break Stephie’s gently.

“Hi,” Paige’s voice is croaky when she speaks, her eyes flickering nervously between the mother and daughter in front of her.

Azzi clears her throat, willing herself to reply, “hey,” she pauses, continuing only when the older woman keeps her own mouth shut, shuffling her feet nervously, “do you- do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her cheeks reddening at how quickly the word leaves her mouth and that almost makes Azzi smile.

She nods at the older woman, her hand travelling from Stephie’s shoulder to instead hold her hand as they walk up the steps together. Azzi’s shoulder brushes against Paige’s as she moves past the blonde to open her door and electricity courses through her veins. From the way Paige gasps, the brunette is sure she must’ve felt it too. It crackles in the air as Azzi unlocks the door, her brain feeling foggy at the mere feeling of having Paige so close after so long.

The three of them walk quietly towards the living room, Stephie’s hands still clasped in Azzi’s and Paige following closely behind them. The little girl’s grip is tight and despite how young she is, Azzi knows just how perceptive Stephie is. She’s just as aware of this moment as the adults are, realizes it just as much as they do, that they’ve reached a crossroad and the path they take -a path determined by whatever Paige chooses- will shape their future together or apart.

“I um- I- well- the thing is- I-,” Paige breaks the silence first, stuttering over her words before letting out a soft sigh She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them, there are little droplets of water on the edges of her eyelashes.

“I really missed you guys,” she confesses in a whisper, her voice breaking throughout.

There’s a second of silence as her words linger in the air and Azzi feels Stephie’s hand slip away from her own and the little girl almost stumbles over her own feet as she races towards Paige, the older woman’s arms immediately opening to catch her and as she kneels down to pull Stephie into her her chest. It’s like the blonde’s confession had broken a dam, and the water that came rushing through it, had washed away the last little bit of pretence of nonchalance that Stephie had been holding onto.

For the last few weeks, every time Azzi’s little girl had seen Paige, be it when she accompanied her mother to a practice or when she was on the sidelines at a game, Stephie had ignored the blonde, maintaining the same angry façade as the one she’d had the morning after that night. But Azzi had seen that resolve weaken over time; had seen Stephie’s eyes linger just a little bit longer on Miss Buecks with that familiar look of yearning. And Azzi had known that resolve was almost completely gone, in the car, when Stephie had all but begged her to consider moving to New York if that was the only way they were going to be able to keep Paige in their lives.

She feels her own set of tears prickling in her eyes as she takes in the scene in front of her. Stephie’s face is pressed into Paige’s neck, the blonde has one arm wrapped around the little girl’s waist and the other other gently brushing through her hair. Their grip on each other is tight with barely any space for air between them, tears freely streaming down both of their faces.

“I missed you too Miss Buecks,” Stephie sobs and Azzi notices the way Paige’s hold on her tightens at the familiar nickname, “missed you so much.”

“Me too Stephie-bean,” Paige affirms as she coaxes the little girl’s face out of her neck, cupping it in her hands, “I’m so sorry sweetheart. So, so, sorry. I missed you so, so, so, so much,” she says, punctuating each word with a kiss to Stephie’s face in between.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie looks down nervously, her fingers playing with the collar of Paige’s t-shirt, “can me and Mama come to New York with you?”

“Stephie!” Azzi exclaims as Paige’s eyes widen.

“Wh-what?” the blonde asks softly as she searches the little girl’s face in confusion.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stephie says quietly, “but if you have to- then can we come with you?”

“Oh sweetheart,” there’s disbelief in Paige’s tone, something almost akin to awe as she tilts Stephie’s chin to make the little girl look back at her.

“My friend Anya says New York’s nice,” Stephie rambles, repeating what she’d been telling her mother in the car, “and-and-and she says there’s lots and lots of snow and I told Mama that I think it will be nice to live in lots and lots of snow. Mama hasn’t said yest,” the little girl briefly looks back at Azzi with a sheepish look on her face before turning back to Paige, “but I know- I know we could cov-ince her because Miss Buecks, Mama’s missed you so, so, so much too.”

“Has she?” Paige asks, her eyes flickering to Azzi who’s trying desperately to keep her face neutral as she keeps her own gaze firmly fixated on a picture of her daughter on top of the mantle.

“She has,” Stephie confirms, before using a finger against the older woman’s cheek to get her to return her attention back to her, “so can we come with you? Please.”

Paige slowly tucks a strand of hair behind the child’s ears as she shakes her head, “no.”

“N-no?” Stephie’s bottom lip trembles at the rejection, “why not? Why can’t we go to New York with you?”

“Because nobody’s going to New York, Stephie-bean,” Paige says firmly and Azzi’s eyes shoot towards the blonde, her lips parting slightly as she processes the meaning behind her words, her heart beginning to race with anticipation.

“Nobody?” Stephie repeats as a question, her little voice filled with hope.

Instead of answering, Paige grabs the grey hoodie she’d brought with her that had fallen to the ground. She gently un-scrunches it, holding out the sleeve of it for Stephie to look at. Azzi cranes her head curiously to get a better look of it, squinting her eyes when she notices something written in washed-out black ink.

“You probably don’t remember this because you were a lot littler when it happened,” there’s a teasing smile of Paige’s face as she uses the incorrect word, “but the first time you ever spoke to me properly, you told me, that your Mama says that one day, you’re gonna be an even better basketball player than she is.”

Stephie beams, “Mama says I’m gonna be the best in the world today.”

Paige chuckles, “I believe it and I believed it then too. That’s why,” she points down at the hoodie, her fingers brushing over the material so delicately, like it’s one of her most treasured possessions, “that’s why I had you sign my hoodie.”

“You asked for my auto-graph?” Stephie’s eyes glint and perhaps she doesn’t quite remember what Paige is talking about exactly, but Azzi can tell that it’s stirred up recollections of something.

“Yeah- yeah I did. And you said, ‘silly Miss Buecks, I’m not famous’ and I said, ‘but if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, you will be. Just like me and your Mama.’ And I meant it. You’re gonna be so- so great one day sweetheart. I know you are,” Paige says with conviction as her thumbs lightly caressing Stephie’s cheeks, “and I- I wanna be right here every step of the way, I wanna be right here to watch you grow up and become the great player -the great woman- that you’re destined to be.”

“You mean it?” Stephie asks, her eyes shining with a fresh new set of tears.

Paige nods, delicately wiping her thumbs under the little girl’s lower eyelid, “I do. I wanna be here, with you and- and your Mama,” she raises her head toward Azzi, mustering a watery smile, “I want to stay. Forever. If you’ll have me.”

Azzi lets out a staggered breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as her eyes remain locked with Paige’s. And suddenly, after eight years spent feeling unfulfilled -eight years spent with this constant sense of being incomplete-, hearing Paige finally say she wants to stay forever, feels a little bit like as if that missing part of Azzi has finally returned back to where it rightfully belongs.

A loud squeal echoes throughout the living room as Stephie leaps back into Paige’s arms, a large smile stretching the length of her whole face as she buries her face back into the crevice between the blonde’s shoulder and her neck.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the little girl chirps excitedly, “of course we’ll have you. Of course, of course, of course,” Stephie says in delight before she turns herself slightly in Paige’s grapes, arms still around the other woman’s neck as she looks imploringly at Azzi, “right Mama?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, pursing her lips as she tears her gaze away from the two people in front of her.

“Mama?” Stephie presses.

“Give me a second Stephie-bean,” Paige whispers to the little girl, bumping her head against her temple.

From the corner of her eyes, Azzi watches as the blonde disentangles herself from Stephie, before slowly getting to her feet and walking towards the younger woman.

“Az-”

“It’s been almost three weeks-”

“It’s been two weeks, six days, five hours and around fourteen minutes,” Paige shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her face, “give or take a few minutes.

Azzi continues to look away from her, trying to keep her face devoid of emotion, “still took you a really long time to decide you were gonna stay.”

“Well I’m an idiot,” Paige says matter-of-factly and Stephie snickers behind her, “you know me Az. Sometimes these things- they take me a little while to understand.”

“I told you we wouldn’t wait forever,” Azzi says softly.

“I didn’t make you wait forever,” Paige reaches out to gently grab her chin between her thumb and index, turning the brunette’s face towards her, “just needed a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t give me time,” Azzi accuses and the blonde flinches.

“I know. I- I should’ve. Should’ve don’t a lot of things differently when it comes to us but I didn’t and I- I can’t change that but Azzi, I promise, I promise I’ll do everything right this time,” keeping one hand cupped around Azzi’s cheek, Paige uses the other to guide one of the brunette’s hands to rest against her chest, “I swear.”

Azzi swallows, feeling the quick rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat under her fingertips, “how do I know you won’t run away again?”

“Because I trust you,” the blonde whispers, “I trust you to stay and I trust you not to break my heart again. And that- that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared anymore- cause I am. Not a lot but definitely still a little bit. But someone once told me that, trusting is really scary but that maybe- maybe it would be a lot less scary, if we did together.”

“They sound like a really smart person,” Azzi bites her lip, “you should probably listen to them more often.”

Paige chuckles, “well if uh- if they give me the chance, I think I’d listen to them for the rest of my life.”

Azzi shudders and she doesn’t know if it’s from the earnestness of the words spoken or the strength of the emotions in the blonde’s gaze that’s still completely transfixed on her.

“What about New York?” she asks finally.

“I called the whole thing off,” Paige states nonchalantly,“I had Talia call Jonathan Kolb last night and I explained everything to Ohemaa this morning. Everyone’s on the same page. There is no deal anymore.”

“You-” Azzi gapes at the girl in front of her, “you- you already called the whole thing off?”

“I did,” Paige confirms, not a hint of regret in her voice, “I don’t need an escape plan.”

“You called it off before even talking to me?” Azzi asks, knitting her eyebrows together, “you didn’t even know how this was gonna go.”

“I already told you. I trust you,” Paige says simply, “I believe in us Az and I really hope you still believe in us too.”

The words are barely out of Paige’s mouth before Azzi’s crashing into her, the weight of her body sending the blonde staggering back a few steps before her hands steadily secure themselves around the younger woman’s waist. A slightly surprised gasp escapes Paige until the sound of it is stolen by Azzi pressing her lips against the older woman’s. Despite her initial surprise, Paige kisses Azzi back with equal fervor, both of them pouring the myriad of suppressed emotions between them the last few weeks into it. And it feels like a cliché, like coming home.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Paige breaks away first, eyes widening as she slowly turns around to look at Stephie who’s practically vibrating with happiness as she watches the two of them, “Stephie-”

“She already knows,” Azzi says with a slight grin, shaking her head fondly at just how joyful her little girl looks.

“You told her?” Paige looks between the mother and daughter.

Stephie smirks triumphantly, “I figured it out myself Miss Buecks.”

“Of course you did smarty pants,” Paige smiles at the little girl but Azzi knows her well enough -is still so in tune with every little bit of Paige despite the time apart- to see the small hint of disappointment behind it.

“I would’ve told her myself if she hadn’t,” Azzi says quietly and Paige turns back around to face her.

“What?”

“I love you,” Azzi says and she swears no three words have ever sounded as right on her lips, as those three do, “I love you,” she repeats again and she can feel Paige’s hands shaking as they instinctively tighten their grip on her waist, “I love you so much Paige Madison Bueckers and I want everybody to know it. Stephie, our families, our friends, our teammates, the whole world. I love you and I never wanna hide that. I want everybody to know that you’re mine and I’m yours. Forever.”

A strangled sob escapes Paige’s mouth as she presses her forehead against Azzi’s, “I love you too. I love you, so, so, so much. I’ve loved you since the beginning and I’m gonna love you till the very end. Forever.”

Their lips meet in a searing kiss and it’s unclear if they’re both crying more or giggling more, as they hold each other as tightly as possible. And this isn’t their first kiss, far from it- far closer to being their millionth or so- but still it feels like a fresh new start, a brand new love story but with that same old special, all-consuming, forevermore love that has always connected them to each other. The one that had never gone away, no matter how long they’d been apart.

“Ahem, ahem,” an exaggerated cough breaks them apart and the two of them turn their heads at the same time to see Stephie looking dramatically at them, her hands on her hips.

“So, Mama loves Miss Buecks and Miss Buecks loves Mama. What about Stephie?” she pouts, exaggeratedly stomping her foot.

Paige and Azzi both laugh, removing themselves from each other just enough to crouch down and open their arms out for Stephie, beckoning for her to join their embrace. The little girl’s attempt at a sour expression is immediately replaced by a cheerful grin as she runs into their arms, tiny hands somehow managing to wrap around both of their necks.

“You know we love you the most Stephie,” Paige whispers into the little girl’s hair, who lets out a content sigh as she burrows herself further into the two women’s arms.

Azzi hums in agreement, closing her eyes as she leans her head against her daughter’s, feeling Paige’s fingers intertwine with her behind Stephie’s back. And then it’s quiet for a while, nothing but the sound of the three of them breathing and their hearts beating together in sync. Azzi feels at peace, her mind completely calm, no longer overthinking anything.

Because now she finally has everything.

Paige, Stephie, and the promise of a world the three of them can build together, it’s everything.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 day ago

Text

If You Only Knew Pt. 2

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Part 1

Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, tooth rotting fluff, pining, emotions (oh no), smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v)

Title from I Can See You by Taylor Swift.

Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.

Author's Note: Nothing better than making a man be down bad.

Word Count: 8.5k

He’d pulled out the fucking stops. Ben didn’t even know what the fucking stops were, but he’d pulled them out. He was going to make every goddamn romance in history look fucking pathetic. She was going to swoon and fall into his arms like a movie, and he’d kiss Her like the hero he was, and then he’d have Her forever.

Just Her. All for him.

If Ben did this right—and he would, because he was a goddamn gentleman and not a fucking pussy asshole who would fail the first woman who’d managed to make his heart move—he’d get to have Her forever. He’d have one fucking person he didn’t need to prance around like a monkey for, who he could walk home to, smile at, and fucking mean it. One person he actually liked, who didn’t want to see him do a trick or say the right thing, who just wanted him. Who spoke to him without fear, but still with reverence, because Ben would make Her fall for him so fucking hard, she’d finally feel all these stupid goddamn emotions he’d been plagued with over the last year.

Ben would do whatever the hell he needed to for Her feel this. This strange fucking pull to be near Her all the goddamn time, and serve her, and talk to her. He’d throw everything he had into showing Her that he felt it—more than he’d ever felt fucking anything—and that if She could feel it too, he’d never allow her to stop feeling it. He’d fucking worship Her. He’d be whatever She needed him to be.

And She just seemed to want Ben to be Ben.

Which made him fall harder.

And made him all the more resolved to romance the fucking Christ out of Her.

He was picking Her up. Standing outside Her apartment with a bouquet of flowers like some goddamn idiot. Shifting on his feet as he waited for Her, because her roommates said she was still getting ready, and Ben wasn’t allowed inside.

Her roommates didn’t really seem to like him. Ben didn’t really fucking care what they thought. They weren’t Her, and she was the only one who fucking mattered right now. Maybe ever.

Christ on a cross, that would be nice. If She got to be the only thing that mattered to Ben. If Ben got to be the only thing that mattered to Her.

He should knock on the door again, because it could not take that fucking long to get ready for a date. Ben had done fucking everything—suit, shaving, shoes, cologne—and that had taken him five goddamn minutes. Maybe those fucking bitches were trying to talk Her out of this. Trying to tell Her that Ben wasn’t serious about her, and she shouldn’t waste Her time with him.

She needed to waste Her time with him. Ben was here to do fucking everything with Her, and that included wasting time. Together. If he had it his way, they’d waste time all fucking night, and then keep wasting it for another million years.

He needed to break that fucking door down. He’d fix it after, too, for Her. He’d do fucking anything for Her, and if she was having doubts, he needed to kill them-

The door swung open only a second before his fist went flying, and Ben felt like he’d gotten punched.

She was flawless. Fucking gorgeous, designed by goddamn heaven and sent to Earth like some star that never burned out. Ben had never seen anything like Her, in front of him and smiling. Perfectly colored lips and styled hair and sinful body, more beautiful every second because She was being beautiful for Ben. She always looked like a fucking incarnation of Ben’s fantasies and dreams—no matter what She wore or how she did her makeup—and he’d seen Her look like this a million times for charity galas, but it had never been for Ben.

She’d chosen that dress for him. She’d done Her hair because they were going out. She picked a lipstick she wanted Ben to see.

And if Ben did this fucking right—did this like She deserved—he could have that color staining his cock by the end of the night.

“Hi.” She whispered, giving him a sweet smile, and Ben was going to fucking explode. “I’m sorry about my roommates. They’re protective.”

“Good.” He grunted, glaring over Her head. “You deserve to be protected. But they don’t have to fucking protect you from me!”

She raised Her brows, even as a faint, pretty flush crept over her face. “I don’t think that’s going to convince them, Ben.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He muttered, moving his gaze back to Her. Christ, She was too goddamn beautiful. It was trapping him in a loop. “You look fucking hot.”

“Thank you. You, um, you too.”

Her voice sounded breathy, and She was looking at Ben like she wanted to jump on him. He needed to keep that look on Her face for the rest of goddamn time.

The stops. Ben needed to pull out the fucking stops.

“These are for you.” He shoved the flowers into Her hands, scanning over Her pretty features to check that they had the intended effect. They seemed to. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and Ben could hear her heart do a little stumble in Her chest, so he was pretty damn sure they’d worked.

“Ben-“

“There’s paper in my car, too.” Ben jumped in, because She needed to know about everything before She formed an opinion. “And a fuck ton of pencils.”

She blinked at him. “Why?”

“You said you needed more paper and pencils.”

“I said-“ She swallowed, Her body leaning a little closer to his. That seemed good. “I said I needed more paper and pencils, so you bought me more paper and pencils?”

Ben frowned. He was pretty he’d made that damn clear. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do.”

“Nothing.” She smiled at Ben. The soft smile. He’d fucking nailed it. “Thank you, Ben.”

He grunted, offering Her his arm. “Are you ready.”

She nodded, disappearing back into Her apartment for only a second to put the flowers in a vase before returning, fucking smiling at him again, and letting Ben lead Her out of her shitty apartment building to his car. She looked fucking right in his car. The seat molded perfectly around Her, she was beautiful at Ben’s side, and this was where She belonged. Where Ben could touch Her—his hand curled into a fist in an effort to not touch Her, not yet—and she could be comfortable. In luxury.

She deserved luxury more than fucking pussy Ben knew. More than the assholes who already had it, more than the brown-nosing dick-riders who chased it at Vought. Ben could fucking give it Her. She didn’t even have to ask, and he’d move the world onto a platter at Her feet. Because She was real, and beautiful, and so fucking sweet Ben got a little fucking high on it when She spoke. When She told him about all her students in the car, and giggled at his jokes. When She smiled at him in the golden light of the road, took his hand out of the car with sparkling eyes, and leaned into his touch as he guided Her into the empty restaurant.

He could get used to this. To the look of wide, blatant awe on Her face as they were led to their table—it was a nice fucking restaurant, and Ben had picked it out specifically for Her, so that was another damn good sign—and the way that whenever their eyes met, she’d give him that soft smile again.

“Ben.” She whispered as they sat down. “Where are all the other people?”

He shrugged, giving the waiter a curt nod as he poured the water and left them alone. “Not fucking here, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I know that. Why aren’t they here?”

“Probably because I rented the place.”

She sat a little taller, and Her expression open as her lips parted and brow furrowed.

“What’s-“

“The whole restaurant?” Her voice was barely a breath, and Ben frowned.

“Obviously,” He grunted, trying to work out why the fuck this was freaking Her out. “Do you not like it?”

