#my love for these two characters runs deep

[camficdiner]

Seen you were out of orders and we can’t have that!

Can I get 1.2 2.15 3.3 4.3

They pretend to hate each other - everyone else knows they’re obsessed

☕️ cams fic diner — order 079

🍒 thank you Gab — who said “seen you were out of orders and can’t have that” like the absolute icon she is. thank you for the reblogs, the love, the chaos, and for sliding back in with this prompt like you knew exactly what my delulu soul needed. this fic’s yours, babe — and yes, he snaps.

💬 “Shut the door, lock it, lose the key.”

✨ description & prompts:

• character: Quinn Hughes

• prompt: you both get locked overnight in the Canucks team bus

• additional tropes : enemies to lovers (but everyone knows they’re obsessed)

• type: smut (rough)

• wc ~ 2k

🍒🛼✨🧁

The last time you saw Quinn Hughes up close, your hair reached your hips.

Thick, wavy, always half-tangled from running between media vans and locker rooms with a lanyard swinging at your chest and a coffee going cold in your hand. You were the kind of girl who didn’t wait for things to calm down — you thrived in the chaos of a three-game road stretch, four post-skates in a row, media days with overlapping schedules.

You had been like that since day one. Loud, quick-tongued, too opinionated for someone who didn’t wear skates. You always had one foot planted near the Canucks, even if unofficially — media relations, then digital coverage, then an internal PR gig that kept you circulating the roster like a storm cloud in heels.

And Quinn hated it. Or at least that’s what he made you think.

Ever since the third month of his second full year in Vancouver — a November you would never forget — when you’d made a harmless joke about his hair after a shoot, and he’d muttered something just low enough to cut you in half.

“Maybe if you spent more time on your own look, you wouldn’t need to comment on mine.”

You blinked, stunned, lips parted, and didn’t say anything back. But you walked out, cheeks burning. And from that moment on, something had curdled between the two of you.

It wasn’t hostility. Not really. More like something sharp edged and overheated. Something that brewed when you were around each other too long. You’d shoot him a look across the tunnel. He’d roll his eyes. You’d avoid saying his name. He’d find ways to say yours wrong.

But here’s what no one really talked about:

How he always ended up walking near you when he didn’t have to.

How he knew your birthday.

How Jack, drunk one night, said Quinn talked about you too much for someone who doesn’t like you.

And tonight?

Tonight you were bent over inside the team bus at 9:57 PM, tossing a stack of game notes back into your duffel, when Quinn’s voice made your stomach clench.

“You cut it.”

You froze.

Straightened up.

Turned to see him in the middle aisle, backlit by the glow from the arena’s loading dock.

He was holding a charger in one hand and watching you like you’d morphed into a stranger.

Your hair — now cropped blunt to your shoulders — shifted slightly with your breath. Still the same deep color. Still yours. But you weren’t ready for the way he looked at it.

“Yeah,” you said evenly. “Got sick of it.”

His gaze didn’t move.

“Doesn’t suit you,” he muttered.

“Didn’t ask,” you shot back, and that should’ve been it. But you didn’t look away either.

And that’s when it happened.

The hiss of hydraulics.

The low mechanical clunk.

The dome lights dimming.

The final whir as the bus powered down.

You turned slowly.

“Was that…?”

Quinn took one long step toward the door. Tugged the handle.

Nothing

He pulled harder. Then shoved. The lock didn’t budge.

He cursed under his breath.

“No. No, no—fuck,” you said, moving past him and trying the emergency lever.

Still nothing.

The engine had shut. The driver was gone.

Outside, the last equipment guy was wheeling a bin back into the shadows of Rogers Arena. The loading bay lights flickered.

The bus had shut down for the night.

And you were inside it.

With Quinn Hughes.

Alone.

——

You looked at him. He looked at you. Silence, heat, tension.

And that was just the beginning.

The silence stretches five minutes too long.

