#like....all this time.......its finally here

[plutotheplum]

chapter one | the proposal

multi x fem!reader

chapter summary: the spring season seems to have brought on an unrelenting case of baby fever. being single is a problem though... so who better to ask than your five, handsome friends?

cw: modern au, fluff, kissing, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of sex

wc: 1.7k

a/n: first chapter is here! something short and sweet before we get into the smut teehee ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

also on ao3!

series masterlist | next up: the magician

“I want a baby.”

Usually you’d be sitting across from your head-over-heels, doting, caring husband that would be willing to do anything for you whilst having this conversation. It’s an important decision after all, having a baby and taking care of it, having the finances to dote on your child. It’d be nice… except for the fact you don’t have a husband, or a boyfriend for that matter.

Instead, you’re sitting across from five men, currently lumped together uncomfortably on your couch, staring at you with slight bewilderment in their eyes. It was your best shot, inviting them over. 

Besides, you’d decided that it was the spring season that had caught you in its snare. Going out to a cafe, taking a stroll in the park, perusing a bookstore; babies were everywhere. It hadn’t bothered you so much until you’d set your eyes on one of the cutest, chubbiest babies you’d ever seen, its little hand curling around your finger when you’d been waiting in line to buy your book. 

Yeah… you’d gotten baby fever.

“A baby?” Rafayel asks, his brows raising, “are- are you even ready for a baby?”

“I’ve thought about it,” you reply, fingers fidgeting nervously in your lap, your eyes drifting across each of them, “a lot. I even made a short presentation if any of you would like to-”

Zayne shakes his head subtly and you sink back down into the chair, having gotten up half-way.

“I am ready,” you breathe out finally, “I’m not getting any younger and I just think it’d be nice, y’know? I wouldn’t feel so lonely anymore.”

“Why’d you invite all of us over at once?” Caleb asks, his hands folding behind his head, drawing a sound of annoyance from Xavier who he elbows in the process.

“I didn’t want to have the conversation five times,” you sigh, “besides, I figured none of you would actually agree to this. I mean, it’s sort of crazy. Do I sound crazy?”

“Maybe a little frantic,” Sylus muses, propping his elbow up on the armrest of your couch, his head tilting lazily to watch you.

“There are other options,” Zayne offers, “other than what you’re proposing. I could help you look, if you wanted. I know someone I went to medical school with, maybe they could help?”

You flush lightly, shaking your head. “I um- I want to do it naturally,” you squeak out, cheeks growing hotter when you spy the grin on Caleb’s face. “Less- less complications that way, which is why I decided to ask all of you.”

“Well,” Caleb yawns, stretching his arms above his head, managing to knock one against Xavier’s head again, “I’m in.”

“What?” you sputter, staring at him with wide eyes. “You- you can’t just agree! I had a whole thing planned and we still need to go over agreements about how this is going to work.”

“I’m not just going to disappear once you have the baby,” Caleb sighs, staring at you, his gaze never wavering. “If we do this, we’re doing it together.”

“Oh,” you say, sitting back in your chair, “well if that’s what you’d like, but I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything.”

“Obligated?” Sylus interrupts, raising his brows, “Sweetie, if you decide to have one of our kids, we aren’t going to abandon you to handle everything on your own. It’s as much of our decision as it is yours.” He pauses for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. “With that being said, I also accept your proposal.”

“You do?” you ask, your head tilting. “Wouldn't the two of you be overkill? I really think one of you agreeing is enough-”

“It wouldn’t be fair,” Xavier pitches in finally, having had enough of being squished on the couch as he stands up, sending a brief glare towards Caleb. “It wouldn’t be fair,” he repeats, shifting on his feet, “if only the two of them got to have you. Besides, you said it was up to us to decide.”

Was he jealous? Maybe you’d dug yourself in a little too deep. You’d had fleeting moments with each of them, shared lazy kisses every now and then, had a few of their heads buried between your thighs on some nights, but nothing serious… especially not this serious.

“So all three of you,” you look pointedly at Caleb, Sylus and Xavier, “want to help?”

“Yes,” is the unanimous reply.

“I can’t have sex with all three of you!” you protest, looking at each of them, “I mean, I could but that’s besides the point!”

“You’ll have to alternate between us,” Zayne supplies, adjusting his glasses, his lithe fingers pushing them up to sit more securely on the bridge of his nose. The action distracts you for a moment, your mind conjuring up the memory of those very fingers sinking inside of your pussy only a few weeks ago when he’d been pent up and you’d been eager to help.

“Right,” you reply as though the situation made complete sense and nothing about this entire thing was crazy. “Alternate- wait,” you pause, your eyes flicking over to meet Zayne’s. “Us?” you echo, “what do you mean ‘us’?”

“Us,” Zayne says simply.

“Us- us as in you included?” you ask, voice pitching upwards with how incredulity takes hold of you, part of you hoping that your faith in the english language was now failing you.

“Yes,” he replies, his head tilting to take in your expression. “I am the most… qualified for this position.”

“This isn’t a job interview!” you snap, glaring at him, before pointing at the others accusingly, “and you are all way too eager to agree!”

“We’re helping you out,” Caleb counters, turning his attention to Zayne, “and what do you mean by qualified? You just have to cum inside of her.”

You wince at his crude words.

“I often see children during my rounds in the wards,” Zayne says coolly, “I don’t see you handling any children while you fly your plane around.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Caleb mutters, sending Zayne a glare.

“Okay,” you pitch in, hoping to ease some of the tension. “Rafayel?” you say, eyes focusing on the purple-haired man who’s been watching the situation unfold with amusement, “I’m glad you haven’t said anything, because four is more than eno-”

“Who said I didn’t agree?” he asks, raising his brows, “I’d be the odd one out, wouldn’t I? As Xavier said, that’d hardly be fair.”

“So what you’re all telling me, is that you’re all ready for a baby?” you ask bluntly, tilting your head skeptically. “Because I feel like none of you have thought this through.”

“We’re just giving you the best chance of having a baby,” Xavier says, meeting your skepticism with his own bluntness.

“Fine,” you breathe out, your eyes flitting across each of the handsome men. You’d be lying if you weren’t somewhat excited about the idea. “You’re all accepted.”

“Great,” Sylus says, standing up.

Your eyes widen when he approaches you, his arm tugging you to your feet, before wrapping around your waist.

“What are you-”

Your voice is muffled when he slots his lips over yours. You make a noise of protest until he presses closer, your eyes fluttering shut at the soothing stroke of his thumb against your cheek. A soft whine escapes you, arms sliding up to wrap around his neck, your lips working against his eagerly.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Caleb snaps.

You squeak when you’re pulled away from Sylus, arms reaching out to grab for him, only for Caleb to swat your hands away, sending you an equally harsh glare.

“I thought we were getting started,” Sylus drawls, his eyes flashing with a hint of disdain. “I’m not one to sit around and watch.”

Caleb snaps out a retort and your shoulders sag as you watch the two men begin to argue.

“Are you sure you wanna have a baby with one of them?” Rafayel asks, his voice hushed as he sidles up to you. “They seem awfully… ill-tempered.”

You blink up at him, face falling. “Do you think that’ll affect the baby?”

Rafayel nods, putting on a grave disposition until you see Zayne roll his eyes.

“We’ll alternate,” Zayne says, rubbing his temples, “like I said. It’s the fairest way and none of your egos will get hurt in the process. We can draw numbers to figure out the order.”

You end up scrawling the numbers one to five on a piece of paper, ripping them up before scrunching them, so they can’t see what’s written on the paper.

“Take your pick,” you offer, opening your hands up for each one of them to choose a crumpled piece of paper.

You stare at each of them expectantly as they open up the pieces of paper, rocking up on your toes to peek over Xavier’s shoulder. 

Two.

Well, you could handle that. You smile up at him and he smiles back, dipping his head quickly to kiss your cheek.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Caleb groans staring down at his paper.

“Did you place last?” Rafayel asks smugly, waving his paper around as though he had won the lottery. “I’m first!”

“Asshole,” Caleb grouses, ripping up his paper agitatedly, “third.”

You turn your attention to Zayne and Sylus, raising your brows.

“Fourth,” Zayne says, tucking his paper away neatly into the pocket of his trousers.

You swallow nervously, glancing towards Sylus. He gives you a devilish grin in return, flipping his paper to show you the messily scribbled five. 

“You’re not… mad about it?” you ask tentatively.

“Why should I be?” Sylus asks, running a hand through his snowy hair, the strands falling across his forehead prettily, “It just means that I get to spend the longest with you.”

Well, that sounds more like a threat than anything. You weren’t a stranger to Sylus’ ways, you’d spent a few nights in his bed, face shoved into the pillows while you’d sobbed and cried pathetically with every snap of his hips against your ass. 

“Right,” you clear your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t betray your nervousness.

Your gaze drifts over each man. Smug Rafayel, mellow Xavier, disgruntled Caleb, stoic Zayne and devilish Sylus.

Yeah, you think, you were definitely in for it.

taglist >///<

@serenitymaria @kreishin @qyuin @wegottastayfocus @novthirty @syluslittlecrows @blorbohunter @luvleixo @crimsonmarabou @skylaryoung2002 @multisstuff @chirikoheina @supermissnkta @serenity-loves-red @shi-thats-kiera @froleineeeee @jaynawayna @schooki @minyoongi-pouts @mizienjoyer @isagistar @zaynesnowflake @athena-portgas @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @cutelittlesugarfairy @pookiei-bookie @dooopiee @rafshottestgf @thetimetravelernightmare @slytherin-min99 @envy-of-greed @paninisstuff @h0ngh0ngh0ng @nezuswritingdesk @teeheeheartless

[brattyspence]

memory serves | s.reid

summary: in which spencer is keenly aware of all the little details. based on request from anon.

word count: > 600

tags: fluffy as fuck, smut adjacent, giggly reader, minor teasing, reader has freckles/birthmarks, spencer is a little shit

a/n: this one is a little self indulgent sorry not sorry. anon sorry this took 87 year i hope u like it <3

masterlist

Spencer has always been patient. 

Maybe too much so. He’s damn near obsessive sometimes. It never ceases to please you, even when it frustrates you. 

From your position, it’s like you can see him tick. His eyes are busy scanning every inch of exposed skin like it’s all new to him, although that’s far from the truth. You don’t understand his need to take his time and be patient. With your back against the sheets, legs carefully draped around his body as he stands over the edge of the bed, you’re not sure you could show him that you’re any more eager if you tried. 

His hands are somewhere under the hem of your shirt, trailing soft fingertips along your skin in a way that toes the line between welcome and teasing. Goosebumps rise in their wake, leaving you simultaneously shivering while burning up in need of something else. When you decide you’ve had enough, you grab onto his hand, tugging him down over you in hopes to move him along. 

“Eager,” he smiles. 

“Not eager,” you protest. “You just like to take your time. Maybe too much.”

“Lots to take in. Can’t miss any details.”

A slight giggle is stifled by another kiss to the corner of your mouth, which turns into two and then three trailing their way along your jaw. 

“Okay, eidetic memory. We get it,” you hum. “You can just take my shirt off.”

He laughs softly, more of a slight huff of air than anything. The feeling tickles your skin and makes you shift under his touch. 

“If my memory stands correctly, which it does, that means you have new freckles.” 

“You don’t memorize my freckles.”

When he pulls away this time, his face hovering mere centimeters above yours, it’s almost like he’s offended. 

“Of course I do.”

“Spencer,” you giggle. 

“I do,” he nods. The hand previously cupping your head slides up to your cheek instead. “These are permanent. But it’s summer, which means sun, and so these are all new.”

You scrunch your nose for a moment as you feel his thumb run across your cheek, first on one spot and then over another. Suddenly, it’s much harder to tease him when he’s being so sickeningly sweet.

“If you say so.”

“Ah,” he shakes his head. “I wasn’t done. You also have freckles here–” another kiss to your jawline, “two here, actually–” a kiss to your shoulder, “and one here,” he places one final kiss over your stomach. 

“You missed a few.” 

“I was getting there. We could go into detail, but since you’re so impatient…” One hand tucks itself under your knee, drawing your leg upwards. “I’ll just remind you of my favorite.” 

Before you can respond, he places another kiss against the fabric of your jeans, right along your inner thigh, exactly over the birthmark that hides there. You can’t hide the way your cheeks flush from the attention.

“You’re so weird,” you smile. Your hands find their home back in his hair, guiding his return back to you.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he replies. “I have freckles memorized that you don’t even know about.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm,” he nods. His hand makes its way back to your waist, softly guiding the fabric of your shirt up and out of his way. “I can finish pointing them all out to you, if that would make you happy.”

He waits for the witty remark, or the teasing comment. This time, though, you only pause for a moment and nod before tugging off your shirt the rest of the way, tossing it aside on the bed.

dividers by @esote-rika

[clare-875]

Irrational Fears (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro)

_____ Pairings: Luffy x Reader; Sanji x Reader; Zoro x Reader Summary: Your fears come to light, but your boyfriend is there to protect you. Warnings: Hurt, comfort, fluff, fears/phobias mentioned at the beginning of each character pairing, Female Reader A/N: Sorry for the lack of uploads, I've been swamped by assessment and exams, I hope you enjoy :) [One Piece Masterlist] _____

- Luffy - (Fear of Spiders)

You were in your room, not a care in the world. You were hiding from the raging sun that lay on the deck, relishing the peace that comes from immersing yourself in a book after weeks of fighting; finally, back on the open sea. The pages passed through your fingers like clockwork, and you were lost in the ease and safety the Sunny provided you.

You turn your body to the side, your book falling with you as you do so, but your heart is suddenly torn from leisure as your eyes catch movement beyond the pages you look to.

There is a Spider on your bedside table.

In a blur of moments, your heart drops, eyes darting from your book to the black creature, mere moments away from crawling onto the bed with you. Instantly, cold sweat rises from within you, and your breath is suddenly lost and within you all at the same time.

Before you can help it, you scream.

You rush in a hurry of scrambled movements away from the spider that had been only a few inches away from your head, and your back hits a wall now meters away. But there's not enough space. You can feel its eyes watching you, you can see its creepy being as it moves, and you feel a sickening pool in your gut at the thought of it having been so close.

You know you should move - the door to escape is just a few steps in front of you - but fear has made your limbs useless. You feel your eyes fill with tears, and you find yourself silenced; the only sound is the pounding of your heart as your phobia sets in. Your hands tremble as the spider moves, and you resist the urge to squeeze your eyes shut; you do not want to lose sight of the wretched creature.

God, why now? Why me?

You are so panicked, your heart jumps when the door to your room is suddenly opened.

"[Y/N]!!!"

Your boyfriend bursts through your now-opened door, eyes wide and frantic and breath light as though he rushed to get to you.

Because, well, he had.

When Luffy had been sitting on his figurehead as he always does, with the cool breeze on his face and the peace of the open sea, the last thing he expected was an unfamiliar scream bringing him into motion. Unfamiliar because Luffy was not used to you being so alarmed; he was not used to hearing the echoes of your voice catch onto fear.

Luffy swears his heart had almost fallen to his feet when he heard your scream, and despite other crewmembers looking up in surprise and concern. They were no match for the speed of your boyfriend as he travelled quickly to the deck and disappeared in a blur of movements to your side.

The entirety of the ten seconds it took for him to get to you, his heart had paced his chest in worry, but now, as he witnesses your tearful eyes and the way you seem to try to hide within the walls, his worry only increases tenfold. This was you, [y/n], one of the strongest women he knew, and he felt a flare of protectiveness as he witnessed a sight he was not used to: you, scared.

"[y/n], what's wrong?" His voice is rushed, soft hands reaching for you, eyes searching yours for the cause of the dread he sees etched within them. His heart pounds.

Was someone here?

Did someone threaten you?

Who does he need to beat up?

What does he need to protect you from?

His eyebrows pull together as he watches you, the love of his life, try to form words. But it is then that he realises your eyes seem distant, not in an emotional way, but you had been staring past him, not meeting his gaze for some time now. And you know you should feel embarrassed, but you do not find it in yourself to hesitate when you raise a shaky hand towards the direction of your bed-side table.

"[y/n]?"

The Spider.

"L-Lu, please, can you g-get rid of it?"

Your voice is soft but trembles under your fear, a few tears slip past your cheeks, and it breaks your boyfriend's heart to see you that way. His eyebrows furrow in confusion when he sees you gesture in the direction of your bed, and he witnesses the creature you were so afraid of. In normal instances, he feels as though he would've laughed, but when he looks to see you, looking at him tearfully, in need of help, all he wants to do is reassure and protect you.

He quickly goes to your bedside, tilting his head at the creature as though waiting for it to protest to its removal before grabbing it swiftly between his hands. "I'll be back!" He quickly runs from the room, leaving you in silence, but returns shortly after with the absence of the creature in his hands. You finally feel yourself take a breath, and a rush of heat travels to your cheeks.

"Thanks, Lu..."

You murmur, unable to meet his eyes, but all you hear is your boyfriend's laugh, and all you feel is his warmth as he travels up to you, wrapping an arm around you tightly. It causes you to look up, and his grin is so bright and proud it rivals the sun.

"It's okay [y/n], you don't have to worry about Spiders when you're with me. I'll protect you!"

- Sanji - (Fear of Heights)

God, how did you get yourself into this situation? Maybe it was the lack of thinking, or the barrage of enemies that rushed you into movement, but now, in the middle of a dense forest, you found yourself stuck atop an abnormally high tree.

You sigh shakily as you look down at the forest floor, instantly regretting your decision to do so; it seems eons away. You feel sickness fill you and sweat promptly rises across your body, along with a flush that reaches your cheeks. You were a Strawhat, for God's sake, and yet you could not seem to move. Your hands burned at the tightness you held the trunk, bark etching itself onto your skin, and courage was a distant being to you.

Panic invades your senses, and your breath comes to you in short and shaky increments. You didn't know where your friends were, and you didn't want to call out, only for them to see you in no real danger, but lost in your head because of your irrational fear. Irrational. But to you, it was perfectly rational; to you, it felt as though you were on the brink of falling to your death.

Your mind scrambles, in a haze of wanting relief from the stress and the fear, but also in knowing you would likely get laughed at if you were ever found. Luckily for you, however, you hear the voice of one man, who you think will save you from turmoil. A voice calling to you, that took on a worried edge, most likely because of the onslaught of enemies that separated you from him.

"[y/n]!! Love, where are you?"

You find your boyfriend's familiar figure, his blond hair travelling far beneath you. Instantly, you feel queasy at the sight of him so far from you, and you force your eyes to face forward once more. But you don't know if you have the voice to reply.

"Love?!"

But you have to.

"S-," your voice is lost for a moment, but the tears that fill your eyes seem to encourage you to shout out to him; your fears are too much to bear. "Sanji!! I'm up here!"

You find solace in the fact that your voice stayed strong, and didn't give way to the tremors that invaded your body.

"Love?" Sanji's eyes instantly dart upwards, relief filling him in an instant at the sight of you unharmed. You were far up the breadth of an extremely tall tree, and Sanji could only imagine that you were rushed up the branches in the pursuit of safety from the enemies that had swarmed you.

Your boyfriend almost laughs out in ease, but his senses seem to pick up on your distress and the way you stand so rigid and unmoving, even when there is no adversary near.

"Love, you can come down now, there's no one here."

You hear the ringing of Sanji's voice in your ears, but again when you look down, you are instantly regretful, eyes looking sharply upwards and trying to contain your cries and embarrassment. You feel the branches creak at your movements, the breeze ruffles your hair slightly, and you hold tighter and unwavering.

"Love?"

Another swift breeze has you clutching onto the trunk of the tree like your life depended on it. More tears slip past your lashline, and you can't hide the way you are so afraid anymore. Sanji's brows come together in concern and worry, his heart beating faster as he realises you are so distressed. The love of his life, afraid.

"Love-"

"I-I can't! It's too high! Sanji- I can't-"

Sanji's heart drops sharply as he hears the trembling of your words falling from your mouth. He can practically feel the pain of the bark etching itself on your skin, can see the way you are so static and unmoving, can see your tears that threaten to break his heart. Never had he seen you so distressed, so scared of something before. Never had he acted so quickly to one's words.

Instantly, Sanji moves, kicking at the air in a rush to get to your side and reassure you.

"Don't worry, love, I'll come get you."

"Sanji..."

Only a second passes and you open your eyes from when you have fought to keep them tightly shut. You feel the pain in your limbs after being so rigid and stubborn, but you have yet to feel the relief that comes with safety. You can scarcely see past your tears, but Sanji's gaze reflects one of worry, as he caresses your face and catches the teardrops that run along them.

"I've got you, love."

Quickly, he gathers you into his arms, and you squeeze your eyes shut once more as you feel his gentle hands prying you into his chest. You only feel your fear start to fade when you feel your boyfriend's arms wrap themselves around you, in a cocoon of his scent and safety and warmth. Sanji doesn't feel his worry fade as he still feels light tremors travel through your skin.

When you are finally both on solid ground, you open your eyes slowly, a deathly grip still on your boyfriend. You meet worried eyes and try to smile sheepishly, fighting embarrassment as you wipe your tears frantically from your face. "S-sorry Sanji, guess that was stupid huh, afraid of heights, what a-" But Sanji quickly cuts you off with a gentle smile and the caress of hair that has fallen to your face.

"Love, it's not stupid, you were afraid, and that's okay. Everyone gets scared sometimes."

You still feel hesitant even under his love-lorn gaze, and the flickers of his eyes as he admires you, and relishes in the feeling of having been able to save you from your dread.

"But-"

"No matter what, I'll protect you, love."

- Zoro - (Fear of Enclosed Spaces)

"Take them away."

You grit your teeth at how the men behind you handle you harshly; their fingers gripping tightly onto the flesh of your arms. You do not turn, but you hear your boyfriend being treated the same, despite a lack of struggle on both of your parts. You don't exactly know how the two of you had gotten into this predicament, but Nami had told you both to surrender if ever captured; there was an easier escape route from the dungeons.

You try to contain your want to wrench free from grasps and show the men behind you what you are truly capable of, but you know (and Zoro knows) that this place was the primary breadth of enemy territory, and in doing so, it would be almost impossible to find a way out. You are both escorted through hallways and down several flights of stairs, the whole time you can feel your boyfriend's eyes trained on how the guards handle you. But finally, the men slow down and you find yourselves in what you are supposed to be the dungeons.

Supposed, because instead of jail cells, what greeted you was rows of metal doors.

You try to ignore the increased thrumming in your heart and try to stay voiceless when the men start to mutter about the cells you and Zoro would be confined to. You had been expecting metal bars and open spaces, not a metal box to be confined to. But before you can say anything, the guards move once more, opening a metal door before shoving both you and your boyfriend into the small space.

"W-wait-"

But the guards slammed the door shut and you were stuck in essentially, a box, where there was just enough space for the two of you to sit, and only just tall enough for the two of you to stand. The only light was the thin lines that seep in from the edges of the door, and the only sound is a humming sound and a soft breeze you knew to be air that was blown into the space.

Air, and yet you seem to forget how to breathe.

Zoro groans as he sits on the floor, but you remain standing, suddenly static on your feet. A harsh dread has kicked in, and as your eyes dart around the dark and enclosed space, sweat rises on your skin and your heartbeat burns against your chest. There is a panic, an indescribable phobia that fills you, as your trembling hands reach the coldness of metal that surrounds you, your eyes darting every which way to try to find an opening in the space around you.

Your boyfriend, unfazed and simply waiting on the crew to notice their absence and save them, is ignorant of the silent fears that your mind has entrapped you in. But he still feels you tense and standing next to him, and he furrows his eyebrows, confused.

"Oi, sit down woman. They're gonna be a while."

But you do not move, you can barely hear or accept his reassurances. Your panic flares wilder as you think of being entrapped in this space for a long period of time. Instantly you move into action, anxiety coursing through your veins. The chains around your wrists clatter noisily as trembling hands travel the metal box, breath coming in more laboured increments and trying to stop the sobs that want to break free. A rush of tears has fallen past your eyes, and all of a sudden Zoro is all too aware of you, the love of his life, in turmoil.

"Oi, wo-, [y/n], what's wrong?"

His voice is urgent, tense as if he doesn't notice a danger you are all too aware of. But now you can't control the way your breathing is beyond you, and your cries fall more freely from your lips.

"Z-Zoro, I can't- we- we have to find a way out. Zoro please, I can't stay here, I can't-"

Zoro's heart drops at the pain that is etched in your voice, at your pleading and your fear that entwines itself with your words. He cannot see much but he feels the frantic of your trembling movements, the way the woman he considered strongest in the world, crumbled beneath the weight of the metal room they were confined to.

"[y/n]..."

"Z-Zoro," your voice is etched with the weight of your tears, and though you think you should be embarrassed that a strong fighter such as you, crumbles in an enclosed space, those thoughts are beyond you. You just need to get out.

"Zoro, please- please I can't-"

Instantly, calloused hands reach for yours, and Zoro's worry increases tenfold as he feels the way you tremble beneath his gentle hold. You fight the fear that invades your senses as you feel your boyfriend pull your muttering form to the ground next to him and into his warm embrace. More tears spill as you feel one of Zoro's arms encircle you as though to shield you from what burdens you. You let out a gasping breath, feeling as though you were drowning in your fears.

"Z-Zoro..."

You bury your head into his chest and close your eyes tight as if to try and pretend that the two of you were just on the Sunny, lying in the comforts of your chambers. Zoro's heart aches against his chest at the feeling of you curling up against him, small and afraid of something he cannot save you from. He grits his teeth harshly as he thinks of the unknown amount of time the two of you may be stuck here for.

Soothing circles are splayed on your skin, a gentle murmur of words in the silence but still you keep your eyes shut and try to match your boyfriend's breathing.

"It's fine, woman. Nothing hurts you, as long as I'm here, remember?"

Zoro's voice is gruff in the ringing silence of the room, and if there was light and if you weren't so afraid, you would notice the blush on his cheeks as he murmurs his words to you. But instead, you feel his words cure the racing of your heart and slow the rate of your tears cascading down your face. You nod into him, relishing his warmth and strength and scent. Zoro merely holds you to him tighter.

You do not know the length of time that passes until Nami and Chopper appear from beyond the metal door, harsh light invading your senses. But all you know is that your boyfriend was quick to silently offer you a hand, never speaking of the fear that had reduced you to tears, but providing a gesture that silently promised he would protect you, from whatever you needed him to protect you from.

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 4

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 2245

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you for the continued support! You all make my day with your comments and theories. :)

Read part 3 here.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

You sit at the kitchen table nervously, drumming your fingers on the wood. You knew Wanda would be home late–she never had the respect to give you a proper timeline for her outings. The clock tells you that it’s a little past midnight, and sleepiness burns in the corners of your eyes, but you told yourself you aren’t going to bed until this is all over. 