“Not at all, it’s just-“ She pulled her lower lip between Her teeth, fingers fidgeting with her napkin. “You didn’t have to do that. For me.”

Ben scowled. “Of course I fucking had to-“

“Ben-“

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t, people would be gawking at us all damn night. Sticking their fucking noses in your business, crawling up your taint like they’re always up mine.” Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide gaze. She needed to know he was serious. That She was damn worth this, and Ben would keep Her safe. Keep Her at peace, away from the fucking vultures and monsters, at Vought and in the media. “This is for us, babygirl. I’m not going let any fucking pussy bother you, let anyone look at you who you don’t want to. And nobody,” he shot Her a wink. “Is going to crawl up your taint but me.”

She giggled, Her body relaxing, and Ben counted that as another fucking victory. “That’s gross, Ben.”

“It’s true.” He shrugged, bracing his forearms on the table. “Until you say the word, nobody’s going to know fucking shit about us.”

“The waiters will know.” She pointed out, even as the pretty flush returned. “About… us.”

Christ, the word us had never sounded so fucking good. Ben never wanted to hear anyone but Her say it again. He never wanted it to mean anyone but them. Her and Ben. Us. Something he could defend and protect and keep just for them, together.

He chuckled. “The waiters will keep their pussy fucking mouths shut, if they know what’s good for them.”

She rolled Her eyes, but her smile remained. “You’d murder a waiter for me?”

She was joking. Ben would murder a waiter for Her, if she asked—She never would, but if she did, she wouldn’t even have to say please—but She was joking, so he just laughed.

“For you, I’d kill the damn president.”

Another fucking giggle escaped her. Ben wanted to bottle that sound and shoot it into his blood like goddamn heroine. “That’s not very American of you, Soldier-“

��Don’t fucking say it.” He raised an accusing finger at Her, even as a smile tugged at his mouth. “It’s Ben to you, sweetheart.”

She hummed, raising Her brows slightly. “Is it Ben for all the other girls, too?”

“Wouldn’t know.” He leaned forward with a smirk, lowering his voice to the rumble that always seemed to make that slack, wanting expression pop up. “There aren’t any other girls.”

“Oh.” She whispered, and there it was. Ben had Her. So fucking close. “No girls?”

“No girls,” Ben’s voice was firm as he said Her name, because he’d had countless other women in his bed but none of them had been his. None of them had been even fucking close to what She was, what Ben hoped she could be to him. “I was damn serious, sweetheart. I haven’t fucked another woman in a year.”

She swallowed. “For me?”

He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she gave him a soft, slightly nervous smile.

“No sex?” She raised Her brows. “You must have a lot a free time now, huh?”

Ben laughed. It was loud and rolling through his chest, breaking the static silence of the restaurant because Christ, he needed to have Her.

“Smart fucking mouth, babygirl.” He smirked, leaning forward. “Not wrong, either. You’re going to get a fucking master.”

He winked, and there was a soft hitch in Her breath.

“I’m getting a master?”

“I haven’t be keeping it in my pants for fun,” Ben drawled Her name, and he could get addicted to that flush and small gasp. “We’re going to fill up that free time together.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She was gaping at Ben—practically fucking drooling—and if he grabbed Her face, he could kiss her. Here. Now. Blow Her fucking mind and fill that free time right here on the damn table. Fill Her on the damn table-

“What have you been using the free time for?” She asked. “While you’ve been, um, keeping it in your pants.”

He shrugged. He’d waited a year. He could wait a few more hours to fuck Her stupid. “Watched TV. Smoked.” He tilted his head at Her. “What do you use your free time for.”

“I, um, I don’t really have free time,” She mumbled, and Ben frowned. He’d have to fix that.

“What would you do?” He pushed, ready to mentally mark whatever he’d need to keep around for Her, once she had that time. “If you had the time?”

“Maybe a hobby?” She pulled her lips between her teeth, and if She kept doing that, they wouldn’t make it to actual dinner. “I could make art. Or write. Or bake.” She tilted Her head. “I think I just like making things. Seeing that I did something, and it was me. I did it.”

Ben nodded. He could get paint. And more fucking paper and pencils. And whatever the hell people used to bake. He didn’t understand Her making something shit, but Christ, he liked Her for feeling it and saying it. She was so fucking caring and sweet, he was going to lose his damn mind. “That why you teach?”

“Yeah, actually. I think it is.” She gave him an odd look. “What about you? What would you do as a hobby?”

Ben opened his mouth, and She shook her head.

“Don’t say drugs. Or me.”

He scoffed, and fuck, She looked hot when she was smug. “Fuck off, Sweetheart-“

“Was I wrong?”

“No.” He grumbled. “But I don’t fucking do hobbies.”

She snorted. “Everyone does hobbies, Ben. You just haven’t found one you like.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. He didn’t know how the fuck She did that to his face. “What, you think I’m going to start fucking knitting, like some damn pussy grandma-“

“You could collect something,” She offered, and Ben might fucking die if She kept sounding so sincere. Like She actually fucking cared that he found something to enjoy. “Or do a sport-“

He snorted. “I don’t fucking do sports. No one can keep up with me, it’s not fucking fun.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She swallowed, and Ben didn’t miss how She glanced at his arms, and chest, and hands. How that expression like She wanted to jump on him was back. “How about woodworking?”

Ben raised his brows. “Woodworking.”

She hummed, nodding with a small, teasing smile. “It’s a very masculine hobby, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s probably that, or coaching little league.”

Ben chuckled, but his brain started to spin into images of coaching little league for their kids. And he’d be more fucking thrown by that image if similar ones didn’t flash through his brain all the damn time. If he didn’t constantly fucking imagine a real life with Her. If he didn’t think about it all the goddamn time, because She was it. Ben wanted all of Her, and he’d be damned if he didn’t give Her his own all once he had her-

Right before Ben could damn it, throw himself over the table at Her, and prove to her that he was damn serious about his with his mouth and hands and cock—that he’d never fantasize about fucking Little League for any other woman—the waiter interrupted them to get their orders.

Ben ordered first, and She just took what he was having. She didn’t even glance at the damn menu.

“You know,” he drawled Her name, raising his brows. “I just fucking eat whatever the hell people put in front of me. That food might be fucking shit.”

She didn’t laugh like he’d expected. She just gave him an odd, unreadable look, and moved on. It wasn’t until the end of the night, when the food was gone and Ben felt fucking high on Her laugher and beauty, that it was mentioned again. When he asked if the food was worth the risk, and that look came back, this time with a question that threw Ben right off his goddamn axis.

“What’s it like?”

He frowned. “What’s what-“

“Having your life be a brand? Designed by Vought?”

Ben’s blinked. If it wasn’t Her asking, he would’ve stormed off with a roar. But that wasn’t some fucking gotcha question, meant to make his head spin and test his temper. She just wanted to know, so she could know Ben. And if that was all She was asking for, fuck him if he wouldn’t give it to Her.

“My job is the brand.” He shrugged. “And Vought is full of fucking pussies, but they do their damn jobs, I do mine, and we all fucking go home. That’s all it is.”

The Vought assholes went home to families, and Ben went home to cold, empty riches, but that wasn’t the point. Ben did his job, and he was fucking good at it, and the brand—Soldier Boy—was the fucking job. Simple as that.

“Do you like it?”

Her voice was still fucking soft. She was going to goddamn kill him, if She kept fucking caring. If She kept making Ben think about how he fucking loathed it. It was filled with gold and wealth and fucking nothing. All the light was just cameras flashing. All the warmth only stayed on his skin, never sinking into his muscles and organs. All his co-workers were fucking pussy idiots. And that had always been enough. It had always been all he wanted.

Until it wasn’t.

Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide, open gaze. “I like that it got me to you.” He muttered, and that was the goddamn truth. “And you’ve fucking got me, babygirl. I meant it, there wasn’t a damn lady before you. Not like this. And I’ll keep fucking saying that until you get it. Solider Boy might be the brand, might be the job, but I’ll keep it in my pants for another damn year and pick up fucking woodworking if I get you. Understood?”

There was a long moment of silence as She scanned over his face—looking for whatever She needed to find—and Ben felt an itch on his skin and a prickle over his heart. It might be fucking nerves.

He didn’t care for it.

“Understood.” She whispered, and the nerves vanished into some sort of euphoria as She smiled at him. “Do you, um, you want to go? Back to my place?”

Ben’s grin was unrestrained and probably looked a little feral, but thank fucking Christ. He had Her. He didn’t have to keep it in his pants, because he had Her.

And when he stood up, picking Her up into his arms with a squeal and carrying Her out of the restaurant, he made a silent vow.

He wouldn’t give Her a single goddamn reason to ever leave.

And he’d start proving why She should stay right fucking now.

—————————

Ben’s really strong. And you’d known that—it was the whole Soldier Boy brand—but that didn’t stop you from being shocked by how that strength feels wrapped around you. Pressed right up against your body, arms flexing and muscles shifting under his shirt, his chest and shoulders like a rock, but still somehow comfortable and warm.

You’d like to stay here, in Ben’s arms and against his body, for maybe the rest of your life. It feels safe, but not like a cage. Like a blanket or shield around you, promising that harm wouldn’t even dare to look at you, because only a fool would try to attack something that belongs to Ben.

Fuck.

You don’t belong to Ben. Not in the way you’d want to mean it, where it’s your heart out of your chest and into his hands, and you never have to worry about it again. Never have to worry about anything again.

It doesn’t help that it feels like you could belong to him. Like if you asked, he would keep you here. Maybe he’d carry you everywhere. Maybe he’d offer his heart back.

He won’t. You can hear his heart pounding, when you turn your head and press your ear to his skin. It’s loud and powerful, and you’d really like for it to move in a rhythm with yours. But you don’t know if you could keep up, and you’re terrified to learn that he wouldn’t slow down.

But your lips graze his neck when you breathe, and you could swear he shudders. That his grip on you tightens, and a low grunt escapes his throat that has nothing to do with walking to the car.

You’re too far gone. This is exactly what you’d been trying to avoid, trying to dodge and weave around with giggles and eye rolls. Belonging to Ben. Making your dumb little heart really believe that he’d care about you in a way that he’d fight for. Falling into him until he’s less taking you, and more being offered to have you. However he’d like.

And God, if he asks to have you tonight, you’ll say yes. All your previous rules will fly out the window. Rules about waiting a certain number of dates, kissing first before going right into more, or ensuring that—when the sun rises the next morning—you won’t be alone in bed. Rules that would be pointless, because this is Ben and you’ve been dreaming about touching him for a year. He can never know you’ve lost sleep to it. To feeling heat between your legs at just the thought of him, to covering your face with a pillow because just the idea of him was enough to make you scream and moan and wake your roommates up.

Shit. Your roommates.

You’re going to have to figure out how to justify to them that you will be seeing Ben again, because you hadn’t stopped feeling dizzy and drunk on him for the whole night, and now you’re gone—the last piece of your resistance to his advances gone, your will to not fall in love completely dissolved—and you won’t be coming back until Ben breaks you in half.

That if Ben doesn’t break you—if he chooses to keep you, just you, because for reasons you don’t understand he seems to only want you—but holds you close and stretches tonight into sixty years, you’ll never even bother to try and return.

You don’t know if he’ll want to keep you. He’s placing you in the passenger’s seat with careful movements, but brushing hair from your face with an unreadable expression and restrained hands. He kisses your brow before drawing back up, and he glances at your lips, but he doesn’t touch them. He doesn’t say a word, only closing the door behind him and walking around the hood of the car.

When he drops in the driver’s seat, his hands rest on the wheel, and he stares ahead with a frown. He doesn’t grab the keys from his pocket. He doesn’t speak, or look at you, or move.

There’s a long and horrible moment when you think he’s done with you. Where everything tastes like ash and dust, and you can feel your body deflating and crumbling. Of course he wouldn’t want you. You’re normal and boring and wouldn’t look right on his arm. You’d fit there—you know you would, because you’d slotted right into him all night like you were meant to be there, and now that will haunt you for the rest of your life—but you wouldn’t dazzle and sparkle and flash. You aren’t a good accessory. You’d cleaned up best you could for this, but your clothing was cheap, your lipstick cheaper, and your hair styled by your own hands. Hands with little bumps on the fingers from writing, that you did your best to keep soft but also ended up dry, because your apartment’s humidifier was broken, and it’s the middle of winter.

You’re nothing horrible. Nothing worse than anyone else. But also normal. So painfully average, just another face that walked on the street.

Ben should be with someone bright. Someone blinding who wore lipstick that cost as much as that fancy dinner, and clothing that could probably out-sell this car. Someone who had their hair styled by a team, because they were American royalty like Ben was.

Girls like you don’t get to linger in divinity. They don’t get more than a night.

And you might not even get a night. Ben isn’t moving or talking or teasing about how he’s going to touch you, so he might not want to. He might have been trying you on, and now he’s ready to throw you out because he’d realized you didn’t look as good on him as he’d thought you would-

“We’re going to my place.” He grunts, and you blink at him.

“Your place?”

He nods, and finally looks at you. He’s so handsome. You’ve never seen anyone have a face like that. You’d been being dramatic and lovelorn before, thinking of him as divinity, but there couldn’t possibly be another reason for him looking like that.

Untouchable.

Reaching out to touch you.

Ben’s hand cups your face, keeping your gaze trapped on his, and his words are a low rumble that rip through your body like a wildfire. Your skin and heart are ablaze, and you’re completely ruined, and he’s only talking.

“I’m going to touch you, babygirl.” He mutters, and you think you whine. “Going to fucking ruin you.”

This isn’t fair. He looks like he’s about to ask you a question, and you’ll never be able to give an answer that isn’t a breathless plea.

“Ben-“

“But,” he pushes on, smirking as your breathing start to get ragged. “I’m going to have you screaming my name all fucking night, and I’m not interested in having an audience. I fucking love you, but your apartment is goddamn fucking. Dramatic roommates who won’t let me fuck you like you deserve, too goddamn small, and not nearly fucking good enough for you. So come back to my place.”

That’s probably supposed to be a question. Ben’s tone didn’t sound like he was asking—more like ordering, or telling you what was going to happen—but he’s also not starting to car or letting go of your face, so you think he’s waiting for an answer.

It takes a moment, because you’re trapped in his voice, still echoing in your head.

I fucking love you.

You don’t know if he’s aware he said that. If he is, it doesn’t seem as if he’s about to elaborate.

But he did say it. And he’s not taking it back.

You’re kind of done with testing the waters. With holding yourself back from what you want for the sake of your sanity.

Sanity that’s already long gone anyway. Razed and wrecked and shaped into the same sound of Ben saying I fucking love you, all while touch you and looking at you and speaking to you, and you alone.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you can’t really imagine saying anything else.

Ben nods, his hand moves to your thigh, and you can feel something changing inside of you. His touch is so measured—so carefully controlled with a big, rough hand that kneads mindlessly at your skin—and it’s igniting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt. It’s like lighting in your blood and water on your skin, soothing and electric and so completely consuming.

He really is consuming. You’ve never met anyone whose very presence devours your every thought and nerve until you’re glowing from inside. Even if you weren’t being branded by his touch on your body, weren’t drowning in his cologne, you’d still only be thinking about Ben. He’d said you looked hot, and under his cannon-like attention—loud and powerful and demanding—you’d really felt like you were. He’d said there were no other girls, and you believed him because you could feel the words over your bones. He’d said he’d kill the president for you, and it had oddly been the most romantic thing any had ever told you.

Ben’s life was Solider Boy. Soldier Boy’s brand was America.

He didn’t want to be Solider Boy with you. He didn’t care about Soldier Boy for you.

And you’d never tell him to kill the president, but if you do get to ask for anything—just one thing for Ben to give you, and only you, because you asked for it—it would be that he keeps doing that. Keeps being consuming. Keeps looking at you like you’re all the stars in the sky, when you’re the one getting lost.

Because you’re so lost. You’d promised yourself you’d be careful, but now you’re lost in Ben, and you’d never chose to be anywhere else. Not when his hand on your thigh is a promise of being a master and filling free time. You’d love to waste free time with him. You’d love to get more and more lost in this odd sense of given security—Ben is here, and he’s built like a tank that’s designed to keep you from horror—for the rest of your life.

And you’d think that was dramatic, if Ben didn’t keep looking at you like that. Like you’re a rare treasure he’d found buried underground, and he’s going to make you shine.

You’re already shining. Just that look—full of promises and stoic, firm care–makes you sit a little taller in your seat, warmth sparking and pooling in your gut like an oil meeting a match.

The explosion is going to wreck you.

You’re more than ready for it.

Ben parks outside of a shocking normal apartment complex, helps you out of the car, and half covers your body with his—his face bent down and hidden, you barely a shadow below him—before moving you inside.

This is a normal building. You’re awestruck, how average this place is. You’ve heard about Ben’s house, but it’s further upstate. You’ve been to one of his apartments for a Vought party—and ended up mostly curled near him, but not against him, on a couch—but that was across the city. And this place didn’t have the marble floors and doorman and oil paintings. It was all stained brown carpet and small mailboxes, walking up concrete stairs and passing worn welcome mats.

“Ben?” You lean back to look at him, and he seems vigilant. Watching every corner you turn and tensing at every creek of the building.

He grunts, his eyes falling to yours—something that’s always rough behind them not softening, but becoming honed, and aimed all at you—and you take it as a cue to continue.

“Where are we?”

Ben lets out a long, heavy breath, stopping in front of another, boring, generic door. “My apartment.”

“Oh.” You look around the hall, then back to Ben. He’s started to fidget with the keys. You didn’t hear him wrong.

You’re still incredibly confused, right up until Ben pushes the door open.

This is more what you expected. Plush sofas and polished chairs, a glass table and expensive looking art on the walls. It’s a little different that his other apartment—there seems to be more personal things scattered across the room, bits of Ben left out on the side table and shelves—but not at all in line with the rest of this building.

And Ben must see all your questions on your face, because he leans down to whisper in your ear, his arms wrapped around your stomach and light stubble brushing on your skin.

“Bought this place off the books.” He starts to guide you further inside, his hands rubbing slow, mind-numbing circles on your hips. “Place for myself, when I don’t want anyone intruding or interfering with my shit.”

You swallow. “Does anyone else know-“

“Just me.” He mutters, starting to kiss a very distracting line up your throat. “Not one damn pussy at Vought knows this place exists. Landlord thinks I’m a reclusive artist or some shit. Like I said, sweetheart. My place.”

Ben’s place. Just his place. For his shit. That he doesn’t want intruded on.

It takes you longer than you’d like to piece it all together. In your defense, you’re a little overwhelmed—in all your wildest fantasies about Ben looking at you and meaning it, you still hadn’t manage to imagine this—and Ben’s not really helping your thought process at all. One hand has moved down to pull and squeeze your upper thigh, the other is still keeping you pinned to his chest, and his mouth has started to wander. Grow bolder. Wet, sloppy kisses over your collarbone and along your jaw, sucking a small bruise behind your ear and making you a little dizzy.

But you slot it all into place.

And there’s not a thing in the universe that could save you now. Fuck, if anyone tried, you’d probably punch them.

“You’re serious about me.” You mumble, and Ben hums, the sound echoing around your head like a fucked up, love drunk lullaby.

“About fucking time you got it.” He mutters, his hands sliding up to grip your throat. It’s a light touch, barely any pressure at all, but Ben doesn’t need to be firm. He tilts your head slightly back, and you go all the way. Leaning on his shoulder, holding his darkened gaze with your own, slightly dazed one, smiling at him like an idiot.