You sit sideways in one of the cushioned bench seats halfway down the bus aisle, your knees drawn up, your hoodie bunched around your elbows. Quinn stands at the front, hands on his hips, pacing like he’s calculating an escape plan. You can feel the weight of his annoyance radiating off him like heat.

“This is your fault,” you mutter.

He doesn’t even look back. “Of course it is.”

You scoff. “You could’ve told someone you were coming in here. But no, you just had to brood silently with your little charger like some tortured divorced dad.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he snaps, still infuriatingly calm. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have walked in.”

You straighten your back. “Great. The feeling’s mutual.”

He finally turns around. Eyes cold. Jaw sharp. “Then stop talking.”

You laugh—an ugly, bitten thing. “You don’t get to act annoyed like I’m the one ruining your night, Hughes. You’ve been a dick to me for four years straight.”

His stare doesn’t waver. “Yeah? Maybe if you weren’t constantly in everyone’s face—”

“Oh, right. God forbid a woman be competent and loud.”

He steps forward, slow and measured. “It’s not that you’re loud. It’s that you always think you’re the smartest person in the room.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” you snap. “The quiet golden boy who thinks being moody counts as depth.”

Something flickers in his expression. You hit a nerve.

“Tell me, Quinn,” you push, your voice rising. “Did it make you feel good? That comment you made years ago? Did putting me down help your ego, or was that just classic rich kid ‘don’t touch my hair’ trauma?”

He’s close now.

Closer than he’s been in years.

His voice drops, barely audible. “You think I don’t regret that?”

You blink.

And he smirks. “You’ve hated me since that day. And yet, here we are. Still circling.”

“You think I want to be here?” You stand now, chest to chest. “You think I lie awake at night dreaming of being stuck in a goddamn bus with you?”

He leans in. “You know what I think?”

His breath is warm. His voice, deadly quiet.

“I think you liked it. The fight. The way I looked at you when you cut your hair. The way I still do.”

You don’t say anything. Your heart pounds.

He tilts his head. “You were mad I didn’t say you looked good.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You wanted it to matter.”

And that’s when you snap.

Your hand flies to his shirt, gripping the collar, shoving him back into the side of the aisle with a hard thud. His breath catches, sharp and surprised, but his hands are already on your hips—pulling you in, holding you still as your bodies collide.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you hiss.

“Yeah?” he growls, dragging you closer by the waistband of your jeans. “You’ve been strutting around this team for years like you don’t want me to ruin you.”

Then he kisses you.

Hard.

Teeth clashing. Tongue sharp. Hands brutal.

He spins you, presses you flat against the window. One hand fisting in your short hair, tugging it back so he can kiss your neck, bite the edge of your jaw.

“You cut it so I’d notice,” he breathes against your ear.

“You think too highly of yourself.”

“You wore the tight jeans,” he growls, hand slipping under your waistband, gripping your bare hip. “You knew what you were doing.”

“And you’re the same cocky boy who insulted me in year two,” you whisper.

“Still think about it every time I see you.”

He kisses you again, rougher, hungrier, his hand trailing between your legs. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t pause. He touches you like he’s been waiting for this moment since that first fight, since that first interview, since the night he called you a name and saw your mouth part like you wanted to scream.

And now?

Now you do.

——

The window fogs behind your spine.

Your hands are flat on the glass, breath catching, knees tightening as Quinn’s hand slips lower—past denim, past the thin cotton of your underwear, straight to where you’re already soaking. He doesn’t pretend to be gentle. His fingers push in with that same restrained precision he plays with—controlled, decisive, arrogant.

“You’re this wet from arguing?” he breathes, pressing his mouth to your neck. “Fuck—figures you’d be loud even when you’re turned on.”

You moan, high and sharp, your body arching as he fucks you with his fingers—palm grinding against your clit, slow and deliberate. You can barely think. Can’t even try to win. Not when he’s curling his fingers just right, watching your mouth fall open.