You run the lines over in your head. What you want to say to her exactly, what you’ll counter with if she reacts well or poorly. You’ve waited long enough to have this conversation, perhaps too long, but Natasha finally gave you the push you needed.

“Do you still love her?” Natasha asks softly after you tell her the whole story of your wife’s philandering. 

You don’t answer. Deep down, you know your love for her was being tested to its breaking point, and you weren’t so sure it would survive after this. “I’ll talk to her tonight, when she comes home,” you say. “You should probably go home. I can’t imagine it’ll be a pretty conversation.”

“I’ll stay if you want me to,” Natasha insists. “You shouldn’t be alone to do something like that.” Your heart melts, and for a moment you want to get up and kiss her. Not that you wanted to pull a Wanda, but you couldn’t ignore how beautiful and generous your maid was. She was excellent at her job; never complained and went above and beyond, even when your wife was being a total bitch. She treated you with the respect and kindness you deserved. She was everything you wanted in a partner and more. 

But you were stuck with Wanda. For now, at least.

“Are you sure? Wanda might be home late and I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay just for me,” you say. 

“It’s fine. She won’t even know I’m here. I can leave out the back door,” Natasha says.

“Thank you, Natasha.” Her support means more to you than you’re allowed to express. 

“You’re welcome.”

Now, with Natasha hiding in the kitchen, the two of you wait.

***********************************************************************

You accidentally doze off and wake with a start when you hear the garage door open. For a moment, you don’t even remember where you are or why.

“Natasha? Are you still here?” you whisper as loud as you dare.

“Yes.” Her head pokes out from around the corner of the kitchen.

Relief fills you. You were worried she would ditch you after all, not that you would’ve blamed her in the slightest. “Wanda’s home,” you tell her, and she nods and disappears again. At least you didn’t have to face your wife entirely alone.

You sit rigidly still on the couch until your wife walks in, almost passing you at first. 

“You’re back,” you say, and she jumps, reaching for the light switch and revealing you on the couch.

“I said I’d be back tonight,” she says.

“Who were you out with?”

“My girlfriends.”

“No.” You stand up and walk over to her. You are a great deal taller than her and for once she looks like she feels her size around you. “Who did you go out with tonight?”

Wanda doesn’t make eye contact with you. “You know…Carol, Darcy–”

“Are you fucking them too?”

“Excuse me?” Wanda draws back from you until she bumps into the bookshelf.

“You heard me,” you say through clenched teeth. “Were you fucking them too?”

“No. Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because I know you spend all your free time fucking anything that moves behind my back.”

The silence in the air is electric. Your heart is thundering in your chest so hard you wonder if Natasha can hear it. Wanda’s eyes widen. 

“I...I’ve never done that,” she says, but her falter shows her lie. “How dare you suggest–”

You take your phone out and show Wanda the screen. She squints at it in confusion at first, then a shadow of horror passes over her face when she realizes it’s the camera view from the little ceramic turtle you planted in the china cabinet, now showing the two of you standing there.

“You hid a camera in my own home–” Wanda starts.

“I hid a shit ton of cameras in our home,” you say. 

“So this is why your business is failing,” she cackles, and the switch in topic throws you for a loop. “You spend all day watching and stalking me in our home when you’re supposed to be working. No wonder you don’t bring home any money. Not only are you a shitty spouse, you’re also a shitty worker.”

Anger explodes inside of you, and for a moment your control slips. You lunge for Wanda, not even sure what you’ll do once you grab her, but she slams her palms to your chest and sends you staggering back. She turns and yanks a book off the shelf, removing a revolver from the pages and pointing it towards you with trembling hands.

“Don’t get any closer to me, you fucking creep!” she yells.

Your anger dissolves into concern. “Put the gun down, Wanda. Please. Let’s just talk about this like adults–”

“Oh, now you want to talk like adults?” Wanda laughs manically. “Where was this before you started illegally recording me in my own home?”

“You’re fucking cheating on me!” you scream, losing your composure again. “I moved us into this big house, in this nice neighborhood, and you’re just so fucking ungrateful for any of it!”

“I didn’t want any of it to begin with!” Wanda returns.

“Why not? Because you had to leave behind your fuck buddies in our old neighborhood?”

“You’re the exact same person here as you were over there. A self-righteous piece of shit,” she seethes.

“If you’re so sick of me, why don’t you divorce me?” you ask. “Oh wait.” You snap your fingers. “I bet no one would want to sleep with a washed-up divorcee. Because where’s the fun in that?”

Wanda turns the gun around and points it at her temple. “I’ll kill myself if you divorce me,” she says, then shifts the gun to point towards her chest, “But I’ll make it look like you did it.”

The blood in your veins chills at the thought. “Give me the gun, Wanda.”

“Take it from me,” she goads.

While you have very little confidence in your disarming tactics, you do know you’re stronger and faster than Wanda. You also don’t fully believe that she’ll kill herself right here, so that gives you an advantage of time. 

Before a plan even forms in your head, you reach out with your arm and slap Wanda’s hand away from her head. She startles and drops the gun; you expect her to dive after it but instead she whirls around and punches you in the face. Despite all of her faults, she’s never outright hit you before, and your vision swims as your head whiplashes against the bookshelf. 

“You crazy motherfucker,” Wanda screeches, punching you again and you fall to the floor, instinctively curling into a ball to protect yourself. Her foot slams into your ribs and for a second, you can’t believe you’re getting the beating of a lifetime from your own wife.

Meanwhile, Natasha is in utter shock at the events unfolding in front of her. She feels like she’s overstepping some serious boundaries, but she can’t leave you now, especially with Wanda having the upper hand. 

“Wanda, stop!” she hears you gasp as Wanda grabs hold of Crime and Punishment uses it like a weapon, raising it behind her head and smashing it against your body over and over. Natasha can’t bear to stand there anymore. She has to protect you from your insane, deranged wife.

Natasha crosses the living room in four leaping strides and picks up the revolver. Wanda looks shocked more by her presence than the fact that she’s now staring down the barrel of her own gun. 

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Wanda says.

“Get away from Y/N,” Natasha says, holding the gun in both hands. The weight feels disconcertingly familiar, and despite her nerves, she isn’t shaking.

“Are you fucking her?” Wanda suddenly turns to you. “You’ve got some nerve watching me get it on with the neighbors when you’ve been fucking our maid–”

“Shut up!” Natasha yells. “I’m not doing anything with Y/N!” she says, although she wishes that wasn’t the truth.

“I don’t believe that.” Wanda marches over to Natasha, leaving you unraveling on the floor. Blood drips from your nose and mouth, and Natasha can see the purpling bruise on your cheek. “Vision told me Y/N took you to see Wicked on my anniversary–”

“Because you couldn’t be bothered to remember and go yourself!” Natasha says.

Wanda is too enraged to quiet. “How dare you enter my house, take advantage of my kindness, and take my partner to bed–”

“Back off!” Natasha says, raising the gun until it’s almost level with Wanda’s eyes. “Not everyone is a cheating whore like you.”

Both Wanda and Natasha seem shocked by her choice of words. Natasha’s arms shake as they drop a few inches. She won’t hold back anymore–but neither will Wanda.

“You little bitch.” Wanda draws her arm back. Natasha flinches and squeezes the trigger.

BANG.

The gunshot is much, much louder in an enclosed space, and Natasha’s ears ring so hard they hurt. Wanda stands before her, her jaw dropped in shock. A stain of blood grows on her shirt, centered over her bellybutton. 

“Oh my God. Wanda, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Natasha gasps, unable to wrap her head around her own actions. 

“You…You shot me,” Wanda says, grabbing her stomach as she falls. Natasha tries to catch her but misses; you appear behind Wanda and lower her slowly to the floor. “How is that possible?” She looks up at you and your face is pale with shock. “You fucking shot me!”

“Nat,” you whisper. “Nat, give me the gun.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Natasha cries, handing you the weapon and backing away from the two of you. “I thought she was going to hit me and–”

“It’s okay.” You stand up, wobbling a little, and rush to her side. “Go home Nat, okay? Go through the back door and jump the fences if you have to. And if anyone asks where you were tonight, you weren’t here.”

“No, no.” Natasha fights the tears threatening to spill out. “That’s wrong. I did this, I want to take responsibility for it–”

“No,” you say. “With your background, you’ll be locked in prison the rest of your life, if you don’t get deported first.”

“M-My background?” Natasha stammers. “How do you know about–”

You shake your head, indicating now is not the time to have this discussion. “For the record, it never made me trust you any less.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” You reach out and grab her hand. It calms Natasha instantly. “Go now. Let me handle this. I’ll come find you when this is all over.”

“I’m so sorry,” Natasha sobs.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now get out of here, please!”

Natasha doesn’t wait to hear you instruct her again. She looks at you, her savior, one last time, completely ignoring Wanda laying on the floor, before dashing off towards the garage. It’s pitch-black, but she doesn’t dare turn on a light, and fumbles for the back door. Outside, the air is nippy and her breath clouds in front of her face. She takes a deep breath to orient herself, then runs headfirst towards the neighbor’s fence, hauling herself over it as quietly as she can, crossing their yard, and leaping over the next fence. 

She has to jump over two more yards before she gets to the street, racing to her Nissan and peeling away down the street. In the safety of her car, the realization crashes over her and she can’t stop the waterworks. 

She can’t believe she shot your wife. She can’t believe you knew her background. Clint had told her no one would find out what she had done in Russia after she assumed a new identity, but you had found out somehow. And yet, you were still okay hiring her even after you knew she had killed her former boss. 

The sounds of sirens pierce her thoughts and Natasha seizes up. A black-and-white police car races by. Either you had called them, or a neighbor had heard the shouting and gunshot. Natasha prays her presence had gone undetected. She had never been more thankful Wanda forced her to park down the street, where her car was less likely to be seen. 

She wonders if she’ll ever get to see you again.

***********************************************************************

After Natasha leaves, you take a moment to absorb your surroundings. Wanda is gurgling and crying on the floor, pressing her palms against her stomach, blood spilling through her fingers and on the tiles Natasha had mopped earlier that day.

Your grip tightens on the gun as you move to stand over Wanda, where she can fully see you. Your body throbs where she hit you, and you know you don’t look much better than her. Blood bubbles out of her mouth. She can’t speak anymore, but her eyes are fiery and pleading.

You lift the gun, which feels like a thousand pounds in your hand.

“Someone should’ve done this a long time ago.”

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

AN: Welp, that escalated quickly. Will Wanda live? Should she?? 👀

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[skiesuconn]

all the ways i stay

paige bueckers & azzi fudd യ notes: it took me a while to find satisfaction with this, but i’ve finally settled on it. i figured i’d jot something down quickly while i work on chapter 3 of the argent. fic. it’s still in the making, but trust me, it’ll be worth the wait. in the meantime, i hope you enjoy this quick blurb i had in mind. also, i highly recommend playing the song mentioned later on—it really brings the moment to life. happy reading, lovelies.

paige never thought she’d be sitting through a rom-com marathon with azzi, yet here they were, limbs tangled on the couch, a half-empty popcorn bowl wedged between them. the air smelled like butter and whatever candle azzi had burning—something warm, vanilla, a little too cozy for a night where paige had fully intended to roast every movie choice.

but azzi was taking this seriously. too seriously.

the notebook had been playing for all of five minutes, and already, azzi was watching like it was a high-stakes thriller, arms crossed, one perfectly manicured hand occasionally reaching up to twist a curl between her fingers. paige, meanwhile, was sprawled out, one socked foot nudging azzi’s thigh, head tipped back against the armrest like she was suffering.

“this is the dumbest shit i’ve ever seen,” paige muttered, watching ryan gosling pull off some grand romantic gesture. “like, imagine a guy hanging off a ferris wheel, threatening to let go unless you agree to a date. that’s not romance, that’s blackmail.”

“he’s being dramatic. it’s supposed to be sweet,” azzi countered, eyes still locked on the screen.

paige huffed a laugh, shifting so her shoulder knocked against azzi’s. “oh, so if i dangle off a balcony and demand you take me to chipotle, that’s sweet? good to know.”

“you wouldn’t last five seconds. your upper body strength is—” azzi let her gaze flick down to paige’s arms, the definition obvious even under her hoodie. she cleared her throat. “never mind.”

paige smirked. “oh no, finish that thought, princess.”

“no.”

paige, who lived for this kind of thing, propped herself up on one elbow, getting close enough that azzi’s perfume curled around her senses. she smelled expensive, like warm florals and a hint of something soft, maybe honey. she should be paying attention to the movie, but instead, she was studying the way azzi’s lashes brushed her cheek when she blinked, the exact shade of brown in her eyes. totally normal. not a problem at all.

“admit it,” paige drawled. “you just got distracted by the guns.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“i do. i hate you so much.” but azzi’s mouth twitched, and her hand, traitorous thing that it was, had found its way to paige’s wrist, fingers pressing absentmindedly into the skin there.

paige noticed, but didn’t comment. instead, she shifted again, nestling further into azzi’s space like she had every right to be there. “okay, but you have to admit this movie is trash. a seven-year breakup over a letter she never got? and then she gets engaged to some other dude just for funsies?”

“it’s about fate.”

“it’s about bad communication.”

“well, not everyone’s an oversharer like you.”

paige grinned. “first of all, rude. second of all, if you ever fell in love with me and wrote me letters for a year, i’d totally read them.”

“good to know,” azzi said dryly, but her fingers curled slightly around paige’s wrist, like she was holding on without thinking about it.

paige caught it this time. dragged her thumb over the inside of azzi’s wrist, slow, lazy. “you’re holding my hand, princess.”

“no, i’m not.”

paige laced their fingers together, making it undeniable. “yeah, you are.”

azzi let out a long, suffering sigh, but didn’t pull away. instead, she rested her head against paige’s shoulder, like it was easier than fighting whatever this was.

“shut up and watch the movie.”

paige smirked. “yes, ma’am.”

azzi groaned. “don’t call me that.”

“whatever you say, sweetheart.” paige turned her head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to azzi’s temple. it was casual, effortless, like second nature. azzi’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move. didn’t push paige away.

paige still thought the movie was ridiculous, but if it meant getting to sit like this, wrapped up in azzi’s space, maybe rom-coms weren’t so bad after all.

paige stretches out on the couch, head sinking into azzi’s lap like she owns the place. which, technically, she does. well—half of it, at least.

"story: five out of ten," paige announces, dragging a lazy hand through the air. "sure, it's the usual love story. boy meets girl, they fight, they make up, they cry… whatever."

azzi snorts, idly combing her fingers through paige's hair. "so poetic."

paige tilts her head up, grinning. "what can i say? i have a way with words."

"yeah," azzi deadpans. "like a drunk guy at karaoke."

paige gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. "wow. that was personal."

azzi hums, twisting a strand of blonde between her fingers before flicking it back into place. "well, i’d give it an eight."

paige jerks up like azzi just said something blasphemous. "eight? for that?"

"it's a classic." azzi shrugs, like that explains everything.

paige squints. "so is canned tuna, but you don't see me crying over it."

"maybe because you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon," azzi muses, lips twitching.

"okay, rude." paige flops back down, arms crossed. "also, i think we’re ignoring the real issue here. you, azzi fudd, are a rom-com crybaby."

"i am not."

paige smirks. "oh, really? then explain why you sobbed over that one scene in 10 Things I Hate About You last week?"

"because heath ledger was singing in the bleachers, and that’s a valid reason!"

paige hums, tapping her chin. "mm. i dunno. seems a little wimpy to me."

"i'm emotionally intelligent," azzi corrects, flicking paige’s forehead.

"mm. tomato, tomahto." paige closes her eyes, perfectly at peace, until—

"you know," azzi starts, voice all sweet and innocent, which immediately puts paige on edge, "when we're old, you’ll be the one looking for your eye contacts only to realize you’ve had glasses on this whole time."

paige's eyes snap open. "excuse me?"

"just saying." azzi grins, all dimples and mischief. "you give off that energy."

paige sits up, pretending to be offended. "i do not give off ‘losing my own glasses while they're on my face’ energy."

"you so do," azzi counters, biting back a laugh.

"i'm literally the most capable person you know."

azzi raises an eyebrow. "paige, last week you spent ten minutes looking for your phone while you were on a call."

paige squints. "…that proves nothing."

"and two days ago, you left your car keys in the fridge."

paige huffs. "that was one time."

"mm-hmm." azzi pats her cheek, eyes sparkling. "sure, babe."

paige flops back down, grumbling, but as azzi goes back to running her fingers through her hair, she lets the thought settle.

growing old with azzi.

being with her through all the ridiculous, mundane, beautiful little moments life throws their way.

paige isn't sentimental. not really. but the idea sticks, burrows into her chest in a way she can’t shake.

she smacks azzi’s thigh, lightly. "you're annoying."

azzi just laughs, warm and soft, and yeah—paige thinks—maybe she wouldn't mind losing her glasses if it means azzi’s the one to find them for her.

the room still smells like buttered popcorn and the faintest hint of azzi’s vanilla-scented lotion. the air’s a little stuffy from them being curled up on the couch for hours, so paige cracks a window while azzi smooths out the blankets, fluffing the pillows back into place.

"teamwork makes the dream work," paige announces, dramatically tossing a handful of snack bags into the trash like she’s steph curry sinking a three.

except—

clunk. one of them bounces off the rim and lands just outside the bin.

"except when you miss." azzi deadpans.

paige squints. "i meant to do that."

"mm-hmm." azzi picks up the stray bag, dropping it in as paige gathers up the cups. she takes a final glance around, making sure everything's set for the next movie marathon.

when she's satisfied, she turns to paige, a little smirk playing at her lips. "good job, partner."

paige barely has time to process before azzi leans in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to her lips. it’s barely a second, but it’s enough to make paige's brain short-circuit.

"oh." paige blinks, a slow grin creeping onto her face. "so i get kisses for cleaning? noted."

"don't push it." azzi nudges her toward the kitchen, but there’s no real bite to it.

paige busies herself grabbing the cupcake cups while azzi starts setting out ingredients. she fills a few with nuts—strictly for herself, since azzi's allergic and she’d rather not spend the night in the er. then she loads up the rest with fruit, especially kiwi, because azzi swears it tastes like happiness. she adds pineapple and strawberries too, then tosses in some dark chocolate and a generous amount of gummy bears.

azzi watches, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. "so… you’re just making a personal charcuterie board of sweets?"

paige shrugs. "some of us like variety."

azzi snorts. "some of us just like sugar."

"pot, meet kettle." paige gestures at the chocolate chips azzi’s been sneakily snacking on.

azzi flicks a marshmallow at her, and paige, never one to back down from a challenge, pops it into her mouth midair with a smug look.

"show-off," azzi mutters, but her lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh.

they settle into a rhythm, prepping ingredients for the ultimate snack session. paige, of course, insists on making s’mores, because what’s a cozy night without them?

azzi leans against the counter, watching paige work, arms brushing every so often. the night is easy, familiar, filled with little moments like this—bickering over snacks, stolen kisses, the kind of comfortable chaos that only comes with knowing someone like the back of your hand.

and honestly? paige wouldn’t trade it for anything.

azzi pads over to the kitchen, where stewie is curled up in his usual spot, breathing slow and steady. he looks peaceful, like he doesn’t have a single thought in that fluffy little head of his.

she crouches down, rubbing his ears, voice soft. "he’s literally perfect."

"mhmm." paige barely glances up, focused on skewering a marshmallow.

"paige, look at him," azzi insists.

paige, still hunched over the stove, murmurs, "kinda busy making s’moresess right now."

azzi squints. "s’moresess?"

"shhh." paige waves a hand, half-heartedly. "it’s a process."

azzi shakes her head, muttering something about her girlfriend being a lost cause, and moves behind paige, arms slipping around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

paige stiffens slightly but doesn’t stop what she’s doing—at least, not until azzi exhales slow and warm against the shell of her ear.

paige’s brain? fried.

her grip on the skewer slips, and the marshmallow nearly meets a fiery demise.

"azzi." her voice comes out a little strangled.

"what?" azzi hums, feigning innocence as she straightens up, leaving paige standing there like a malfunctioning robot.

"you—" paige exhales sharply through her nose. "you almost made me burn the s’more."

"tragedy," azzi deadpans, already moving toward the kettle.

paige glares, but it’s weak at best. instead, she focuses on plating everything while azzi makes herself a cup of tea and grabs some coconut water.

the dorm is spotless, the only sound the occasional clink of dishes and the low hum of the kettle. the candles caroline gifted azzi flicker gently, their scents—vanilla and lavender—mixing in the air, making the whole space feel warm, intimate.

it’s just them. no distractions.

azzi leans against the counter, stirring her tea, watching paige with something unreadable in her eyes.

paige, finally done, turns to face her, a cocky little grin playing at her lips. "so, did you come over here just to sabotage my s’mores, or…?"

azzi takes a slow sip of her tea, gaze steady. "maybe."

paige squints. "that’s evil."

"you love it."

paige sighs, defeated, but she can’t hide the way her smile softens just a little.

azzi kneels beside stewie, fingers ghosting over his soft fur, careful not to wake him. his little chest rises and falls in the slow rhythm of deep sleep, curled up on his uconn-themed dog bed—matching blanket and all. of course azzi had to go all out. paige swears this dog has more school spirit than half the team.

paige finishes up in the kitchen, setting the last plate down before making her way over, dropping onto the floor beside azzi. but while azzi’s watching stewie, paige is watching her.

azzi looks peaceful, more than she has in weeks. this semester drained the hell out of her—paige saw it firsthand, the late nights, the stress, the way azzi pushed herself through it all. and yet, right now, in this tiny little moment, she’s soft, calm, just existing.

paige leans back on her palms, studying her, a quiet sort of pride settling in her chest. that’s her girl. the girl she had all her firsts with.

and tonight? well, she’s about to have another first with her.

azzi really should stop making paige feel like her heart's a metronome—this can't be normal.

paige’s thoughts swirl for a second as she watches azzi, completely unaware of the storm brewing in paige’s head. “if Azzi asked me to climb a mountain right now, i'd probably do it just to see her smile. how much do I need to pay for her to stop being this cute?”

“this is why I’m not allowed near dogs,” paige thinks, watching stewie snooze. "one pet and suddenly I'm invested in a team of athletes who can't even talk."

azzi shifts, catching paige’s gaze. there’s that smile again—the kind that makes paige feel like the world stops for just a second. “Not that I mind,” she thinks, "but damn, this girl has me wrapped around her finger."

and honestly? paige is okay with it.

they’re talking about nothing and everything all at once, voices low, lazy, like the world outside doesn’t exist. sitting cross-legged on the floor, the snacks long forgotten, azzi’s hand moves in slow circles over stewie’s ear, careful not to wake him.

paige, propped up on one elbow, watches her with that look—soft, amused, completely gone. azzi catches it, and for a second, wonders if she needs to take notes because damn, paige's stare is next level.

azzi meets her gaze, smiles, something quiet passing between them.

paige leans in first, and azzi follows, her free hand slipping to paige’s side, fingers pressing just enough to ground them both. she smiles into the kiss before it deepens, slow and sure, like every time they kiss, it means something more. because it does. because it always does.

when they pull back, paige, still close enough that azzi can feel her breath, grins.

“hey az,” she murmurs, voice teasing. “remember that night a few years back when we slow danced on the porch and i stepped on your feet like… fifteen times?”

"of course i do, paige," azzi says, voice soft but sure. "that memory’s engraved in my brain."

she remembers everything—the exact date, the thick warmth of summer, the way the night unfolded like a scene straight out of one of her movies. “And honestly? The embarrassing foot stomping was just part of the charm,” she thinks. the way it led them here, to something that feels eerily similar to what’s about to unravel.

paige raises a brow. "woah, was i really that bad?"

azzi grins, playing with paige’s fingers absentmindedly. "kind of."

paige groans, leaning her head back dramatically. "well, i was nervous, okay? i was dancing with the girl of my dreams."

azzi snorts. "oh yeah?"

"yeah," paige says, eyes locked on hers now. "you were wearing your mom’s pearls that day. that dress i thought was pretty on you, though—let’s be real—all of them were. swear, you could wear a trash bag and i’d still go crazy." she shrugs, lips twitching. "doesn’t even matter what you wear. you are your outfit. if that makes sense."

azzi flushes, her smile growing. she tugs paige closer by her hoodie, pressing their lips together. paige grins into it, hands finding azzi’s waist as the kiss deepens.

when they break apart, azzi hums, eyes playful. "i think the romance movies really got to you, huh?"

paige scoffs. "hey, i’m not the one who wants to watch them."

"that’s true."

"but i wasn’t finished with my little speech, actually," paige adds, tilting her head.

azzi rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. "oh? go on, then."

paige squeezes her fingers, something shifting in her expression—something softer, something certain. "wanna dance?"

azzi’s face lights up instantly. "right here? right now?"

paige nods. "right here. right now."

“Oh god, we’re doing this,” azzi thinks, trying not to grin like an absolute fool.

without hesitation, azzi takes her hand. paige, playing the gentleman, offers it with a dramatic flair, one hand behind her back like she’s in some old-timey movie. “Oh yeah, I’m totally swooning now,” azzi thinks, trying to keep her cool. azzi laughs, but she takes it.

they step into the open space in the kitchen, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge. the soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, filling the room with something unspoken. something warm. something that feels like them.

as they settle in, azzi tilts her head. "are we doing a silent slow dance, paige?"

paige blinks. "my bad." she pulls out her phone, scrolling for a second before pressing play. the soft, melancholic notes of my love mine all mine by mitski fill the air.

azzi raises a brow. "since when do you know this song?"

paige smirks. "since sarah put me on."

azzi laughs, shaking her head. as the first seconds of the song settle over them, paige—who’s just a little taller—takes azzi’s hands. azzi sighs, already knowing how this is going to go. "please don’t step on my feet."

paige grins. "can’t promise that."

azzi smiles, and they fall into place like they always do. her head finds paige’s shoulder, her hands finding her waist, and paige isn't forcing a thing. they just fit. like they were made to be here, in this moment, like this.

the song is calm, and so are they, just swaying together. the stillness, the trust, the years of knowing each other—it all settles between them like a quiet understanding. azzi closes her eyes, memorizing every movement, the way their breaths sync, the way their heartbeats seem to fall into rhythm.

paige looks down at her, eyes soft, full of something deeper than words. she presses a gentle kiss to azzi’s head and whispers, "i love you more than you’ll ever know."

azzi lifts her gaze, the candlelight flickering in her eyes. "i love you more than i ever thought i could love anybody."

paige swallows. their bodies are so close, and as the second verse starts, azzi wraps her arms around paige’s neck, resting her chin on her shoulder. her curls brush against paige’s face, tickling her cheek.

"you can put your feet on mine," paige murmurs. "i’ll lift you with ease."

azzi snorts. "you’re ridiculous."