You can be an idiot for this. For Ben, you’ll be a fucking fool, because you can be. There’s nothing else to do here. Nothing to work for. He’s won. You’re his.

All that’s left to do fall down.

Ben smirks at you, that hand on your thigh starting to drift further and further between your legs, and you don’t think he’s going to make this easy on you.

“Do you know how much I’ve fucking dreamt about this?” Ben drawls, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth. It’s light, and taunting, and in perfect time with his fingers. Playing with the hem of your panties, knuckles occasionally bumping on your clit and making your knees weak, all while he continues talking. “I’ve spent fucking months working out exactly how I want to fuck you, babygirl. Thought about how fucking good you’d feel, wrapped around my cock, how pretty you’d sound screaming my name, how fucking beautiful you’d look all fucked out and wrecked under me, or against me, or fucking riding me. But nothing,” Ben nips at your ear, and you think you squeak. “Could’ve gotten me ready for this. Look so fucking gorgeous just here. Hardly ever touched you yet and you look like a dream.”

You’re going to lose your fucking mind. Ben’s hand has moved to cup you over your underwear, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding shamelessly onto him.

“Christ, sweetheart, already fucking soaked just from dinner.” Ben looks awestruck, his lips parted and breath hot on your skin. It just makes you more desperate. “You like it when I talk dirty? Like it when I tell you how much I fucking want you? How much I need you?”

You moan, nodding like a bobble-head, and he chuckles.

“Tell me what you want,” Ben says your name, pressing his thumb over your clothed clit, and you definitely squeaked that time.

“You, want you-“

“How do you want me. Get specific, babygirl, want to hear-“

“I want you with me,” you gasp, rolling your hips in search of any friction at all, whining when his grip on you tightens. “Want to have you Ben, fuck- Want all of you-“

You might have ascended. Ben cuts you off with a strangling, heavy, starved kiss, and if it wasn’t the most carnal thing you’d ever experienced you’d have thought it was holy. It’s invasive and rough—his tongue down your throat and his teeth nipping at your lower lip, swallowing your moan when he rips off you panties and shoves one, broad finger into your cunt—but there’s something softer behind it. His hand stays on your neck, but only to tip you further back and grant him more access, never tightening enough for you to really feel it. Your legs give out as he starts to finger-fuck you at a brutal, unforgiving pace, but he also keeps you upright and steady.

Ben pulls you apart on just his hand—palm rolling on your clit, fingers taunting and teasing on the deepest, most sensitive place inside of you—and he never breaks the kiss. You reach behind your body, wrapping an arm around his neck and running your fingers through his hair, and when you tug it, he groans. The sound moves through your whole body, fueling every bit of your arousal, melting you further into Ben’s body as he picks up his speed. He keeps a rough pace and firm pattern, drags your right up to the edge until you’re writhing against him and scratching hopelessly at his arm in a slight plea for more. You need more, you’re already inhaling him and filled with him but it’s not enough.

When he finally crooks his fingers inside of you, everything goes white. It’s only Ben sucking on your upper lip and pumping his fingers through your orgasm, only his pounding heartbeat near your ear and ragged breath over your face.

He’s hard. Pressing right up against your ass, and hard, and big. He’s fucking huge.

You need him. You need him now.

“Ben,” you tug on his hair again—your voice breathy and weak as your head spins—and he hums against your skin, that sinful fucking mouth sucking small marks along your jaw. “More. Need more, please-“

“Patience,” he mutters your name, and you moan, shaking your head. “I’ve been waiting too fucking long to take this slow. Got fucking months to make up for. You’re not going to be able to walk for a goddamn year when I’m done with you, babygirl, so calm the fuck down, and take what I give you. Got it?”

You nod a little stupidly, and Ben draws back from your neck with a smirk, teasing along your pussy with those same, sinful fingers before pulling them away and—before you can even whine from the loss of him—bringing them to his mouth. Licking your arousal off his skin, never breaking your gaze.

You can’t be patient. It’s an impossible thing to ask, when he’s toying with you like this. When he looks like that—so fucking satisfied from the taste of you and cocky when you moan from only the sight of him—and wraps his arm back around your waist, keeping you steady as he kisses you again. It should be illegal to be this good a kisser. It’s like a drug right into your bloodstream, making everything just pleasure and Ben. He tastes like wine and smoke and you. That’s you on his tongue.

You’re going to fly out of your skin.

“Please.” You gasp, tugging on his hair again until that same groan from before rumbles in his chest. “Ben, please-“

Ben squeezes your throat once before dragging it away, prying your hand off his head and kissing your knuckles with a softness that might be worse than the animalistic lust. It’s just a small, tiny second of care—silent, real affection—but you’re still going to go mad from it.

“You want my cock, babygirl?” He asks the question with the most smug grin you’ve ever seen. Like he knows there’s not a world where you’ll say anything but yes. “Want me to fuck you nice and dumb, take good fucking care of my girl?”

His girl. You’ve put it together that he really somehow means that, but it doesn’t change how the words are electric in your body. Your legs almost give out just from the sound of Ben’s deep voice saying them.

He tightens his grip around you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head backward. “Not a mind-reader, sweetheart, give me some fucking words-“

“Yes-“

The answer is barely out of your mouth when Ben hauls you off the ground and starts to move, walking into the bedroom and dropping you onto his mattress. This is Ben’s mattress. He’s slept on it before, and the sheets smell like him and have touched his bare skin.

You’re going to touch his bare skin. He’s ripping clothing off like it’s paper as you crawl backwards, and you barely have time to remove your dress—let alone take him in—before he’s prowling over you, his eyes gleaming and sparkling in a way that makes you start to drool.

He’s completely naked. You want to see him, see all that impossible, powerful glory that’s about to wrap around you, but you don’t get the chance before Ben starts to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses up your legs and your vision blurs with pleasure. He’s so good at this, and you’re not at all surprised, but it still makes every fantasy and wet dream you’ve had feel like a crude, faded sketch. The real thing is a work of art. You’d been joking when you’d called this his hobby, but he’s playing you like an instrument and molding you like clay. He finds his way between your legs, and stays there just long enough to work you into a frenzy. Broad licks up your pussy and flicks of his tongue over your clit, sucking the already burning nerve bundle into his mouth and letting his teeth graze against it until you’re grinding up into his face.

Then he’s moving on, leaving you dangling right on the edge and kissing over your stomach. Up your body until he drags you into a long, heavy kiss, silencing your every needy, high plea for release. He won’t let you have release. He’s kissing you far too passionately and firmly for you to do anything but melt further into him, but God you’re burning up from the inside and he won’t even let you move. He had dropped his waist to pin you down to the mattress, and you can feel him poking again your inner thigh, and fuck-

Ben rises up with a grin, and there’s the awestruck look again. He can’t keep looking at you like that. It’s going to kill you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” He mutters your name, and you were wrong. That’s going to kill you. How sincere and blunt his words are, like they’re pure fact and not at all subjective. “Never seen a goddamn thing like it.” He rolls his hips against you, and you whine. “Look like a fucking angel.”

You want to tell him that he looks better, or at least thank him, but all you can remember how to do is moan, squirming a little beneath him as he chuckles.

“You got something you need, sweetheart?”

He rolls his hips again, and your eyes almost roll back in your head as you nod.

Ben clicks his tongue, leaning back down to speak against your lips. “Need you to fucking say it, baby.”

“Fuck me.” You gasp, because you’re past dignity and dancing around things. “Fuck me, Ben, please, fuck me-“

You yelp as he rolls you over, hauling you up onto his lap and impaling you on his cock in one movement. And when he starts to move—grabbing your hips and guiding them in a smooth rhythm with his thrusts—you know he’s not going to stop proving you wrong. He cares, and this is higher and better than any heaven you could’ve—and had—imagined. This is what’s going to kill you.

Because you’ve thought about this far too often, imagined this exact moment countless times, but it’s still more than you know how to comprehend. Ben’s splitting you open and bumping against all the right places inside of you, the angle pushing him so deep into your cunt there’s not a second where you aren’t on fire. He keeps alternating between wild, demanding bites—hickeys on your throat and shoulders—and gentle, hot kisses on your lips that swallow your every soft moan and whine. Your arms wrap around his neck as your try to drag him impossibly closer, and he smirks, his hold on your hips tightening as he starts to drill up into you.

It’s brutal and sudden and rough—his skin slapping on yours and his gaze burning right into your body—and if Ben wasn’t holding you up, you would’ve collapsed. You might be saying his name, might be begging for more, but you can’t hear it over a fogging haze of Ben, talking so dirty you’re surprised his voice alone isn’t bring you to release.

“Look so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock, such pretty fucking tits, fucking tight and warm, goddamn soaked for me-“

“Fuck,” you try to grind down onto him, but he’s too strong. All you can do is kiss on his jaw and pray he’ll give you more. “Feels good, so good, please-“

“Who’s fucking you good?” He demands, nipping on your lower lip and guiding you in a circle on his dick, smirking as you whimper from the sensation. “Fucking scream it, sweetheart, tell the whole goddamn world who’s fucking you-“

“Ben!“ You almost scream, and you’d be embarrassed if it didn’t immediately earn you another long kiss and groan of your name against your skin.

“There you go,” he mutters, snaking one hand around your body to rub at your clit. “Good girl, feel so fucking good squeezing my cock, so fucking needy-“

“Ben,” Your brow drops to his, and your nails scratching at his neck and shoulder blades. “Please, wanna cum, please-“

He cuts you off with a searing, almost violent kiss, growling down your throat. “Since you asked so fucking pretty,” he jerks his hips up in a rough, blinding movement, pinching your clit at the same time. “Cum for me, babygirl.”

This orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. Springing in your gut and washing your body in a burning but comfortable heat, filling your vision with stars and wracking your body with a pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. This is better than heaven. This is Ben kissing you through your high and still dragging you higher, rubbing his thumb around your clit and palming at your breast as you scream into his mouth.

And you don’t come down. Ben doesn’t stop, and you’re not sure if this is just a million smaller orgasms exploding like fireworks in your body, or if he’s trapped you in an infinite state of bliss, but the orgasm doesn’t end.

And Ben’s not done with you.

He’s getting rougher. He’s still hard inside of you, starting to throb and lose rhythm with his movements, and you barely have the mind to gasp or whimper when he rolls you back under him, pulls out of you for a brief second, and flips you around onto your stomach. There’s a brief, cold moment where he’s gone—still hard against your thighs but no longer caging you against him—and then he drags your ass into the air, pushes himself back into your dripping, oversensitive pussy, and starts to hammer into you with a pace you can only describe as feral. His balls slap on your clit as he hits somehow deeper inside of you, groaning behind you as you grind back into him, and you’re still cumming. You don’t now know how that’s possible. You didn’t know your body could do that.

You don’t really know anything but Ben right now. Thrusts becoming short and uneven, draping himself back over you to kiss at your shoulder and throat and behind your ear, pinching and rolling a nipple between two rough fingers, and groaning right in your ear in a way that just keeps everything going.

Ben grabs your chin right as his hips stutter, turning your head to roar your name against your mouth as he cums. It finally brings you down—when he’s spent inside of you and pinning you to the mattress in his warmth—and you like out a soft, happy sound of content when he kisses your swollen lips with a gentler, easier pressure. It seems like he’s kissing you just to kiss you. Touching you just to touch you.

Laying with you just to lay with you.

“Christ on a fucking cross,” he mutters in your ear, pressing another small kiss to your cheek. “You’re so fucking good, sweetheart. Never going to go a week without this pussy again, best thing I’ve ever fucking felt.”

You smile, craning your neck back to look at him, and you’ve barely started to move before Ben’s flipping you one last time, keeping you caged between his body and the mattress.

And he’s grinning at you. A powerful, wide grin that would look strange on his face if it didn’t feel so natural. You rarely see Ben really grin—all joy and teeth and something unbridled and almost pure—at all, his expression usually rough smirks and more taunting smiles, but this is just Ben, grinning at you.

And he looks like a human. He’s sweaty, short hair sticking up at odd angles and eyes a little brighter from his own release, and you really think this could be it. That he could be a life you’d be happy to lead.

Because Ben’s got you. Outside of how he’d just fucked you within an inch of paradise, he’s also pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, and a longer one to your lips, before moving away to grab a towel and clean the mess he left between your thighs. He’s bringing you water and tucking you right against his body, muttering that you should get some rest before round two, because there will be a round fucking two.

“Ben?” You mumble, and he grunts near your skin in a silent acknowledgment to continue. “What… um, I don’t know what you- what we-“

“We’re together.” He grunts, and you let out a long breath of relief. You hadn’t even had to say the stupid, embarrassing question aloud. “Nobody’s touch you but me, and not one single fucking lady is getting their hands on me but you.”

“Okay.” You hum, wiggling a little further into his hold. “Good.”

Ben chuckled. “Real fucking good, babygirl. You’re going to get spoiled fucking rotten.”

You smile, and you’ll fight that later. You don’t want to become only a doll on a shelf just because Ben’s got you.

But you also think you have him. And that if you asked for the world he’d try and figure out a way to put it into your hands. That if you demanded he not be an asshole about you continuing to work, he’d grumble but relent.

And you can live with that.

You can thrive with it.

End Note: Once again saying I really think Ben just needs a cool wife to obsesses over and be violent for and he'd chill out.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n

@globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

@panicking-outside-the-disco @ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde

@heyimolive @alwaystiredandconfused @kamisobsessed @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007

@jackles010378 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @chi-raz

@lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r

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scoupsakakitty · 2 days ago

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Fan Letter | idol!Dk x reader | fluff

Y/N had never thought much about the contents of the shoebox tucked away in the corner of her closet. It was a relic from her teenage years, filled with old posters, concert tickets, and faded memories of a time when she was just another fan in a sea of glowing light sticks.

But apparently, DK had other plans for that shoebox.

“Y/N,” his voice rang through her apartment as he stepped inside, waving a crumpled piece of paper in the air. His expression was a mix of confusion, amusement, and something else she couldn’t quite place. “What is this?”

Y/N blinked, completely caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

He held up the paper, and her stomach immediately dropped. The handwriting was unmistakable, it was hers. A letter she had written years ago, when she was just a fan who never thought she’d actually meet the man who had inspired her so much. And now, here he was, standing in her living room, holding the very letter she had hoped no one would ever see.

“Where did you even find that?” she asked, her voice a mix of panic and embarrassment.

DK grinned, tilting his head in that way he always did when he was teasing her. “You told me to grab a blanket from your closet, so I might’ve… accidentally opened a box.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Seokmin, you weren’t supposed to see that. It’s so embarrassing.”

But DK didn’t seem embarrassed at all. In fact, he looked almost… touched. “You wrote this to me? Like, for real?” He glanced back down at the letter, reading it aloud with dramatic flair. “Dear DK, I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but I just wanted to say thank you. Your voice has helped me get through so many tough days.”

“Stop it!” Y/N lunged at him, trying to grab the letter, but he was too quick, holding it above his head and out of her reach.

“Whenever I feel like giving up, I listen to your songs, and it feels like I can breathe again. I don’t know how to explain it, but you make everything feel a little lighter.” He paused, his expression softening as he lowered the letter and met her eyes. “You’ll probably never know who I am, but I just wanted to say thank you for being you.”

Y/N froze, her cheeks burning as she tried to think of something to say. “I was young, okay? I didn’t think you’d ever read that. It’s… it’s just stupid.”

But DK shook his head, folding the letter carefully and slipping it into his pocket. “It’s not stupid. Not even a little.”

“Seokmin…” she started, but he cut her off, stepping closer.

“Do you know how much this means to me?” he said, his voice quieter now. “To know that I could make someone feel like that? To know that I made you feel like that?”

Y/N looked up at him, her embarrassment slowly fading as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. “You really helped me,” she admitted softly. “Back then, when I was going through a lot, your voice… it made things feel less heavy. It made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”

DK’s smile grew, and he reached out to take her hands in his. “And now you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

She let out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope,” he said with a laugh, pulling her into a hug. “But seriously, Y/N, this is one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about me. And the fact that it came from you makes it even better.”

She relaxed in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you found that.”

“Believe it,” he teased, gently swaying them side to side. “But hey, if you ever want to write me another letter, I wouldn’t mind. Maybe something like, ‘Dear DK, you’re the best boyfriend in the world.’”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re the reason I keep singing,” he replied softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Y/N realized that the boy she had written to all those years ago had turned out to be even better than she could have ever imagined.

————————————————————————————-

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myrrusstuff · 2 days ago

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Streamer!Jinx Headcanons!

Just some basic ideas and drabbles pooled into one post. I see a lot of streamer!ellie and streamer!vi, but barely any jinx if any at all. I don’t know, I just think she’d be the funniest streamer ever.

CW: Cursing? bits of Jinx x f!reader. jokes about jinx being cancelled, homophobia mentions.

Streamer!Jinx who got surprised when she blew up pretty fast. For the wrong reasons, Ofcourse (controversy, because she can’t keep her mouth shut), but once it smoothed over she gained a lot of following

She has no filter. None. The second something pops into her head, she says it aloud. She deals with the consequences afterwards.

Her room is either really messy, or oddly tidy. On that note, Streamer!Jinx that decorated her whole setup and desk, plus her headphones. They’re all covered in scribbles and spraypaint.

Streamer!Jinx that sometimes manages to convince you to play on stream with her, addressing you as a close friend to keep you both comfortable and safe online.

She constantly says “chat” and “gang”, even when she’s not streaming. Vi and Ekko pick up on it and comment on it frequently, using it to tease her.

Rages at Minecraft. 100%. She joined MCC, just to ragequit half way through because her team was in dead last. Her chat watched her leave the server and walk out of her room on the webcam. She had to take a whole 15 minuet break and come back with a cup of coffee to calm down.

She would start a Minecraft hardcore series just to hide in a hole as soon as it turns night, before logging off and never returning.

"Guys this is my first episode of... MINECRAFT HARDCORE!

…

Chat this seems to be my first AND last episode."

Jinx who accidentally revealed your relationship on live. She slipped up and called you "darling" or "babe", and her chat never dropped it.

"BABE?!"

"Holy shit did she just call her babe?"

"Ladies, we have a chance!"

"DID WE HEAR THAT RIGHT"

She tried to change the topic, "We’re going to win this round!", to say she lost, and her chat didn’t drop the topic, would be an understatement.

She got cancelled for homophobia once, because she went on a 'just chill and talk' live about how she didn’t approve of Caitlyn and Vi being together. It got taken the wrong way and had to explain that she’s infact Queer with a girlfriend. She defended herself with "Guys, I’m literally dating.." after she revealed your relationship, and then went on a rant sesh about you. She’s the biggest yapper ever.

Her twitch account got banned or suspended once because she got so mad at a kid on Fortnite that she cursed him out and went overboard. (Again, she has no filter).

She mainly plays Minecraft and gun games. But sometimes she’ll do longer lives for charity where she’ll play the chat’s top pick.

She accidentally showed your face on stream once, forgetting to tell you her webcam was on. You didn’t realise until later that day there were edits of you on your own fyp or twitter TL. "Babe, you might wanna see this.."

Jinx still gets confused whenever she sees an edit of herself. Also, she has a public favourite folder of edits of you. She doesn’t know how to edit it to make it private.

Once you got comfortable showing your face on webcam, Jinx hosted a “do my hair and Q&A” stream where you braided and brushed her hair while you both answered questions. Any excuse to spend time with you at the same time as working.

Notes: first time ever writing jinx, so I thought I’d start with headcanons. Do we want a streamer!jinx fic? Like an actual fic? Pls give me ideas on what to write abt her. This was re uploaded from my old blog @myrruwrites.