"and yet, here you are, playing into it," paige teases.

but azzi does it, stepping onto paige’s feet, letting her take the lead. it’s ridiculous, yeah, but it’s them.

paige smiles, eyes slipping shut, and this time, azzi’s the one watching her. with nothing but love.

she presses a soft kiss to paige’s cheek, and paige’s lips curl into that cocky smile—the one that always makes azzi feel something she can't quite name.

the way paige’s whole face lights up just from being near her… that’s the kind of love scientists should be writing articles about.

as the song fades out, azzi’s fingers trace lazy circles on paige’s back. they haven’t moved, still molded into each other, warm from the dance, from the love they just shared. they were always meant for this moment.

"can we just stay like this forever?" azzi murmurs.

paige chuckles, looking down at her, at the soft smile on azzi’s face. "and who’s gonna break ankles if we do?"

"kamorea can handle that," azzi says, completely serious.

paige laughs, shaking her head. as azzi pulls her hands back, she really looks at paige. paige is holding her hands now, thumb brushing over her skin, absentmindedly tracing small circles—no, actually tracing azzi’s name on the back of her hand.

azzi bites her lip. "gotta say, you improved. you didn’t step on my foot once."

paige nods, all cocky. what azzi doesn’t know is that paige spent her free time watching dance tutorials. even asked tim—azzi’s father—for tips.

"thank you," paige smirks. "i’m a natural."

azzi scoffs. "sure."

"should we go back to the movies?" azzi asks.

paige stretches. "yeah, just gimme a sec. gotta use the bathroom."

"okay." azzi leans in, pressing a quick kiss to paige’s cheek before heading back to the room.

but paige doesn’t go to the bathroom. instead, she crouches by stewie’s bed, quietly filling his bowl with water, making sure he’s set for the night. she grabs a few dog treats and places them beside him, scratching behind his ear as she whispers—(keep in mind, it’s a dog):

"i’m gonna marry that pretty girl someday. i know you’re her #1, but i’m never gonna stop loving her."

stewie snores in response. paige grins, giving him one last pat before heading back.

when she walks in, azzi’s already curled up, waiting for her with a look of love and safety. paige jumps into bed, and azzi immediately rests her head on paige’s chest.

"let’s do frozen again," azzi mumbles.

paige laughs, pressing a kiss to azzi’s head. "i’m covering your eyes when olaf loses his head."

azzi gasps and smacks paige’s leg. "rude."

as the movie starts playing, the soft glow of the screen flickering against their faces, azzi reaches for a s’more, breaking off a piece for paige. she turns to her, eyes warm, lips curled into a soft smile.

“open,” she says, holding it up.

paige laughs, tilting her head back slightly, and obliges. azzi stuffs the piece in her mouth, giggling as paige tries to chew through the marshmallow, cracker, and chocolate all at once.

“i love you,” azzi murmurs, almost absentmindedly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. because it is.

paige, still chewing, looks at her with the kind of softness that makes azzi’s heart ache in the best way. she swallows, then leans in, brushing her nose against azzi’s.

“i’m right here,” paige whispers, voice thick with certainty, “not going anywhere. always gonna take care of you.”

azzi blinks, the words settling deep in her chest, something warm and overwhelming blooming inside her. she presses closer, burying herself into paige’s arms, where everything feels right.

paige holds her like she’s never letting go.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 14

<<<Previous Next>>>

The morning air was crisp as you and your friends weaved through the lesser-traveled paths of the Academy grounds. The sun had barely begun its ascent, casting long shadows over the cobblestone pathways, the faint hum of morning lectures and student chatter still distant enough to not be a concern. It wasn’t difficult to find the path leading down to the Astral River the shimmering divide between the Academy and the Ghost City. Normally, students would take the officially sanctioned routes: bridges, portals, or authorized ferries. But that wasn’t your group’s style. “Are you sure he’s going to be here this early?” Earl Grey Cookie murmured, adjusting the cuffs of his coat as you all neared the water’s edge. “Of course,” Chai Latte Cookie said breezily, walking ahead. “The Ferryman’s always here. It’s kind of his whole thing.” And sure enough there, standing at the shore, was the Ferryman. A skeletal figure draped in tattered robes, the Ferryman clutched his ever-present scythe, the blade gleaming faintly with an ethereal glow. His hat, adorned with its peculiar crosshatched pattern, tilted slightly as he turned toward your group. Despite his grim appearance, his expression brightened upon seeing you all approach.

“Ah, greetings, little travelers,” the Ferryman drawled, his voice echoing like the wind through hollow bones. “Do you wish to journey across the Astral River?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned in slightly. “Depends. What’s your price today?” The Ferryman let out a deep, rattling laugh, one that sent an eerie ripple across the water’s surface. “The same as always, my dear friends. Company. Conversation to keep this weary soul entertained.” He sighed dramatically. “An eternity of ferrying can be such a lonely task, you know.” “You literally see students all the time,” you pointed out, crossing your arms. “Ah, but they rarely have such charming tales to tell,” the Ferryman countered. Earl Grey Cookie exhaled through his nose, already bracing himself. “Fine. What do you want to hear?” The Ferryman grinned, stepping aside and motioning to the shimmering water behind him. “Tell me a story as we walk.” With that, he tapped the butt of his scythe against the river’s surface. The water rippled, then stilled, taking on an almost glass-like sheen. It was always strange, walking across the Astral River. Each step sent soft waves beneath your feet, yet you never felt like you were sinking. Instead, it was as if the river itself had decided, just for this moment, to carry you.

As you all stepped forward, Chai Latte Cookie took the lead in entertaining the Ferryman, launching into a retelling of a particularly embarrassing Academy mishap involving a misfired spell and a very grumpy librarian. The Ferryman chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, students and their magical blunders. Some things never change.”

As the journey continued, you couldn’t help but steal a glance back toward the Academy, its towering spires growing smaller in the distance. There was something exhilarating about sneaking away like this, even if it was just for ice cream. Soon enough, the mist of the Ghost City curled around your ankles, the outline of buildings and flickering lanterns coming into view. The Ferryman finally came to a halt, tapping his scythe against the air. The shimmering path beneath your feet vanished, leaving you safely on the shore. “And here we are,” he announced grandly. “Your destination, delivered without incident.” He let out another rattling laugh. “See? I am an excellent guide.” “You say that like we’ve ever had an issue,” you teased.

“Ah, but one never knows when adventure may strike.” The Ferryman gave a dramatic bow. “Now, enjoy your time in the Ghost City, little travelers. But remember, should you need passage back, I will be waiting.” “Of course you will,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered under his breath. With a few final words of thanks, you and your friends slipped past the misty streets, leaving the Ferryman’s presence behind as you ventured toward the city’s well-known ice cream shop. Now, the real fun could begin. The Ghost City was unlike anywhere else in the world. It was a place caught between realms, where the past and present wove together like threads of mist. Lanterns flickered with eerie green and blue flames, casting long shadows that wavered like living things. The cobbled streets curved in ways that defied logic, twisting around grand, towering buildings with architecture lost to time. Phantasmal figures drifted through the air, remnants of ages past, some engaged in endless conversations while others simply watched the living pass by. Despite its spectral nature, the city was lively. The market square bustled with ghostly vendors selling goods both familiar and arcane enchanted trinkets, glowing fruits, and books that whispered their contents aloud if one dared to open them. The air carried the scent of spiced cider, roasted nuts, and of course, the unmistakable sweetness of freshly made ice cream. You and your friends wove through the streets, eyes wide with wonder. There was something about the Ghost City that made you all feel lighter, as if the weight of lectures, expectations, and the Academy’s rigid structure had been left behind on the other side of the river. Here, in the lantern-lit mist, you weren’t students of magic, burdened with studying and stress, you were just you.

“First stop! The ice cream shop,” Chai Latte Cookie announced, marching forward with purpose. “No distractions!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie scoffed. “You’re saying that? The same person who stopped twice already to admire cursed jewelry?” “I was appreciating craftsmanship!” she shot back, nose in the air. “Anyway, priorities. Ice cream.” The shop was an institution among Academy students. Tucked away on a side street, its glowing purple sign read The Wisp & Whimsy, promising flavors both mundane and magical. A bell jingled as you stepped inside, and immediately, the air was filled with the crisp chill of frozen treats and the rich aroma of caramelized sugar. The glass display cases stretched across the room, holding an array of colors and textures, some of which shimmered or changed hues when viewed from different angles. The owner, a friendly old ghost who had perfected the art of frozen desserts in his afterlife, drifted over with a knowing smile. “Back again, I see. And what will it be this time?”

The four of you lined up, eyes scanning the case with the seriousness of scholars poring over ancient texts. Chai Latte Cookie was the first to decide. “Vanilla bean with honeycomb shards,” she declared, grinning. “Classic, a little sweet, but with a crunch.” She gave you a wink. “Just like me.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, peering over the selection. “Earl Grey ice cream with dark chocolate flakes,” he finally said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “A refined choice, obviously.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t even hesitate. “Hazelnut gelato with crushed biscotti on top,” he said, nodding as if confirming the universe’s natural order. “Perfect balance of texture and flavor. No notes.” All eyes turned to you. “What about you, (Y/N)?” Chai Latte Cookie asked, rocking on her heels. There was no rush. You took a moment, looking over the options, considering your choice carefully before making your order. Pineapple ice cream, with pineapple chunks when it was finally scooped into your hands, the chill of it seeping through the cup, you couldn’t help but smile. With your frozen treasures secured, the four of you dashed back outside, ice cream in hand, laughing like children set loose in a festival. Chai Latte Cookie immediately looped her arm through yours, steering you toward the center square. “Alright, so what’s the plan? We have the whole city at our feet!” “We could check out that bookstore Hazelnut keeps nerding out about,” Earl Grey Cookie suggested, taking a slow, deliberate bite of his ice cream. “Or, if you want to be really adventurous, we could visit the Phantom’s Alley.”

Chai Latte Cookie shuddered. “Absolutely not. Last time we went down there, a ghost whispered in my ear and I swear I lost ten years off my life.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed, already flipping through his ever-present notebook. “We could try and track down one of the wandering storytellers! They always know the best ghost tales.” “Or,” you suggested between bites of your ice cream, “we could just… enjoy the city. Walk around, explore, see where we end up.” They all paused. Then Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “I like that plan.” So that’s what you did. You wandered through the streets, stopping wherever something caught your eye watching a street magician conjure floating lanterns that danced to silent music, daring each other to taste-test one of the market’s glowing candies, peeking through the windows of long-forgotten buildings where books floated idly in the air. The laughter came easy, the conversations endless. It was one of those rare, perfect moments. The kind where nothing else existed outside of the here and now. No responsibilities, no expectations, no looming pressures just the warmth of friendship, the chill of ice cream, and the magic of a city caught between life and memory. For the first time in a long while, you all felt truly, blissfully free. The city pulsed with an eerie yet thrilling energy, its lantern-lit streets humming with a life that defied its ghostly nature. Wandering through the mist-veiled alleys and bustling market squares, you and your friends felt like children again free to indulge in mischief, to chase fleeting joys, to forget, even for a little while, the weight of the Academy’s expectations. Your adventure truly began at the Market of Forgotten Goods, a sprawling bazaar filled with relics from ages past. Ghostly vendors called out their wares, offering everything from enchanted quills that never ran out of ink to books that whispered their own contents when opened. The air smelled of parchment, dried herbs, and something vaguely metallic, as if the very essence of lost time had settled over the marketplace.

Chai Latte Cookie let out a gasp of delight as she tugged you toward a stand displaying jewelry, each piece embedded with stones that pulsed like tiny heartbeats. “Look at these! Tell me they’re not gorgeous.” She held up a delicate ring that gleamed with a soft golden glow, tilting her head in consideration. “Do you think it would look good on me?” “It’s probably cursed,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered without looking up from his notebook, where he was diligently scribbling notes about the marketplace. Chai Latte Cookie huffed. “You always say that. Maybe I like a little mystery.” Earl Grey Cookie smirked, inspecting a pocket watch that ticked without visible hands. “I think what Hazelnut means is that everything here has some magic attached to it. A ring that glows like that? It probably has an interesting history.” You chuckled as Chai Latte Cookie twirled the ring between her fingers, then slipped it onto her finger anyway. “Guess I’ll just have to live with the consequences.” The market held its fair share of curiosities, from bottled moonlight to mirrors that refused to show your reflection unless you asked them a question. You picked up a small music box and turned the key, only for a hauntingly beautiful melody to spill out a tune that sounded familiar yet just out of reach. “Cursed,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said again. “You’re the worst,” Chai Latte Cookie shot back, but there was no bite to her words. As you wandered deeper into the city, the air grew colder, and the streets became narrower. Without meaning to, you all found yourselves standing at the entrance to Phantom’s Alley, a place notorious for its eerie whispers and ghostly apparitions. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the cobblestone, twisting into shapes that shouldn’t have been possible.

Earl Grey Cookie crossed his arms. “Alright, if one of us is going to get haunted today, my bet is on Hazelnut.” “Excuse me?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shot him an incredulous look. “Why me?” “You take notes on everything,” Earl Grey Cookie pointed out. “Ghosts love unfinished business. You’d make the perfect target.” “You guys are terrible,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered, but he still flipped open his notebook, pen at the ready. “You’re all insane for thinking we should go in,” Chai Latte Cookie cut in, eyes narrowed at the darkened alleyway. But when you took a step forward, she immediately grabbed your sleeve, fingers tightening. “I mean, if you insist, at least don’t leave me behind.” The air inside Phantom’s Alley was different. It clung to you, thick and heavy, charged with an unnatural stillness. Every so often, you swore you heard faint laughter just beyond earshot, just out of reach. “Well,” you said, voice deliberately even, “this isn’t too bad.” A whisper slithered through the silence. You shouldn’t be here. Chai Latte Cookie shrieked. Earl Grey Cookie clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes crinkling with barely-contained laughter, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie furiously jotted something down. “What did it sound like? Male? Female? Was it an echo, or-” “It sounded like a bad decision,” Chai Latte Cookie snapped, tugging you toward the exit. “We’re leaving.”

You didn’t argue. Even if it was just playful ghostly mischief, there was only so much heart-racing adventure one could take in a day. A few streets down, you stumbled upon a gathering in the town square. Wisps of spectral light floated in the air, illuminating a group of ghostly figures seated in a circle. At the center stood a woman whose translucent form flickered like candlelight as she spoke. “The Storyteller’s Circle,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie mused, adjusting his glasses. “They share tales of the city’s past. Some say they were part of its past.” You and your friends sat among the listeners as the storyteller wove a tale of lost lovers who could only meet in the Ghost City once every hundred years. Her voice wasn’t loud, yet it filled the space as if whispered directly into your mind. “Kind of romantic,” Chai Latte Cookie murmured, resting her chin in her hands. “Imagine waiting a hundred years just to see someone again.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie scoffed. “Sounds tragic.” Earl Grey Cookie hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe. But some people are worth waiting for.” You glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at you; his gaze was distant, lost in thought. Before you could dwell on it, the ghost finished her story, and the crowd murmured their appreciation in soft, breathless tones. Eventually, as the sky turned a deeper shade of blue, you all found yourselves back at the ice cream shop, drawn in by the sheer delight of indulgence. “Alright,” Earl Grey Cookie announced, arms crossed, “we need to settle something. What is the objectively best ice cream flavor?” “You can’t be serious,” Chai Latte Cookie groaned. “We just did this earlier.” “I am serious,” Earl Grey Cookie countered. “This is important.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “He just wants validation.” “I think,” you mused, “we should all try something different and compare.” That led to another round of ice cream, a heated debate on the merits of each flavor, and ultimately, no conclusion except that ice cream was always a good idea. As the city lights flickered like distant stars, you made your way back to the riverbank where the Ferryman awaited. “Had your fill of adventure?” he asked, the ever-present grin in his voice. “For now,” you admitted. As he guided you across the astral river, the Ghost City faded into the distance, its lanterns flickering like remnants of a dream. There was a sense of longing in leaving a feeling of stepping out of something magical and returning to reality. But as you glanced at your friends, still laughing, still teasing, still them, you realized the magic of the Ghost City wasn’t just in its haunted streets or its forgotten wonders. It was in the way you had all been free. And that magic? That was something you carried with you, even as the Academy’s spires loomed back into view.

Sneaking back into the Academy was a delicate art, one you and your friends had perfected over time. The night air was cool, carrying with it the last remnants of the Ghost City’s magic, as you all crept across the grounds with hushed laughter and hurried footsteps. The Academy’s towering silhouette loomed ahead, its ancient stonework bathed in moonlight. Chai Latte Cookie led the way, light on her feet, barely making a sound. Earl Grey Cookie followed close behind, adjusting his coat as he kept an eye out for wandering professors or night sentries. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, ever the meticulous one, checked his pocket watch and muttered something about making better time than last week. Once inside, the grand halls were nearly deserted, the only sounds being the soft flickering of candlelight and the distant ticking of the enchanted clocks that lined the corridors. It was late very late but you all moved with purpose toward the dining hall, not necessarily out of hunger, but for the sake of tradition. The dining hall, once filled with the clatter of conversation and the warmth of candlelit meals, was now eerily quiet. Only a few enchanted lanterns remained lit, casting soft pools of light over the long tables. The food left behind was nothing special; cold rolls, half-eaten platters of roasted vegetables, and the last remains of soup that had likely been simmering for hours. Still, none of you hesitated. You each grabbed a plate, sitting at your usual spot, keeping your voices low despite the empty space around you. The Academy was ancient, and its walls had a way of listening.

“That was so much fun,” Chai Latte Cookie sighed dreamily, resting her cheek against her palm as she poked at a slice of fruit. “I haven’t felt that free in ages.” “You say that every time we sneak out,” Earl Grey Cookie pointed out with an amused smile. “And I mean it every time.” She huffed before turning to you with a knowing look. “But I think someone had an especially enchanting time.” You blinked, mid-bite, suddenly wary. “What?” She tilted her head. “You seemed really caught up in the Storyteller’s Circle.” At that, a hush fell over the table. You felt their eyes on you, expectant, curious. The image of the ghostly storyteller drifted through your mind, her words still lingering like a haunting melody. You set your fork down. “It was just… beautiful,” you admitted, voice softer now. “The idea of someone waiting like that of a love that lasts centuries just for a fleeting moment together. I don’t know. It’s tragic, yeah, but… in a way, isn’t it kind of romantic?” Chai Latte Cookie exhaled through her nose, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I knew you’d say that.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie scoffed, flipping through the notes he had taken from earlier in the night. “Sounds miserable to me. A hundred years apart? That’s not love that’s torture.” Earl Grey Cookie hummed, contemplative. “I don’t know. Some people are worth waiting for.” You glanced at him, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he returned to his meal. Chai Latte Cookie stretched her arms above her head, letting out a breath. “Well, if I had to wait a century to see someone, I hope they’d at least make it worth it.” She shot you a teasing glance. “What do you think? Would you wait?” You hesitated, letting the question settle deep into your chest. “…I think if you love someone enough, time wouldn’t change that.” The words left your lips before you had fully thought them through, but as you said them, you realized they felt right. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered something under his breath and jotted it down in his notebook.

Chai Latte Cookie raised a brow. “Oh no. What now?” “Just adding it to my notes,” he said simply. Earl Grey Cookie leaned over to peek at the page. “You’re actually taking this seriously? It’s just a hypothetical question.” “You don’t ask questions like that unless you already have an answer,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie countered. “And I think our dear friend here has a very interesting way of looking at love.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I hate you guys.” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin on her hands. “No, you love us.” The conversation dissolved into hushed laughter and teasing remarks, the weight of the night settling into something warm and familiar. Eventually, when the last scraps of food were gone and exhaustion began creeping in, you all stood, stretching and stifling yawns. “Alright,” Earl Grey Cookie said, rolling his shoulders. “Time to get some sleep before we all end up sleep-deprived disasters in class.” You all murmured your agreement, quietly making your way out of the dining hall and down the corridors, the Academy’s ancient walls standing silent around you.

As you finally slipped into your dorm, shutting the door behind you, you exhaled, the events of the night playing over in your mind. The laughter, the stories, the feeling of freedom in the Ghost City. And yet, more than anything, the storyteller’s words lingered. Would you wait a hundred years for someone? You had answered so easily before, but now, alone in the quiet of your room, you weren’t sure. Because what did waiting matter… if you didn’t even know who you were waiting for?

Monday arrived sooner than you wanted, dragging you out of the warm cocoon of your blankets with an unrelenting pull. The Ghost City’s lingering magic felt like a dream now, distant and fleeting, replaced by the mundane rhythm of the Academy’s routine. You went about your morning as usual freshening up, gathering your materials for class, and heading to the dining hall, hoping for a breakfast that would soften the blow of another long week ahead. But when you stepped inside and scanned the options laid out before you, your stomach dropped just a little. No waffles. You weren’t sure why that detail bothered you so much. Maybe it was how often they’d been served last week, to the point where you’d begun to expect them, to look forward to them. Perhaps they’d had an overabundance and were simply trying to get rid of them, and now that the supply had dwindled, so had your small morning indulgence. Rationally, it wasn’t a big deal, but still, there was a quiet disappointment that settled in the pit of your stomach. With a sigh, you let your eyes drift across the breakfast spread, searching for something else, something to fill the void left behind. And then, almost absentmindedly, your gaze landed on a dish that looked familiar not because you had ever chosen it before, but because you’d seen him choose it. Shadow Milk Cookie.  

You had watched him, in the way you watched many things, from a comfortable distance. His choices had always seemed so… deliberate. Carefully selected, refined in a way that made you wonder if there was something to be learned from them. So, without thinking too hard about it, you reached for the same dish.  As you settled into your usual seat, taking your first bite, you found yourself dissecting the flavors more than you normally would. Was this good? Was this a meal worthy of someone as renowned as the Sage of Truth? You weren’t sure what you expected some grand revelation, some deeper understanding but instead, all you got was… breakfast. Not bad. Not life-changing, either. Still, you took another bite. Your friends eventually found you sitting alone at your usual spot, your fork idly prodding at your food. You hadn't been waiting for them, but the moment they arrived, the lively energy of their presence swept in like a fresh breeze. Chai Latte Cookie sat beside you first, sliding into place with effortless ease. She nudged your shoulder playfully before setting down her tray, steam curling from her tea. Across from you, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie and Earl Grey Cookie took their seats as well, their expressions far too knowing for your liking.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was the first to speak, his voice laced with amusement. "So," he drawled, leaning forward with his hands clasped together. "Did you dream of long-lost lovers pining through the centuries?" You blinked, caught mid-bite. "What?" Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin in her hand. "You know, the story. The tragic romance. The waiting-a-hundred-years-just-to-see-each-other-again thing?" Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "It was quite a beautiful tale. Wouldn’t be surprised if it followed you into your dreams." Earl Grey Cookie took a sip of his tea, watching you closely. "They wouldn't admit it if it did." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie tapped his notebook yes, his notebook against the table thoughtfully. "True. But if they did have some swoon-worthy, star-crossed-lovers kind of dream, I want to know." His grin turned sharp. "So? Anything?" You rolled your eyes, stabbing your food with a little too much force. "You guys are ridiculous. It was just a story." "But a good story," Chai Latte Cookie pointed out, stirring her tea as if this was a casual discussion rather than a full-on interrogation. You scoffed. "I didn’t go to bed composing poetry about it, if that’s what you’re asking." "But you thought about it," Earl Grey Cookie said, setting his cup down with an almost victorious air.

You hesitated, but only for a second. Of course you had thought about it. The tale had clung to you, lingering in the quiet space between wakefulness and sleep. Not just the story itself, but the feeling it left behind the weight of devotion stretching across time, of love strong enough to defy centuries. You thought about it now, even as they pressed you for answers. Your silence was enough. Chai Latte Cookie exchanged a look with Earl Grey Cookie, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned, flipping open his notebook. "Knew it," he muttered, scribbling something down. You narrowed your eyes. "What exactly are you writing?" "Oh, nothing," he said far too innocently. "Just taking some notes." "For what?" "You," Earl Grey Cookie said simply. "You’re a very fascinating subject, you know." "Great. Love being psychoanalyzed before I’ve even finished breakfast," you deadpanned. They laughed, and you shook your head, pushing your plate away. But even as you tried to dismiss their antics, a quiet thought gnawed at the back of your mind.

It wasn’t just the story that had lingered with you. You hadn’t seen Shadow Milk Cookie yesterday not once. It wasn’t like he was always around, but after last week, after everything, his absence had been noticeable. No keen observations over your shoulder, no well-timed interjections, no presence hovering at the edge of your awareness. And now, here you were, absentmindedly choosing a breakfast he’d favored before. You sighed. Maybe you really were reading too much into things. Because, really… it was just a story. That’s all. As the morning rolled on, the four of you made your way to Almond Custard Cookie’s lecture hall, the familiar path winding through the academy’s grand corridors. The air was thick with the hum of students preparing for the day, parchment rustling and quiet conversations blending into a soft symphony of scholarly ambition. Your friends chatted as you walked, but you were more focused than usual. Today, you weren’t bracing yourself for inevitable confusion. Today, you weren’t dreading the lecture like a battle you were bound to lose. Because at some point, despite your hesitations, you had asked Shadow Milk Cookie to help you review ahead. It had been a quiet request, one you barely managed to voice without second-guessing yourself. But he had agreed graciously, eagerly even and had guided you through the future material with the same careful patience he always showed.

And now, for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just trying to keep up. You were keeping up. "You’re awfully quiet," Chai Latte Cookie noted, nudging your side playfully. "Are you dare I say actually confident about this lecture?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow. "A rare sight indeed," he mused. "Should we be concerned?" You rolled your eyes. "I just… studied ahead, that’s all." Earl Grey Cookie gave you a knowing look. "With his help, I assume?" You didn’t dignify that with a response, though the warmth creeping up your neck probably gave it away. Chai Latte Cookie grinned, linking her arm through yours. "Well, well, well. Look at you, being all prepared. I’m so proud!" "Don’t be," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie deadpanned. "If they start answering questions before us, we may have to revoke their status as our perpetual academic underdog." "Harsh," you muttered, but you couldn’t help but laugh. The teasing didn’t last long, though soon enough, you had arrived at the lecture hall, filing in with the rest of the students. You took your seat, your fingers tapping absently against the desk as you glanced at the notes in front of you. You could feel a strange anticipation bubbling beneath the surface, a readiness that hadn’t been there before.

Because this time, you weren’t just hoping to scrape by. This time, you knew you could keep up. As the lecture began, Almond Custard Cookie took his place at the front of the hall, his crisp, even voice cutting through the murmurs of students settling in. He adjusted his glasses before tapping the board with the end of his cane, the subtle golden glow of magic trailing in its wake as complex runes and equations appeared. “Today,” he announced, “we will be continuing our discussion on the fundamental laws governing enchantment stability. Recall that last lecture, we examined the properties of self-sustaining magic and the principles of balance that keep an enchantment from unraveling under duress. Now, tell me what is the primary countermeasure used to reinforce unstable enchantments?” A hush fell over the hall as students scrambled through their notes, some hesitating before slowly raising their hands. For once, you weren’t frozen in place, uncertain of the answer. The concept was familiar to you now the nights spent reviewing ahead had made sure of that. You raised your hand. Almond Custard Cookie’s gaze flickered to you, his brow lifting ever so slightly in intrigue. He gestured for you to speak. “Anchor points,” you said, voice steady. “Stabilizing an enchantment can be done by binding it to a fixed locus whether it’s a physical object or an existing magical structure. This disperses excess energy and prevents the spell from collapsing in on itself.” A pause. Then, to your absolute shock, Almond Custard Cookie smiled. “Correct,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased. “Anchor points serve as stabilizing mechanisms, allowing enchantments to persist without degradation. A strong enough locus can even sustain high-energy spells that would otherwise fail under their own weight.” He glanced back at the board, adding a few additional notes. “It seems you’ve taken the time to study ahead. An admirable effort.”

The warmth in his voice, however subtle, sent a flicker of pride through you. Chai Latte Cookie, seated beside you, shot you a look one of both surprise and approval. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered something under his breath, scribbling in his ever-present notebook. Earl Grey Cookie, on the other hand, leaned back slightly in his chair, expression unreadable but undeniably impressed. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just sitting there, lost and overwhelmed. You were engaged. As Almond Custard Cookie continued, you nodded along, absorbing his explanations more easily than before. When he opened the floor for further questions, you found yourself raising your hand again, inquiring about the specific limitations of anchor points when dealing with unstable ley lines. The professor blinked at you, clearly taken aback but his lips quirked upward once more. “An excellent question,” he mused before delving into an explanation. The lecture carried on, and while Almond Custard Cookie continued as he always did methodical, precise, ever so slightly intimidating there was a distinct shift in the way he regarded you. It was subtle, but there nonetheless. By the time the class ended, you could hear the murmurs around you, a few curious glances thrown your way. You ignored them, barely containing the thrill of having actually kept up for once.

As you gathered your things, Chai Latte Cookie nudged you with her elbow. “Look at you, star student,” she teased, a grin on her face. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie merely huffed. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll start answering everything. That’s my job.” You rolled your eyes, but Earl Grey Cookie, walking beside you, murmured just loud enough for you to hear “Well done.” And somehow, those two words made the whole morning even better. The transition from morning lecture to evening study had become seamless in a way you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t a forced shift, like stepping into an entirely different world, but rather a natural progression like the slow dimming of sunlight into dusk, the air shifting to something quieter, more introspective.

And here you were again, in Shadow Milk Cookie’s office, seated across from him as the candlelight flickered between you. The study sessions had changed. They weren’t just lessons anymore, not in the way they once were. Before, you had approached them with a quiet, nervous reverence, careful not to overstep, to take up too much space. Shadow Milk Cookie had been patient then, as he was now, but there had been an undeniable distance between you. A formality. That distance had faded. It was in the way he sat, more at ease than before, his arm resting against the edge of the desk as he gestured through an explanation. It was in the way he didn’t just lecture but engaged tilting his head when you questioned something, waiting for you to puzzle through it aloud before offering guidance. It was in the way you leaned forward without thinking, elbows resting on the wooden surface as you traced patterns idly along the margin of your notes. There was something about tonight that made it feel smaller like the rest of the Academy had faded away, leaving only the soft hush of pages turning, the warmth of candlelight, and the quiet weight of shared understanding.

But despite that comfort, something lingered in the back of your mind. You hesitated, fingers lightly tapping against the parchment. You had learned their names now Camellia Pith, Serrano Bark, Fennel Drizzle. The weight of them settled uneasily in your chest, not because they frightened you anymore, but because you had a feeling Shadow Milk Cookie already knew. And you weren’t sure what he would do with that knowledge. You swallowed, gathering your thoughts before speaking. “Shadow Milk Cookie…” He hummed, not looking up immediately as he made a small notation in the margins of his book. “Yes?” A pause. Then: “You know who they are, don’t you?” That made him stop. His quill stilled against the page, though he did not immediately respond. His expression remained composed, unreadable in the low light, but the flicker of his gaze toward you was sharp. After a beat, he leaned back slightly, folding his hands in his lap. “I do.” You had expected as much, but hearing it aloud still made your stomach twist. Of course he knew. He was the Sage of Truth; there were few things that escaped his notice. The silence stretched for a moment, and then, calmly, he asked, “Why do you bring this up?” You let out a slow breath, organizing your words carefully. “I just…” You hesitated, then met his gaze. “I don’t want you to do anything.” A flicker of something crossed his face 

For a moment, Shadow Milk Cookie merely regarded you, his expression unreadable in the dim candlelight. He did not interrupt, nor did he immediately refute your words. And because he did not stop you, you took it as permission to continue. “I don’t want you to do anything,” you repeated, quieter this time, steady despite the slight tension in your chest. “Not because I think they deserve kindness, or because I think what they did was right. But… I understand where they’re coming from.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze did not waver, but you knew he was listening. “They’re ambitious,” you went on, fingers curling slightly against the parchment before you forced them to relax. “And they’re scared. Not of me specifically, but of what I represent a disruption to what they thought was a given. They’ve worked hard, and suddenly, I’m here. To them, I must look like some sort of obstacle, someone who doesn’t belong.” His brow arched slightly at that, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might interrupt. But he didn’t. He let you speak. “I’m not saying they were right to do what they did,” you clarified. “But I don’t think they’re beyond reason, either. And besides…” You exhaled, leaning back in your chair. “It doesn’t bother me as much as it did before. Not when I have people who remind me that I’m worth more than just what they say about me.”

Your thoughts flickered to Chai Latte Cookie’s teasing reassurances, to Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s grumbled but sincere encouragement, to Earl Grey Cookie’s quiet, knowing nods. Your friends had made all the difference. “And,” you added, with a small, almost self-deprecating smile, “it’s not like I come across them often. A rumor here or there doesn’t change anything.” Silence stretched between you, comfortable but weighted. Shadow Milk Cookie observed you for a long moment, his gaze impossibly sharp, as if seeing through every word you had just spoken, examining them from every possible angle. Then, slowly, he closed the book in front of him, folding his hands atop the cover. “I see,” he said at last. You weren’t sure what you had expected him to say, perhaps a reminder that their cruelty was undeserved, or an argument against giving them the benefit of the doubt. But instead, he only studied you for a moment longer before inclining his head slightly.

“If that is your wish,” he continued, voice steady, measured, “then I will not bar them from my work.” A pause, deliberate. “But know this I do not tolerate those who act with dishonesty and malice under the guise of scholarship. Should their ambitions lead them down such a path again, I will not turn a blind eye.” Something about the way he said it sent a small shiver down your spine not out of fear, but out of the sheer certainty in his voice. But he would leave it be. Because you asked him to. You let out a slow breath. “Thank you.” For a while, neither of you spoke. There was no need to. The air between you felt… different. Not tense, not heavy, but changed in a way you couldn’t quite place. And then, as if to ground the moment, Shadow Milk Cookie reached for the book once more, tapping the spine with his fingers before giving you a knowing look. “Now,” he said, as if the previous conversation had not just altered something between you, “shall we return to the matter of anchor points? I believe you were on the verge of an insightful conclusion before we strayed.” You blinked, caught off guard for only a moment before a quiet laugh escaped you.

“Right,” you murmured, shaking your head slightly, feeling something ease in your chest. “Anchor points.” And just like that, the conversation shifted. The study session continued. But the space between you felt warmer now, quieter in a way that spoke of understanding. The shift back to familiarity was subtle but unmistakable. The moment passed, and with it, so did the quiet intimacy that had lingered between you. Shadow Milk Cookie resumed his teaching with the same practiced cadence, his tone even and assured, his presence once more untouchable. That barrier, the one that had always separated you returned as if it had never wavered in the first place. He was, once again, the Sage of Truth, a figure illuminated by knowledge, impossibly distant, his wisdom something to be reached for rather than held. And yet, the difference remained. Because now, you knew that distance was not born from indifference. It was not meant to keep you away. It was a reminder, a challenge, an unspoken expectation that if you wished to stand beside him, you had to work for it. “Anchor points,” he repeated, drawing you back to the present, his voice smooth yet unwavering. He gestured toward the parchment before you, quill tapping against the edge of your notes. “You were on the cusp of something, were you not? An observation that has yet to be spoken?” Right. Your thoughts, your conclusions you hadn’t quite finished them.

You straightened slightly, looking down at the diagrams you had been sketching just moments before. “Right,” you murmured. “Anchor points. I was thinking…” You hesitated only briefly, then pressed forward, confidence threading into your voice. “If a locus can absorb excess energy and keep an enchantment from unraveling, then hypothetically could an unstable enchantment be sustained by multiple anchor points, even if none are strong enough on their own?” A beat of silence. And then Shadow Milk Cookie smiled. “An interesting proposition.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with something keen and knowing. “Tell me how do you intend to prove it?”

The barrier was there, but now, you understood what it meant. It was not a wall to keep you out. It was a threshold. A line drawn between what was and what could be. If you wanted to reach him if you wanted to stand beside him in the pursuit of truth you had to keep moving forward. And so, you did. Your fingers skimmed the edges of your notes, but you weren’t searching for the answer; you already knew it. The knowledge sat firmly in your mind, stitched together from the hours spent combing through the library’s archives, cross-referencing theories, and scribbling annotations into the margins of your own texts. You inhaled, steadying yourself, and spoke with newfound confidence. “By distributing the load between multiple anchor points, the enchantment’s energy would be diffused rather than concentrated on a single locus,” you began, your voice even. “If structured correctly, it would prevent any one point from being overwhelmed, allowing the enchantment to hold even in unstable conditions.”

A pause, then you continued, “This method is particularly effective when dealing with ley lines that shift in response to external forces. I came across a study in Theoretical Applications of Arcane Stability that proposed a similar concept, though it focused more on geographical stabilization rather than constructed enchantments. The researcher compared it to the way bridges are built how weight distribution is key to preventing collapse. If enchantments were layered in the same manner, using a reinforced framework rather than relying on a single stabilizing force, the risk of failure would be significantly reduced.” Shadow Milk Cookie had been watching you carefully from the moment you spoke, but now, something shifted in his expression. He was intrigued you could tell by the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers lightly tapped against the desk in thought. Encouraged, you pushed forward. “And in cases where the enchantment still fails, it wouldn’t be a full collapse. The energy would disperse across the weaker anchor points first, like controlled failure points in architecture. Instead of shattering completely, it would degrade in sections, allowing for reinforcement before it’s too late.”

The words left your lips effortlessly, not because you were reciting something memorized, but because you understood it. The long hours in the library, the frustration of deciphering unfamiliar theories, the moments of realization when things finally clicked it all led to this. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, his ever-present smile shifting into something more contemplative. “Ah,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “You have been busy.” You didn’t respond right away, letting the statement settle between you. It wasn’t a mere observation. It was recognition. And perhaps, just perhaps, a hint of something close to pride. You frowned slightly, tilting your head. “What do you mean by that?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression didn’t shift immediately, as if he were weighing his response before offering it. His fingers stopped their rhythmic tapping against the desk, folding neatly together instead. “You have been busy,” he repeated, though slower this time, as if letting you sit with the words. “The depth of your answer, the connections you’ve drawn, is not the result of mere memorization. It is the mark of someone who has sought knowledge beyond what was simply given to them.” You blinked, not quite sure how to take that. “I… just wanted to be prepared,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled softly. “Preparation, yes. But also curiosity. You are no longer merely struggling to keep up, you are actively pursuing understanding. That is a distinction many fail to make.”

You pursed your lips, glancing down at your notes. You supposed there was truth to what he was saying, but it hadn’t felt all that grand when you were elbow-deep in books, squinting at complicated diagrams under dim library light. To you, it had just been necessary. Still, hearing it aloud acknowledgment from someone like him sent a strange warmth curling in your chest. “…I guess I have been busy,” you admitted, almost shyly. Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable, but whatever it was, it softened the usual sharpness in his gaze. “Indeed,” he murmured. “And it does not go unnoticed.” Something about the way he said it made you pause, unsure of whether the slight flutter in your chest was from pride or something else entirely. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a sigh before setting your quill down with an exaggerated motion. "I think we've earned a break," you said, a playful lilt in your voice. "Don’t you?"

Shadow Milk Cookie arched a brow, his hands still poised over his own notes. "Oh? Is that so?" You nodded, leaning back slightly in your chair. "I've worked hard. We've worked hard. Surely even the great Sage of Truth can acknowledge that?" For a moment, he simply regarded you, as if assessing whether your request was a serious one. Then, to your surprise, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Very well," he said, leaning back as well, though with far more poise than you. "A break, then." Your eyes widened slightly before a small grin crept onto your face. "Just like that?" He hummed, his gaze drifting to the window where the fading evening light cast long shadows against the shelves. "You make a compelling argument," he said, tilting his head slightly. "And… I suppose I can admit that you have worked hard." You nearly laughed. "That almost sounded like praise." His lips twitched. "Take it as you will." There was something oddly satisfying about it the way he had agreed so easily, the way he had acknowledged your efforts without hesitation. It wasn’t the first time he had praised you, but this time, it felt different. More natural. More like he had expected nothing less from you. Leaning forward, you rested your chin on your palm. "So, how do you usually spend your breaks?" Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with mild amusement. "Ah. A break and conversation. You truly are pushing the boundaries of indulgence today." You laughed, shaking your head. "Come on, humor me." He let out a long-suffering sigh, but there was no real exasperation in it. "Reading, usually. Or organizing my research notes."You groaned. "That doesn’t count as a break." His eyes glimmered with something unreadable. "Then tell me what does?"

You tapped your fingers against the desk, pretending to think. "Oh, I don't know… maybe something that doesn’t involve more work?" Shadow Milk Cookie simply smiled, resting his chin against his hand as if waiting to see what else you'd say. And somehow, in the quiet warmth of his office, with papers scattered between you and the weight of study lifted just for a moment, the space between you felt smaller than before. You tapped your fingers idly against the desk, your mind drifting in the quiet lull of your break. Shadow Milk Cookie had gone eerily still, as he often did when lost in thought, his expression unreadable as he absently traced the spine of a nearby book. A slow smile crept onto your lips as you recalled something from a past conversation. "You know," you began, tilting your head slightly, "I remember you once mentioned that you play the harpsichord. And that you compose, too." Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers stilled. His eyes flicked to yours, his expression unreadable. "Ah," he mused. "So you do listen." You rolled your eyes. "Of course, I do. I just think it's interesting. You never bring it up on your own." "Because it is not relevant to our studies," he said smoothly, but you caught the faintest ghost of amusement in his tone. You leaned forward slightly. "Still, I’ve heard people say you play beautifully. And that your compositions are…" You hesitated for a moment, recalling the exact words you'd overheard in the library. "Otherworldly. That when you play, it sounds like something from another time like the echoes of a forgotten truth." That earned you a soft chuckle, brief but undeniably genuine. "Poetic." "Fitting, isn't it?" You smiled. "You said earlier that we deserved a break. Why not make it a proper one? I'd like to hear you play." Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you in silence, his gaze searching. You had learned by now that these pauses were not a dismissal, but a consideration. You held steady under his watchful eyes, refusing to shrink away. Then, finally, he sighed, shaking his head in quiet surrender. "...Very well." Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. "Really?" "Do not mistake this for indulgence," he said, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "It is simply… a brief detour." You nodded, hiding the giddiness threatening to show on your face. He rose from his seat with that same effortless grace, and you followed as he led the way. There was something different about this moment, something softer. Perhaps, just this afternoon, he was allowing himself to let you in. You followed him through the sunlit corridors of the Scholars’ Wing, your footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floors. The afternoon light filtered in through tall, arched windows, casting long golden streaks across the walls. Eventually, he stopped before a set of grand double doors carved with intricate filigree, faint traces of enchantment woven into the wood. The air here felt different, quieter, almost reverent. Shadow Milk Cookie pressed his palm against the doors, and with a quiet click, they eased open. Inside, the room was bathed in warm sunlight, illuminating rows of instruments resting in careful arrangements. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and parchment, the unmistakable hush of a space meant for creation rather than conversation. At the center of the room, placed as if it were the beating heart of it all, sat a harpsichord, its ornate frame gleaming in the afternoon glow.

You hesitated in the doorway, taking in the grandeur of it all. “This place…” You glanced at him, brows furrowing. “This is where the best composers practice, isn’t it?” Shadow Milk Cookie walked forward, his steps unhurried as his fingers trailed along the edge of the harpsichord. “A common misconception,” he mused. “Just because something resides within the Scholars’ Wing does not mean it is solely for the best. It is for those who seek knowledge. For those willing to listen.” You blinked, turning his words over in your mind. His voice carried the same layered meaning it always did, never quite saying everything outright, always leaving space for something more. Your gaze drifted back to the harpsichord. “And you?” you asked. “Did you come here because you were ‘one of the best’ or because you wanted to listen?” He paused, his fingers stilling against the polished wood. There was something unreadable in his expression before he finally spoke. “…Both.” You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Of course.”

A/N I hope this update is to everyone's expectations next update is hopefully Friday!!! But I'm not sure if I'll be able to update this weekend, I have to lock in. Also, I want to hear no harpsichord slander/j, seriously, I don't know, but I have this strange fascination with that instrument.

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[pineconepie]

yandere english prof?

Sorry this took so long, its been sitting in my drafts forever LOL. Here you go! I actually really like this one haha.

TW: Violence, blood (not detailed), injuries, bullying, light forced infantilization, parental yandere, manipulative yandere, implied extortion

Everyone hated your English professor, Ellis, but you never understood the hate he received. Practically day one, everyone was complaining about how mean he could be or how unfair or harsh his grading was.

At first, you believed them, not really knowing the professor well enough to come to his defense. He seemed to have a no-nonsense attitude with you just as much as everyone else.

It wasn't really until one day, when some guys of a nasty fraternity came in and began harassing you.

You had always ignored it, but it became more impossible to ignore when one of them tripped you on your way into the class.

"Jerk," you grumble under your breath, watching him saunter off with a laugh. You feel blood dripping down your nose.

You grab your phone to see if it looks bad, and sure enough, it does. If the pain in your face weren't indicating you landed straight on it, then the blood trailing down your nose and forming bruise on your eye were.

After wiping your face clean as best as you can, you continue your trek back to class.

Sure, it'd probably be a better idea to email your professor and explain to him what happened, but knowing how harshly he can treat students, you'd rather get the attendance than email him about something he might not even believe is true.

And so, you stumble through the halls with blood dried at the corners of your nostrils, one eye looking swollen with the other's vision blurred from crying earlier.

A black eye must already be forming. A few people give you odd looks, but almost everyone else minds their own business. Soon enough, you finally enter your classroom.

"You're three minutes late," Ellis coldly says as soon as you step through the door.

He isn't even looking at you, probably just figures its you, because his eyes are on a few papers.

"I-I'm sorry." Your voice cracks. You wince from the sound of it.

Ellis's gaze immediately shoots up at you. He looks baffled and furious at first. "What on earth happened to you?"

He makes a hand gesture for you not to answer that, and looks back at the several rows of students, some of which are paying attention to the situation, but most are talking to their friends or on their phones. He puts his head down and begins writing something on a small piece of paper, then walks to you and hands it to you.

As you grab the note, his hand squeezes over yours. He lets go after you look at him. "Take it. Go. Come back when you get something for that."

You nod quickly, then glance down at the paper to see that there's a pass.

 Medical office, Room 305

He even went as far as to write the room number in case you forgot.

Thankful for that and everything else, you smile a little and make your way out the door, making sure not to get harassed again by some bully on your way.

Now that you really think about it, he's been having more of a soft spot for you recently, though maybe that's all in your head, too.

Like when you offered to help him clean up the room, and once you even stayed after class to ask him for help regarding what he was teaching.

Even though he could be intimidating sometimes, and downright frightening at others, you didn't find yourself scared around him. Only when he raises his voice, which he never does towards you.

Once you make it to the medical office and have the nurse inspect the damage, she determines that nothing is broken, just badly bruised.

You don't want to tell her that this incident was caused by bullies, so you just awkwardly tell her you fell down some stairs. She likely doesn't get paid enough to snuff out your lie.

She hands you an ice pack. "There," she smiles. "Not so bad. Try to watch where you're going next time, okay?"

Her condescending tone makes you feel worse. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

You apply pressure to your black eye as instructed, then head back to your English class.

When you get back inside the room, no one is there except Ellis. You check your phone, to see barely thirty minutes has passed. Maybe he sent them home early.

"Hi. I'm here." Your voice cracks again and you can't help but cringe. It sounds horrible, even to your own ears.

He looks up at you, brows pinching together in concern as soon as his eyes meet yours. He doesn't speak; he only pats the seat nearest to him on the front row of desks, gesturing for you to take a seat beside him.

Once you do, his cold fingers brush under your bruised eye. It should hurt, but they are so gentle against your skin that you barely flinch away from them.

"Who did this?" Ellis's gaze becomes narrow behind his round glasses.

You shake your head, suddenly feeling sick at your stomach. You hate how these kinds of things happen to you, especially since everyone else thinks they're harmless pranks.

They don't feel harmless. Especially when it feels like they leave physical and mental wounds everywhere on you.

"Nobody. I'm sorry."

He tuts in disapproval. "I know someone did this. Either you tell me, or I find out myself."

"Why do you care?" It sounds much more rude than you intended, so you try to soften your tone. "I'm sorry, its just... why would it matter if someone did?"

Ellis pinches the bridge of his nose. "Because you're too sweet. Too kind. It isn't fair that people treat you this way." He gives you another look over. "I dismissed my class today because of you, you know. I wouldn't do that for any of my other students, because they don't like me. And honestly, I don't really like them. But you..." he trails off.

"...but me?" you echo.

He scrubs a hand over his face. "You're like my child, (Y/n). It's my job as a professor to treat my students fairly, equally, but when it comes to you..." he sighs deeply, "...I worry about you every day. I wonder if you ate breakfast. If you've had anything to drink recently. How you slept. If anyone hurts you. None of my other students I let help me after class. Because if you're in front of my own two eyes, it's easier to just stop worrying. And I like being around you."

The information almost overwhelms you. "I had no clue."

"Well, now you do. So could you please tell me who did this? I'll have a heart attack if you worry me any more than I need to," he jokes with a weak smile, a very rare one.

"Just some guy from Delta Psi Lambda," you answer quickly. "I think his name was Brock, or something."

"I'll take care of him. Now, how's your eye?" As soon as you pull away the ice pack, he sucks in a harsh breath. "(Y/n). Oh, honey. It must be painful."

The term of endearment almost goes right past your head.

Almost.

"I mean, yeah. A little," you chuckle, trying to play it off. Really, it feels awful. "It doesn't feel too great, but it looks worse."

"It's bruising. Poor thing," he coos, taking your chin into his long, bony fingers and turning your head left and right, analyzing all of the damage. "This is unacceptable. Does anywhere else hurt?"

"No, this is all." You try to shrug again, but it comes out weird-looking. You can tell he catches it, too. "My nose was bleeding a lot earlier, but it stopped. Other than that, I guess everything else feels okay."

Ellis grabs a tissue and wipes off the leftover drying blood. His movements are careful yet firm, as if you would shatter to pieces if he wasn't gentle enough. "What am I going to do with you?" he sighs. "Can't trust you for even a moment before you're already coming back to me hurt." He presses a soft kiss on the crown of your head. "Do you need me to drive you back home?"

"I live on campus," you murmur. "I can just walk there."

He raises a brow at you. "That means they could just get you again if I let you go alone," he chastises. "Come on, follow me." He stands up, putting the papers into his work bag, then swinging it over his shoulder. He holds his free hand out and waits patiently for you to grab onto it, then he helps hoist you up.

As he does, your backpack slides down one arm. You watch as he puts it over his shoulder with his workbag, too.

...

A week passes, and Ellis is much softer towards you. He isn't as fatherly to you in front of people, but its pretty obvious that you've become the favorite.

He keeps asking if you have any food or drinks, and when you don't, he pulls out his lunchbox and offers whatever you need. You're not complaining. Free lunches are always good to accept.

"I don't need to eat lunch in here all the time now," you mumble, chewing on your favorite fruit that he offered. Weird that he knew that, but surely a coincidence.

Ellis pauses from what he's doing, which is erasing the whiteboard, and peers at you from the corner of his eye. "Why? Do you dislike spending time with me?"

You shake your head. "No, it's not that. I just... I think the bullies will leave me alone now. I haven't even seen any of the fraternity's faces since the incident."

"That doesn't mean I still can't worry about you," Ellis replies coolly. "You even forgot your lunch several times now. It worries me. I need to make sure you eat properly." The marker squeaks against the board as he writes reminders for next class's essay. Once he finishes that task, he sets everything down and heads to sit down at his desk. "I always pack extra for you now, because you're so forgetful. And thank goodness I do."

"Okay, Professor Dad," you sarcastically laugh.

He shakes his head at you while looking amused, making your words die in your throat.

That was clearly meant to be a joke, so why is he smiling like that?

Well, you know the answer, but it's still hard to believe. Even though Ellis seems to really care about you, he hasn't known you for very long at all.

So, why would he start acting so... so dad-like towards you? What exactly happened to turn him from the stern and rigid teacher persona into an almost doting father-figure towards one of his students?

"I-I didn't really mean—"

"I know. I get it," he says softly. "Just humor me. Let me keep fussing over you." After that, he falls quiet, working on grading some papers from earlier classes that day.

...

"You didn't bring a jacket?" Ellis asks exasperatedly. He's walking you to your dorm again after class ended, since it snowed.

Normally, you would've gone yourself, but due to the cold weather and Ellis's demands for you to stay in his classroom until he finished getting ready to walk you himself, you couldn't exactly refuse.

You look over at him, finding that his brows are pinched together in concern. "Oh, uh, no. I guess I forgot."

"For Pete's sake," he mutters, tugging the scarf from his neck and wrapping it snugly around yours instead. "I swear, you'll be the death of me one day, (Y/n). Can't even remember a simple thing like bringing a jacket." Despite sounding mad, there's also a tone of fondness mixed in with it.

You decide not to mention it, feeling embarrassed just thinking about it.

"Thanks," you hum.

"I don't mind doing things for you, you know," he adds after a moment. "I wanted to have kids of my own, but found out romance wasn't really my thing. And adoption costs way more money than what I have." He lets out a huff through his nostrils. "But it seems like you require the same doting as a toddler."