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grifffins · 1 day ago

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🔮 The Fool’s Journey (Into Trouble)🔮

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

tags: Older Woman/Younger Woman, Slow Burn, Alternative Universe, No Magic AU, Age Gap, Oblivious Lilia Calderu, Yearning, Fluff

summary: I was just looking for a job, not an existential crisis—or a crush on my eccentric, older boss who calls me ‘baby’ like it’s nothing. Now I’m working at her tarot shop, falling harder by the day, and she has no idea I’m flirting. Desperate, I turn to my chaotic friends for help. What could possibly go wrong?

wc: 3.5k (Chapter 1/?)

a/n: this is like the first time posting in forever and I’m kinda scared, but Lilia&aaa really got me writing again. I’m so gay. No magic, just chaotic friends. Also, I aged Billy up because I can’t write kids.

also on ao3

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I’d been looking for a job for what felt like forever. The kind of soul-sucking search that made me wonder if I was doomed to an eternity of scrolling through online postings, drowning in rejection emails, and contemplating whether selling my soul to a demon might be a viable career option. But then, one rainy afternoon, tucked away in the classified section of an old newspaper, an actual newspaper, for God’s sake I found it.

"Seeking shop assistant. Must be comfortable with the mystical and the eccentric. Call: 555-3827."

Did people even put ads in newspapers anymore? And who still had a landline in this century? Curiosity got the better of me, and before I knew it, I was dialing the number, half-expecting it to connect me to a dusty relic of a shop run by someone who spoke only in riddles.

Instead, a smooth, lightly accented voice answered. “Yes, hello?”

And that was the first time I heard Lilia Calderu.

The shop smelled like old books and incense, and the air had that thick, mystical quality that made you feel like you’d stepped into another world. The walls were lined with shelves stacked haphazardly with tarot decks, worn-out copies of books, and shelves of delicate crystal spheres that seemed to hum with some unseen energy.

And then I saw her .

Lilia Calderu stood behind the counter like she’d stepped right out of an old eccentric novel. Her dark curly hair, streaked with grey, was pinned up in a loose bun, with wild tendrils escaping to frame her sharp face. Those deep brown eyes, sharp as a blade, met mine with an amused glint. She had the air of someone who had seen it all and was quietly entertained by it.

“You must be y/n.” She smiled, and something in my chest tightened. “I must say, I wasn’t sure anyone read the paper anymore. Yet, here you are.”

I nodded, feeling far too awkward in her presence. “Yeah. Thought it was a joke at first, honestly.”

She laughed softly, an elegant sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Many people do, but this shop has its ways of finding the right people.” She extended her hand. “Welcome to your new obsession.”

And boy, was she right.

Lilia mostly handled the tarot readings, slipping into that almost trance-like focus as she read fortunes with an effortless grace that made me want to sit there and watch her forever. My job was…well, everything else. Cleaning, organising, taking inventory, manning the register when she was busy. The shop wasn’t exactly bustling, but it had its steady flow of customers mostly the kind who came in with wide eyes and a quiet reverence, seeking answers in the cards.

Lilia and I quickly fell into a rhythm. We’d talk about everything and nothing in between customers, and though she had a dry wit and a quiet confidence, there was a warmth to her that made me feel at ease.

Unfortunately, I also had an embarrassing, all-consuming crush on her.

And Lilia, bless her oblivious heart, did not pick up on my subtle flirting. At all.

I’d linger a little longer when we brushed past each other. I’d compliment her hair, her outfit, the way she shuffled cards like it was second nature. I even tried playful teasing, asking if she’d ever read my cards and tell me if I had a shot with someone older and devastatingly charming.

Nothing. Just a soft smile and a gentle, “Ah, love is such a mysterious thing, isn’t it?”

I should’ve given up.

But instead, I called in reinforcements.

Agatha, Jen, Billy, and Alice had been hearing about Lilia this and Lilia that for weeks. It had gotten so bad that the last time I brought her up over drinks, Agatha groaned and banged her forehead against the table. “y/n, I swear to all the gods, if you don’t make a move, I will.”

Jen sipped her wine, nodding. “I feel like I know this woman better than my own mother at this point.”

Billy leaned in, far too intrigued. “She’s hot, though, right?”

“Billy. ”

“What? I’m just asking.”

Alice, ever the voice of reason, gave me a sympathetic smile. “Alright, we need a plan. Operation ‘Get y/n Laid’ is a go.”

I choked on my drink, while Jen rolled her eyes. “Or, you know, date. ”

Agatha smirked. “I vote chaos.”

And so, it began.

The plan was simple.

Step one: The coven (as my friends liked to call themselves, despite having zero magical abilities) would ‘accidentally’ drop by the shop to scope out Lilia. Subtlety was not their strong suit, but I’d given them a strict list of rules— no embarrassing me, no obvious flirting on my behalf, and under no circumstances could Agatha challenge her to a tarot reading battle.

Step two: Once they confirmed Lilia was, in fact, into women (something I was still trying to figure out without outright asking), they’d casually encourage me to ask her out.

Step three: Success. Or mortifying failure.

I should’ve known better.

The day of the plan, they arrived with the grace of a train wreck. The bell above the shop door chimed, and in they strolled. Agatha with her signature overconfidence, Jen trying to look composed, and Billy and Alice whispering conspiratorially behind them.

Lilia, who had been arranging a set of tarot decks, looked up with mild interest. “New customers?” she mused.

I winced. “Uh, yeah. Friends.”

Agatha stepped forward, extending a hand with a grin that was far too wolfish for my liking. “Agatha. Nice shop you have here.”

Lilia took her hand with that calm, effortless grace. “Thank you. I do my best.” She glanced over at me with a raised brow. “I see y/n has been spreading the word.”

Alice beamed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Kill me.

Lilia was polite but wary, and I could tell she picked up on something , whether it was the fact that they were clearly vetting her or just the general chaos my friends brought with them. But she handled it like she handled everything else: with quiet amusement and a touch of suspicion.

I could also see the way she lingered on me when she thought I wasn’t looking, the way she’d glance over when Agatha not-so-subtly hinted at my interest in “older, experienced women.”

And when Billy, in all his chaotic energy, ‘accidentally’ knocked over a shelf, Lilia just sighed and gave me a look that said, this is your problem now.

God, I was so gone for her.

I didn’t know if the plan was working, but when I caught Lilia watching me across the shop, her expression softer, more contemplative than usual, I had a feeling things were shifting.

I just had to make sure I didn’t screw it up.

The coven’s “casual” visit stretched far longer than I’d anticipated, and Lilia, ever the picture of grace and patience entertained their probing questions with a wry amusement that had me both sweating and swooning.

“So,” Agatha drawled, leaning casually on the counter, “how long have you been in town? A woman like you must have quite the stories.”

Lilia smiled knowingly, her dark eyes glinting. “Oh, I’ve been here longer than most would guess. The shop’s been in my family for generations, though I suppose I’ve... modernised it in my own way.”

Jen, ever the detective, sipped her overpriced coffee and murmured, “Modernised? You still have a landline.”

Lilia shot her a look that could cut glass. “It has a certain charm.”

I stifled a laugh behind my hand.

Billy, who’d been poking around the shelves, suddenly perked up. “So, Lilia, do you do, like, love spells?”

I nearly choked on air.

Lilia tilted her head, tapping a perfectly manicured finger on the counter. “Love spells are tricky,” she mused, her voice low and velvety. “You can’t make someone fall in love, you know. Only... reveal what’s already there.”

My face burned so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust. Agatha shot me a smug grin, and I swore I’d kill her later.

Lilia, however, seemed unbothered. If anything, she was watching me with a knowing glint, as if she’d caught the edge of something in my expression.

“Love is a delicate thing,” she continued, her gaze still on me. “It’s best handled with care.”

Jen snorted. “Tell that to y/n.”

I groaned. “Alright, you guys have had your fun. Let’s not traumatise my boss any further.”

Lilia’s lips quirked up. “Oh, y/n, it takes much more than this to rattle me.”

And with that, my brain short-circuited.

Once I’d finally wrangled my friends out the door—after no less than three separate goodbyes and a thinly veiled attempt by Agatha to invite Lilia to a “casual” group outing—I collapsed against the counter with a groan.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into my hands. “They’re... a lot.”

Lilia chuckled softly, arranging a set of tarot cards in a neat pile. “They’re delightful.” She paused, her voice quieter. “They care about you.”

I peeked up at her through my fingers. “They do. Sometimes too much.”

She gave me that soft, unreadable smile that made my stomach twist in knots. “That’s never a bad thing.”

There was a moment of silence, comfortable yet charged. I watched her work, her fingers deft and graceful, and I couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel like trailing over my skin.

Which, of course, led to me blurting out the world’s most humiliating sentence.

“So, uh... are you single?”

Lilia’s hands stilled. She looked up at me, one perfectly arched brow lifting.

Oh. Oh no.

I swallowed thickly. “I—I mean, just curious. You know, for... um... business reasons?”

She stared at me for a long beat before a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Business reasons?”

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “I’ll shut up now.”

To my absolute horror, she looked amused . “No, I don’t mind the question,” she said, voice smooth and far too indulgent. “Yes, y/n, I am single.”

My brain froze. “Oh. Cool.”

I was going to die. Right here. In this shop.

Lilia leaned on the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And you?”

Me? Functioning? Unlikely.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “Very single. Like... aggressively single.”

She laughed, a low, rich sound that made my knees weak. “Aggressively?”

I groaned. “I have a lot of free time.”

She gave me a long, thoughtful look, and for the first time, I saw something flicker in her expression, curiosity? Interest? God, I hoped so.

“Well,” she said finally, “perhaps we should do something about that.”

I blinked. “Do something?”

Lilia just smiled. “You’ll see, baby.”

I was definitely going to die.

I called Agatha that night in full-blown panic.

“She called me baby, Agatha. She called me baby. ”

On the other end of the line, Agatha groaned. “And you didn’t throw yourself at her feet?”

“I panicked!” I hissed. “I just stood there like an idiot and nodded!”

Jen’s voice chimed in. “Classic y/n.”

Billy snorted. “You need to make a move before someone else does.”

Alice, ever the gentle voice of reason, hummed. “Maybe she’s interested in you, y/n. She wouldn’t call you ‘baby’ if she wasn’t, right?”

“I don’t know,” I whined. “She’s so cool, and she’s older, and I feel like a dumb kid around her.”

Agatha clicked her tongue. “You’re not a dumb kid. You’re a hot, chaotic disaster, and that’s charming. Now, listen, next time you see her, flirt intentionally. Make it obvious.”

“Oh yeah, because that’s gone so well before.”

“No more subtlety,” Agatha said firmly. “You need to show her you’re serious. Flirt, y/n. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could laugh in my face?”

“She won’t,” Alice assured me. “She hired you, didn’t she? That means she likes you.”

I sighed, flopping onto my bed.

The next morning, I walked into the shop, determined. Lilia glanced up from where she was rearranging the display, her smile soft.

"Good morning, y/n."

I swallowed hard, shoving down the nervous energy bubbling in my chest. "Morning, Lilia."

She tilted her head, observing me for a moment. "You look... focused today. A special occasion?"

"Oh, uh... just trying to be more productive," I said quickly, forcing a smile and internally cursing myself. I had one job: flirt. Be charming. Sweep her off her feet. Instead, I was standing there like a starstruck teenager.

Lilia gave me an amused glance, completely unaware of the internal screaming happening inside my head. "Well, productivity is always admirable," she said, turning back to her tarot deck. "Let me know if you need something to do, baby."

Baby. There it was again.

I nearly tripped over my own feet on the way to the back room.

Later that evening, I flopped onto Agatha's couch with a dramatic groan. "It's hopeless."

Billy, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of popcorn, rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless. There's a difference."

Alice patted my knee reassuringly. "Tell us what happened this time."

I sat up, rubbing my hands over my face. "She called me baby again."

Jen raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And?" I repeated incredulously. "I blacked out! Just stood there like a moron and stammered something about productivity!"

Agatha groaned, sipping her wine. "You are acting like the least seductive person I have ever met, and I have literally watched you seduce people before. What happened to that y/n?"

I threw my hands in the air. "That y/n wasn't crushing on someone three times my age who also happens to be the most sophisticated, intimidating woman I've ever met!"

Billy snickered. "You're acting like she's some kind of ancient vampire."

I glared. "She might be, okay? I don't know her life."

Jen smirked. "You could get to know it. Y'know, if you asked her out."

"That's not how this works!" I groaned, leaning back against the couch. "I need subtlety. "

Agatha rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they'd get stuck. "y/n. Sweetheart. You've been subtle for weeks, and she hasn't picked up on a damn thing."

"She has to know," I insisted. "She’s too smart not to have figured it out."

Alice smiled kindly. "Or maybe she’s just... not looking for it? You said she’s wary of the age gap, right?"

I sighed. "Yeah. I get the feeling she’s aware of it, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s just little things, like, if I compliment her, she brushes it off like I’m just being nice. She never takes it seriously."

Jen hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds like she's putting up a little barrier. Maybe she's worried it's inappropriate?"

Agatha smirked. "So we need to show her it's very appropriate."

Billy nodded eagerly. "Okay, Get y/n Laid 101 is officially back in session."

"Can we call it something else?" I muttered.

"No," Agatha said flatly. "This is what we're calling it." She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "Here's the new plan. We need to escalate. No more lingering looks and awkward compliments. We go big. We're talking bold flirting, unmistakable signals. She won't be able to ignore it."

I groaned. "Agatha, I don't do bold. I trip over air when she looks at me for too long."

Jen smirked. "Then it's time to fake it till you make it."

Billy grinned. "You know what would help? A little jealousy."

I groaned again. "No."

"Yes," Agatha said, pointing at Billy. "Yes. We make her jealous."

"Guys, this isn't a teen drama," I whined. "What am I supposed to do? Flirt with some random customer in front of her?"

Agatha snapped her fingers. "Exactly!"

Alice frowned. "That seems a little childish."

Jen shrugged. "It could work."

I buried my face in my hands. "You’re all terrible."

Billy patted my arm. "We're terrible, but we're effective."

The next day at the shop, I was feeling good. Confident, even. The plan was simple, escalate my flirting game, but not with Lilia just yet. No, I needed to show her what she was missing. And I was good at flirting. Really good. Just… not with her. Lilia was an enigma, a walking temptation wrapped in decades of experience and elegance, and I turned into an absolute idiot in her presence.

But with other women? That was easy.

The bell above the door chimed, and I looked up to see a gorgeous customer stepping in, tall, blonde, and effortlessly stylish. She glanced around the shop with interest, her gaze landing on me, and I caught the faintest flicker of a smile. I could work with that.

I straightened my posture, strolling over with a relaxed smile. “Welcome in,” I said smoothly, letting my voice drop just enough to be inviting. “Looking for anything in particular? Or just... browsing?”

She smiled, intrigued. “A little of both, I think.”

“Oh, mystery.” I leaned lightly on the counter, letting my fingers trace the edge of a crystal display. “I like that. Means you might need a guide.”

She laughed softly, tilting her head in a way that told me she was enjoying this. “And I suppose you’re volunteering?”

I grinned. “I’m more than qualified.”

We slipped into an easy banter, her eyes bright with interest as I smoothly navigated between flirtation and shop talk. She leaned in a little closer, and I let my gaze linger, deliberate and playful.

And then I felt it.

That unmistakable presence.

I glanced up and yep. Lilia was watching from across the room, her dark eyes focused, her expression unreadable. She was leaning against the shelf, book in hand, but I could tell she hadn’t turned a page in a while.

I ignored the way my pulse jumped and turned my attention back to the blonde, offering her a charming smile. “So,” I said, handing her a small charm, “this one’s for luck. Not that you look like you need it.”

She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re good at this.”

“I try.”

Lilia’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, smooth, unhurried, but somehow commanding all the same. “y/n.”

I turned, heart skipping a beat. “Yeah?”

She strolled over, eyes flicking between me and the blonde. “Everything alright here?”

The blonde woman, oblivious, smiled. “Just getting some expert advice.”

Lilia hummed, arching a brow at me. “I see.” There was nothing in her tone that hinted at jealousy, but something lingered beneath it, something sharp and assessing. “Why don’t you help me with something in the back when you’re done?”

It wasn’t a request.

I swallowed. “Sure, just a sec.”

The blonde handed me the charm with a wink. “I think I’ll take this. Lucky, right?”

I rang her up, feeling Lilia’s presence like a shadow at my back the entire time. When the customer finally left with a lingering glance over her shoulder, I turned to Lilia with what I hoped was a nonchalant smile. “What’s up?”

She studied me for a moment, then gestured toward the back room. “Come on.”

I followed her, nerves prickling under my skin. Was she... mad? Intrigued? God, I couldn’t tell. She closed the door behind us and crossed her arms, regarding me with that maddeningly unreadable expression.

“Flirting with customers now?” she asked, tone light but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

I shrugged, leaning against the wall. “It’s good for business.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but she didn’t quite smile. “Mm. I suppose it is.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy with something unsaid. She tilted her head, studying me like she was piecing together a puzzle. And then, just as quickly as she’d pulled me aside, she turned back toward the shelf, and pointed at the boxes to unpack, business as usual. “Well,” she said, voice as smooth as ever, “let’s try to keep things professional, baby.”

And there it was again. Baby. The way she said it effortless, affectionate, and utterly devastating.

I cleared my throat. “Got it. Professional.”

But as I left the back room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lilia wasn’t quite as unaffected as she seemed.

That night, I sat at Agatha’s with my head in my hands. “She pulled me into the back room.”

Jen perked up. “Wait, what? ”

Billy nearly dropped his drink. “Define ‘pulled into the back room.’”

“Not like that,” I groaned. “She just... I don’t know, it felt like she was calling me out for flirting, but it wasn’t clear if she was mad or—”

“Jealous,” Agatha supplied smugly. “She was jealous. ”

Alice, ever the voice of reason, frowned. “Or she thought you were being unprofessional.”

Agatha waved a hand. “Unprofessional, please. y/n’s been working there for weeks with no complaints. She definitely noticed.”

Billy grinned. “What did she say exactly?”

I sighed. “She told me to keep things professional. Baby. ”

Jen’s eyes widened. “She called you baby again? ”

I nodded miserably. “I’m losing my mind.”

Agatha leaned in with a smirk. “Then we escalate. She’s watching now.”

I groaned, burying my face in a pillow. “Why is this so hard?”

“Because you actually like her,” Alice said gently. “And that makes everything ten times scarier.”

I peeked out from the pillow. “So what do I do?”

Agatha smirked. “You keep flirting, y/n. But this time, aim it at the right woman.”

#lilia calderu x reader #lilia calderu #patti lupone #agatha all along #agatha all along fanfic

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elyxir1zz · 2 days ago

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★ — Between the lines - part 7

CW : meanie sevika, artist reader, hockey player vi and sevika, modern au, highschool shenanigans, cheating, sex, dark themes, love triangle, lesbians

A/N : raw raw or whatever lady gaga says

previous part Q&A

THE FOLLOW CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF SELF HARM - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Jinx slammed her locker shut with a frustrated thud, her eyes burning with anger. Across from her stood Vi, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as the two faced off. The hallway was full of chatter, students hustling to get to class, but for Jinx and Vi, the world around them had disappeared, consumed by the heated argument.

“You don’t tell me anything ever!” Jinx's voice was raw, a mix of hurt and frustration. Her hands trembled slightly as she shoved a book into her locker, not even bothering to organize it.

Vi scoffed, exasperated. “You’re being dramatic! It’s just a guy! Why do you care so much?!”