It doesn't even sound like its meant to be a jab at you; if anything, his voice takes on an affectionate edge.

"Is that bad?" you ask sheepishly.

"Not to me." He squeezes your hand, pulling you along beside him to cross the street. As soon as you reach your dorm and go inside, he dusts snowflakes off the top of your head. "That's better." You try to unwrap the scarf, but he stops you. "Keep it. I have several others like it. Besides, I don't want you catching a cold from being under-dressed."

You smile awkwardly. "Oh, okay. Thank you."

...

A month passes, and your friends had begun to avoid you. Even the bullies act scared to show their faces around you.

You wonder if its just Ellis's mere presence, but it's hard to tell. You decide a few days avoiding Ellis and trying to spend time with your friends again wouldn't hurt. You figure Ellis won't even notice too much, busy with papers and classes.

You notice Ellis giving you strange looks during class, but other than that, he acts normal. It's nice to feel like things are going back to the way they used to be again.

Barely a week after avoiding him, you hear someone yell your name.

But it isn't Ellis. It's Brock, and three of his other friends.

"Haven't forgotten what you did to me yet, did you? Because of you, I was nearly expelled!" he screams. Then, Brock runs towards you, fist flying directly towards your stomach and hitting you hard. You groan, then fall forward when one of his friends pushes you. "Hope you had fun trying to get rid of me, because you're gonna regret it!"

They get a few more punches in, and you can't even do anything about it because there's so many of them. You desperately look for anyone to be around, but there's no one.

"Stop!" someone yells.

You open your eyes from their previous screwed shut state, peering over at the man in glasses running towards you. Its Ellis.

He helps pull you away from all the frat guys, glaring down at each of them.

They must have some common sense, because they all freeze at the sight of Ellis. He barks something at them, but you can't pay attention over the ringing in your ears.

As soon as they begin sprinting off in the other direction, Ellis scoops you up bridal style and carries you somewhere.

You try opening your eyes to see where, but as soon as you manage to pry one open, he brushes his fingertips over your forehead.

"Don't stress yourself, love. Just rest." You close your eyes, and fade out from exhaustion.

...

You wake up in Ellis's apartment. It smells so clean, like it's never been lived in. Everything is so neatly organized, and nothing is out of place.

Not even a speck of dust lays on the windowsills or countertops. It seems like something straight out of a catalog.

You push yourself up into a sitting position, wincing from the pain in your arms and abdomen. Your lower back aches and twinges, too.

"Oh! Kiddo, please be careful!" You turn your head slowly towards Ellis's voice. He's holding some ice packs, water bottles, and bandages. His sweater vest has been changed for a plain gray shirt. "I'm glad you're finally awake. Let me take a look at you."

"What happened? Why am I here?"

He gives you a strange look. "You got beat up. Again," he emphasizes, clearly frustrated. "And you were so banged up that I brought you back to my place. I thought maybe I shouldn't take you back to your dorm, because you have no one who could take care of you." He clicks his tongue. "And besides that, you haven't come to me lately, and you're avoiding me. Now, you just got attacked again because I wasn't around to protect you."

You sniffle and in a sudden motion, wrap your arms around his neck. It surprises both you and him, but he's quick to embrace you twice as tightly.

His fingers curl into your hair, his other hand rubbing your back comfortingly.

"Hey, hey, shh..." He squeezes you. "Sweetie, calm down for me. You're going to hyperventilate if you breathe any quicker."

"I-I'm sorry... I d-didn't think th-they'd ever b-bother me again...!"

"Shh, breathe for me. Follow my rhythm." He takes deep breaths, waiting each time for you to follow. "That's right. You're such a good listener." Ellis cups your cheek and rubs away a few stray tears from it. He notices your breathing returned back to normal, so he smiles, placing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. "I've missed having you around."

"I'm sorry."

"That's alright. Now that I have you again, you're safe." He gets up, then walks to the kitchen. "Let me fix you something warm. You need it after today, poor baby."

As he cooks, you drift in and out of consciousness yet again. He chuckles when he notices you're basically passed out once again.

His phone rings. He scoffs, but answers it.

"What do you want? Yes, yes... you'll no longer need to worry about getting expelled for what you did... no, I'm not thanking you. Now please delete this number and never talk to them again. If I catch you even looking at them, I really will make sure you're suspended."

[nottriddlethis]

- -Rumors- -

Mattheo Riddle

Summary: friends to lovers <3

Warnings: smut, pinv, virgin!Reader, fingering.

AN: too.much.words.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - <3

The first thing I felt was warmth.

A solid, familiar weight pressing into my back, an arm draped around my waist, fingers flexing against my belly. The scent of firewhisky clung to the air, mixed with something Mattheo—spice and warm. That in itself wasn’t unusual—I had grown used to the way he snuck into my bed on sleepless nights, how he sought me out when the world outside felt like too much.

He had snuck in again. But tonight, something had shifted. My breath hitched.

I knew Mattheo well enough to recognize when something was wrong. The way he was holding me—clinging, almost desperate, too firm.

His legs tangled with mine, his chest flush against my back, his breath warm against the curve of my neck. His other hand found its way into my hair, fingers twisting through the strands with slow, absent strokes. He was seeking comfort. I shifted slightly, whispering silencing spell around us.

"Mattheo," I turned my head to him "What happened?"

Nothing. No response. Just the slight hitch in his breathing, the faintest tremor in his hold.

I shifted again, trying to turn fully toward him, but his grip tightened. His fingers digged into my hip, pulling me closer, he pressed his nose deeper into my neck.

"Mattheo," I tried again, softer this time. I reached out my hand and touched his palm.

Still nothing.

My heart was pounding against my ribs. What is wrong? He wasn’t drunk—not fully. He was lucid, aware. But whatever had driven him here tonight was something heavier than alcohol.

Minutes passed in silence. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the fire still burning inside the dormitory walls. Then, slowly, Mattheo moved, and I caught the opportunity to turn around in his arms.

He pulled back just enough to see my face, his dark eyes locking onto mine. His hand slid up, fingers brushing gently over my cheek, pushing my hair back with an unfamiliar tenderness. My heart sank at this gesture. Unspoken pain in his eyes.

And then, so quietly I almost missed it—

"Should I really let you go?"

I froze. My breath caught in my throat, my fingers clutching his shirt immediately. Then a sticky fear grip me from his words.

"What?" I whispered. "No. No. Why would you say that?"

Mattheo exhaled sharply, jaw tight. His gaze flickered, something unreadable swimming behind it.

"I heard something," he muttered. His voice was lower now, rougher. "Pancy said your family is preparing for your wedding this summer." A pause. "To some family friend. Rich and already in good standing with the ministry."

A beat of silence stretched between us. I felt the panic recede, dissolving into nervous, silent laughter.

"That's not true, nothing like this is happening", He didn't move at my words. His fingers were still tangled in my hair, his face hovering close—too close. His body remained tense, but something in his expression softened, just barely. "Hey, I promise, Pancy just..." I cut myself before certain words escaped my mouth. And I reached for him.

My fingers brushed over his temple, trailing down to the curls resting against his nape. I ran my hand through his curls again, slow and deliberate, the way I knew he liked. Mattheo shuddered under the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as his body finally—finally—relaxed against mine.

A quiet whisper, almost a vow, left his lips. "Then why from all people it's your close friend who talking about this?"

He pressed his forehead against mine, his breathing steadying. His arms remained around me. But when I didn't answer he opened his eyes looking worryingly. He pulled back just enough to see my face.

I swallowed, my fingers still threaded through his hair. This close, I could see everything—the way his pupils were blown wide, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His gaze flickered down to my lips, just for a fraction of a second, before he quickly looked away.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I shouldn't be thinking about this. About him. About the way his hand still rested on my waist, the way his thumb was brushing slow, absentminded circles against the fabric of my nightshirt. It started long ago for me. Long ago my feelings for Mattheo became something more.

For Mattheo, who teased me relentlessly, who stole food off my plate, who always found me in a crowded room without needing to look. Mattheo, who had been in my life for years, slipping between the cracks of my walls without ever asking permission.

Mattheo, who was still looking at me like that.

And suddenly, I was hyperaware of everything. The warmth of his skin, the slight press of his leg against mine, the way neither of us had moved away.

"I said Pancy that I like you...like a lot" my whisper - hot against his lips, my words - fast mess. "and she said you like me too, but of course not, and it's okay, but she might be..."

He called me by name—lower, rougher, like he was about to say something he shouldn't.

I wet my lips. "Yeah?"

Mattheo hesitated only a moment. Then, instead of answering, he lifted his hand slowly. His knuckles brushed against my cheek, the touch featherlight, and I shivered.

Because we had always been close. Always touched without thinking. But this—this was different. The way his eyes changed, the way his fingers trailed down, past my jaw, lingering at the side of my neck where my pulse was racing. His eyes darkened.

I knew, in that moment, that he could feel it.

The space between us disappeared when my body leaned into his without hesitation, my lips parted slightly when his thumb traced my jaw. I was shivering. This wasn’t just friendship. Not anymore. More or nothing.

Mattheo’s fingers curled slightly, his hand resting against my throat for the briefest moment before he pulled away, rolling onto his back with a sharp exhale.

I stared at the canopy above us, pulse still hammering against my ribs. My breath came too fast. Too shallow.

"I don't know when it started.. Just one moment I realized that I'm too into you, too care, too much think. And after all the time Pancy found it out, she said you too... like me..i guess it's her stupid plan" my voice came to the lowest and I felt silent.

I turned my head, looking at him in the dim light filtering through the canopy. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his jaw clenched, his hands fisted in the sheets like he was trying to hold himself back from something.

Like he was fighting himself. Something was going to break inside me.

"Mattheo"

He didn’t answer, but I saw his throat bob, his fingers tightening against the fabric.

I reached out before I could stop myself. My hand skimmed over his arm, the tension in his muscles thrumming beneath my fingertips. He was wound so tight, like he might snap if I pushed even the slightest bit further.

So I did.

I ran my fingers up, over his wrist, curling lightly around it. I grabbed his little finger with mine as we often do. The second I did, he moved.

Fast.

Suddenly, he was above me, pressing my body into the mattress, his weight caging me in. Both of his hands caught my face, pinning it to the pillow, his thumbs caressing my cheeks.

I gasped softly, but not out of fear. Never fear.

Because this was Mattheo. My Mattheo.

And he was looking at me like I was the only thing holding him together and breaking him apart all at once. His breathing was uneven, his curls falling over his forehead. His grip loosened, sliding down to to grab my jaw in his fingers.

"I like you?" he exhaled. His voice was raw with emotions. "I love you, I want you, I desire you so bad that I'm afraid to break all we have."

My surprise was expressed by a weak moan. His grip tightened slightly. He growled my name, "you've always been only for me".

The words sent a shiver down my spine. Something in the lower part of my stomach twisted into a pleasantly aching spasm.

I parted my lips, my fingers curling into his. A plea. "Kiss me please."

Something snapped in his expression.

Then he did.

Not gently. Not softly.

It was all fire and frustration and something that had been building for far too long. His lips crashed against mine, his grip lowered to my waist pulling me closer.

I didn't even think before kissing him back just as fiercely. My free hand slid into his hair, tugging, and Mattheo groaned softly against my mouth. He deepened the kiss, angling my jaw the way he needed to slid his tongue. His fingers skimming under the hem of my shirt, pressing against the bare skin of my waist and higher.

It was overwhelming. It was everything when his hands slide up my sides, fingertips grazing the sides of my breasts under the shirt.

"May I..?"

"Take it all off Mattheo"

A low, approving groan rumbled in his chest at my request. His hands slowly slided up my sides, in one smooth motion, he pulled my shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside, then he repeated it with his own. For a while we were devouring each other. His eyes darken with desire as he took in the sight of my bare breasts, nipples already hardened from arousal. He was hovering over me, and I was observing every inch, every detail of his toned chest and strong arms and flexing muscles.

Leaning down, Mattheo placed a tender kiss on my collarbone before trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down to the valley between my breasts. I threw my head back and my mouth opened in a silent moan. My fingers dug into his curls to keep myself from falling endlessly. Because he took one of my nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. His hand came up to knead and caress the other breast, rolling and pinching the nipple between his fingers.

The world behind the canopy ceased to exist, it's only me - nothing more than arching underneath him, panting softly.

When his hand slid far down my stomach, I had absolutely no control over the way my thighs clenched. Matteo's fingers slid deeper and I felt his hot breath on my lips. "I know this is your first time, babygirl.. trust me please" He kissed me lightly, and I reached for him.

He presses his forehead against mine, nose nuzzling against my cheek affectionately. His fingers push my panties aside, a middle finger tracing my slit, feeling all the wetness. He groans softly. "But you're so soaked for me, my girl". He circles my clit with the pad of his finger, applying the slightest pressure. I moaned in approval and lifted my hips closer to him. His other hand slides under my knee, hitching my leg up higher on his hip.

He silences my moans with another deep kiss, as his finger slips inside me. Even tight for one. He starts with just the tip, pumping it in and out gently before pushing in deeper, curling it to stroke my so needy spot. I arched at his every stroke and every brush of his thumb over my clit. His other hand slides under my other knee, hitching the second leg up as well so I'm essentially wrapped around his waist. He starts to thrust his finger faster, adding a second one, stretching, scissoring me gently, and I whimpered.

"I need to stretch you, you're so tight..for Salazar sake", his hot, dirty whisper made me want him more. "I'm gonna finally feel you wrapped around my cock." He leans in to murmur in my ear. And it was the first time when I felt my pussy started to clench over his fingers, awaiting for something more and more bigger.

I felt my walls started to flutter and clench around his fingers, signaling impending orgasm. As I hit my peak, he captures my mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing my cries and whispering into my mouth "My girl..my good girl, go on, go on". My pussy spasmed and gripped his fingers tightly as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over.

He works my shaking body through it.

But didn't stop. He tore out of me another powerful orgasm and whining moans.

Literally nothing was left of me except trembling and pleasure. When I felt him take his fingers out of me and run over my slit, gathering more of my juices, I opened my eyes. And I saw what I expected: him sitting before me and looking, and looking, his eyes hooded in pleasure, his lips licking every drop of me from his fingers.

"I would've died if I could never touch you", my words are barely above the whisper, but he of course heard.

"I've been dying every time I touched you and was unable to go further," his words spread like sweet pain in between my tights.

Mattheo reached down to undo his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to free his hard, aching cock. I watched as he stroked it a few times, biting back a groan. His eyes were roaming over my body, coming back to meet my eyes. Merlin. So big and so..needy.

"It's gonna hurt a little babygirl," he brushes my hair back from my face, cupping my cheek. Then he takes a deep breath, and I felt he tip of his cock against my slick heat. He applies the slightest pressure, just enough to start pushing inside and I gasped for air.

"Good girl, good... relax for me, please" he groans softly at the tightness, having to pause for a moment to collect himself. I closed my eyes, my pussy around his cock was burning. I nodded and Mattheo left soft kisses over my cheek as he starts to push in deeper, inch by inch. I felt so clear how my walls stretching around him, gripping his hard length.

"You're big Mattheo"

He groaned in irritation mixed with pleading in his voice. His cock twitched inside me. "Don't do it. I have to be gentle with you for now."

He pushes in a little further, feeling my hymen stretch and then give way. His instant growl mixed with my whimpered moan, when free from the obstacle his cock slid much further.

Panting softly, he paused, letting me adjust to the new sensation. "It's okay, it's okay, breathe". He kissed my forehead tenderly, caressing my cheeks with his fingers. I leaned against his touch and when I nodded he whispered: "You are gonna feel good I promise."

When he started to move again, sliding in deeper, his hips pressing against mine, the pain seemed to loosen. I wrapped my hands around his neck as he sets a slow, steady rhythm, not wanting to overwhelm. Despite little soreness I feel incredible being wrapped around his cock like this. Being kissed with his lips.

His slow movements little by little became more jerky, his breathing heavier. My walls starting to flutter around him, gripping his cock tighter and deeper, sucking it fully inside me. His name escaping my mouth as much as I exhale. Mattheo set a more intense rhythm. The bed creaks softly beneath us with the motion, the room could've been filled with the sound of skin against skin if I hadn't casted charms.

Mattheo was the first who felt my walls clenching and spasming around his throbbing cock. For one moment I got scared of what was going to happend and shifted under him. He groans deeply, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips as he holds me tight, not letting me move away from the intense pleasure.

"Matt... Mattheo, Mattheo..." I moan and moan his name coming harder and shaking even more.

He doesn't stop his thrusts, continuing to drive into me with deep, powerful strokes, making loud sounds of my wet pussy. The bed shakes and creaks beneath us, the headboard slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts. Until he found it difficult to push his cock in because of how tightly my spasms were squeezing him. He sat on his knees, his cock pulsing in me.

His breathing grows ragged, "Fuck... You feel like my own heaven. I need to fill you up, baby..may I.." I didn't protest. He pants, again his hips moving faster, driving into me with abandon. I spread my legs more for him, digging my nails into his arms, as he - on his kness - hold my hips up thrusting inside.

With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside me, his thick cock pulsing and throbbing as he finds his release. He spills his hot seed deep inside my fluttering walls, coating me with his essence. I was suffocating.

And so he stayed - with his eyes closed, not moving, his mouth slightly open in pleasure.

I admired him: as his chest heaved with ragged breathing, as beads of sweat slid down his arms and toned torso. My whole soul vibrating with excitement. So handsome. So finally mine.

Mattheo opened his eyes and his gaze fell on mine, and then went down to where our bodies were still connected. He slowly pulled out his cock, and his seed flowed out of me in hot drops. Mattheo watched and watched before he collected everything with two fingers and pushed it back in me.

When he licked his fingers off again I was ready to cum. My hips jerked uncomfortably.

"Sweeter than I ever imagined all this time", he murmured. He noticed my reaction and traced his hand over my inner thigh and up. His finger pads almost touched my clit.

When he finally pulled back to me, he rests his forehead against mine, looking into my eyes with a satisfied, loving gaze.

He brushed my arm all along and capturered my little finger with his. "I love you so much", he whispers, still trying to catch his breath. "And I'm pretty sure that you can give me another one.."

His hand left my little finger and dived between my legs again, giving me the desired touch.

[everythingne]

little miss wingwoman (4) - ln4

Christmas Day starts without a hitch, but when you have some wine with Max, and Lando with his family--you find that maybe Penelope isn't as crazy as you think she's been these past few weeks. Also, Max Fewtrell finally makes his appearance.

warnings/notes: holy fucking shit y'all iM SO SORRY?? its been... too long!! hopefully this quarter will be a lot lighter for me, and I wont be as depressed (tmi but yay meds!) so i can get this baby FINISHED.

(prev | next)

It's early when the Norris' come back to the apartment, whisking into the home with an absurd amount of energy. You pause in the doorway, looking over at the family squishing through the front hall as they discard shoes and jackets, happily chatting with Lando.

You stood in the kitchen, making by far the most simple breakfast you could muster while the family was exchanging. Humming softly along to the radio. Despite knowing they'd welcome you, theres something that makes you feel a bit awkward joining in on the morning festivities. And so, you use the excuse of cooking to hide away from them all. It feels like you're encroaching, so you just keep your head down.

It's Mrs. Norris who intercepts you in the kitchen, a soft smile on her lips as she sets a little bag down on the counter, "Merry Christmas."

"You didn't have to." You immediately say, and Cisca shakes her head, pressing the gift a bit closer to you.

"I know my son, and in the course of a few days with him you've managed to make this flat look like a home, teach him to cook, got us gifts, made sure he didn't screw up Christmas... I think you deserve a little something, yeah?"

Inside is a bottle of wine, some brand Lando had probably seen you buy during a trip to the store, and a little wad of cash and some gift cards. Nothing big, but still more than you were expecting.

"Oh, Mrs. Norris, thank you." you say softly, stepping over to give her a tight hug. She only smiles, giving you a little squeeze on the arm, before ushering you to tell her what to do to help you with breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, plates are being piled up with food while you entertain Savannah's girls with their gifts. The whole apartment feels cozy, and when you lift your head--almost every time you catch Lando watching you with a tiny smile.

It's noon when Max calls.

"I know I said you'd be off for the holidays..." he starts, tentatively, "but Kelly's not feeling the best and doesn't want to cook, and I can try but we know how that goes--"

"It's alright, Max." You quickly reassure him, handing little Mila over to her father as Oliver nestles the half asleep toddler to his chest. You run a hand along the top of your head and sigh, "What time do you need me over?"

"When can you get here?" Max says and you look around. Lando's entertained with his family, and Savannah and Oliver give you a little nudge to go.

"Let me grab my bag." You say into the phone, followed by a bye as Max thanks you, and you turn on your heel to rush into your bedroom. You're midway through packing when a soft knock gets your attention and you look back to the door--Lando giving you a soft smile.

"Going to see the little princess?" He asks softly and you toss your bag over your shoulder as you stand, sighing and rubbing the side of your neck as if it aches the way your chest does when you see the sadness in Lando's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kelly's sick again and--" "--Don't apologize," Lando holds up a hand, "It's your job."

You run your hand along your neck, moving closer, "I still feel bad--"

"--I'm not going anywhere, you know? Our place will still be here when you're done."

"Our place?" You tease softly, stepping over as you tug your bag over your shoulder, stepping up to stand nearly chest to chest with Lando. He smiles, gently leaning on the side of the doorframe.

"Yes, our apartment. Forget... staying here while you look for a new place." He murmurs, gently taking one of your hands. Every ounce of his confident bravado fades, and he offers you a sheepish smile, "I didn't realize how much I missed having a roommate until Max ended up moving out, now he lives with P--which is awesome for them but... having you around is quite wonderful too."

"Wonderful? You're using big boy words today!" You smile and Lando flushed, playfully punching your arm in response with a little scowl as he huffs,

"Can you stop ruining the moment?"

You laugh, pushing his shoulder and grinning when he stumbles back, smiling at you as you tug your purse tighter around your shoulder, "I'll see you later, yeah? When I get back to our apartment."

Lando just nods, grinning as you wave goodbye to his family. He escorts you to the door like you're a guest, holding your bag and phone as you throw on a pair of nice sneakers, and when you take your bag back you have to resist the urge to kiss his cheek.

As you're walking to the elevator, you catch the blush on your cheeks in a mirror, and have to swallow it down as you jam the 'up' button for the elevator because standing in the hall longer will make you want to run back to Lando.

Upstairs, Penelope is waiting for you in the hallway, her arms crossed. When you inquiry on why she's so upset, she huffs, "you haven't kissed him yet!"

"Kissed who?" You ask, looking up to Max in the doorway who struggles to cover Penelope's mouth as the girl goes to shout. He ends up smushing her face into his palms, using his heel to keep the door open as he speaks at half Penelope's volume in the early morning.

"She thinks you and Lando are dating or something." Max supplies, making you pause half step as you nearly stumble over your feet in shock. Dating? Did people think you were dating? Did Lando's family think you were dating?

You sputter, "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"He's really nice to you, and he smiles when you talk, and you get all blushy when he's around!" She demands, stomping her little foot, and you laugh--running your fingers through her hair before walking into the home as Max holds the door.

"He's just a friend." You say softly, though it's not your feelings you're protecting. You know he's a sweetheart. It's Lando for crying out loud, he'd rather cry than hurt someone's feelings with something said outside of the heat of the moment. And even then, you'd been there for times Max had Lando over for chats after stressful weekends, or listened to Max when he ranted about how much pressure was put on the guy.

Penelope continues to protest for a while, and you worked on grabbing the ingredients for the dinner Max tells you Kelly wanted to make while she blabbed. But when someone knocks on the door, you wipe your hands off on your apron as you go to grab it.

Lando's on the other side, your phone in hand, sheepishly murmuring, "I realized I never handed it back to you."

If you could hear Penelope's mischievous giggle from the other room, you would've looked back at her, unfortunately Kelly's laughter along with Victoria overpowers the sound of Penelope running across the kitchen to the living room with Nino at her heels.

"Oh!" You laugh softly, taking the device from his hands with a tiny smile, "Thank you, I hadn't even noticed! Penelope's been keeping me busy and--"

Something bonks your forehead.

"Oh." Lando's face turns red, and you blink up to see a tiny little buschel on a string. It swings, bonking you again, and you follow the string to where Penelope proudly holds her makeshift fishing rod of misletoe right between you and Lando.

"Penelope Piquet-Kyvat." You snip, looking at the girl who grins with all her all teeth, practically ear to ear.

"You have to kiss, thats the rule!" she chimes, and Kelly gasps, slowly getting up to do her little pregnant waddle across the room--attempting to take the rod from her daughter's hand. It was clearly some type of gag gift, based on how hard Victoria was trying not to laugh while Max looked mortified.

"Penelope! Come on, leave them alone!"

Lando coughs, trying to cover up a laugh, and without thinking you whack his shoulder to keep him quiet. But when your eyes meet, its impossible to not laugh. Being quiet to make Penelope know what she was doing was rude would be best, but with the tears in Lando's eyes from him trying not to laugh, it's impossible. You let a giggle out, covering your mouth, before you both crack and start cackling.

"Penelope, come on," Lando waves a hand, "I'm not kissing her, we aren't dating."

"But you could be," Penelope reasons, crossing her arms as the toy is finally yanked from her hands by Kelly--who playfully whacks a giggling Max with it when she crosses the room again--sending Victoria and Sophie in fits of laughter.

"Penny, come on." You sigh softly, but the girl is set in her mind that you two will end up together. She crosses her arms, pouts, and all but throws a tantrum before she shouts,

"You have to kiss!"

Lando looks at you, eyes flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes a few times. Kelly and Max are now trying to get Penelope to leave you both alone, and for five minutes, you try to get her to give it up. Then Lando laments, and gently presses a kiss to your cheek instead. Which, if her giggles are any sign, satisfies Penelope for now as she runs into her Mom's awaiting hands.

Max mouths a sorry, trying not to laugh as Kelly fails to scold the toddler, and your attention is drawn by Lando gently squeezing your wrist.

When you glance over, he sheepishly murmurs, "sorry for just... doing that without asking."

"It's fine, Lan." You give him a soft smile, "Penelope might stop bothering us now."

Lando laughs at that, and you do to, but the underlying tension of the moment stays and lingers like a phantom pain long after Lando goes back downstairs. You feel the tingle of the kiss through cooking, serving, and eating dinner. Max cornering you while you're cleaning up isn't surprising, especially not when he hands you a bottle of wine and tells you to finish it.

"Max." You deadpan, "I'm here to work."

"Penelope went to bed, works over." Max shrugs, then nudges the bottle to you, "Drink it or I will and then Kelly will be mad because she still can't drink for a few months."

You blink, and laugh, pouring the rest of the bottle into your glass. You're already a bit dazed from drinking some wine earlier with dinner, so you know this'll end with you tipsy and trying to hide it.