The noise of the hallway seemed to muffle their voices, making it feel as if they were the only two people in the world. Their words bounced back and forth, neither willing to give an inch.

“I don’t need you telling me how I feel!” Jinx snapped, her blue hair wild around her face. She held her head in her hands, her frustration mounting. “Just… leave me alone. Go to class, Vi. You’re the one who doesn’t get it!”

Vi's jaw tightened, eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and concern. “You’re pushing everyone away, Jinx. If you just talked to me—”

“Just go!” Jinx yelled, her voice cracking with emotion as she turned her back on Vi, not wanting to hear any more.

Vi stood there for a moment, her eyes softening before she stormed off, disappearing into the sea of students.

Jinx stood in the hallway, chest heaving, staring at the ground. She wasn’t sure if she was more mad at Vi, or at herself. Why did she even care so much about Vander? He wasn’t the problem.

A shift in the air made her look up. A boy was standing next to her, casually leaning against the lockers as if he had been there the entire time. He had a beanie perched on his head, his white hair sticking out beneath it, and a skateboard in his hand. His clothes were baggy and loose. But there was something about him—something calm that made Jinx’s usual chaos feel less overwhelming.

“What was that about?” His voice was light, curious, with just the right amount of humor to break the tension.

Jinx raised an eyebrow, taking him in. She hadn’t noticed him approach, and now that he was here, she wasn’t sure what to make of him. “Who are you?” She eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

“Ekko,” he replied with a grin, extending his hand. “And you’re… Jinx, right?”

She hesitated for a moment, still unsure of what to think. The name Ekko wasn’t one she’d heard before, but there was something strangely familiar about him. She glanced at his outstretched hand and then back at his face.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with new people, but there was something about this one that made her pause.

Ekko dropped his hand, sensing the tension still hanging in the air. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but… looks like you could use someone to talk to. I’m a pretty good listener, if you need one.”

Jinx bit her lip, staring at him for a long moment, wondering if she could trust him with any of the mess swirling in her head. But instead of answering, she just gave a half-hearted laugh.

“I don’t need anyone,” she muttered under her breath, brushing past him. “I’m fine.”

Ekko didn’t move, watching her walk away. He didn’t try to stop her, but something about the way she walked—like she was running from something—struck a chord with him. He was used to people putting up walls, but it didn’t mean he had to stop trying to break through them.

For now, he just waited, knowing that sometimes, the best way to help someone was to give them space. But he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time their paths crossed.

You sit on the cold floor of your room, the small, quiet space feeling suffocating. Your fingers grip the lighter tightly, the metallic surface cool against your skin as you stare at the flame. The orange glow dances, hypnotic and soothing in its unpredictability. Slowly, you bring it down to the inside of your thigh, the heat growing more intense as the flame touches your skin. You grit your teeth and hold it there, feeling the sting spread beneath your flesh. A sharp hiss escapes your lips, but it’s not enough to pull you away. The pain somehow makes you feel more grounded, like it's the only thing that’s real in a world that feels like it's slipping away.

Tears well up in your eyes, but you try to blink them back, forcing yourself to focus on the burn, on the way it almost comforts you with its clarity. The rest of the world is muffled, distant, like you’re underwater. Your mind races with thoughts—overwhelming, chaotic, crashing over each other until they leave you breathless. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here, but you can feel the coldness of the floor creeping up your legs, and it seems to match the emptiness inside of you.

Then, suddenly, a voice says your name. Breaking the silence

The sound is sharp, pulling you out of your thoughts. Your heart leaps in your chest, and before you can even register what’s happening, the lighter slips from your hand and clatters to the ground. Sevika is standing there infront of your window. How did you not hear her? You stumble to your feet, panic rising in your throat as your eyes dart around the room. You search for an excuse, some way to cover up what’s just happened, but it’s impossible. Your shorts are barely long enough to hide the marks that still burn, faint red lines crisscrossing your skin. You try to pull them down, but it’s useless.

“What are you doing?” Sevika’s voice cuts through the air again, disbelief and concern written clearly across her face.

You freeze, the words caught in your throat. The room spins around you, the pressure of everything building until you can barely keep your balance.

“I—” You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The panic floods you, too much to process all at once. Your chest tightens, and you feel like you can’t breathe. Every thought in your head is a whirlwind, and the overwhelming weight of it makes you dizzy.

“I’m sorry…” The apology escapes in a broken whisper, but it feels hollow. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You want to explain everything, but the words get lost somewhere between your throat and the wild storm inside you.

Before you can even react, the room tilts, and your legs buckle beneath you. You crash forward, falling toward the floor, but strong arms catch you midair. You shes sitting on her knees with you in her arms

“Shh, hey...” Sevika’s voice is softer now, almost like a protective barrier between you and the world outside. She steadies you, lifting you gently until you're pressed against her chest. You can feel her warmth, her steady breath, and it’s like you’ve been thrown a lifeline in the middle of a storm.

The weight of the moment hits you all at once, and the tears you’ve been holding back flood out. They streak down your face, soaking into the fabric of her jacket, but Sevika doesn’t flinch. She just holds you tighter. Her hands stroke your back slowly, rhythmically, grounding you.

“It’s okay,” she repeats, her voice low and soothing, like she’s trying to push away the darkness inside you. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just breathe. We’ll figure it out.”

You nod slightly, your body shaking with quiet sobs that you can’t control. Each breath feels like a battle, but Sevika’s steady presence makes the storm inside you feel less suffocating.

She pulls back just slightly to look at you, her eyes soft but still filled with an unspoken understanding. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says firmly, like a promise. “But you don’t have to go through this alone.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words sinking deep into you. It feels impossible, the idea of letting someone in, but in that moment, with Sevika’s arms around you, it seems like it might not be as impossible as it once felt.

She helps you sit back up, guiding you gently so you’re leaning against the bed. The room still spins, but you don’t feel so lost anymore. Her presence is a steady anchor, and you feel safer than you have in a long time.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sevika asks quietly, sitting beside you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder.

Your eyes waver, darting to the floor as your chest tightens with the weight of your words. “I’m… I’m gonna break up with Vi,” you murmur, your voice trembling. The air in the room feels heavier as the confession hangs between you, raw and vulnerable.

Sevika stays silent, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t ask why—she doesn’t need to. The reason feels almost tangible in the space between you two. It’s in the way your shoulders slump, in the unspoken guilt swirling in your eyes. She simply nods, her quiet acceptance grounding in a way you didn’t expect. “Okay,” she finally says, her voice steady but soft.

Your lips press into a thin line as you struggle to keep your emotions in check. Slowly, you lean your head against her shoulder, your body trembling ever so slightly. “And I hate myself,” you whisper, your voice breaking as the confession tumbles out.

For a moment, Sevika doesn’t respond. Then, her hand moves, hesitating briefly before resting gently on your knee. It’s a small gesture, but the warmth of her touch eases some of the ache in your chest. “Don’t,” she says quietly, her voice a low rumble. “You don’t deserve that.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of her words settle over you. “I can’t help it,” you admit, your voice cracking as tears begin to sting at the corners of your eyes. “I feel like everything I’ve done is just… wrong. Like I keep ruining everything I touch.”

Sevika exhales, her shoulder shifting beneath your head as she leans back slightly, her hand still steady on your knee. “You’re not perfect. No one is,” she says, her tone firm but without judgment. “But hating yourself for it? That’s not gonna fix anything. It just makes it harder.”

You laugh bitterly, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Easier said than done.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice softening. “But you’ve already made the hardest choice. That’s a start.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself exhale fully, the knot in your chest loosening ever so slightly.

You both sit there in silence for a moment before she smirks and looks at you “want me to teach you how to use eyeliner?” she asked turning her head to look at you

You raise an eyebrow “i already know how to use eyeliner” you sigh

“Only cat eye” she teased as you look at her for a moment

You both sit cross-legged on your bed, the soft hum of music playing in the background as Sevika gently holds your face. One hand steadies your chin while the other pulls down on your lower eyelid. “Stay still,” she mutters, focusing intently as the gel liner glides across your waterline.

“This hurts,” you whine, wincing slightly.

“Shh…” she hushes you, her voice low and steady, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at her lips. With one final swipe, she pulls back, grabbing a handheld mirror from the nightstand and holding it up for you to see. “Alright, what do you think?” she asks, a proud smile on her face.

You blink a few times, adjusting to the look before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “You turned me emo,” you say, setting the mirror down on the bed dramatically.

Sevika laughs, the sound warm and genuine as she leans back on her hands. “And I thought you couldn’t get any hotter,” she teases, her lips curling into a smirk as her gaze lingers on you.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile creeping onto your face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” she says, her smirk softening into something more affectionate.

You shake your head with a laugh, nudging her playfully. “Maybe I do.”

You sigh, your gaze shifting away as your thoughts drift to the difficult conversation you’d need to have with Vi the next day. The weight of it presses on your chest, making it harder to meet Sevika’s eyes.

“Is it Violet?” Sevika asks, her tone calm but curious as she tilts her head slightly, studying you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, caught off guard by how easily she read your thoughts. “I don’t like that,” you mutter, shaking your head and letting out a nervous laugh.

“Hmm?” she hums, raising an eyebrow as if daring you to elaborate.

“That you can just do that,” you say, gesturing vaguely toward her. “That you can read me like a book.”

Sevika smirks, leaning back slightly as her gaze never leaves yours. “It’s not hard. You’ve got one of those faces—like everything you’re feeling is written all over it.”

You cross your arms defensively, half-pouting. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re just too observant.”

She chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Maybe. Or maybe I just pay attention to you.”

Her words make your stomach flip, and you groan dramatically, falling onto your back. The ceiling becomes your point of focus, a blank canvas for the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. Sevika lets out a quiet sigh and shifts, lying down beside you. She props her head up with her hand, her sharp gaze softening as she watches you.

“This is sad,” she mutters with a half-smile, a mix of teasing and genuine concern in her tone.

You huff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. “Maybe I should just run away. Start a new life in New York or something. Disappear. Reinvent myself.”

Sevika snorts, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Can I come with? I’ll teach you how to ride my motorcycle."

You can’t help the faint grin tugging at your lips, though you try to hide it by turning onto your side to face her. Your pout returns, more playful this time. “You’d leave everything behind for that?”

she hesitated before speaking again. "id leave everything behind for you."

your face flushes as you try to recollect yourself. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumble, but the warmth in your voice betrays how much you appreciate the distraction.

“Yeah, but I made you smile, didn’t I?” Sevika points out, her smirk widening.

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Instead, you reach out and poke her arm lightly. “You’d get bored. You’d miss bossing people around here.”

She chuckles, the sound low and comfortable. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d find new people to boss around in New York. Bigger city, bigger opportunities.”

Her casual tone makes you relax even further, and for a moment, the heaviness in your chest lifts. You study her face, the way the dim light casts soft shadows across her sharp features. “You’re really not worried about anything, are you?” you ask softly.

Her smirk falters for a brief second, replaced by something quieter. She doesn’t look away, though. “I’ve got my worries,” she admits. “But what’s the point of letting them ruin every moment?”

Her words settle over you like a blanket, warm and oddly comforting. You’re quiet for a moment before you sigh again. “Maybe running away wouldn’t be so bad, as long as you came with me.”

You had been rehearsing the words in your head all day, but somehow you still didn’t feel ready. Breaking up with Vi was going to hurt, no matter how you framed it. You hadn’t seen her all day, so now you were stuck doing it here—at her hockey game, of all places. To make matters worse, Sevika was here too. You could already feel the tension building before you’d even said a word.

As soon as Vi skated off the ice, her helmet tucked under her arm, you approached her. Your voice was shaky, but you managed to get the words out. “Can we talk?”

She wiped the sweat off her brow with a towel, looking at you with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. “Can it wait? I need to change.”

You nodded stiffly, your stomach churning as you stepped back. “I’ll meet you in the hallway.”

Now you were pacing, your footsteps echoing off the walls. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you replayed every possible outcome of this conversation in your head. Could she sense something was off? Did she already know?

“Hey.”

Vi’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. She stood in front of you, freshly changed and still wearing that air of confidence that used to make you feel safe but now felt suffocating.

You hesitated, taking a deep breath. “Um... this is really hard for me,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi’s brows furrowed, and she tilted her head. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird.”

“I...” You swallowed, looking at the floor. “I think we need to break up.”

Her expression froze, the weight of your words sinking in. “What?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“I just... I don’t think this is working anymore. I—”

“You don’t think it’s working?” Vi cut you off, stepping closer. Her voice rose slightly, tinged with frustration. “You’re not even giving me a chance to fix whatever’s wrong!”

“It’s not something you can fix, Vi,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Bullshit,” she snapped, her hands clenched into fists. “You’re just throwing this away? After everything?”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Everything okay here?”

You turned to see Sevika leaning casually against the wall, her arms crossed, but her sharp eyes fixed on Vi. The air grew heavier in an instant.

Vi let out a bitter laugh, turning to face Sevika. “Of course you’d show up,” she sneered. “You’ve been circling like a vulture.”

“Funny,” Sevika shot back, her tone cold. “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to exist.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Vi snapped, stepping closer to Sevika now, her stance almost confrontational.

“It does when you’re making her uncomfortable,” Sevika said, jerking her head toward you.

You froze, caught between them as the tension crackled like a live wire.

Vi’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “You think you’re some kind of hero? Stay out of this.”

Sevika straightened up, her calm demeanor slipping just enough to reveal the steel underneath. “You don’t get to talk to me about being a hero. Maybe if you’d been paying attention, they wouldn’t be breaking up with you in the first place.”

“Don’t you dare,” Vi growled, taking a step closer to Sevika. “You think you know everything, huh? You don’t know shit about us.”

“Maybe not,” Sevika said, her voice steady but sharp. “But I know enough to see when someone’s better off without you.”

“Stop!” you finally shouted, stepping between them. Both of them turned to you, their expressions equally intense. “This isn’t about either of you! It’s about me. And I’m done.”

Vi’s face softened for a moment, but the anger didn’t leave her eyes. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice low and trembling. “Do whatever you want.”

She turned and walked away without another word, leaving you standing there with Sevika. You let out a shaky breath, the weight of the confrontation crashing down on you all at once.

Sevika placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch grounding you. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your chest still felt heavy. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“Don’t thank me,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Just... don’t let her guilt you into anything. You did the right thing.”

For the first time that night, you felt a flicker of relief. It wasn’t over yet, but at least now, you could finally start to breathe.

taglist;

@vyvvycg @drinkdawudda @jiungmcvv @half-of-a-gay @savedforlaterr

#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x reader #lesbian #vi x reader #vi arcane #wlw #wuh luh wuh

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fanwarriorfictions · 2 days ago

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Help Me, Help You - Part Sixteen

Fenrys x f!Reader

Summary- Fenrys and Y/n finally have the time to themselves with no interruptions

Warnings- smut(very little plot lol)

Series Masterlist

Part Sixteen

Home.

The word spins around in her head at a dizzying pace as she walks. As she gets closer and closer to their room, her brother’s words get louder in her mind, your home, and her heart seems to beat in time with the words. This room wasn’t her home, but neither was the cottage across the ocean, she didn’t know where home was anymore, but it seemed like her brother did, perhaps her heart did too.

Y/n and Vaughan had spent nearly half the night telling each other of their adventures, the ones they planned to take, and it felt like they’d gone back in time. When she would stay up for as long as she physically could to spend as much time with him as possible before he slipped away again. She’d nearly fallen over in her seat when Vaughan had insisted that she go back to bed, she only left when he swore he would still be there in the morning. Even as she walked away, she wasn’t quite convinced he would be.

The stone halls around her are dark, the riders of the clan already in their beds, the torches on the walls snuffed out. It is only due to her fae sight and this little tugging in her gut that she is able to find the door to the room at all. It was like her body knew exactly where Fenrys was, even when she could not see him.

Quietly, she slips through the door, expecting to find him snoring in the small bed and she’d have to force herself into what little space was left beside the massive male. She’d end up lying on top of him in her sleep, either by her traitor of a body moving on its own, or by the male tugging her onto his chest.

Instead, she finds Fenrys sitting up, leaning heavily against the wall behind the bed, and he’s squinting down at a book in the dim candle light. Her heart beats faster, in time with the words in her head, home, home, home.

“You’re still up?”

His gaze lifts to hers and she winces, how he was reading with one of his eyes nearly swollen shut she has no idea. Fenrys marks the page and sets the book down beside him, giving her a soft grin that pulls at the split in his lip. Y/n moves towards him, perching on the edge of the bed, reaching for him like its second nature. She cradles his face in her palms, her thumb stroking over the wounded lips that had kissed her so soundly earlier, had kissed other parts of her too. Y/n tries to push those memories to the side, ignoring the heat in her veins, but that is nearly impossible when his hands fall on her waist, a gentle pressure to keep her in place.

“I told you I’d wait for you,” he says, kissing the pad of her thumb.

“You didn’t have to,” she whispers, “It’s late.”

Fenrys shrugs, and she notices the wince he tries to hide at the motion, “This is nothing, kitten. I’ve gone days, nearly weeks without sleep before.”

“I’m sure you have,” Y/n says with a soft smile, “You’ll have to tell me all of your war stories.”

Fenrys grins and it pulls on his cut lip, “I’ll tell you whatever stories you’d like to hear.”

Her fingers trail over the edge of the bruise around his eye and the one on his jaw, her magic spooling in her chest, ready to be released. She holds it back, wrestling her magic into submission, the last time she’d used her powers on him had been an accident but it had taken to much from him against his will, she wouldn’t do that again.

“Can I?” She lightly grazes the cut on his temple, “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

There is a softness in his eyes, an understanding, as he nods once, “Do your worst, kitten.”

As if drawn in by an invisible force, she leans into him, gently kissing his temple, the cut slowly stitching together and disappearing entirely. When his eyes shut, a sigh of relief passing his lips, she trails her lips down, touching the bruised eye that shifts from black to yellow to his golden brown skin. And when he blinks up at her, seeing her clearly, his eyes are so full of emotion, and her heart is beating so rapidly, home, home, home, she kisses him, letting her magic seek and heal.

His arms are around her, pulling her into him until she is flush against his chest. She fights to keep her control, to not let his expert mouth distract her, to make her as mindless as she’d been their first kiss, when she had taken to much. She pulls back, panting, forcing her magic back down into the well it usually sat in, and when she sees that scar still intact on his brow, she sighs in relief.

Fenrys takes a deep breath, his brows no longer furrowed in pain, “You’re astonishing, kitten.”

Before she can even think to respond, his mouth is on hers again, and Fenrys shifts, twisting them so she is lying on the bed with him above her. Y/n wraps her arms around his neck, and Fenrys kisses her, slowly, lazily, taking his time to drive her absolutely wild. He is in no rush, taking all of her soft sighs and purrs, tucking them away for later. It’s almost torturous, the languid pace he sets, because all she wants is more, more of him, more of whatever this thing between them was, the aching need, the undeniable tug she could feel on her heart, as if there was this little string tied to it, and on the other side sat Fenrys and his own heart, beating in time with her own. Home, home, home.

He pulls back, just enough to whisper against her lips, “We should sleep.”

It’s the last thing she wants to do, and she knows he wants exactly what she does, the evidence of that is pressed against her thigh. She wants to wrap her legs around him and pull him closer to her, to feel him pressed against her core instead, to drive him as wild as he does her. But his massive form keeps her pinned, unable to move, to do anything but beg him to relieve some of the pressure between her thighs.

“Fenrys,” she pleads.

He kisses her again, keeping that same slow pace, before whispering, “You’re exhausted, you need to rest.”

“I need you,” she says, and she pulls him back to her lips, pouring the fire in her veins into him, “I need you more than I’ve needed anything.”

Her heart is hammering in her chest, home, home, home. Y/n can feel the word pounding against her ribs, fueling the fire in her veins, the need to drive this male over the edge of his control. She pulls his healed lip between her teeth, biting hard enough to draw a groan from deep in his chest. Her own chest tightens, and she arches into him, his hands slip beneath her back, pressing her closer and she knows she’s almost won.

“You need sleep.” He kisses her between each word, pulling back just enough to groan, “Let me be a gentleman for once in my life.”

“Fenrys,” she gasps into his mouth, and she shoves him over the edge, “Stop being so honorable and fuck me.”

And she’s won.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, kitten.”

Fenrys feels the weak hold over his control break at her request and he realizes he would do anything she asked of him, no blood oath necessary. He would walk into the burning pit in the center of this fortress if she asked, he would burn and yield everything he was and is and he would die happily. He would do whatever she wanted and if she wanted him to fuck her, gods he would.

He pulls away from her and rips his shirt over his head, throwing the fabric across the room, not caring where it lands as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling their bodies flush together. Fenrys can’t hold back his groan as she rolls her hips upwards, giving his aching hard length much needed friction. He’s falling back into her, capturing her lips in a burning kiss that leaves them both panting.

His hands rip at the cloth hiding her body from him, she can yell at him for ruining the shirt later, right now he needs to see the perfect shape of her, feel her beneath his palms. When her chest is exposed to him, he wastes no time, the soft flesh of her breast fitting perfectly into his hands as if they were made solely to touch her, to please her.

Fenrys drags his mouth away from hers, letting her moans fill the air around them as he kisses down her throat, over her collar, and between the valley of her breasts. Y/n arches into him, her legs squeezing his hips like a vice, and he can feel the promising heat of her hiding beneath her leggings. He wants nothing more than to rip the cloth from her legs and sink into that heat, and from the whimpering pleas coming from her lips, he knows that is exactly what she wants.

“Fen- please,” she gasps, her head thrown back against the pillow, “Gods I need you.”

“I know,” Fenrys groans, “Lift your hips, kitten.”

She readily does as she’s told, freeing him from the constraints of her legs around his own hips to lift hers off of the bed, allowing Fenrys to slip his fingers beneath the band of her leggings and tug them off, underwear and all. And again, she is bare beneath him, looking nothing less than a full feast only for him to see and enjoy, to devour and worship. If he wasn’t already kneeling on the bed before her, he’d have fallen onto his knees at the sight of her, he’d have crawled for her and begged her to let him have her just like this, writhing beneath him full of need.

She sits forwards, reaching for him as she hooks her fingers into the laces of his leathers. Each brush of her fingers over the strained leather sends a shock of pain and pleasure over him, if she wraps those hands around him Fenrys may just die from it.

She struggles with the tight laces and growls lowly, “Off.”

Fenrys laughs, taking her wrist in his hands, “So impatient.”

He lifts her left wrist to his lips, kissing her racing pulse before pressing both of her palms to his chest. Her touch lights him on fire, and he takes that touch and guides it across his feverish skin, lower and lower. Her nails lightly drag across the tight muscles of his stomach and Fenrys groans at the slight hurt.

He let’s go of her, leaving her hands pressed to his skin as he easily works open the laces, sighing in relief as the pressure lessens.

“What do you need?” Fenrys asks, halting his movements even if it’s the last thing he wants to do, “Tell me what you need, kitten.”

Her pupils are blown impossibly wide, full of pure lust, “I need you, Fenrys, I need you inside me, now.”

That final word, a demand that he would not fight, could not fight. He’d survived severing the blood oath, but this? This bond between them, this incessant need to have her in every way he could, was so much stronger, would demand more than just his life if he tried to break it, not that he ever would.

Fenrys doesn’t take his time ripping off his leathers, and he nearly comes undone when she moans at the sight of him. He doesn’t have the chance to hesitate, to ask her one last time if this is what she truly wants, before Y/n has he legs wrapped around him, pulling him just like she had when they’d been clothed. Now, there was nothing between them, nothing between the wet heat of her and his aching cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning over her to brace his arms on either side of her, “So ready for me aren’t you, kitten?”

“Yes,” she gasps, “Please Fen-“

She doesn’t have to beg, he cannot deny her, or himself. Fenrys shifts, using one hand to hold his weight while the other wraps around his cock to guide himself to her entrance. She’s so wet, so ready for him, that he barely has to shift his hips forward to sink into her. She wraps around him so perfectly, squeezing down on every inch of him as he slowly settles inside her. He has to grasp for whatever is left of his control to not slam his hips down, to let her adjust to the stretch, to not hurt her. He’s barely holding on by a thread with how fucking good she feels.

“Shit,” Y/n gasps, her head thrown back, her eyes screwed shut.

“Are you okay?” He says it through his teeth, taking deep breaths to steady himself, “Tell me if it hurts.”

Y/n shifts, experimentally rolling her hips, drawing a deep and desperate moan from his lips and a matching one from her own. Nothing had ever felt more perfect, felt this good, not in the one hundred and thirty years he’d been alive.

“Gods,” she gasps, rolling those perfect hips again, “Please, Fen, I need you to move.”

“Thank the fucking gods,” Fenrys groans and does exactly as she asks.

He pulls back, gently rocking back into her, still sane enough to keep his strength in check. Fenrys captures her lips, greedily taking all of the moans and whimpers that he draws from her with each roll of his hips. He also gives her his own desperate sounds, letting her have every single piece of him.

He’s content to go slow, to let her fully adjust, but when she lifts her hips to meet his next stroke, when she pulls away from his kiss to gasp, “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Any shred of chivalry leaves his body, as if there was really any to begin with.

Fenrys growls as he pulls back, simply to snap his hips forward, Y/n cries out with the motion and Fenrys loves the sound of it, so he does it again, and again, and again. She is lost in the pleasure, and so is he, chasing the feeling of her warmth around him with each rough drive of his hips. Her legs clench tightly around him and her hands claw his forearms, her whole body tensing in a way that tells Fenrys she is nearing that peak of pleasure and he wants nothing more than to send her over the edge of it.

He has to pull his arm from her intense grip, not breaking his rhythm as he brings his hand between them to draw his thumb in circles around her sensitive clit.

“Fenrys!”

He grins wildly, “Come for me.”

His demand is met by a mewling whimper and her body shaking with the damn of her orgasm breaking. Fenrys curses as she clenches around him, the feeling so intense that he feels his own release building to that devastating breaking point.

She’s gasping beneath him, her body still trembling with each wave of pleasure that rolls through her in time with his hips. Fenrys is half wild, more fae than anything in that moment, the sight of her beneath him, spent and nearly overstimulated has his hips driving faster, harder. His thumb presses into her again, she jolts and shakes with each pass over the bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” she cries, “I can’t-“

“You can,” he groans, “One more, give me one more.”

He can already feel her muscles tensing again, the ones around his cock clenching almost painfully around him, bringing him closer and closer until he’s holding on by a thread. He needs her to come first, to fall with him, to feel the same intense emotion that is wrapping around his heart and pulling him down the cliffs edge into the terrifying realization that perhaps he’s already fallen.

Y/n cries out as her swift second orgasm tears through her, and Fenrys follows her, cursing as the intense pleasure rips him to shreds and remakes him all at once.

He rides out both of their pleasures, slowly bringing them down from that high until she stops shaking with it. She goes limp beneath him, her legs falling off his waist, to heavy for her to hold up anymore and Fenrys nearly collapses onto her, holding his weight off of her with the last bit of his strength. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, her hair a wild mess on the pillow around her, and she is so perfect, so devastatingly beautiful, he wants to have her like this for the rest of their lives.

Mine, his heart beats with the word, and he doesn’t want to hold it back anymore.

Fenrys leans into her, kissing her lips softly, relishing the way she sleepily kisses him back.

“Mine,” he says, claiming her with his mouth and his heart.

She moans against him, and pulls away to gasp, “Mine.”

Tag List

@emma-andrea1 @mgchaser @anxious-study @lees-chaotic-brain @girl-math-aint-mathing @mali22 @nikt-wazny-y @theworthlessqueen @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @lethargicluv @hannzoaks @batboygirlie @foxysouls @kiarathace @jesskidding3 @raginghellfire @answer-the-sirens

#I do not write full out smut scenes a lot so bear with me #throne of glass #throne of glass x reader #tog #tog x reader #fenrys tog #help me help you #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys x reader

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renn-aissance · 3 days ago

Text

Mom Plays BG3: Ep.3 - “We Interrupted them!”

After ending the last session she said "That guy. The way he talks."

Me: "... Gale?"

Mom: "No, that Raphael guy!"

Me: "You've been using 'that guy' and 'this guy' exclusively for Gale so far, so I thought you were talking about him!"

Mom: "Well I thought him and that Raphael were going to get into a word fight. Gale could take him."

(Raphael v. Gale rap battle when)

I also may have accidentally made my mom paranoid. Before we started playing she asked me “So all of these people I’ve been asking to join my group… can you have someone bad join, too? Like bad guys?”

Me: “… um… yes?”

Mom: “So is Gale a bad guy? I only know Astarion is kind of okay, or has had a rough go of it, because of what you’ve said when you played.”

Me: “Well, I wouldn’t want you to choose characters based off of what I know, I want you to learn about them yourself.”

Mom: “Because I’ve been asking them to join me because I know you had them in your group. But if some of them are bad… (deep breath) Okay. I don’t trust Gale. But I also think Wyll seems like a really good guy. But what if… (gasps) what if he’s a deceiver! Making me think he’s a good guy!”

So now she thinks she can’t trust anybody or that everyone has it out for her.

Today was a big day! She met Scratch and Karlach!

She’s slowly getting a better hang of the map. I know I said that last time, but she still refuses to even LOOK at it. She has started relying on the little compass in the top corner and trying to follow the little quest signals on there.

Rundown on what she did today:

When crossing the bridge by the Blighted Village she said “oh! Bodies!” and started looting.

Talked to Aradin and after looted some more bodies.

Got into a fight with the goblins, so she got a little more familiar with battle mechanics. Doesn’t understand why she can’t hit the goblin in one of the buildings.

Mom: “Why can’t I just go there.”

Me: “You can only move so much.”

Mom: “Well why can’t I just go inside.”

Me: “You’d have to jump but I think it’s too high for your character. You can check if you can.”

Mom: *After some explaining she clicks the jump button and checks.* “So I can’t.”

Me: “No. But! If you move to get a good angle, you might be able to still use a ranged attack to get her- no, don’t move that way!”

Mom: *Starts clicking and gets more obstructed.*

Me: “Well… you still have Gale in a good spot.”

Mom: *Gets Gale in the perfect spot. Casts fire bolt. Misses.*

Mom: “What happened to 75%?!”

Me: “Yeah.”

She had told Wyll she’d help him hunt down Karlach, so that’s where she’s been trying to go on the map. She looks at it once and then goes where she thinks she needs to go (which always is way off).

She also doesn’t know why she can’t jump on top of rocks or why she can only walk in some water.

Mom: “But I need to go over these rocks! It’s on the map!”

Me: “I know, but… you can’t.”

Mom: “But we climbed the other ones.”

Me: “Yeah, I know, but these ones are just different. If you look at the map-“

Mom: (groans) “I KNOW ABOUT THE MAP-“

Me: “Nonononono I’m not nagging about the map, it’s just that you can also see where you can walk or not. Open it. See? There’s like a shaded spot with a black outline. You can’t pass. And you can recognize the surroundings and see that there are little paths you could take. So look. At. Where. You. Want. To. Go… and maybe there’s an alternative route for you to take. Even if you haven’t traveled there yet, it still shows you places to walk.”

Learned how to pickpocket.

Read Scratch’s collar and laughed when he said ‘you knew my name, so you can’t be bad.’

Looted Gomwick’s body and read the note.

Note: [Get home safe. I don’t want to find you lying in a ditch somewhere.]

Mom: “Too late. Oh, apples… for camp!”

Went to the gnoll attack site. She mercy killed that first hyena and killed the rest.

Looted those corpses and found a bunch of sausage links and potatoes. Started clicking like crazy yelling “Everybodyyy! Dinnerrrr! Wait… the sausage says ‘Damage.’ (Lets out a loud HA)”

She found the Paladins of Tyr first and talked to them. She told them “I’ll think about it.”

Made her way to Karlach. She wound up defending Karlach and said she would help her take down the paladins. Talked to the others.

Karlach: "We'll take the fight to them."

Mom: "... Girl, I don't even know how I got down here."

Lae’zel: “Karlach is a force to be reckoned with and speaks her mind plainly. You will give her due respect.”

Mom: *Turns to me.*

Mom: “I knew she’d like her.”

She found the two creatures having fun in the barn. Got into a fight with them and looted the bodies.

Mom: "They don't have anything!"

Me: "I mean... they were having fun?"

Mom: *Cracking up* "We interrupted them!"

Gale was hunched over and my mom completely ignored him. I literally had to point out "Amá, the wizard. He's doubled over."

Very reluctantly gave Gale a necklace. Was distraught that it took the magic out of it lol. She was so happy to get that necklace from Arabella's parents and that it made little lights. It was between that, some other necklace that gives guidance, or a hat. My mother is not a fan of Gale's dietary restrictions.

I asked her "How did it feel having to give Gale the necklace."

Her words exactly: (eyeroll. sigh.) "It felt like... giving a kid a toy just to get him to stop crying. You don't believe him; you just want him to shut up."

Her expression:

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bridgyrose · 2 days ago

Note

Queen Blake was used to warriors doing favors for her. Ruby Rose was an exceptional huntress that killed Grimm that encroached her territory, bringing Blake flowers or spoils of battle. Becoming interested in this girl, Blake returns the favor and gives Ruby gifts as well.

Blake couldnt help but smile as she caught Ruby walking through the halls of the castle with more flowers from her exploits. It wasnt a secret that warriors throughout the kingdom offered gifts to her and her parents, but there was something about Ruby that caught her eye in particular. Maybe it was the way the huntress carried herself or how easy it was to talk to her, maybe she just enjoyed the flowers and sweets that Ruby always seemed to have, or maybe it was the way her heart seemed to flutter whenever she was near her. Either way, it was always a comfort to see her.

And as happy as she was to see Ruby now, she still had to speak to the forgemaster about the order she placed before she could even think about speaking to Ruby. She made her way down the hall, already nervous that it wouldnt be ready. Especially since she hadnt expected Ruby to be back for another few days.

Blake took a few, short breaths as she entered the forge. “Forgemaster, is it ready?”

A large ox faunus pulled some heated metal off the anvil he was working on and doused it in oil before turning to look at Blake. “I actually finished it this morning. Let me put this away first and I’ll go grab it.”

“Thank you, Forgemaster.”

The ox faunus nodded and sat the metal he was working on onto his workbench. Then, he grabbed a box and brought it over to Blake, opening it. “Just as you ordered it.”

Blake carefully pulled a small dagger out of the box and ran a hand across the blade. The pommel had a small jewel, the handle was wrapped in leather, and the steel blade had a small engraving of a rose along the center of it. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

“Of course, my queen,” the forgemaster answered as he gently took the dagger back and placed it back into its case. “But are you sure you want it to be so… decorative? Usually a blade like this is meant to be used, but with that gem…”

“I’m sure this is exactly how I want it,” Blake answered as she pulled out a small sack of coins. “I plan to give it to someone special to me.”

The forgemaster nodded with a smile. “Someone finally caught your eye, huh? Must be that huntress you’re always seeing.”

“I wouldnt say that-”

“When most people ask for a dagger to be made, they want something akin to a knife: sharp and can be used for just about everything including fighting. And while this one will work for all of that, something made like this is usually meant as a gift. And its no secret you’ve had your eyes on that huntress girl for a while.”

Blake looked away to hide the blush that started to cross her cheeks. “Its just a gift for her for her services to the kingdom, nothing more.”

“If you say so.”

Though I wouldnt mind if she takes this as an offer of something more, Blake thought to herself as she handed over the payment for the dagger and took the case for it. She took a breath to relax herself and gave another smile to the forgemaster. “Thank you again though.”

The forgemaster nodded and motioned her out as he started his work again.

Blake made her way out of the forge and towards the room Ruby was staying at, hoping she’d be there. Her fingers nervously tapped the box with each step as her mind raced. Was this really the right move to make? Maybe this was too much and would scare Ruby off. Or what if she was reading too far into the gifts she was given? She was a wandering huntress after all and went around the different kingdoms. It’d be just as likely that she was giving gifts to other royalty.

She shook her head to try to clear the thoughts out and paused just outside of Ruby’s room. In any other circumstance, she’d be ready to march in and make sure her intentions were known. But here, getting ready to talk to a warrior she had been friends with since childhood-

“Your majesty, I didnt expect to see you here,” Ruby said with a bow as she came down the hall. “Is there something you need from me?”

Blake quickly hid the box behind her back and motioned for Ruby to stand. “I just wanted to make sure that everything was still suitable for you. And to find out how your trip to Atlas went.”

“Cold, but fine,” Ruby answered as she opened the door and stepped inside. She paused for a moment. “Oh! I have these for you!”

Blake smiled and gently took the flowers that Ruby offered to her, taking a deep breath to smell them. “They’re lovely.”

“I picked them up near the edge of Atlas. One of the villages out there specializes in roses like these.”

“Thank you. Would it be okay if we talk in private?”

Ruby nodded and motioned for Blake to come into the room. “Sure. What did you want to speak about?”

Blake walked in and closed the door behind her. “I… I wanted to talk about… you.”

“If its about the gifts, I can stop-”

“No, the gifts dont need to stop. In fact, I really like them.”

“Then… what is this about?”

Blake moved the box from behind her back and presented it to Ruby, her cheeks starting to redden and heat up as a blush came across them. Her voice shook ever so slightly as she spoke. “I-I know its not… customary… for royalty to give gifts in private like this, but… you mean a lot to me. And I wanted to give this to you for your years of service as a huntress to this kingdom and as a friend.”

Ruby looked at the box curiously and opened it, freezing when she saw the dagger inside. “I cant… I cant accept this.”

“I want you to.” Blake smiled softly at her and sat the box down, her blush deepening. “You’ve been part of my life ever since you started training with the knights and you kept coming back after your training was complete. You’ve brought me gifts of all kinds, and while I gave some back, it was never the same as what you gave me. Ruby, will you be by my side?”

Ruby took the dagger out of the case and looked it over, gently nodding to her as she smiled. “I will.”

Blake nodded and stood up. “I’ll let you rest, I’m sure its been a long day for you. I’ll seek you out tomorrow.”

“I’ll be at your call,” Ruby answered with a bow.

Blake relaxed as she left the room and started to make her way back to her own to prepare for the guests she was going to have at dinner, heart pounding in her chest as the blush stayed across her cheeks. Everything had started going according to plan, and all there was left to do was give Ruby a reason to stay.