When Max cheers when you take a sip, you roll your eyes, "Drink something too, Kel has that pregnancy mocktail mix she found online that I still think tastes like tequila."

"Oh, true." Max breezes past you to the get the little mix. It was some holistic medicine thing a friend of hers had told her helped with crazy pregnancy hormones, and Kelly agreed. He poured half of it in a glass and then topped it with ginger soda, and Kelly happily came to sit in the kitchen with you both while you finished cleaning.

They talked numbly behind you as you dried dishes and put them away, humming to yourself between intermittent sips of wine until Max decides to push it a little when he sees you're halfway down the glass.

"A kiss on the cheek is pretty close." Max says. You pause, peeking over your shoulder at him, seeing him narrow his eyes at you, "To a real kiss."

"No," Kelly nudges Max with her arm, "Pen thinks they actually kissed."

"Oh lord," you whisper, rubbing the dish a little harder and Kelly snickers. Finishing off her drink and announcing she's going off to get ready for bed. You put away the last of the dishes, downing your wine in one solid gulp in silence, before Max chimes.

"Would you date Lando?"

"Max." You turn around, looking at Max with a confused face.

He continues sharply, waving his hand, cheeks rosy from the strength of the wine, "I wouldn't mind it, if you dated him."

"Seriously?" You huff, putting the towel down a little harsher, "why are you asking this right now?"

"Because I have eyes? Everyone sees the way you two look at each other, I honestly think it's only a matter of time before one of you just says 'fuck it' and kisses the other."

You stare at Max, and he takes that as a sign to continue, "And Lando's like... the only driver I'd trust."

"Max, I'm not dating Lando." You deadpan to him, now fully turning around to face him, "Just because Penelope, and apparently everyone else thinks we have some sort of chemistry, doesn't mean I'm going to date him."

Max hums, crossing his arms before he stands, handing you his glass to pop in the dishwasher, "Why not? He's not the worst, honestly."

"Max, I just met him!" You huff in frustration, "I barely know him, I barely have spent time with him, can you just cool it?!"

Max blinks, and you groan, scrubbing your hands across your face in frustration, "And even if I wanted to, my track record for dating isn't good. I doubt it would go well, and I doubt he even likes me."

"I wouldn't second guess that last one," Max chimes, "He was the first person to jump at having you stay with him when I sent a text to all the drivers in the group chat asking if anyone had an extra room. And he wanted it so bad."

And after that, he bids you goodnight, and leaves the room. You stand in the kitchen for a long while, just staring at the spot where Max left. In the corner of the room, Penelope's mistletoe haunts you, and you feel the ghost touch of Lando's lips to your cheek again before it's gone.

Lando's in a similar predicament.

"I don't know, Ma." Lando hums, taking dishes from her arms and helping her put them away while his father helps his siblings corral the little ones and their gifts in the living room. The Norris family's bundles of energy are fussy now with exhaustion, Christmas day having been quite the adventure.

"What don't you know?" Cisca pauses, looking at her son as she hangs the towel to dry.

"I just met her, Ma. Sure, I've seen her around for two or so years, but her living with me is so new and... I wouldn't want to come off too strong."

Cisca tsks, gently squeezing Lando's arm as she passes him to dry off her hands on another towel, "You just have to ask, Lando. Which... may be easier said than done, but I'm sure knows you're a nice boy. Honestly, I still think one of the most romantic things your father did was ask me, very softly, if he could kiss me in the car on the way home."

Lando leans on the counter, shaking a hand through his curls as Cisca smiles at her son, "He was nervous, he didn't wanna seem too forthcoming--much like you. Just ask her if its okay."

"But what if it messes everything up?" Lando sighs, shaking his head as if trying to shake away the thought of giving you a kiss--because if he thinks about it any longer he might turn Ferrari red, "I wouldn't wanna make her uncomfortable."

"It won't, trust me." Cisca says, looking over her shoulder as the door lock clicks open and you step in, a bundle of gifts thrown over one arm and your purse dangling from your fingers. Se can tell the both of you are tipsy, and she smirks to herself before pushing off the counter--pausing to play music off the Google Home, before going to help her kids get packed up.

Lando snorts at you, stepping over to steady you as you try to pry your heels off. You look up at him and huff, "Does Max also shove drinks down your throat when you're with him?"

"Only now that Kelly's pregnant and the smell of liquor makes her sick," Lando hums, his hands holding onto your arm as you wiggle out of your shoes. He takes your purse and hangs it up where you always do while you go to drop the gifts from the Verstappen-Piquet's in your bedroom.

That's when Cisca appears with Adam, smiling at you, "Well, it's back to the hotel for us before the toddlers throw a tantrum and the adults get too drunk."

"Do you need me to drive you, Ma?" Lando calls from down the hall as Cisca gives you a parting hug.

"No no, I got a rideshare." She waves a hand, "It's not a huge deal, spend time cleaning up, there's quite a bit."

"I'll make sure he does," You give Cisca a soft smile, "thank you again for the gifts."

The little clump of Norris' in the hallway slowly diminished through the front door after goodbye hugs and leftover distribution. Once they're all gone, with a promise to text when they arrive safely in their hotel, you and Lando begin to tackle the cleaning process. He's working on the living room reorganization while you tackle the kitchen, and when he comes to help you after resetting the couch, the two of you are humming along to some Bill Crosby song when Lando dramatically begins to sway.

"Feel the vibes," he explains when you laugh and ask what he's doing, and through the 'vibes' you end up holding hands and jokingly swaying around the kitchen. It's clean...ish, for now, and Lando gives you a little spin for flourish.

The spin knocks you off kilter, and his hands reach out to grab your waist, steadying you and keeping you from fully slamming against the counter where he sets your back to rest. You catch yourself, one hand on the counter, one hand on Lando's shoulder. Your elbow is bent, sort of digging into his bicep as he leans forward to balance himself on the counter.

His hip bumps yours where he stands, accidentally partially between your legs, and you lift your head to nearly bump your noses. A giggle leaves your throat, and Lando's all smiles. There's a pause, as the music slows to its final swell where you think: Oh, here we go. This is it.

And then the moment is shattered as NuevaYoL blasts at full volume.

"Google!" You and Lando whip around to shout, your voices blending into laughter as you tipsily stumble over to turn off the song. As you laugh, Lando leans on your shoulder, and even if it didn't end with a kiss, his smile in that moment tells you all you need to know.

Maybe, somehow, Penelope had been right.

Lando wakes up the next morning to a headache he can only attribute to the alcohol, and the sound of Max laughing in the kitchen. He pauses, and distinguishes.

Max Fewtrell.

Groaning, he kicks the blanket off of him. Why Max and Pietra decided to come over the day after Christmas was beyond Lando's understanding. He couldn't think of anything they'd planned, so why were they here?

Then, he hears Max lament, "Lando's a pussy, you gotta push him." followed by your pretty laugh and, yep. Okay. Thats enough out of Max.

"Max!" He shouts, cringing at the pain it flairs behind his eyes as he snags a t-shirt out of his dresser and throws it on haphazardly. Shuffling on his feet, he ends up hitting the wall before managing to open the door. You're perched on the couch corner next to Pietra, who's scrolling idly through her phone, a cup of warm coffee or tea in your hands. Lando can't tell from here, but the kitchen smells like both. Pietra and Max's mugs settled on the table, along with an empty plate of food, telling him the two have been here for a while.

"Ah! Sleeping beauty!" Max cheers and you snort into your coffee, "Thought you died from alcohol poisoning."

"Shut up, you--" a yawn cuts Lando off and he scrubs his hands across his face, "I'm fine."

"You look exhausted, Lan." You say, worry tinging your tone, and Lando can't help the flutter that attacks his chest. Part of him wants to slap his chest to make it go away, but that would be more obvious.

"I'm just waking up, thats all." Lando waves a hand, but he can feel the burn in his cheeks that Max raises an eyebrow at. At that, Max stands, making his way over to drag Lando into the kitchen with some boring lament about Quadrant work. You huff a tiny laugh into your drink, again, and Lando thinks his heart skips before Max punches his shoulder blade.

"Ow?!" Lando turns around to whack Max back, and the two shove and shuffle deeper into the kitchen until Max grabs both of Lando's wrists, and whisper shouts.

"So, new roommate, and you didn't say anything?"

"I was busy."

"What were you busy with? Fucking her?"

Lando gawks, pauses, then shouts, "Max!"

"Sorry." Max pauses, hand up and the conversation drops back down to whispers, "you're the out of pocket one and I needed a turn because apparently I'm now that last to know things. I had Penelope Piquet tell me this in the line at the store."

Lando sighs, leaning against his counter and rubbing his face, "Of course it was Penelope. And I'm sorry for not telling you, I just... kind of forgot that I was hosting Christmas and luckily Yn's like the best nanny ever and fixed my whole damn apartment and saved the holidays and..."

He pauses, looking through the hall to the windows that mirror the living room where you and Pietra are curled up on the couch gossiping. She leans in to whisper something, and your head throws back in a laugh that echoes right into his heart and speeds it up.

"Oh." Max hums, "you're whipped."

"It gets worse, though," Lando sighs, "My mom did a list of Christmas activities in Monaco. We get to do the Christmas Village today. And, guess what ballet the company is putting on this year?"

"Swan Lake? The Nutcracker?" Max hums and Lando shakes his head.

"Well, one group is doing Swan Lake, but Penelope begged her mom to get me and Yn tickets to Giselle as a gift for Christmas." Lando cracks his neck, "Which, according to Oliver, is romantic. And now I have a five year old telling me I have to go or else."

"Oh, you poor thing." Max cackles, whacking Lando's chest, "it's a ballet, what could go wrong?"

Lando blinks at Max. Just about everything, he wants to say, especially when a very enthusiastic Penelope Piquet has clearly been secretly being his wingwoman.

And she will stop at nothing to see this through.

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(more in comments... comments based tag list is still open!)

[the-original-skipps]

|| Getting Stuck on a Ferris Wheel Together. || Blue Lock Reactions ||

“skipps your fixations are wild you literally jump into one fandom and into the other” yeah well i be wild and impulsive like that lol ooc warning (especially kaiser sorry in advance) cuz this is the first time im writing for any of them but if you want to see more let me know!

isagi. chigiri. nagi. rin. sae. kaiser.

❥ Isagi immediately jolts as the carriage suddenly stops, his arms reflexively grab onto you to steady you. Though a part of the reason why he did that is because he's somewhat spooked. Isagi himself never thought he'd have fear of heights until he nervously peers out the window. It just so happens that your carriage stopped when the Ferris wheel was at its highest point. He's quick to try to reassure you that everything's okay, that the carriage would move in a few minutes.

However you, sensing his slight nervousness - place your hands over his in an attempt to calm him down. Isagi can feel his breathing pause, the reason for his nervousness has now changed because now you're holding his hands. He wonders if you could hear his heart hammering in his chest in the silence of the carriage. Isagi wonders how many more minutes he can stand being so close to you like this without combusting. Yet, at the same time he doesn't want this moment to end!

"D-Don't worry! Everything is gonna be fine...!"

❥ Chigiri instinctively places a hand on your shoulder when the carriage abruptly stops. He's a little surprised as well, not expecting the carriage to stop especially when it's at the peak of height. Chigiri quickly looks over to you asking if you're okay. Only when you assure him that you are, does a small smile break out on his face. The red head is also quick to throw out a sarcastic remark that has you smiling and more at ease. The way your smile instantly makes a sea of butterflies erupt in his stomach.

He's quick to cover up the giddiness he feels by pointing out something outside the carriage window, commenting how magnificent the view looks from up here. Chigiri can feel his breath hitch momentarily when you lean towards him, trying to get a better view at what he's pointing at. You're so close to him, he could literally wrap his arm around your shoulder right now. The male quickly shakes his thoughts away. Instead choosing instead to bask in your close presence as you point out the other scenic things outside. He supposes this situation may not be so bad after all.

"Come a little closer, you'll see it better that way."

❥ Nagi just blinks in confusion when the carriage comes to a halt. He looks around the carriage confused before turning to you to ask what had happened. He doesn't look frightened in the slightest. When the seconds turn into minutes, Nagi starts to feel bored of just waiting for the carriage to move. The ashen haired male is quick to whine to you that he's bored of just waiting around. He's tempted to pull out his phone to play a game to pass the time but he decides against it. "This is your opportunity to make a move!" The imaginary Reo in mind yells at him. Nagi feels himself in an inner conflict with his internal Reo, until he finally gives in.

He tries to wrack his brain as to what he should do but until a certain scene from a game he once played pops up in his head. The white haired male suddenly turns to face you, his eyes staring intensely at you. You just noticed how much closer he's gotten when he takes your hand in his. You really didn't expect the next words to come out of his mouth.

"If this was an otome game, this is the moment where we should kiss." 

❥ Rin's immediate reaction at the carriage stopping is to click his tongue in annoyance. He didn't want to get on it at first, what's so fun about being stuck in a tight space while the machine turns at the speed of a turtle? He doesn't see the enjoyment in it but due to your incessant pleading, he finally gave in. Now as he sits in silence with you in this unmoving carriage, he is further reminded of his mistake of getting on in the first place.

Though, as Rin glances at you from the corner of his eye ― he doesn't mind seeing you up close like this. His eyes immediately shift forward as you turn to face him, he'd rather die than to admit he was caught staring at you. He feels himself getting unnecessarily nervous as you continue to ramble some nonsense to him. Pressing closer to his body as you point out something outside the carriage window. Rin tries to focus on the distant view to distract himself but all he can think about right now is that your shoulder is practically touching his. He has to physically will himself to not blush.

"Stupid ride! Hurry up and move...!"

❥ Sae's face remains unchanged even when the carriage jerks into a stop. His eyes automatically flickering towards you to see your reaction. Were you nervous or scared? He momentarily worries to himself despite his face remaining as stoic as ever. The teal eyed male sits there observing your reaction to the situation. He breathes out a mental sigh of relief as you seem unbothered. Sae just nods from time to time as you talk to him to pass the time. He doesn't look like it but he is actually listening to what you're saying. Taking mental notes to remember certain details in case they may come to use in the future. His eyes briefly glancing at something you point out outside the window before returning to gaze at you instead.

If it was any other person he would have immediately told them to shut up. He wouldn't have even gotten on this stupid ride in the first place, it's a waste of time. However, this was you and you're different. You're not like those insignificant background characters. The way you make him feel, he doesn't dislike it. When you're not looking a faint smile graces his face.

"Idiot, who told you to stop talking."

❥ Kaiser can feel a small smirk forming on his lips at the sudden situation. His arm wrapped around your shoulder pulling you flush against him when the carriage suddenly jerked. He's quick to tease you on how lucky you should feel for getting to be so close to him. A moment only few get to experience or so he claims, as you roll your eyes playfully at him as you pull away from him. He only chuckles in response. Though, he feels like the lucky one today. He won't let this opportunity go to waste.

He engages you in light conversation pointing out some building in the far distance. While unbeknownst to you he's slowly inching himself closer, invading your personal space. Only when you turn back to face him again after looking outside do you find his face a mere inches away from yours. Oh, he's delighting in the fact he's making you nervous. When you try to avoid his intense gaze, he grasps your chin with his fingers ― making you face him again.

"Liebling, don't you dare look away from me now..."

[ghstyles]

For Worse or For Worse

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. WC: 4.7k .

. Masterlist .

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Harry's living room looked like it had been hit by a controlled explosion. Half-empty mugs of tea on every surface, notebooks with torn-out pages scattered across the floor, guitar picks in places guitar picks had no business being. He hadn't let the cleaning service in for weeks, preferring the solitude of his mess to the judgment of strangers.

When the doorbell rang, he ignored it, continuing to pluck absently at his guitar. The doorbell rang again, more insistently this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

Harry sighed. Only four three people had keys to their his house

Y/N, Jeff, his security head...and his mother.

"Harry Edward Styles!" Anne's sharp voice cut through the stillness, followed by the click of her heels on the marble entryway. "What on earth—"

She stopped short as she entered the living room, taking in the chaos and her son's disheveled appearance with equal measures of shock and dismay.

"Good God," she muttered, picking her way through the debris toward him. "It smells like a pub in here. When was the last time you showered?"

Harry didn't look up from his guitar. "Nice to see you too, Mother."

Anne wrinkled her nose, moving a pile of clothes from an armchair before perching on its edge, as if afraid to fully commit to sitting in the squalor.

"This has gone on quite long enough," she declared. "Jeff says you're refusing to approve the divorce announcement. The longer you wait, the more speculation builds. People are already commenting on how you haven't been seen together in weeks."

Harry's fingers stilled on the strings. "I'm not discussing this."

"You're acting like a child," Anne snapped. "This is exactly what we wanted, what you wanted. The girl is gone, the contract fulfilled early, and the money well spent considering how much good press you got out of playing house."

Harry's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening around the neck of his guitar. "Don't."

"Don't what? Don't remind you that this was a business arrangement from the start? Don't point out that you're moping around like a lovesick teenager over a marriage that was never real? You're being ridiculous, Harry. This was never meant to be permanent. It was a business arrangement, nothing more. A transaction that has served its purpose."

Harry's jaw clenched as he set the guitar aside with deliberate care, as if afraid he might otherwise throw it.

"Is that all relationships are to you? Transactions?"

"Don't be dramatic," Anne scoffed. "You knew exactly what this marriage was from the beginning. We discussed it at length."

Harry finally looked up, his eyes hard and cold. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," Anne countered, her voice rising. "I've watched you throw away a month of your life over a gold-digging nobody who couldn't wait to sign divorce papers and cash her check!"

Something in Harry snapped at the dismissive way his mother spoke about Y/N, as if she were nothing more than a gold-digger who'd played her part and exited stage left.

"You don't know her," he said, voice rising. "You've never bothered to know her. She's not who you think she is."

"And you're not thinking clearly," Anne countered, her own voice hardening. "This... infatuation has clouded your judgment. She was never going to fit into your life, Harry. Into our world. It's time to face reality and move forward."

"Our world?" Harry laughed bitterly. "You mean your world, Mother. The one where everything and everyone has a price tag and a purpose. Where relationships are just another form of currency to be traded."

Anne's face flushed with anger.

"I have only ever wanted what's best for you—"

"No," Harry interrupted, stepping closer. "You've wanted what you think is best for me. What fits your vision of who I should be. But that's not who I am anymore."

"This is absurd," Anne declared, gathering her purse and preparing to leave. "I'll tell Jeff to proceed with the announcement. You'll thank me later when this embarrassing episode is behind you and you can find someone more... suitable."

Harry moved to block her path, his expression thunderous.

"You will do no such thing."

"Harry—"

"I'm not announcing the divorce because I don't want a divorce!" he shouted, the words echoing in the silent house. "I want my wife back!"

Anne looked genuinely shocked, her composure cracking for perhaps the first time in Harry's memory.

"Your wife? Harry, she was never really—"

"She is my wife," he insisted, his voice breaking slightly. “why didn't she call? Why didn't she tell me herself?" Harry paced the room, energy suddenly coursing through him after weeks of lethargy. "Why go through lawyers when she could have just picked up a phone?"

"Why are you being so stubborn about this?" Anne demanded, genuine confusion mingling with her frustration. "There are dozens of women who would be thrilled to—"

"Because I love her!" The words erupted from Harry with such force that Anne physically stepped back, her eyes widening. "I love her, Mother. Not the arrangement, not the convenience. Her. Y/N. The woman you've spent years trying to push out of my life."

A heavy silence fell between them, Harry's declaration hanging in the air like a physical presence. Anne stared at her son as if seeing him for the first time, or perhaps seeing something in him she'd been deliberately ignoring.

"My, my. You really did fall for her, didn't you? How disappointing."

The cold disdain in his mother's voice sent a chill through Harry. He'd heard that tone before, whenever anyone failed to meet Anne's exacting standards, whenever someone showed weakness or vulnerability.

"Get out," he said quietly.

Anne blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"

"I said get out," Harry repeated, his voice firmer now. "I'm not discussing this with you anymore."

Anne stood, smoothing her impeccable suit with practiced dignity. "You're being ridiculous. I came here to help you—"

"Help me?" Harry laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "When have you ever helped me with anything that didn't serve your own interests?"

Color rose in Anne's cheeks. "That's unfair and ungrateful. Everything I've ever done has been for your benefit."

"No," Harry shook his head. "Everything you've ever done has been to control me. To shape me into your idea of what I should be."

"And look where it got you!" Anne gestured around the luxurious house. "Fame, fortune, success. All because I pushed you to be better than you thought you could be."

"At what cost?" Harry asked softly. "I've spent my entire life trying to meet your impossible standards. Nothing I do is ever enough."

Anne's expression hardened. "Clearly not, if you're throwing it all away over some girl."

"She's not 'some girl'!" Harry's voice rose again. "She's my wife!"

"Ex-wife," Anne corrected coldly. "And thank God for that. Honestly, Harry. What is the matter with you? If I had known this would happen, I wouldn't have sent the bloody lawyer in the first place."

The words hung in the air between them, the silence that followed almost deafening.

Harry went completely still, his eyes locked on his mother's face. "What did you just say?"

Anne's expression flickered, a momentary crack in her perfect composure as she realized her mistake.

"I—I meant that I wouldn't have let the lawyers proceed so quickly," she backtracked, but the damage was done.

Harry took a step toward her, his voice dangerously quiet. "You sent the lawyer? To Y/N? While she was visiting her mother?"

Anne lifted her chin defiantly. "You should be thanking me. I expedited things, saved you both from dragging it out unnecessarily."

"You told me she contacted our lawyers," Harry said slowly, the pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. "You said she initiated the divorce."

"She signed the papers, didn't she?" Anne replied defensively. "She took the money. The end result is the same."

Harry's hands curled into fists at his sides, his entire body vibrating with a rage so pure it was almost blinding.

"What exactly did you tell her?" he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

Anne waved a dismissive hand. "It doesn't matter—"

"WHAT DID YOU TELL HER?" Harry roared, making his mother flinch.

After a moment of tense silence, Anne straightened her shoulders. "The truth. That you had signed the papers months ago. That you were ready to end the charade."

Harry stared at her in disbelief, the full horror of what she'd done washing over him in waves. "You lied. To her. To me."

"I protected you," Anne insisted. "That girl was changing you, making you soft, vulnerable. I've worked too hard to let you throw everything away over someone so...beneath you."

Harry laughed, a hollow, broken sound. "Beneath me? She's worth ten of you."

Anne's eyes widened at the insult. "How dare you speak to me that way. After everything I've done for you—"

"Get out," Harry cut her off, his voice trembling with the effort of controlling his rage. "Get out of my house right now, or I swear to God, Mother, I will say things that can never be taken back."

For a moment, it seemed Anne might argue, might try to justify her actions further. But something in Harry's expression, the cold fury, the absolute betrayal, made her reconsider.

"You'll thank me someday," she said stiffly, gathering her purse. "When you've come to your senses."

Harry didn't respond, didn't move, didn't even breathe until he heard the front door close behind her. Then, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he collapsed onto the couch, the reality of his mother's deception crushing down on him.

Y/N hadn't initiated the divorce. She hadn't contacted their lawyers. She hadn't chosen to end things without a word.

His mother had orchestrated the entire thing, playing them both like pawns in her twisted game. 

She set in motion the destruction of the one real thing in his carefully constructed life.

Which meant...everything Y/N must think of him now. That he'd sent a lawyer while she was away. That he'd had divorce papers ready for months. That their last night together had been nothing but a lie.

"Fuck," he whispered, burying his face in his hands. "FUCK!"

Grumps, intruiged by the outburst, came padding in from the kitchen, whining softly as he sensed Harry’s distress.

Harry looked up, a new determination replacing the hollow despair of the past month. He needed to fix this, needed to find Y/N, explain what had happened, beg her forgiveness if necessary.

He grabbed his phone, dialing Jeff's number with shaking fingers.

"Harry? About that statement—"

" I need a private jet. Now!" Harry interrupted, already moving toward the bedroom to pack a bag.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

The small coastal town hadn't changed much since Harry's childhood summers—the same weathered storefronts, the same salt-tinged air, the same quality of light that somehow made everything look like an old photograph. What he hadn't expected was how vividly the memories would return: chasing Y/N down the beach, stealing apples from old man Miller's orchard, hiding from their respective families to spend just a few more minutes together.

He'd forgotten so much of it, buried it beneath years of his mother's conditioning, beneath the carefully constructed persona he presented to the world. But driving through these streets, it all came flooding back with painful clarity.

Harry parked his rental car a block away from the address he surprisingly still had memorized by heart. His hands were sweaty on the steering wheel, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Grumps yowled from his carrier in the passenger seat, clearly unhappy about being confined after the long flight.

"I know, mate," Harry murmured, reaching over to scratch the cat’s head through the carrier door. "We'll be out of here soon. One way or another."

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped out of the car, retrieved Grumps' carrier, and walked the short distance to a modest one-story house with peeling blue paint and a surprisingly well-tended garden. The kind of place that wasn't much to look at but radiated a certain warmth nonetheless.

He hesitated at the front gate, suddenly unsure. What if she refused to see him? What if she didn't believe him? What if his mother's manipulation had damaged things beyond repair?

Grumps let out an impatient mrrow, his tail flicking against the carrier walls, making the decision for him.

Harry walked up the short path to the front door, set down the carrier, and before he could lose his nerve, knocked firmly.

Footsteps approached from inside, and then the door swung open.

Y/N stood there, wearing faded jeans and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked tired, thinner than he remembered, with shadows under her eyes that matched his own. 

She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them charged with a month's worth of hurt and confusion and longing.

Harry cleared his throat. "Y/N, I—"

The door slammed in his face with such force that he actually took a step back, blinking in shock.

"I don't want to fucking see you," came her voice from the other side, tight with anger. "Go away!"

Harry pressed his palm against the door, leaning closer. "Y/N, please. Just give me five minutes. I need to explain—"

"Explain what?" she shouted back. "How you had divorce papers ready for months? How you couldn't even face me yourself, so you sent a lawyer while I was helping my sick mother? How everything you said was a lie?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and the sound pierced Harry's heart like a physical pain.

"That's exactly what I need to explain," he said urgently. "None of that was me. I didn't know about any of it. My mother—"

The door flew open again, Y/N's eyes blazing with fury. "Oh, don't you DARE blame this on your mother. Take some fucking responsibility for once in your privileged life, Harry Styles!"

Harry raised his hands placatingly. "I'm not trying to—look, can I please just come in? Five minutes, and if you still want me to leave after that, I will. I swear."

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, her jaw set stubbornly. "Say whatever you need to say right here."

Harry glanced around uncomfortably. A neighbor across the street was watching with undisguised interest, and Grumps had started whining again in his carrier, his displeasure loud and clear.

"Fine," he conceded, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't send those divorce papers. I didn't even know they existed until a month ago when my mother called to tell me you'd signed them."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"My mother told me that you'd contacted our lawyers, that you'd asked for the divorce papers, that you'd taken the money and didn't want anything more to do with me," Harry explained, the words tumbling out in his desperation to make her understand. "I've been going out of my mind for a month thinking you'd just...walked away without a word."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Y/N's face, but she quickly masked it with renewed anger. "That's convenient. Blame everything on your mother."

"I'm not making this up," Harry insisted, his own frustration rising. "She admitted it herself.. Slipped up and said she sent the lawyer. She lied to both of us, Y/N. She manipulated this whole situation."

Y/N's posture remained defensive, but doubt was creeping into her expression. "Even if that were true, which I'm not saying it is, those papers still had your signature on them. You signed them."

Harry ran a hand over his face, momentarily at a loss. "I sign a lot of papers, Y/N. Jeff brings me stacks of documents, contracts, releases, God knows what else. I must have signed them without realizing what they were."

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. "You expect me to believe you signed divorce papers by accident?"

"I don't know!" Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. "Maybe they were buried in something else, maybe they were mislabeled, maybe my mother forged my signature, I wouldn't put it past her at this point. All I know is I did not knowingly sign papers to divorce you, and I sure as hell didn't send a lawyer to ambush you while you were away."

A tense silence fell between them. Y/N studied his face, searching for deception, while Harry held his breath, silently pleading with her to believe him.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter but no less hard. "Why should I believe anything you say? Our entire relationship started with a lie."

The words stung, but Harry couldn't deny their truth. "You're right. It did. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being a lie for me. I think it stopped for you too."

Y/N's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "It doesn't matter what I felt. You made it very clear from the beginning that this was temporary. That I was temporary."

"I was wrong," Harry said simply. "I was so bloody wrong, Y/N. About you, about us, about everything." He took a step closer, encouraged when she didn't back away. "The night before you left, what we shared. That was real. You know it was."

A tear slipped down Y/N's cheek, which she angrily wiped away. "Your lawyer showed up with papers that said otherwise. Do you have any idea how that felt? To be sitting with my sick mother one minute, and the next to be handed divorce papers with your signature already on them? To be told that you'd prepared them months ago, just waiting for the right moment?"

Harry felt sick imagining the scene. "I'm so sorry. If I'd known—"

"But you didn't know," Y/N cut him off. "Because you weren't paying attention. Because I wasn't important enough for you to notice divorce papers with my name on them!"

Her voice had risen again, drawing the attention of another neighbor who was retrieving mail from a nearby mailbox.

Grumps chose that moment to let out a loud, offended yowl, clearly distressed by the raised voices.

Y/N glanced down at the carrier, her expression softening slightly at the sight of the one eyed cat she missed dearly. "You brought Grumps?"

Harry nodded, seizing the opportunity. "He's been miserable without you. We both have."

She hesitated for a long moment, then stepped back from the doorway with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Come in before you cause more of a scene. But this changes nothing."

Relief washed over Harry as he picked up the carrier and followed Y/N into the small, cozy living room. Family photos lined the walls, and well-worn furniture suggested comfort rather than style. It was nothing like his sleek, modern mansion, but it felt more like a home than any place he'd lived in years.

He set Grumps’ carrier down and opened the door. The cat slinked out cautiously, tail flicking as he surveyed the room before finally sauntering over to Y/N. After a moment’s consideration, he rubbed against her legs, purring loudly.

Despite herself, Y/N crouched down to pet him, a small smile playing at her lips as Grumps butted his head against her hand in approval 

"At least someone is genuinely happy to see me," she murmured.

Harry watched them, his heart aching with longing. "He's not the only one."

Y/N straightened, her expression hardening again as she faced him. "Say what you came to say, Harry. Five minutes, remember?"

Harry took a deep breath. This was it. His one chance to make things right.

"I love you," he said simply.

Y/N blinked, clearly not expecting those words. "What?"

"I love you," Harry repeated, more firmly this time. "I'm in love with you, Y/N. Probably have been since that night you called me out on my bullshit at the charity gala. Maybe even years ago on that log. But definitely since Christmas. I was just too stubborn and scared to admit it to myself."

Y/N shook her head, taking a step back. "Don't. Don't say things you don't mean just to—"

"I mean it," Harry interrupted, closing the distance between them. "I've spent the last month in hell thinking you'd left me. Ask Jeff, ask anyone. I've been a complete wreck. I couldn't write, couldn't sleep, couldn't do anything but think about you and wonder where it all went wrong."

Y/N's lower lip trembled, but she held her ground. "Your mother—"

"Is no longer a part of my life," Harry finished for her. "Not after what she did. I told her to get out of my house yesterday, and I meant it. I'm done letting her control me, done living by her twisted values."

Something shifted in Y/N's eyes, a spark of hope quickly suppressed. "You cut off your mother? I don't believe you."

"Believe it," Harry said firmly. "She crossed a line she can never uncross. She hurt you, hurt us, and I will never forgive her for that."

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, as if physically holding herself together. "Even if everything you're saying is true, even if this was all some elaborate manipulation by your mother, it doesn't change the fact that our marriage was built on a lie. A business arrangement, remember?"

"Then let's start over," Harry suggested, desperation edging into his voice. "Let's tear up those divorce papers and build something real this time. No contracts, no arrangements, no pretending. Just you and me, figuring it out together."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, the conflict clear on her face. "It's not that simple, Harry. You hurt me. Whether you meant to or not, whether your mother orchestrated it or not, I was hurt. I still am."

"I know," he said softly. "And I'll spend every day making it up to you, if you'll let me. Just...don't give up on us. Not yet. Not without giving us a real chance."

He reached for her hand tentatively. After a moment's hesitation, she allowed the contact, though her fingers remained stiff in his.

"I don't know if I can trust you again," she admitted, her voice small.

"Then let me earn your trust back," Harry pleaded. "Day by day, for as long as it takes."

Y/N looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. "And what happens when you get bored of playing house with the small-town nobody? When your mother's voice starts creeping back into your head?"

The question was like a knife to his heart, all the more painful because he understood why she'd ask it.

"First of all," he said firmly, "you have never been, and will never be, a 'nobody.' You're the strongest, most compassionate, most genuine person I've ever known. And secondly..." He took a breath, considering his next words carefully. "I can't promise I'll never make mistakes, or that my life won't complicate things, or that it will always be easy."

He squeezed her hand gently. "But I can promise that I will choose you. Every day, in every way that matters, I will choose you over anyone and anything else. Because I love you, Y/N. Not the idea of you, not what you represent, but you. Stubborn, challenging, beautiful you."

Tears filled Y/N's eyes, but she didn't pull her hand away. "I want to believe you," she whispered.

"Then believe me," Harry urged, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Or if you can't believe me yet, at least give me the chance to prove it to you."

A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sound of Grumps sniffing curiously around the unfamiliar room, his tail flicking with wary interest.

Finally, Y/N spoke, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm still angry."

Harry nodded, hope flaring in his chest. "You have every right to be."

"And hurt."

"I know."

"And I'm not just going to fall back into your arms like nothing happened."

Harry's lips quirked in a small, sad smile. "I wouldn't expect you to."

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath. "But I do...I do love you too. God help me."

The admission, quiet and reluctant as it was, sent a wave of pure joy through Harry. It took everything in him not to pull her into his arms right then and there.

Instead, he asked softly, "So where do we go from here?"

Y/N looked around the small living room, her expression thoughtful. "My mother's physical therapy is almost finished. She's doing much better now."

Harry nodded, not quite seeing the connection. "That's good."

"I was thinking of going back to school," Y/N continued. "Maybe finish my degree."

Harry felt his heart sink. Was this her way of saying goodbye gently? "That sounds like a great plan," he managed.

Y/N met his eyes directly. "There are good universities in London."

It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. When it did, Harry couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "The best," he agreed.

Y/N's expression remained serious, though a hint of softness had crept in. "If, and this is a big if, I were to come back with you, we'd need to take things slow. Rebuild. No more lies, no more secrets, no more letting other people dictate our relationship."

Harry nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. Whatever you need."

"And I'd want my own space," she added. "Maybe the guest house on your property, so I'd be close but still independent."

Harry would have agreed to anything at this point. "Done. I'll have it redecorated however you want."

A small smile finally tugged at the corner of Y/N's mouth. "And you'd have to actually court me properly this time. Dates. Flowers. The whole thing."

Harry's heart soared at the sight of that smile, small as it was. "I'll court you so thoroughly you'll get sick of it," he promised.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile grew slightly. "I'm serious, Harry. This isn't going to be easy. We have a lot to work through."

"I know," he said, sobering. "But nothing worth having ever is, right?"

Y/N considered him for a long moment, then slowly, tentatively, stepped forward and rested her forehead against his chest. Harry held perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as she stood there, not quite embracing him but not pushing him away either.

"I'm still mad at you," she murmured against his shirt.

Harry cautiously brought his hands up to rest lightly on her shoulders. "I know."

"And I haven't forgiven you yet."

"I know that too."

She looked up at him, her eyes still guarded but with a gleam of something that looked dangerously like hope. "But I'm willing to try. To see if we can build something real this time."

Harry felt like his heart might burst. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to hold her properly, to show her exactly how much her words meant to him. But he knew it wasn't time for that yet. They had a long road ahead, and pushing too hard, too fast would only damage the fragile trust they were beginning to rebuild.

Instead, he simply smiled, a real smile, one that reached his eyes for the first time in a month, and said softly, "That's all I'm asking for. A chance."

Grumps chose that moment to return to them, sitting at their feet and looking up expectantly, as if to say, "Well? Have you two finally sorted yourselves out yet?"

Y/N laughed, a small, watery sound, but genuine, and the tension in the room eased slightly.

"I think someone approves of our plan," Harry observed, glancing down at the cat.

Y/N nodded, taking a small step back from Harry but not completely away. "He always was the smartest one in this relationship."

Harry grinned, relief and hope and love all mingling together in a heady cocktail of emotion. "Can't argue with that."

Outside, the sun was setting over the small coastal town, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Inside, two people who had been brought together by a lie were taking their first tentative steps toward a truth neither of them had expected to find: that sometimes, the heart knows what it wants long before the head is willing to admit it.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

A/N: As an apology i decided to post this right away. Epilogue :)?

Taglist: @mysunflowerposts @lydiasfalling @panini @ell0ra-br3kk3r @donutsandpalmtrees @sunshinemoonsposts @angeldavis777 @fangirl509east @maudie-duan @indierockgirrl @harryssunflower17 @lizsogolden @daphnesutton @spinninc @behindmygreyeyes @wheredidmyeyesgo @matildasatellite @drewrry @inlikea-coolway @jerseygirlinca

[cod-bin]

when the walls crumble down

simon riley x reader

genre: angst to fluff

a/n: reqs are open! no smut yet but im bored so pls put in one if you want 💋

The door slammed shut behind Simon, rattling the picture frames on the wall. You flinched at the sound, your heart already fragile from the weight of his words. The fight had been coming for days—bubbling under the surface like a storm just waiting to break.

And now it had.

“You don’t get it,” Simon growled, pacing the room like a man caged in his own mind. His voice was rough, raw, laced with something dangerously close to desperation. His hands trembled at his sides, clenched into fists as if trying to contain something inside himself. “You sit here, safe, while I’m out there, watchin’ mates drop left and right, wonderin’ if I’ll be next. And I come back, and it’s like—it’s like you don’t even realize what could happen!”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “I realize, Simon,” you shot back, voice shaking. “Every time you leave, I don’t sleep. I don’t breathe right until I hear from you. You think I don’t know what could happen?”

His eyes were wild, dark with something deeper than anger—fear. “Then why do you stay?” His voice cracked on the last word. “Why do you put yourself through this?”

You stared at him, chest tight, nails digging into your palms. “Because I love you, you idiot.”

Silence.

For the first time, Simon was still. His breath came in ragged pulls, shoulders rising and falling like he’d just taken a hit. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, eyes darting away like he couldn’t bear to look at you.

“Love me,” he scoffed, voice hollow. “You love a ghost, then. ’Cause that’s all that’s left.”

Your throat tightened. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, innit?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, something broken clawing its way out. “You don’t know what I’ve done. The blood on my hands. If you did, you wouldn’t—” He stopped, sucking in a sharp breath. “Shouldn’t love me.”

The air between you was thick, suffocating. You took a step forward, but he flinched—like you might burn him if you got too close.

“Simon,” you whispered, heart aching. “Look at me.”

He didn’t. His jaw was locked tight, fists still shaking at his sides. The man before you—this wasn’t Ghost, the hardened soldier, the unshakable force. This was Simon. A man so used to losing people that he’d rather push you away than watch you be another name etched into the gravestones of his past.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, fingers brushing against his wrist. He tensed—but didn’t pull away.

“I know who you are,” you said, voice steady now, because if he couldn’t believe in himself, then you’d do it for him. “And I know you think you don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve me. But you do.”

His breath hitched.

“You are not just what you’ve done, Simon,” you continued, stepping closer. “You’re the man who makes me coffee even though you hate the smell. You’re the man who tugs me closer in his sleep, even when he doesn’t realize it. You’re the man who comes back to me, every time, no matter how much it hurts.”

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitched beneath yours.

“You think you’re a ghost?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper now. “Then why can I feel you?”

Simon finally—finally—looked at you. And for the first time, the walls cracked.

His face crumpled, and before you could say another word, he broke. His body folded into yours, arms coming around you like a man gripping onto his last tether to life. His breaths were shaky, uneven, his forehead pressed to your shoulder as if he was trying to hide.

You held him, fingers threading through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances into his skin. “I’ve got you,” you whispered. “I’ve always got you.”

And in that moment, Simon Riley—Ghost, the legend, the soldier who never faltered—let himself be held. Let himself believe, just for a second, that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t lost.

That maybe he was finally home.

[fuyuu-chan]

"You Are More Important To Me Than Anything Else"

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Reader

Warning: mention of blood loss, death (but not the one who was being paired), not proofread

Fuyuu-chan: adrenaline is running through my veins rn, this was my second fic that i made today but will be the first one i will be posting because i was waiting for something before i post the other one. (spoiler alert: its a yandere fic lol) also this fic was made with no thought process i just kept typing all the way until i was satisfied or smth hahahha

✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

The day for the 4th raid in Jeju was coming closer. The S Ranks and other hunters who signed up to come with was preparing for the day to come. The S Ranks in Korea that would be coming with was listed: Choi Jong-In Baek Yoonho (Name) Cha Hae-In .....etc.,

Byunggu was supposed to come but Baek recommended that he shouldn't since (name) would be coming along anyway. Which means they have one of the most strongest hunter with them, the second to Jinwoo. And since Jinwoo "wouldn't" come, she would be the strongest from Korea to go there other than the S Ranks from Japan.

As the day approaches, everyone was prepared.

. . .

Once the day arrived. Everyone arrived at the Island. There were so many ants everywhere, standing, crawling and even flying. The other hunters were terrified just by the sight of it but (name) silently observes calculating the risks and such.

As the raid goes on, the plan was for the Korean hunters to be inside the place where the Queen. They have to kill it before it could produce more ants.

(Name) was outside attacking the ants that was approaching the cave while the others inside kills the queen. While some of them was trying to destroy the eggs.

It was all supposed to come to an end, they thought they can finally finished this raid not until this one ant came....the aura was way different from the other ants they fought earlier. This one seems stronger. The happenings was so fast. The ant attacked Cha first making her flew and land hard at the ground. With that attack she was already bleeding hard, she was loosing blood so quickly. The others tried to fight off the ant, to attack in hopes of trying to weaken it and defeat it if it was even possible at this point. There was no healer with them and they couldn't put their attention to Cha because if they did, they will all die here inside and they couldn't take that risk.

Choi managed to talk to (name) through their communication device asking for them to come and help them. (Name) didn't hesitate to come inside to help her friends. She attacked and dodged, doing the best that she can to fight with this strange ant. Her abilities and such was almost comparable to the ant, like they were the same level. The others watch in amazement, of course by now they knew how the ant was most probably an S Rank level if not more stronger but that's probably the most definite answer. But of course who are they to complain about how (name) was so strong she was able to keep up? Definitely not. They would be dumb if they do.

Choi checked up on Cha who was surely dying due to the sudden loss of blood. But what could they do? No one inside with them could heal. And even if he carried Cha outside the cave what are the chances that they would just be met by more ants to go to the helicopter. Its basically...a dead end both literally and figuratively.

. . .

As most of the S Rank hunters was in Jeju Island fighting and hopefully to finish the raid...Jinwoo was with his family, he didn't come especially because his mother just woke up from the eternal slumber. He didn't wanna worry her and he also wanted to spend time with his family. But one of the shadow soldiers he placed on (name) because..well that doesn't matter for now, was sending distress signals. He went to the restroom and went to look on the soldiers eyes and saw what was happening in there, he could tell (name) was doing her best to fight and to save the others but he knows (name) has her limit. if no one would back her up....something terrible could happen...and he couldn't bare the thought of what could possibly happen...at least not to her.

. . .

(Name) could feel her body getting tired, with how fast she and this ant was going back and forth, she knew she was in the losing end at this point but she couldn't give up...not when the others are relying on her right now. They were injured and she heard even someone was dying, and right now she was the only one who can keep up with this battle. She should not disappoint them...definitely not....

If only Jinwoo was here. She knew they have would have a chance on winning. But alas....he wanted to be with his family and she respect that....but... If only....if only she could be like Jinwoo and be everyone's anchor and keep them safe. Will it seriously only remain as "If only"?

With her body almost gonna give up, she could feel she was gonna fall any moment but just then...an arm wrapped around her body, steadying her...she could smell a familiar perfume...she looked up and saw the familiar eyes, the eyes of the person she was thinking about moments ago, the one she hoped who would be here...is finally here.

. . .

Jinwoo exchanged with the shadow soldier almost immediately the moment he saw (name)'s worried face, even though anyone who would see her right now might think she looks unbothered he could tell the slight hint of worry and anxiety. He knew her well enough to be able to know the difference and change on her face.

The moment he appeared behind (name) he catches her the same moment she almost lose balance and almost fell. And with the way she looked up at him, he could tell the hint of relief once she saw him. He gazes at her softly and smile reassuringly and said "I got you, everything would be alright now"

Jinwoo quickly carried her and put her away from the battle but still inside the cave. "Stay here, okay?"

"What about the battle? I could help-" you said almost after he spoke but ended up getting cut off by him.

"You've already done enough, you are tired, let your body rest now. You did good, thank you for protecting the others. So now please let me protect you." he said as he tucks the strand of hair behind her ear away on her face.

"Be careful...please" you mumbled but still enough to let him hear.

"I will...before that drink this so you can regain your energy back" Jinwoo said as he moved the vial of potion closer to your mouth.

You shake your head. "I don't need it...you have to help Cha...she..she was hit hard and is loosing a lot of blood...she needs this more than me" you said as you catch a glimpse of her body on the ground when Jinwoo carried you over here.

Jinwoo looks at the direction where Cha's body was. The pool of blood around her and the way she breathes...its like she is taking her final breaths slowly and painfully as if any second her heartbeat would stop, which is probably the case. Jinwoo could tell you were worried but he didn't want you worrying about someone else when you need help yourself. And how can he tell you that there is nothing he could do now to help Cha? Her case was hopeless at this point. Even if he gave her the potion for healing and this energy potion, there is no reassurance that it would help to keep her alive and even if it did it will only keep her alive for a few moments. That will only be painful for her because of the wound she has, so basically having another long moment with that will only torture her. Especially since there was no healer who would be able to help with the wound.

But he couldn't tell that to (name)...not now at least especially, when her mind is probably running thousand times a minute.

"(Name) listen to me, alright? You need this, this will help you. If i gave this to Hunter Cha...it will only be pointless and a waste since she wouldn't be able to use it, it wouldn't be worth it." He explains. He told quite the few truth in it, but he knew (name) wouldn't understand what he meant right now.

"h-huh..what do you mea-" "sshh you'll understand later on, just please...please drink this, you are more important to me than anything else" he says softly but with a hint of pleading since he couldn't leave (name) without her drinking this and her being weak because of the fight.

She finally relented and got to drink the potion...slowly her energy was coming back as if she had just taken a good nap and woke up refreshed.

Jinwoo breathes out a sigh of relief. He stood up and said "I'll be back, you can stay here and once you are definitely okay, you can help the others to get out of this cave"

"Would you be alright? " "You trust me right?" "I do" "Then I'll be most definitely be okay"

. . .

The time Jinwoo was fighting off the ant, and the moment you regained your composure and energy completely, you went to the others and helped them out to leave the cave as soon as possible. You don't know what Jinwoo is planning but you trust that no matter what he is thinking about, it would be for the best. And maybe because you were so busy with helping out the injured hunters out, it slip off of your mind about Cha.

You don't know why but Choi seems to be hesitating for some reason, he kept looking back inside where they were earlier. Unbeknownst to you, they didn't get to bring Cha's (dead) body due to they needed to help the other hunters and bringing her body would only be a bothersome, they wouldn't be able to move freely.

The moment everyone left the cave, Jinwoo didn't hold back anymore on fighting.

It took probably a few minutes than expected. But soon Jinwoo was finally seen leaving the cave and after he was a bit away the cave starts crumbling, and soon it was just like a pile of soil.

There was a hint of regret and guilt in Choi and Baek's faces, why? You thought. You look around, seeing the other S Ranks and Hunters...wait a second, where is Cha?...don't tell me...how come you didn't realize sooner?...

You glance at Jinwoo and he was already looking at you when you did. He can tell that you just realized what happened. Of course you would, you were always looking after everyone anyway.

Jinwoo went over to your side. "(Name) come on lets go"

"Jinwoo...we can't...Cha-"

"If you're panning on blaming yourself or anything like that, then no I wont allow you to. Its not your fault and we cant do anything about her situation anymore."

Jinwoo pulled you away as everyone was now walking back to the helicopter as soon as the shadow soldiers returned after finishing all the remaining ants.

. . .

Jinwoo kept comforting you and trying to get your mind off of what happened at the Jeju Island. You shouldn't have been guilty on that when it was not your fault anyway. You even tried your best to save everyone until your body almost gives up.

, , ,

When Jinwoo reassigned shadow soldiers to be on your side, the ant whom Jinwoo defeated at the raid in Jeju who is now called Beru...requested to be by your side, and be one of the soldiers who would have the privilege to protect you. Beru first hand experience your skills and powers and he definitely respected that and you of course. He wanted to spar again sometime. Jinwoo saw the determination in Beru's eyes and the slight twinkling in them, like a child pleading their parent for something they really want and so Jinwoo put Beru on (name)'s shadow.

ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

Please do not copy, translate, repost to any other Social media, Thank you.

[aidensolas]

A TRULY VEHEMENT FOLLOWING

Obsessed! (?) Two Time x Reader

Hey guys sorry for being off the radar for a while it's because I finally got my milestone IV Two Time yippie! Anyways even though this story isn't that dark it deserves a warning or two so only read if you're okay with it!

The moon was hung low in the sky, its silver light filtering through the gnarled branches of the dead trees that surrounded the clearing. A cold wind blew through the forest, carrying the scent of damp earth and something metallic.

On the ground, a pattern of symbols was drawn in red chalk, bleeding into the soil like veins forming a sun with sharp blades. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by distant rustling of leaves and the soft chanting of the cultists in a circle around the ritual. They were all in black, their faces hidden, and murmuring in hushed tones, their hands raised to the sky as if calling something.

In the center of the circle, a stone altar stood, cold and ancient, with flickering candles that cast long shadows. The cult leader, in deep purple robes, raised a ceremonial dagger above the altar, his voice growing louder with each word.

"The spawn answer our call! You have promised an incarnate of your divine being! A living person to free us from our suffering! We call you as a testament to the answer to our deeds, an answer to your eternal divinity."

A crackling sound split the air. Lightning struck. The heavens themselves seemed to tear open. A shimmer appeared in the center of the symbol. There was no time to react. The center of the symbol had a person now. A person in robes, a giant witch hat, and skeletal wings and a tail. The person on the center flailed as they hit the ground. You blinked in shock. A little dazed as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

One moment you were playing DnD with your friends having fun and thinking it was the best day ever and the next you’re in the middle of a ritual greeted by people you don't know or would like to know in the matter of fact. It was all a blur on the events that transpired next, you were entitled with being the so-called incarnation of a higher being as so to say having the signature signs of the one most normally believed to be affiliated with their 'higher being' or at least blessed by them. Wings embraced by a skeletal cover? Well check. A tail that's also skeletal and arches into a circle? Check. You argue that it's all a coincidence and none of it is true to which the one who conducted the ritual calmly stated for you to prove it. Flabbergasted and surprised that the cult is actually hearing you out, you tried to pull off the wings and the tail the main signs of what ensnares you but all you were met with is a forceful pain as you try to do so. Now the cult believes you to be their promised one you were quickly endowed with robes and garments fit for royalty and now you were just... Here.

As you stayed within the cult as they prohibited you from leaving their watchful eyes, you were frankly bored and to pass the time the cult decided to give you one of their own as a subordinate his name was Two Time though they were a bit awkward in your first meeting stumbling and bumbling over their own words as they called you his 'Divine' one.. They truly meant well as they would always accommodate on what you asked for, would always be on your beck and call, they're also quite a looker despite their pale complexion and clumsy personality. As time went on they became more open and more comfortable with talking to you yet they still call you by a title and wouldn't budge no matter what you say. Well life here can't be that bad right?

Two Time is a person with a strong sense of faith no matter whether it be their belief or not they will stand by what they think is the truth or what they deem it to be. So, imagine their surprise when you came along a person which the cult admitted being the incarnation of the 'Spawn' sure they were ecstatic, but they can't help but feel doubtful of your identity. The spawn responding after the graceful silence they've been in for the past decade. Even a person with unwavering faith in the cult is a bit skeptical to say the least though they wouldn't question you themselves as if the following deemed it so they would oblige. It would come as another surprise that the leader of the following would assign himself as the subordinate of the so-called incarnation of the spawn though they wanted to reject the initial offer their faith and their belief in the following made them agree in Favour of it as if it was asked of them, they would do so.

So they met you in person, a little in awe in how great you personally looked, a person who's tacked and well-dressed being adorned the finest of robes and a set of functioning skeletal tails and wings. They were oddly enamored by those features of yours they wondered how it would feel against their hands as gently caressed would it hurt? Two Time heard the process of getting those wings and tail is the process of constant pain and suffering but it's a blessing to be given another chance at life and yet you seem relatively fine in the fact almost unbothered by the presence of it.