#rwby #ruby rose #rwby ruby rose #blake belladonna #ladybug #rwby ladybug #ruby x blake #royalty au

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garez19 · 3 days ago

Text

yandere! best friend’s brother x reader (pt.2)

notes/warnings: sibling abuse, gender neutral reader, english is not my language, i have ABSOLUTELY no idea how to use punctuation, not proofread

i really hope this one’s turned out okay. im pretty new at this whole blogging concept so… bear with me.

wc: 1.6k

[part 1] [part 2]

six months had passed since you graduated. you had been trying your best to find the common ground between iris and emil for six months.

as you both pursued your education further, you and iris had already picked different career paths, which meant your schedules weren’t as aligned anymore. however, you were still her best friend, and you were always going to be her best friend. iris, the master of destroying everything she’d ever touched, somehow couldn't break you, no matter how hard she tried. and for that, she felt blessed. you must’ve been a gift sent by gods, a reminder that she was, in some ways, truly special.

yet you weren’t sure if she'd still think that once she found out you started hanging out with emil. it shouldn’t have been such a big deal, but it was. hell, it wasn't even your idea.

it all started 6 months ago, the day you’d met in the coffee shop—desperate, looking for salvation in his demolished mind, and about to break. ready to collapse, something his sister wasn't able to cause. the reason he took the lead. the only thing iris wasn’t able to accomplish, which was why he took the lead—slowly, trying not to startle you.

“mind explaining why you’re telling me all this?” he asked as you took another sip from your coffee. he had reason to be confused, and you couldn't really blame him when he implied you were doing all this to feel about yourself.

“because, like I said, you don’t deserve it. and because I know iris is better than that,” you answered. he let out a loud sigh while contemplating leaving, not wanting to communicate with someone who idealized iris to this point. then he imagined the look on her face when she realized you were not her very dear friend anymore. he decided to pursue you a little bit more.

“okay, thank you, appreciate it,” he replied indifferently as he leaned in closer to you, “and how are you going to help me exactly?” he mumbled. were you going to try and fail miserably again? you pulled back to regain space. “I will try and talk to her. and then–” he cut you off, “I don’t want you to.” he was so certain about not wanting help, which certainly pushed you off.

“emil, you need–” you tried once more, yet he interrupted again, “look, I’m the one who has to deal with her when you’re done lecturing, and I don’t want any part of it, okay?” he took a deep breath. “I’m not a child anymore.”

you were so much like iris in the sense that you only did whatever seemed the best for you, and never looked back. he could sense that, hell, he could see that. and you seemed confused—like a spoiled kid who wouldn’t take no as an answer, like it was your first time getting rejected. and it seemed you needed some guidance, as you kept opening and closing your mouth.

“hang out with me.”

you were baffled by the sudden request. because, from what you’d seen, emil made it very clear that he didn’t like you any better than his sister. you looked at the dessert—a slice of cheesecake, untouched.

“if you want to help in some way, just hang out with me. I don’t have any friends, and I'm feeling quite bored.” he added. and you highly doubted it, given that you had seen him with a handful of people. but you did not really have the guts to turn him down, especially when he put it like that. he put the cheesecake right in front of you, as if he was getting ready to leave.

“well, sure.” you answered before he said anything. “should I keep it a secret from her?” you asked. you still didn’t want iris to cause him –and you– a headache. even though you still felt like she deserved knowing, no matter what.

“yeah, ideally,” he affirmed. dealing with iris was not quite the biggest problem, but her realizing the toy she’d adored so dearly was about to be taken wasn’t something he wished to happen so early. not when you were still a mere puppet of iris. (no matter how hard you tried to act like a saint) not when you were going to crawl back to her the moment she called out your name.

but no matter what, if she wasn’t willing to share her toys, he was going to carve one out for himself, one that is almost identical to hers.

***

you failed to understand how your best friend was cruel to such a person. you failed to understand why the two were never able to get along when emil was nothing but compatible all the time. he was okay with everything, not because he didn’t want to upset you –or anyone, for that matter– but because he never seemed to have any strong preferences for anything. he liked going around the town for new adventures, but if you wanted to sit down and drink a cup of coffee, who was he to say no?

“have you decided what you want to study?” you asked as he was absently scribbling down some song lyrics of an old band, wearing only one earbud. “I’m thinking of medicine,” he replied, still seeming unbothered. emil had a knack for biology, and he liked exploring the world studying it. he looked up at you when you didn’t give him a reaction, “how are your studies going?” you grabbed your book on the table and put it back in your backpack. “not bad, I guess.” you muttered. you two, seemingly bored with your little studying session, had agreed to study together at least twice a week. it felt nice, and although emil and iris didn’t resemble each other personality-wise, they still brought a similar type of comfort to you.

and they brought a similar type of suffering.

“your phone’s going off.” emil said as he looked at the phone on the table.

iris🤍

you took a peek at emil. he seemed still, not looking at you but the phone. he didn’t seem upset, bothered or disappointed. and it was as if he simply was not there. he just observed the whole scene as a spectator.

you took the call. and to be fair there wasn’t anything new. she kept going on and on about how busy she was, and how much she missed you, and if you were available anytime soon. you truly missed her too, but there was some weird sting on your stomach—like it was making sure you remember you keep secrets from her.

and well, it felt so stupid, if you had to be honest, because at the end of the day you didn’t do anything wrong.

“do you still only talk to me because you feel sorry?” he said, making you snap out of it.

“pardon?” you were taken aback by the sudden question.

“are you still trying to feel better about yourself?” he accused once more. still not a visible expression on his face, as if he simply asked out of curiosity.

you didn’t answer, more like, you didn’t bother to answer.

“it’s not like I’ve done anything I should feel bad about myself.” was all you told him. and when it was time to leave and you finally saw an expression on his face–a sour one specifically– you smiled.

“sure, there were times I felt bad, but I’ve never done anything out of pity.” you said genuinely. and you then saw another expression again, one you hadn’t witnessed until that moment: he was surprised.

then you left. to meet iris. your loveliest friend.

***

emil was intrigued by how honest you sounded. you didn’t try to hide anything, nor did you feel the need to sound sympathetic. it was a short, silly sentence. it was the sentence he wished he had heard six months ago, as it gave him a different type of rush—a different kind of validation. you weren’t running out with him for redemption. you liked his company–to a degree, at least.–

he didn’t care about iris, her stupid mind games, or his parents’ unconditional love for her, her promising future, or even her petty rivalry with him. because after all, it’d be a funny scene to watch when she found out you were, in fact, not hers.

however, he was still going to remove that white heart next to her name once he got his hands on your phone.

***

the more you’d spent time with him, the more anxious you started to get. you liked emil’s company, that much was true, but you were also frightened whenever you imagined iris’ disappointment.

you were not doing anything wrong. you were not. you were not. you

“you’re definitely going to fail.” emil said while he took notes on his book. damn, it really felt like you were cheating on your spouse sometimes.

“yeah, whatever, I’m bored.” you whined. “you still haven’t got any friends?” you suddenly asked; not realizing how that sounded, nor what came over you. he turned to you quickly. oh, welp.

“and what if I have?” he blurted.

“what? I was just wondering.” you said, laughing awkwardly. your nervousness made him snap back.

“just for the record, I haven't,” he chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me for a little longer.”

although you hadn't noticed the tension, his firm grip on the pen very much proved he wasn’t feeling that humorous today.

another study session had ended. you were stretching your back while emil put your stuff in your backpack.

“come over for dinner tomorrow.” just when you were ready to go, he hit you with the offer.

however, having dinner with emil and iris as a friend of both of them was not the idea you’d had for tomorrow. definitely not.

#yandere oc #yandere oneshot #yandere fic #yandere male #yandere original character #yandere x y/n #yandere fiction #yandere x you #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #male yandere #male oc #original character #emil: garez oc #iris: garez oc

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venomwrites · 3 days ago

Text

Warnings for violence, character death, sadness. Also on Ao3

It takes weeks for their first resupply.

The airship is well stocked. Too well stocked, if Vi thinks about it. It’s a week before she realizes this was someone’s escape. She spends the next days torturing herself with who they could have been, what their faces could have looked like when they realized their ticket out had been punched. Did they see them flying away? Were they able to get out? But then Jinx mumbles that she’s hungry and the torturous thoughts shift back to the reason she’s here. She promised Jinx that they could go. Jinx didn’t want to help but she was willing to shuffle out of the bunker with her. All of the guards had been shifted to the gates. But their luck seemed to hold all the way to the Airship docks. It held as they got onto the ship. It was already started, already humming like it was waiting for them. It wasn’t, it was waiting for someone else but Jinx shuffled forward and so Vi took it. She’d been pick pocketing for weeks before Jinx got her, but this is a huge job. Her hands shook as she cast off the rope and her side ached as she scrambled onto the ship. But Jinx pointed to a button and she thumbed it and the job was done. Full gas, full supplies, the beds were maid with fresh linens. She and Jinx curled up in the smallest one, limbs locking together like they were kids again.

For weeks they just drift where the wind takes them.

Half the time they don’t even put the engines on. Their destination is ‘away’. So they drift and conserve fuel. Jinx just stares away mostly, barely even having the energy to speak. Shifting back into taking care of her is like breathing. Vi combs and braids her hair. She boils the fresh food into stews and forces it through strainers turning it into something finer. Some she stores away. Some she guides through her sister’s lips on the days when Jinx can’t bring herself to eat. She remembers how to make brine and pickle vegetables. Soon one of the pantries is full of jars that will last them long after the fresh food is supposed to rot. She sorts through the contents of the ship and creates piles of things they can sell. During that process she finds a box that is so stuffed with credits she claps it shut and looks for witnesses. There are none. It’s just her and Jinx on this airship and Jinx is in the wheelhouse with the windows slitted open. Vi doesn’t let her on the deck unsupervised right now. Jinx doesn’t fight her.

Eventually though they do need gas.

By that time Jinx is a bit more alive, but not by much. So Vi coils her hair under a cap and puts her in some of the clothing left for the servants. She pulls on some of the clothing left for the family. She knows they might be looking for her so she chooses a dress instead of pants and finds the cosmetics laid out for the woman. She pains her face and puts on a hat with a little veil that helps hide her scars. When she tests the undergarments they fit oddly well and she thanks whoever is listening their luck is holding. She pulls on the dress and stockings and fawn colored cape. When she comes out Jinx looks at her quietly for a moment and Vi rolls her eyes to let her know she’s aware of how foolish she looks.

“Next time you can be the lady if you’re up for it,” she says.

Jinx doesn’t reply.

Vi gets the airship parked following Jinx’s quiet points. She ties it off and goes to speak to the man in charge of the dock. He’s a stout, old man who straightens up when he mistakes her for a lady. Her heart aches at how much he reminds her of Benzo. She hopes he made a good welcome for Dad. The idea of them together in the afterlife always felt nice. Now she knows it’s a reality. Finally. She swallows down the lump the thought brings and focuses on the man.

“We need gas,” she says, “water,” she pretends to consider, “somewhere to restock our food,” the man is still staring at her and Vi wonders if they’re going to have to run. They have enough to get somewhere new, but it’ll be close, “sir?”

“Apologies, ma’m,” he says, blinking back to life, “forgive my rudeness, we just didn’t think anyone made it out.”

The adrenaline doesn’t dissipate now that she know she hasn’t been caught. If anything it gets worse. The man softens and comes around the counter. He hesitates a moment before he embraces her tightly.

“There’s still hope then.”

“Did you have family there?” She tries and he shakes his head.

“No, thank the Gods. But friends do.”

“We left before it happened,” she says, “we ran.”

The word comes out unexpectedly choked.

“None of that,” he says, handing her a handkerchief, “if you’d have stayed you’d be like the rest of them. That’s not a fate I’d wish on my worst enemy,” his eyes move to Jinx and his face softens. He scribbles something on a pad and hands the paper to her, “take this to Marcello’s shop. He’ll have supplies for you. I’ll get you refueled. Will your servant stay?”

“No, she’ll come with me,” Vi says, “she’s recovering.”

The man nods.

“I’ll see to it personally,” he says. Vi nods and moves towards the door. The man hesitates and then calls after her, “you’ve got a good heart, ma’m,” he says, “thanks to the Gods it still beats.”

Vi blinks away the sting in her eye and steers Jinx into town. The man calls ahead because when they get there a cart is waiting with boxes of food. It’s more food than Vi has seen in one place in a long time. It looks like their own personal market. It makes her think of the Kiramman pantry. But she shoves the memory away. She needs the tears but they have to be fake. Jinx picks up the handle of the cart as she pays for their supplies. They undercharge her criminally for them and wish her well. The boxes are loaded onto the ship and their gauges all read full before Vi finally can swallow the question back no longer.

“I’m sorry, can you tell me any rumors about Zaun?” She asks, “for my servant?”

The man’s face falls but he nods and pulls her to the side. Vi positions herself so she can keep an eye on Jinx, but she’s picking through the fruit.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of such terrible news,” he says, “the last party said Zaun fell to it right after,” he twists his hands together, “the straight’s fallen. Bilgewater’s gone, Ixal will be next.”

Vi wants to demand answers but knows she can’t without compromising her cover. His voice turns urgent.

“I’d keep floating,” he says, “high as you can. They’re not in the sky yet. If you see them, turn everything off. They don’t want your stuff, they just want your mind.”

“We left before we could see them, do you know what they look like?”

“White and gold,” he says, “lock your servant up if you see them. They aren’t who they used to be.”

Vi thinks she might be sick.

“They belong to the Herald now.”

Those two sentences haunt her as she puts them back in the sky. Jinx is tearing into the flesh of some pulpy fruit. Seeds of another are collected in a little bowl. It’s a good thing she’s eating, but all Vi can do is twist the words in her head. They aren’t who they used to be, they belong to the Herald now. She pulls out one of the maps and lays it on the table. She takes one of the seeds out and puts them near the outpost they just re-supplied at. They’re moving away towards the sea. She picks up a pencil and circles the straight between Piltover, Zaun and Bilgewater. Her plan was for them to drift more, but now there’s places they cannot go. They’ll need to use more gas which means more resupplies. If this is spreading across the continents, then they need to start making their way somewhere else. It could buy them some time.

“Will this thing make it to Ionia?” She asks Jinx. The fruit has helped her perk up a bit. She glances around and shrugs, “best guess.”

“Probably,” Jinx says, “if the weather holds,” she leans forward over the map. A drop of juice lands on Piltover but Vi doesn’t even think to scold her. Piltover’s gone, “we might need to supply here.”

“He said that’s gone,” Vi says.

“So no guards.”

Vi smiles but she hopes they don’t have to resupply there.

She hopes the weather holds.

That night she dreams of Caitlyn again. She’s wide-eyed and terrified, yelling Vi’s name over and over. She hovers over her like she had for months before. Though this time Vi knows she’s there. Her fingers are painful on Vi’s wound as she shoves the lacy cravat against it to try and staunch the bleeding. All Vi can do is try to make eye contact as the world pulls away. Regret churns in her gut for how she shoved Caitlyn to the side to stagger after Jinx. How Caitlyn shouted at her not to but Vi pushed forward anyway. Jinx is the most important thing. She always has been. All Vi can do is hear Vander’s plea even as he roars and flings lava everywhere. She thought his first death was horrible but she’d give anything for him to be laying on the ground twisting with Shimmer. She left Powder then, she’s not making the same mistake.

She’d rather die.

She nearly does.

It’s worth it. But her under arm feels painfully cold with Caitlyn’s absence and her hands sting from pushing her away.

In the dream Caitlyn’s scream turns distorted. Her face freezes and cracks and turns white. White and gold, like he said. Behind her she sees a figure whose unnaturally long hand is buried in Caitlyn’s scalp. Her inky hair turns into a web of gold that makes Vi think of her stupid beret. The grip she has on Vi’s wound turns agonizing as her fingers push through Vi’s flesh. She opens her mouth to yell but only blood comes out as Caitlyn’s fingers part her flesh and bump against her spine. Caitlyn’s features are lost to the white that takes over her skin, but a tear still falls from where her eyes used to be and trails to join the blood Vi coughs onto her face. It all drips back onto Vi’s cheek as the white thing that was Caitlyn leans closer in a mockery of their first kiss.

Vi wakes with a yell.

She looks over but the bed is empty. The ship lurches horribly. One glance tells her they are caught in a storm. Vi scrambles to her feet and grabs the handholds in the wall. The ship is full of clever details like that. There’s another tilt and she holds on tighter, digging in her heel. The thick carpet in the hall strains and shifts before it gives way. Vi looks down to see glue on the edge. More glue is revealed as more of the carpet pulls back. Vi glares at the loss of her foothold and the cheapness of the job. She’s shocked it’s held up for months and infuriated it chose now to give up. The ship thankfully rocks back to center. Vi scrambles forward past the bunched carpet. She nearly falls on the most bunched part and yells in frustration, ripping it the rest of the way off and rolling it towards the other wall. If they need to run down the hallway she doesn’t want either of them wiping out on it.

“Fucking Pilties,” she mutters when she realizes there’s another carpet underneath.

She rips the top one off from the other side and shoves it into one of the other rooms. It’s minutes she wishes she didn’t have to waste but she knows it’s time well spent. She runs up to the wheelhouse to see Jinx gripping the steering wheel. Her face is serious and her fingers are dexterous. Vi realizes she’s taken them down and is finding a place for them to land. She opens her mouth to protest but Jinx shakes her head and flicks a few switches. The ship drops like an elevator. Gears and mechanism whir as they drop through the sky and then gently lower onto a wide stone balcony. They nestle close to the doors so if anything hits like lightening, it’ll hit the giant house first.

“Where are we?”

“Dunno,” Jinx says, “I hit the emergency landing and the ship went on autopilot horizontally. I was just controlling the vertical.”

“Weird,” Vi says, “you think anyone’s home?”

Jinx looks and shakes her head. For the first time Vi sees something like worry on her face. Immediately she puts her hand on her shoulder.

“You wanna be the lady this time in case we have to explain?”

Jinx shakes her head.

They change back into their disguises quickly, but no-one comes. Something feels wrong in a new way. Her fingers itch for her Gauntlets. But the pistol will have to suffice. Vi makes her way back to their room. Past the wheelhouse, back down the stupid hallway with it’s double carpet. She just hopes whoever’s lawn they’ve landed on doesn’t come before she gets the weapon. She keeps it hidden from Jinx but if push comes to shove, she’ll have to ask her to get it. But no-one comes as she gets to the steps leading down the hallway. She has to take them slower when her feet are in the stupid stockings but it’s better than running in the blocky shoes. That slowness means for the first time the second carpet registers.

For the second time the handholds are the only thing keeping her upright.

The keys are crossed and stamped at neat intervals along the dark blue fabric. Not the new ones with the Noxus gem, these are the old ones that were littered around the Kiramman house. As her eyes take them in, it feels like someone has put a key into her brain. She can feel every pin shifting into place. The lack of guards, the abundance of supplies, the pile of money. She looks down at the garments she’s wearing. The clothes fit her. Pistol forgotten, Vi races back along the route to the fancy bedroom. The one where all the lady’s stuff is. She’s been sewing her entire life. She turns one of the blouses inside out and sees the hastily shifted seam. Another coat has an extra button still tacked onto the corner. Dread pounds through Vi as throws the new clothing aside and flings back the cover of the bed.

She would know those sheets anywhere.

Her knees smack the ground as she stares at them. The thoughts of the family this ship was meant for vanish. Instead she sees Caitlyn signing documents while she’s unconscious in the background. She sees her pushing money into a box she knows Vi will find and handing Vi’s measurements to someone to get clothes that will fit. Three days. She had three days and she did all of this knowing Ambessa was coming for her. And what had VI done? Yelled at her. Even when Caitlyn told her Jinx surrendered, that she kept her safe. Even when she looked at her with that anguish on her face. None of it had registered. Caitlyn hadn’t just put Jinx in the bunker in her own house, she had cleared the way for them. She gave them everything they needed to get away. Vi lurches to her feet again and runs to the other wardrobe. The clothes in there are cut slimmer. There’s a brush and hair ties. For a moment Vi feels hope but then she sees how short the pants are. How they are faintly patterned.

Caitlyn never planned on coming with them.

The realization crashes into Vi as the fabric falls from her hands. Caitlyn set this up, she put her own sheets on the bed and arranged for all of this so Vi and Jinx could get away. Caitlyn who threw away all of her plans for the slim chance Vi could get more time with her father. Who put Vi in her bed, the only place Vi can remember feeling truly safe. She did all of that and Vi yelled at her. Vi left her. She wanted Vi to leave her. Vi feels an itch in her mind. Caitlyn wanted her gone, but that makes no sense. The battle was weeks out. Vi could have been healed and ready to fight in that time. Vi would have fought, especially with Jinx in the bunker. But even if she hadn’t been, Vi would have fought. It was what she did best. There has to be a reason for this. Something she’s missing. There wouldn’t just be nothing. She grabs the small pull on the first drawer of the nightstand and starts to look for a note.

She doesn’t find one.

She finds so much though. Papers with her and Jinx’s pictures but different names. There’s a case with orange tinted glasses that will hide Jinx’s eyes. A box full of thick cotton wraps for her hands. Her red jacket is in one of the closets. She finds her old necklace nestled among a truly nauseating amount of sapphires and diamonds. She finds her old Enforcer badge, back in it’s case. But nothing with Caitlyn’s handwriting. Nothing that tells her why she did this. She scrubs her face and thumbs through the books again to see if something’s hidden there. Nothing. There’s nothing. The only scrap of Caitlyn’s handwriting are the forged signatures on the documents and that’s not what she wants. That’s not Caitlyn. That’s Caitlyn pretending to be her.

“Vi?” Jinx’s voice is tentative at the door.

“Did she say anything to you?” Vi asks and the desperation in her voice makes both of them jump. Jinx shifts back and looks heartbreakingly like Powder for a moment, “sorry,” Vi says quickly, “when I was out did she say anything to you?”

“Who?” Jinx asks quietly.

Anger floods through Vi at the question before she remembers Jinx has no way of knowing what she knows. She doesn’t know Caitlyn did all of this for them. It takes everything to pull back on the rush of anger and look at her sister.

“Caitlyn,” she says, “did Caitlyn say anything?”

“No she just talked to you,” Jinx says, “until the bunker.” Vi’s heart jumps, “she brought me food. She said there wouldn’t be a trial,” Jinx continues, “when you came and you looked so happy, I didn’t want you to watch me be executed. Even though I deserve it. I knew it’d hurt you and I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.”

The air goes out of Vi’s lungs.

“You knew it’d hurt me?” Vi asks weakly.

“You hate seeing people hurt,” Jinx says, coming closer.

The words hang between them as the horrible truth settles into Vi’s marrow. Caitlyn protected her. Even if the battle meant they would both die, Caitlyn made sure Vi wouldn’t watch people die. She made sure Vi wouldn’t suffer. Even after the things Vi yelled at her. A low sound pulls from her chest at the realization. Any doubt Vi had that the Caitlyn she fell for was in there somewhere vanishes. It’s too smart a trap. Not the brutal ones Caitlyn laid in their search for Jinx. This is a clever one. Unbearably clever. And Vi fell for it. It should feel like a snare but as she looks at the trap, even she cannot find any cruelty in it. It should feel like a snare but instead it feels like an embrace. Like Caitlyn pressing her tears into her neck on the bridge. Like the way her arms wound around her when their lips finally met. She had begged her not to change. She felt betrayed when she did. Now she sees there’s a part of Caitlyn that didn’t. But she was too blind to see it. Caitlyn was there and she just left.

“Where are we?” Vi demands.

“Huh?”

“Where are we?” She hurries up to the wheelhouse, “how close are we to Piltover?” Her mind shifts. Caitlyn’s brilliant, of course that guy was wrong. She’s found a way to survive, “we have to get there.”

“Vi we can’t,” Jinx says.

“We have to!” Vi argues, “Caitlyn’s there—she’s probably in the Bunker waiting for us,” she tries to think. The ship was well stocked, the bunker must be too, “they’re probably running low on supplies so we gotta hurry—“

“Vi!” Jinx finally says her name in a way that registers. She looks at the anguish on her face and forces herself to stop for a moment. Even though everything in her screams to start running through the storm, “she’s not.”

“Jinx—“ Vi shakes her head, “I know I’m asking a lot but this is an emergency. She’s waiting, we can get her and figure this all out. I made her think I didn’t care, I gotta fix that—“

“No, Vi,” Jinx makes a miserable sound, “she talked to me in the bunker. She said she was exhausted and tired of hating me,” she chews her lip, “she said she hated herself.”

“What did you say?” Vi questions.

“I told her I didn’t know her mom was up there,” she says.

“What else?”

Jinx shakes her head.

“She left right after.”

Vi looks back at the map and forces her anger down. It’s not just at Jinx, it’s at herself. She yelled at Caitlyn and Jinx told her that her mother’s death was little more than an afterthought. Caitlyn hated herself. Vi abandoned her to a woman she betrayed. A monster she betrayed. She hadn’t truly been loyal, if she had she would have done things differently. All those months and how Caitlyn must have felt make her head spin. All of that she weathered alone. Vi had made a few attempts to get in contact but they were all quickly rebuffed. She thought it was because of how much she fucked up, but the world has shifted. Was Caitlyn protecting her even then? She misses the chair and sits down hard on the floor. Jinx comes over and sits in front of her. There’s life in her eyes, but it feels like it’s coming out of Vi.

“We’ll go as soon as the weather clears,” Jinx says.

Vi nods but her gaze keeps dragging towards the stone columns.

And the crossed keys stamped into them.

She waits for Jinx to fall asleep before she slips away. She’s been doing it for years. Slipping out of bed without waking her. She knows enough after months of flying this thing to program the autopilot on a delay. She does everything she can think of to slow Jinx down and she leaves a note. She promises she’ll be back as soon as she can, but if something happens Jinx needs to go. Needs to live for as long as she can. Live for all of them. She says she’s proud of her and would do it all a thousand times over to call her sister. She signs it ‘Always’. Then she gathers what she needs, puts on her red jacket and slips out of the ship.

She makes it to Piltover a few hours later.

The storm has shifted into just a downpour, no wind. Vi wishes there was as she looks at the bridge. This one is narrower. It’s a private bridge, one people aren’t allowed on unless you’re a founding family. The double keys were a dead give away. The ship going to that house makes a lot more sense now that she knows it’s a Kiramman ship. Of course it went to a Kiramman house. Now she’s on a Kiramman road. She waivers as she looks at the bridge. The autopilot is set for day. Jinx is still asleep probably. She could turn back. She should turn back. The chances of Caitlyn being alive are so impossibly slim. She and Jinx could have months more floating in the sky. This plague could stop. She could go off with the new life that’s been given to her so selflessly.

But Caitlyn will be here.

Her parents will be here.

Vander and Benzo and Mylo and Claggor—

And Caitlyn.

Vi steps onto the bridge.

The rain obscures her vision enough that it’s a surprise when she realizes there’s something ahead. She’s never seen the things before. Only heard the whispered rumors of how you can’t let them touch you. Maybe the rain is giving her some cover because this one hasn’t moved. It stands perfectly still. It’s faceless and white, etched through with gold. All she can think of is how the elongated, elegant limbs remind her of Viktor. She steps forward and the doll shifts just slightly. Just enough for Vi to know she’s been made. The option of going back closes behind her. She waits for the feeling of horror, but all she feels is relief. Peace settles over her as she looks at the face. You’re not supposed to try and guess who they were. But if she’s going to die, she figures why not? There’s a lot of gold on this one, it’s actually more gold than white. Including a dip where a lip should be.

“Vi,” the robotic says her name but it speaks with Viktor’s voice. Another pin slides into place, “this is a surprise.”

“Is it?” She asks.

“No, this is inevitable” the doll says, “but I thought it would be a few months before we met again. Where is your sister?”

“Long gone,” she says, “months, right?” The doll inclines its head, “so what does it matter?”

“You still sacrifice yourself so easily.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why I’m here,” she says.

The doll moves and it’s suddenly in front of her. It’s fucking fast. Her dream echoes back to her of the hand pushing through her body. There’s nothing to stop this doll from doing the same. It doesn’t though. It tilts its head considering her.

“Emotion clouds us,” Viktor says, “humanity’s greatest flaw,” his voice shifts and a female one Vi has heard a few times joins it, “she was so relieved you didn’t see.”

Vi’s hand grabs the first piece of metal she can. The thing reverses the grip, knocks her hands aside and picks her up by the jacket.

“How confident are you?” Vi challenges. The doll shifts it’s head, “you said you corrected emotions. But Caitlyn thought of me—“ she’s thinking on her feet, “take me to her and find out.”

“An interesting hypothesis,” the doll says, drawing her closer.

“You’re the scientist,” Vi says.

The doll considers her for a moment more and then she’s flying through the air. It’s hard to even get a breath in, let alone get her bearings. The doll takes her through the deserted city, past groups of the same dolls. Vi forces herself not to look at how fucking small some of them are. Kids. He did this to kids. He’ll do it to every kid in the world. The dolls occasionally glance over. Vi wonders if it’s Viktor looking or if some part of them remains who they were. The doll shoots across the Bridge of Progress and skids to a stop so she’s facing Zaun. The hand behind her neck tightens as the doll goes silent. Like someone has flicked a switch and turned it off. Something like hope churns in Vi’s gut. Maybe Viktor will be here to witness this experiment. Doubt flicks in the back of her mind but Vi shoves it away. Caitlyn did all of this for her. She’s not listening to any doubts. There’s a glow behind her and the doll rotates her so she watches Viktor descend. Any hope vanishes at the sight of him. He’s more machine than man, no sign of the person Vi thought would save her dad. When he floats over to her, there’s no heat on him.

“We have evolved past feelings,” he intones and the sound comes from him and the doll, “but sometimes we are drawn to the familiar. A weakness eased by time,” he says, “as are all things.”

“Where is she?” Vi questions, straining to hear any sound of Caitlyn.

“As I said, the familiar draws us. Even past feelings,” the doll turns her and deposits her on the ground.

Right by the pillar that was the memorial to her fucking parents.

You aren’t supposed to let them touch you. Now Vi sees why. That hand on the back of her neck has been in her head. She’s going to die right where her mom died. Funny because she always thought she’d die at home. But the bridge is as good as anywhere if she’s going to fucking die. Vi straightens her jacket and looks at Viktor, but his head is turned. The claw on his back tightens into a point and a flash of light emits, illuminating the dolls they zipped past. They stand on the bridge and VI can pick out the bronze on them. They’re much less gold than the doll that carried her here. Some of them are splattered with red. It takes a moment for her to realize these were all Enforcers. Or dressed like them anyway. Her stomach tightens as she sees one has his hand across his stomach, like he could be holding a shield. She forces herself not to think about whether or not that’s Loris. It probably is. They are all standing at the ready facing a doll whose back is towards them. Like it’s stopping the Enforcers from coming any closer.

Like it’s protecting her.

She can’t breathe as the truth hits her. Even before it registers this doll is taller than most. It rotates and Vi is gutted at the smoothness of it’s features. She thinks for a moment maybe she was wrong. But her eyes pick out the bulkiness of the doll’s right shoulder where Caitlyn always wore the most armor. Worse is the red on the hollow of her throat. It mirrors the red at the back of her neck. Caitlyn wasn’t just dying, Caitlyn was drowning in her own blood. And all she felt was relief Vi wasn’t there to see it. The doll behind her steps back and Vi realizes she’s about to watch Viktor speak through Caitlyn.

“Hang on don’t you want this to be authentic?” She says. Viktor looks at her, “see what she does without you.”

“We are one,” Viktor says.

“You sound pretty solo to me,” Vi challenges. Viktor’s head cocks to the side and Caitlyn follows, “let her do whatever you’re doing.”

“It won’t work,” Viktor replies.

“So what’s the harm?” Vi asks, “you said it yourself, the world has months. When are you going to get the chance to do this again?” Her heart thuds when Viktor doesn’t just shoot the idea down, “She did all of this for me,” she says, “how many times are you going to find an emotion like that?”

Viktor gives something that might be a shrug and settles himself against the side of the bridge. He looks almost relaxed. Only the fact that he can fly tells Vi pushing him off the bridge won’t fix this. She turns back to the Caitlyn doll. It’s still and frozen, head still cocked to the side. Like an off switch has been flicked. She looks at Viktor who regards her.

“Perhaps you were wrong,” he says.

“No I just need to get closer,” Vi retorts.

The doll helps her out with that.

It’s so much worse up close. How the fuck is this thing Caitlyn. But it is. Vi knows it is. She tilts her head to try and mimic how the doll is standing. She tries to think about the Caitlyn who lingers in the back of her head. The one who looked at her softly and didn’t bother to tell Vi she was an actual princess until there was no other choice. Who pleaded for her to stay and forgave Vi for leaving the first time. She clings to that image as she looks at the doll’s smooth face.

“Hey, Cupcake,” she says, “thanks for lending me your ship. Took me months to figure it out but you know,” she taps her head, “Loris said the doc’s told you I had a thick skull. Probably wouldn’t have figured it out for a few more months if it hadn’t happened.”

The twitch is so faint Vi thinks she might have imagined it.

“But once it did I figured it out,” she says, “the note was really sweet.”

Another twitch, this one unmistakable even before the doll’s head rotates forward and then up.

“Not me,” the doll wheezes.

Vi’s eyes flood with tears. Caitlyn can hide her feelings better than anyone she knows. She plays things close to the chest until she can’t anymore. Until they bubble over. In a kinder world, it would be love or something that made her do it. But it’s not. Anger gets her there. Anger makes Caitlyn speak even though some part of her thinks she’s still got destroyed vocal cords. But she speaks because Vi’s managed to annoy her. To put a dent in her brilliant but stupid plan. Vi tries to blink the tears away but a few break free. Caitlyn is closer, peering at her with those missing features.

“There was no note,” Caitlyn clarifies and her voice comes out stronger.

“So how’d I know it was you then?” Vi challenges, “or are you going to pretend it wasn’t?”

Caitlyn considers her quietly.

“How?”

“Come on Cupcake, take a guess.”

Caitlyn twitches.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, “it’s too late.”

“Nah it’s never too late,” Vi says, “come on, you know you want to know.”

Dread creeps though her as Caitlyn twitches again. Vi wants to see her face but there’s nothing there. She’s so used to seeing the way Caitlyn’s face shifts to let her know if something is getting through or not. Does Caitlyn even know she’s a doll? That Vi can’t see.

“Okay fine it was the carpets,” she says.

“I was thinking!” Caitlyn argues and then stops, “what?”

“They used the wrong glue in the hallway,” she says, “I found your Kiramman ones underneath.”

Caitlyn goes still. Panic hits Vi like a ton of bricks. Not seeing her expression is hard. She sees one of the other dolls twitch and moves before she can think. She grabs Caitlyn’s hand and touches it to her side. The doll jerks back.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Caitlyn says, “I didn’t want you here.”

“You got what you wanted,” Vi says, “now it’s my turn. Or is this just about you?” The doll is quiet, “come on Cupcake did you think about me at all?”

“Y-Y—“ the doll stutters and goes quiet. Then straightens and says in that overlapping voice, “Yes but it doesn’t matter."

Vi grabs the hand again and flattens Caitlyn’s palm over her side. The doll jerks like it’s fighting something. Vi puts her other hand there, holding it against her skin. The place where Caitlyn saved her. Features or not, she knows that means something. Viktor moves out of the corner of her eye and she feels the dolls fingers meld together. They flatten into something pointed and the path forward becomes horribly clear. The Caitlyn doll twitches, goes still and straightens, pulling it’s hand back.

“Your hypothesis was not proven,” Viktor and Caitlyn’s voices overlap, “we have evolved—“

The metal goes through her flesh as easily as it did in her dream.

It hurts way worse.

Vi sucks in a breath and looks down at the metal embedded in her gut. Her blood drips down the white cone as it goes deeper. Towards her heart. The cone twitches and shifts back into a hand. It wrestles a noise from her lips as her mouth fills with blood. Unlike her dream she spits it to the side this time. She’s not getting out of this. The doll looks down at her wound and curves it’s hand inside her body. Vi feels it in her ribs as it pulls her closer.

“You would strain the system,” Viktor says.

“I never wanted to be one of your stupid dolls,” Vi says. Fingers twitch again, “I just wanted to die at home,” she says, putting her hands on Caitlyn’s shoulders, “with someone who loves me.”

Viktor screams and Caitlyn’s voice takes over.

Vi watches Viktor stagger back, clutching at his head. All of the dolls collapse but Caitlyn cradles her so tightly Vi barely feels it. Or maybe that’s just the blood loss. Either way it barely seems to matter as she looks up. Caitlyn is gasping loudly, looking around like she isn’t certain where she is. Vi grips her arm and her head turns frantically towards her. A horrified sound escapes her lips. Vi smiles and tries not to think of how bloody her lips must be.

“Oh God, Vi,” she chokes out her name.

“S’okay,” Vi breathes, “I meant it,” she says, “I wanted to see you.”

“No, no—“ Caitlyn turns her head frantically.

“He said you went somewhere familiar,” Vi gasps, “I’d come here too. Where I came back,” she looks at Caitlyn, “I shouldn’t have left you.”

“Vi, no, Jinx needs you,” Caitlyn pleads, her thumb stroking her cheek, “you could have months.”

“No,” Vi says as their airship appears. Dozens of blue stones clustered on it. Gods she hopes this works. Viktor is still clutching at his head, “just want you.”

“Why?!” Caitlyn cries and Vi smiles as the world takes on a fuzzy edge. She brushes her thumb across where Caitlyn’s lips should be. The doll can’t make tears but Caitlyn sobs all the same, “I thought I was protecting you.”

“You did,” Vi says, “but I want to be with you more.”

The flash is blinding but all Vi can see is the doll’s face. It doesn’t have lips but she pulls it closer as Caitlyn leans down. Deep in her chest Vi feels Caitlyn’s fingers find her heart. All Vi can think is they’re the lucky ones. Caitlyn's fingers close over her heart and Vi pulls her closer as the heat and light hit them both and take them.

****

Ekko waits hours before emerging after the blast.

He’s lived his life in four second increments for months. Lifetimes, if he’s being honest. With all the times he’s had to jerk back time. All the near misses, the almost deaths. The actual deaths. But he’s kept his people alive. That’s the only thing that fucking matters. It’s weird to even feel the breeze as he walks to the bridge. All of the dolls lay dead. Their strings cut. It’s hard to wrap his head around when he looks at them. They were people once. When he shifts one, nothing happens. They really are gone.

He makes his way towards the Bridge, where he thinks the blast may have come from. It’s confirmed when he looks at the gaping hole ripped through it. The blast is devastating and right though the center of the bridge. The Herald is nowhere to be seen, but Ekko thinks he might be at the bottom of the water. Or maybe he doesn’t exist anymore. They’ll have to figure that out. The dolls would come for him if he was still there. Ekko looks around for some kind of confirmation, but he doesn’t have to look long.

One of the dolls is cradling a person.

They’re well preserved considering the magnitude of the blast, thanks only to the doll that cradles them. The doll is collapsed over them, hiding their face. Ekko can see the doll’s hand buried in their side. Either they wanted to cause pain or to prevent it. But the way they are cradling the person makes him think it was the latter. He’s never seen a doll express anything like kindness, no matter who they used to be. It would be strange anywhere but he can’t help the feeling that it has something to do with the explosion.

“Is it over?” Scar asks him quietly.

“Yeah,” Ekko says, “I think we’re safe."

#caitvi #piltover's finest #caitlyn kiramman #vi #arcane #this one is v sad but was a fun challenge to figure out while also being very sad

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