Is it because you're truly the incarnation? They have no clue. Breaking their thoughts as they see you looking at them in anticipation, they clumsily introduce themselves as well as stating the purpose of being your personal subordinate. The more Two Time stares at you as you shake the hand that's been outreached to you the more weirded out, they are regarding your position. Your touch is a little warm and out of place as it braces their hands... It felt weird to feel this way but, it isn't unwelcome it just feels off as if they don't deserve this something... Out of his league to say so. Two Time jitters back to reality as they hastily retract their hand and once more to mutter his name albeit more silent. No more words were said that day they just stood still in your quarters and would do the actions they were asked to do so by you.

Their opinion would come to change as day by day they got to spend time with you personally as your subordinate. Two Time would be often tasked to be by your side when conducting with the daily hearings and prayers conducted by the following. You were to be kept hidden and concealed as the hearings happened as to respect your reverence thought they became more lighthearted and accepted your position as the incarnation, a little nagging voice in their mind tells them to be skeptical of the slightest chance you aren't. The hearings happened as normal, the followers would tell you upon their days, sins, blessings, wishes, hopes and you would be the person to listen and perhaps grant them the blessing of forgiveness or the blessing of granting those requests.

Two time stood still by the area you were concealed and hidden only your voice being heard as one of the followers of the cult rambled on about his day and how he always wanted to own a simple bakery on the block spreading cheer and joy to those who eats inside his bakery, he described what the bakery should look like and the aesthetic he was going for he prayed that you would grant his wish even though he was just a new member. You thought his dreams were endearing and was honestly looking for an out to be kicked out of the cult, if you told this man, you would grant his wish, and it didn't happen wouldn't they realize you're fake? So, you decided to offer your words of confirmation to him. "When the dawn's light breaks the night, a secret shall take flight; what heart's desire in slumber's keep, will bloom anew with morning's leap." The follower seemed to have understood what you meant and jumped up in joy thanking you for hearing him out and left promptly after. "Why'd you grant his request and not the others?" Two Time asked as they noticed out of all the requests that you could have given affirmation to you chose the single last one which was definitely the hardest to grant. You decided to think about it and honestly out of all the requests you took, that single follower was probably the one you liked the best. As other people asked for things like forgiveness or advice, and you were honestly bored of that and since you needed a way to disprove yourself why not? You left the area to where you would be concealed as you patted Two Time's back "You don't trust me?" Two Time looked at you for a bit and shook their head "It's not that I don't it's just... I'm sorry my Divinity.. I shouldn't question your intentions." You chucked a bit at their dull reaction "Don't worry Two Time you'll always be my favourite subordinate or uh... Servant for that matter." You said as a joke, but little did you see as Two Time hid their head to look at the other side, they were blushing although just a little bit.

The next day to your surprise somehow the follower you granted the request to get his wish granted. Even though you were surprised as he barged in and thanked you, ruining another person's hearing in the moment, the word in the following quickly got out that a wish of a follower has been granted. Two Time being the most surprised as they felt guilty and scared of confronting you as a follower of their degree should have never doubted you in the first place. As you wrapped up your final hearings for the day and was about to step out Two Time told you there was one more hearing you needed to attend to, and it was theirs. They asked for forgiveness as they kneeled to you head down, you gently cup their cheeks as you ruffled his hair in a playful manner. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not all that it matters is that you stay true to yourself besides you're my favored one no matter what you do I'll see it in a good light." You say not giving it much thought as you're not accustomed to Two Time taking everything so seriously and this time it won't end up good for the both of you. Two Time raised their head blushing, looking at you like they spent their whole life waiting to see you, they rubbed their face onto your hand's eyes closed as they gently held your hands with their own. "I'll serve you earnestly. I promise my great one." You sighed as you thought in your head 'You won't be saying that for long anyway.'

Each and every time you would try to disprove yourself and escape it would somehow be disproved and it would end up making you look more like a deity than a fraud. A person asked for a blessing? They got it immediately. Materialistic desires? Somehow got granted. The more you think about it the more you realized the people in the cult wasn't all that bad sure they may look scary but they have their own lives though the practices to get a second life is indeed not what you thought it'd be you were disensitized as you never really felt part of their own world though Two Time in the other hard grew more faithful day by day. As a person whose faith reigned more than their own morality Two Time knows they shouldn't feel this way about you, they've always wondered what it feels like to embrace you as theirs as they would often look at you for an alarming amount of time before shaking their head and looking away, but can you blame them? You've always seemed to give them special treatment though you were monotone and serious when it came to other followers, you were smiling and showing your emotions only to them, they feel special as to be the person who receives your attention and trust. They know they shouldn't feel this way but it gets hard to do so each fleeting moment they spend together and the more Two Time thinks about you the more twisted his obsession becomes as in their mind the only fitting subordinate to ever grave your presence was them.

It started off innocent and cute really... Two Time would become less frigid and cold as you both talked, they would be more worried and concerned for your safety always nagging on how you should take care of yourself they would often to try and initiate small levels of kinship like holding your hands or being close to you a little clingy infact as he would even stand outside your quarters as you slept. This wouldn't last long as the more you spend time with them the more twisted his mind becomes opting to more unconventional means to prove his worth and undying faith to you. He would often enter your quarters after they know you would be sound asleep looking at your sleeping face makes them feel special as they're the only person who's seen you this vulnerable and liable to danger he would often rub their face against yours as they held your hand often thinking how it would feel if you were to embrace them wholly to become one with them, (not that kind.) their heart would beat faster as they caress your wings adorned by a skeletal structure as it felt cool and smooth to their touch, they've always wanted to this. This was their only moment to savor no one else's as only they can see this part of you, as your faithful subordinate no... your only faithful subordinate will be the first and last person to be able to do these things with you. No one else. As time passes on Two Time became more manipulative and vocal about what they didn't like, optioning to tell you on what people thought about you as they realized that even if you are the incarnation you heavily relied on other people's opinion on you, you began to isolate yourself from the following even though you wanted to leave you still taught they were nice people do you didn't want to bother them anymore, to which Two Time became ecstatic as you spent more time with them. If given the chance they would always rest his head on your lap as they embrace your legs muttering how faithful they are to you and that you've changed their life for the better. You would always comb your hands through their hair which would make them feel more special as you chose to embrace them and only them as you could have always pushed them away and rejected them, but you didn't. You always accept everything from them with open arms so ofcourse how aren't they going to feel special? They threw out modestly a long time ago when they stopped thinking of you as a person out of their league and instead thinking you're the only person worth their love.

Your dedicated servant would always be Two Time. No matter what you do or what you say, he is your only devoted servant since without them, no one else in the world would support you as much as they do. They might not be able to hurt anyone for you yet, but only time will tell before a severed head in your bedroom caused by your name will be found. A sacrifice and a statement that only a person as devoted as them will be the only thing you will need.

Notes:

I finished it. Me sleepy. I won't tag anyone because I don't know if they'd like something like this... Thanks to @brain4stew for saying we need more stuff like this it's so true it's simply a need to have more obsessive and yandere type stuff!

Yippie bald two time.

[aleskie]

hey idk if you heard the song jonny or the reprise version by faye webster yet but idk i just got this fic idea wherein oscar wasn't just ready for a relationship or its the other way around.. idk just hurt me 😭

I LOVE THIS SONG!!! It's on my crash out playlist HAHAHA This is a lil unedited btw I wrote it in one go and well....here it is!! I hope u like it :>>>

DID YOU EVER EVEN LOVE ME? | Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: None. Just. idk it's sad i guess...

The room is tense—air so thick it clings to your skin, somehow warmer despite the usual cold London breeze. The white walls of the apartment stretch around you, casting long, inky shadows, leaving little room for light. The silence is deafening, louder than the hum of traffic below, pressing in on you from all sides.

It’s been your apartment for a month now. Your own space. Something most people would celebrate—throw a housewarming party, invite friends over, fill the rooms with laughter. But for you, it’s been a reminder. An empty echo of everything you’ve lost.

It makes you question everything. Your choices. Your worth. The very foundation of who you are.

You think that’s what love does to people. It breaks them. Leaves them raw. You try to pray sometimes, whispering into the dark, hoping some deity—any deity—might be listening.

Some nights, you ask for revenge, for some cosmic retribution to make him feel the weight of the pain he left you with. Other nights, you just beg to feel nothing at all, to be numb, to let the emptiness take over so the ache would finally stop.

Sometimes you ask for him back.

They say love is patient. Kind. It trusts, hopes, perseveres. And for a time, it was—it did. For a time, love was stolen kisses in hidden corners, hushed phone calls on nights you were apart, midnight screenings of obscure films, hands clasped tight in the bitter cold, just to keep each other warm.

A knock at the door breaks you from your thoughts. Sharp. Unmistakable.

It’s him.

You knew he'd come—you’d read the message over and over, the words burned into your mind. He was coming to get his things. You’d cried yourself to sleep last night, knowing this moment would come.

And now it has.

"You have a key," you tell him as you pull the door open, stepping aside to let him in.

"It's your space," he says simply. "I didn't want to impose."

This is our space, you want to tell him. This is our home. 

But the words lodge in your throat like splinters. Instead, you turn away, walking toward the kitchen counter where the last of his things sit packed away—boxes filled with the remnants of a life that, not too long ago, felt unshakable.

You hand one over, your fingers brushing his.

You hate it. The fire that still flickers beneath your skin when he touches you. The way your body betrays you, how your heart still trips over itself, clinging to some fragile, stupid hope. That this is a mistake. That he’ll realize it, take it all back, and come home.

But he doesn’t. He turns to leave, silent and sure, just like he did that night—the night he decided you weren’t worth staying for.

"Why?" The word slips out before you can stop it, the weight of it filling the room. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears you. Of course, he does.

He pauses, shoulders tense.

Tears blur your vision, hot and unwelcome, but you refuse to let them fall. You won’t give him that. You won’t let him see you break.

He turns slowly, meeting your gaze. "I don’t know what you want me to say."

"Anything." Your voice shakes. "Literally anything."

He exhales, a quiet, tired sound, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s searching for the right words. Or when he knows there aren’t any.

"I didn’t want it to be like this.” His voice is low, careful, like he’s stepping over shattered glass. "This isn’t easy for me either. I…" He exhales, voice softening. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did."

"I’m sorry,” he whispers.

"You walked away, Oscar," you say, the words trembling but firm. "You left, and you didn’t think I’d be hurt?"

"I didn’t walk away," he says after a beat. "I just—" He sighs, shaking his head. "You wanted things I couldn’t give you."

“I wanted things that you promised me!” The tears fall, and it feels like you’ve lost, like your very heart has betrayed you. “You said you wanted me—a family, a home. You said you loved me!”

“I do!" His voice is sharp, insistent.

"Then why?"

He falls silent, the weight of the question pressing between you. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. “I’ve worked my entire life for this. To get that seat. To win. I—” He looks at you then, and it’s the worst part—the way his gaze still holds that tenderness, that warmth, the one you’ve memorized like a scripture, a prayer. The one that makes you hope, even now. “It’s my dream.”

“You said I was your dream.”

“We were seventeen," he breathes. "What did we know then?”

“I knew I loved you.” The sob rips through you, raw and helpless. “Fuck, I still love you.”

His face twists, pained. “You think I don’t?” His voice is gentle. Soft. Guilty. “You think I don’t regret it?”

For a long moment, it’s just silence. The space between you stretching, breaking, unraveling like the seams of something that was never meant to last.

Finally, you whisper, the words barely holding together—fragile, afraid.

“Oscar…did you ever even love me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. And maybe that’s the answer. Maybe he did. Once. When love was simple and young, when life hadn’t wedged itself between you. When dreams were still dreams, untouched by sacrifice, and the future was some distant thing you had all the time in the world to figure out.

Maybe he’s right and he still does. Just not enough.

Not enough to stay.

He takes a breath, slow and measured, like he’s been holding it in for too long. Then he shifts the box under his arm, adjusting his grip like it’s heavier than it should be.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

And just like that, he turns.

Walks to the door.

Opens it.

Leaves.

The sound of it clicking shut echoes through the room, louder than it should. Louder than it has any right to be.

You stand there, staring at the empty space where he stood just moments ago, waiting. For something—anything. For him to come back. To say he made a mistake. To tell you this isn’t the end. Or at the very least, to give you some kind of answer, some final piece to help you understand where it all went wrong.

But there’s nothing.

Only silence.

A silence he will never hear.

[mandoalorian]

between love and war [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: After the chaos of the rescue, you and Bucky find solace in each other’s arms. As wounds are tended to and the weight of everything settles in, Bucky struggles with guilt, while you fight to convince him that you’re stronger together. With Hydra still lurking in the shadows, Bucky makes a promise—to protect you at all costs. But as the past lingers and new threats loom, the fight isn’t over yet.

Word Count: 3300

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content, employer x employee. soft, tender, protective!bucky, f!recieving oral, lots of kissing, textbook "love making", showering together, mentions of torture, captivity, injuries, depictions of ptsd and survivor's guilt, mentions of political corruption

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The safe house was quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breathing. The soft glow of a lamp bathed the room in golden light, casting long shadows across the walls. You were curled up in the bed, wrapped in the blankets, still too weak to move much on your own. Bucky sat beside you, his metal fingers tracing light, absentminded circles against your arm. He hadn’t left your side once since they got you out.

You shifted slightly, stirring, and he was immediately alert. “Hey,” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion. “You need anything?”

Your lashes fluttered, eyes barely opening, but you managed a small shake of your head. Even that seemed to take effort. Bucky felt his chest tighten. You’d barely spoken since waking up. Whatever they did to you… it had taken something out of you. And it killed him that he couldn’t fix it.

A knock at the door made him snap his head up. Sam stepped inside, nodding toward him.

“Doc’s here.”

Bucky exhaled. “Good.”

Sam moved aside, letting in an older man with silver hair and a well-worn leather bag. He had the look of someone who’d seen too much but never lost his edge. A contact of Sam’s—someone who knew how to keep secrets.

The doctor gave you a quick once-over before setting his bag down. “I hear you’ve been through hell,” he said gently. “Let’s see what we can do.”

Bucky stayed right there as the doctor examined you, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He couldn’t shake the image of you strapped down, crying, helpless. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

When the doctor finally finished, he packed up his supplies and gave Bucky a nod. “She’ll be okay. She just needs time.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was meant to reassure him, but it didn’t. Not really.

Once they were alone again, he sat back down, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “I’m not leaving you,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

You turned your face slightly toward his touch, and for the first time in days, a small, fragile smile played at your lips.

Bucky felt something inside him crack wide open.

Hours passed. The doctor left, Sam checked in one last time before giving the two of you space, and now it was just you and Bucky in the dimly lit bedroom.

You were stronger now, enough to sit up, but every movement still took effort. Bucky helped you when you needed it—holding the glass of water to your lips, adjusting the pillows behind your back. He was quiet, pensive, his eyes watching you like you might disappear if he looked away.

You hated that look on him.

“You’re staring,” you said softly.

He huffed a small breath, something close to a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Guess I am.”

You reached for his hand—the one he always hid behind a glove, but he had long since abandoned it around you. Your fingers traced over the cool vibranium, feeling the delicate grooves of its structure. “Bucky,” you whispered. “I’m still here.”

His breath hitched. “I know,” he murmured, but it sounded like he didn’t quite believe it. His thumb stroked over the back of your hand, reverent, as if memorizing every inch of you.

Slowly, carefully, you sat up more, shifting so you were close enough to touch him. He looked exhausted—his stubble more pronounced, dark circles beneath his eyes.

“You should rest,” you told him.

Bucky shook his head. “Can’t.”

Your heart twisted. He blamed himself. Even after everything, he still carried that weight.

“This isn’t your fault,” you promised in a hushed tone.

“If it wasn’t for me, this would have never happened to you,” Bucky replied quietly, unable to meet your eyes.

You knew there was nothing you could say to change his mind. So you did the only thing you could. You cupped his jaw, guiding his face close until your lips brushed against his. Bucky froze, but only for a second. Then he surged forward, his hand tangling in your hair as he kissed you deeply, like he was trying to carve the shape of your lips into his memory.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, aching. His mouth moved over yours with a careful kind of devotion, as if this was something sacred.

Bucky’s hands traced down your body, fingers ghosting over your waist before gripping your hips. “I need to take care of you,” he murmured against your lips. “Let me.”

You nodded, letting him guide you onto your back. His kisses travelled lower—down your throat, over the delicate line of your collarbone, across every bruise and scar left behind. Each press of his lips was a silent vow.

You shivered as his mouth explored lower, his hands carefully pushing aside the fabric of your clothes. He worshipped you with every stroke of his tongue, every brush of his fingers. Slow, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

Bucky kissed you like you were fragile, like you might break if he wasn’t careful. His lips moved over yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache, each brush a silent apology, a vow.

“I need to take care of you,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. His fingers traced along your jaw, his thumb smoothing over your cheek.

You nodded, wordless, unable to do anything but surrender to him.

Bucky moved slowly, guiding you onto your back as his mouth left a burning trail down your throat. He took his time, pressing kisses along your collarbone, over every bruise and mark that marred your skin. His hands followed, mapping your body as if committing every inch of you to memory.

When his lips reached the curve of your breast, he hesitated. His breath was warm against your skin, his grip tightening like he was holding himself back.

“Bucky,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair.

Something in him cracked. His control slipped, and his mouth found your nipple, kissing it before drawing it into his mouth. You gasped, arching into him, the heat of his tongue sending sparks down your spine. His other hand massaged your other breast, fingers rolling your nipple between the cool vibranium pads.

He groaned against you, his stubble rough against your skin as he worshiped you, his mouth moving lower. His kisses trailed down your stomach, his fingers gently slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his breath hot against your inner thigh. “If this is too much—”

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, breathless, desperate for his touch.

His eyes flicked up to yours, stormy and dark with hunger. Then he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly pulled your underwear down your legs. He spread your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he settled between them.

The first stroke of his tongue was soft, exploratory. You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair as he groaned against you. He took his time, licking into you with slow, measured strokes, tasting you like he needed to commit the sensation to memory.

Bucky groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening. “You’re perfect,” he murmured against you, his lips brushing sensitive skin.

Your back arched as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently. The pleasure was overwhelming, your body burning under his attention. He didn’t rush, didn’t falter. He was patient, thorough, his tongue flicking and curling exactly where you needed it.

The tension in your core coiled tighter with every stroke, your body trembling beneath him. “Bucky—” you gasped, your thighs squeezing around his head.

He groaned, the vibration shooting through you, sending you spiraling over the edge. You shattered, crying out his name as pleasure crashed over you.

Bucky didn’t stop. He worked you through it, his hands soothing over your shaking thighs, his tongue slowing until you whimpered from the overstimulation. Only then did he lift his head, his lips slick, his expression wrecked with want.

He crawled back up your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His hands cradled your face, his body pressing against yours, the heat of him impossible to ignore.

Bucky made love to you like a man who had almost lost everything. Like he needed you to know exactly how much you meant to him.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, raw and desperate.

Tears burned behind your eyes. “I love you too.”

Bucky kissed you again, softer this time, like he was sealing the words between you.

And for the first time in days, he finally let himself believe that you were safe.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Bucky never left your side.

Not when Sam made a few quiet calls to get a trusted doctor to the safe house, someone who could treat your injuries without drawing attention. Not when the doctor arrived, an older man with tired eyes who worked in whispers, carefully tending to the bruises and the needle marks littering your skin.

Not when you flinched at the cold press of antiseptic against your wounds, your body instinctively recoiling from touch.

Bucky was there, holding your hand, grounding you with soft reassurances.

And when the doctor was gone, leaving a bottle of painkillers and strict instructions for rest, Bucky still didn’t leave.

He helped you undress with careful hands, his touch reverent, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. You could see the guilt in his eyes—deep, suffocating, like it was eating him alive.

He knelt in front of you, hands braced on your thighs, his forehead resting against your stomach.

“I should’ve gotten to you sooner,” he rasped, his voice thick with self-loathing.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently until he lifted his head to meet your gaze.

“You saved me,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I can’t—” His voice cracked. “I can’t lose you.”

You pulled him closer, your lips pressing against his forehead. “You won’t.”

Bucky carried you into the bathroom, stripping down to his boxers before stepping into the shower with you. He washed you carefully, his hands lingering over every inch of your skin, like he needed to erase every trace of what had been done to you.

Water ran over both of you, steam curling between your bodies. You let him take his time, knowing he needed this as much as you did.

By the time you were both wrapped in fresh clothes, exhaustion weighed heavy on your bones. Bucky guided you to the bed, pulling you against him, tucking you beneath the covers.

But sleep didn’t come for him.

He lay awake, his arms wrapped around you, his breathing steady despite the turmoil raging inside him.

His mind wouldn’t quiet.

Hydra wasn’t dead. Ross wasn’t dead. Tara wasn’t dead.

And as long as they were out there, you weren’t safe.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The political storm hit the media like a tidal wave.

Congressman Barnes had been missing for a week. Rumors spread like wildfire. Some claimed he had fled the country. Others insisted he was dead. The headlines twisted the narrative, speculating on everything from health issues to corruption scandals.

Bucky stared at the television screen, his expression unreadable as news anchors dissected his absence.

Sam turned off the TV with a sigh. “We need to get ahead of this.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He was watching you, curled up in an oversized hoodie on the couch, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your knee. You looked better—less fragile, more yourself—but he knew the healing was far from over.

Sam cleared his throat. “We should talk about how we’re gonna handle this.”

Bucky finally tore his gaze from you. “We expose them.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “They want me back under their control. Ross, Tara, whatever’s left of Hydra—they’re all working together.” His hands curled into fists. “We let the world know what they’re doing. We tear their operation apart.”

Sam crossed his arms, nodding slowly. “You got a plan for that?”

Bucky exhaled, his mind already racing. “We go public. We use my platform, my position. A press conference, an interview—something that forces them into the light.”

Sam hummed in thought. “An interview would be good. But not just any interview. We need something big. Something they can’t ignore.”

Realization dawned on Bucky.

“The Late Late Show,” he said.

Sam smirked. “Now you’re thinking like a politician.”

You sat up straighter, frowning. “You really think they’ll let you go on national television and just spill everything?”

Bucky’s lips curved into a humorless smirk. “They can try to stop me.”

Your stomach twisted. “Bucky—”

He turned to you, his expression softening. “I have to do this, doll. I have to make sure they can never touch you again.”

You held his gaze for a long moment before nodding.

Sam clapped his hands together. “Alright. Time to shake the world.”

Bucky just hoped they were ready for the fallout.

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As Sam closed the door behind him, the weight of the room shifted. The quiet was comforting, but it also amplified everything—the beating of your heart, the sound of your breath, the storm of thoughts in your mind.

Bucky didn’t move from the chair across from you. He was staring at the floor, his fists clenched, like he was trying to keep himself together, to keep from falling apart.

You watched him, feeling the distance in the space between you, despite how close you were physically.

Finally, Bucky broke the silence. “I’ll make sure they pay for this, for everything they’ve done.” His voice was low, rough around the edges.

You nodded, but there was something in your chest—a heaviness that wouldn’t leave. You’d seen him at his most broken, and you’d seen him at his strongest. Right now, he was somewhere in between, holding it all together for your sake.

“Bucky…” you started, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to be left alone. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

His gaze snapped to yours, dark and haunted. “You won’t be. I’m not going anywhere, doll. I swear it.”

But even as he said it, you could see the unease in his eyes—the same uncertainty that had plagued him from the moment you’d met. He was trying to keep his promise, but the world they were facing was far from simple.

“I don’t want to stay here,” you whispered. “I want to come with you.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched so tight you could hear the muscles strain. He stood abruptly, pacing across the room. “I can’t let you come with me, not now. It’s too dangerous. You have no idea what they’ll do to you if they get their hands on you again. You’re the only thing I’ve got left… and I won’t let them take you.”

Your chest tightened as you stood, walking toward him. “I’m not afraid anymore, Bucky. I don’t want to be stuck in here, hiding. I want to be with you.”

His eyes softened, but the regret was still there, buried deep beneath the surface. “I want you with me, more than anything. But you have to trust me on this.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with his worry. “It’s not safe. I don’t want to leave you alone, but I can’t drag you into this. I won’t.”

There was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something you hadn’t seen before—a determination, yes, but also something more. Fear. Fear of losing you, even though he hadn’t been able to fully keep you safe yet.

You reached out to touch his arm, grounding him. “Then don’t leave me alone. Please.”

Bucky looked down at you, the weight of the world in his gaze. “I won’t leave you. But I need to make sure you’re safe while I handle this. I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

He pulled out his phone, dialling a number that you hadn’t seen before.

“Yelena,” he said when the phone picked up. “I need you to come. It’s time.”

You tilted your head, confused but not questioning. “Yelena?”

Bucky didn’t look at you as he spoke to the person on the other end. “Keep her safe. No one gets near her. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I need you to watch over her. Got it?”

He hung up, turning back to you, and his voice was softer. “Yelena Belova is a… co-worker… sort of… she’s a Black Widow, a trained assassin.”

You pulled a face before letting out a small laugh. “You have some interesting friends.”

“Wouldn’t call us friends,” Bucky mumbled but was relieved to hear you laugh. “But I can trust her.”

You nodded, though a part of you still didn’t want to be apart from him. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I don’t want to be left behind.”

Bucky cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You won’t be. I swear.” His words were a vow, a promise that felt more like a weight on his chest. “This will all be over soon, and we can go back to a life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder every damn day. I’m going to make sure of it.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking in his words. The uncertainty still lingered, but you knew he was doing everything he could to protect you. And for now, that was enough.

You opened your eyes, and Bucky was watching you, his gaze intense, almost searching. “I remember the first time we met.” His voice was soft, like he was letting the memory breathe between you.

You smiled, a warm, nostalgic feeling swelling in your chest. “I remember. You helped me move.”

Bucky chuckled, but it was a bittersweet sound. “I was trying to be a good Samaritan. Didn’t realize I was helping a woman who would change my life forever.”

You stepped closer to him, your heart racing, and gently cupped his face. “I was afraid of you then. I didn’t know who you were, but I felt something. Something I couldn’t explain.”

His expression softened, the weight of his guilt lifting just a little. “You were brave, even then. I didn’t know how to protect you, but I knew I had to.”

Your fingers brushed over the stubble along his jaw. “You did, Bucky. You kept me safe. And now I want to be by your side, no matter what.”

Bucky smiled the warmth in his eyes a comfort. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head. “You’re wrong. You’ve fought so hard, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me. I love you, Bucky.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

And in that quiet moment, amidst the chaos of the world outside, you both found a moment of peace.

“Come back to me,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Bucky’s grip tightened around you, holding you close. “I will. I promise.”

He wasn’t sure when everything had shifted—when he had gone from being a man running from his past to a man willing to burn it all down for the woman in his arms.

But whatever happened next, he knew one thing for sure: He would do anything to keep you safe.

And no matter what Hydra or Ross threw at them, he would tear down the world if it meant you’d never have to fear again.

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