“Been thinking about this,” he mutters, eyes heavy, voice wrecked. “About how you’d sound when I finally got you like this. Whining. Wet. Needing me.”

You turn to glare at him—but it’s pathetic, a half-lidded mess of need.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

He grins. “Yeah?”

And just like that, he drags his hand away.

You gasp, spinning around, slapping your hand on his chest, shoving him backward toward the narrow bus aisle. “Don’t you dare—”

But you don’t finish the sentence. Because he yanks you forward again, grabs your thighs, and lifts you like it’s nothing. Your back hits the cushioned bench seat. His body slots between your legs. His mouth is back on yours—tongue hot and demanding, hands already at your waistband, yanking your jeans down mid-thigh.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he pants, pushing your underwear aside, running the thick head of his cock through your slick folds.

You shake your head.

He smirks. “Didn’t think so.”

And then he’s inside.

One stroke, deep and thick, stretching you open fast. Your head slams back into the seat. A raw, startled cry punches out of your throat.

“Fuck—Quinn—”

His grip on your hips tightens, fingers bruising as he starts thrusting. Hard. Relentless. The kind of rhythm that feels like punishment and obsession wrapped into one. He buries himself to the hilt each time, jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours.

“I hated you,” he grits. “I fucking hated how you looked at me. Like you saw through me. Like you knew what I wanted.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders.

“And you did. You fucking knew. That’s why you teased me. That’s why you wore those little outfits. That’s why you never looked away.”

Your legs wrap around his waist.

Your cries echo in the empty bus, breathless and sharp, your whole body shaking from the pace.

Then—

He grabs a fistful of your short hair. Tugs.

Hard.

Your neck arches back. Your mouth parts.

He leans in, choking you with his hand and kissing you all at once.

“Take it,” he growls, voice low and breaking. “Take all of it.”

Your vision blurs. Your walls tighten.

You feel him deep, dragging you toward the edge so fast you can’t stop it.

“Quinn—”

You come hard, sobbing into his neck, whole body wracked with it.

But he doesn’t slow

He keeps fucking you through it, pounding harder now, fingers back on your throat, breath ragged.

“You’re gonna let me come inside you,” he growls.

You whimper. “Y-Yeah—”

“Good girl.”

And he does—buries himself deep, grinds into you, moaning loud as he spills inside, every drop hot and messy and full.

He pulls out too slow, and the mess is already leaking down your thighs.

You’re both panting.

Sweating.

His thumb swipes the cum between your legs—slow, obscene—and pushes it back in.

“Quinn—fuck—”

He smirks. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been dying for this since I called you a brat four years ago.”

You slap his chest. He grabs your wrist, kisses it.

Then kisses your mouth.

Soft.

Warm.

Careful, finally.

“Still hate me?” he whispers.

You roll your eyes. “Ask me in the morning.”

——

He leans back, pulls you onto his lap, tucks your jacket around your legs.

The bus is silent again.

Except this time, you’re wrapped around each other. Sweaty. Breathless. And finally—finally—honest.

[chefs-other-corner]

Date Night

☆Paring: Rumi x Mira x Zoey

☆Tags: Domestic fluff, fluff, date night, sweet stuff, ye

☆Sum Sum: Just a date night with the girlys

☆Word count: 954 ☆Note:  last one I wroted for today ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── The moment the hostess smiled and led them to their table, Zoey exhaled like she’d just outrun a demon. “Operation: Normal Couple Night is a go,” she whispered behind her oversized sunglasses.

Mira snorted, holding onto Rumi’s arm. “You say that like we aren’t dressed like we lost a bet.”

“I’ll have you know,” Rumi said, peeking out from beneath a very obvious, very crooked blonde wig, “this wig was fifty-five thousand won.”

“It was also from a party store,” Mira replied, pulling her own baseball cap lower over her braided hair.

Zoey was the most disguised—bucket hat, fake freckles, glasses that were definitely not prescription—but she still carried herself like a main character. She even insisted on walking slightly behind them “just in case someone recognized her gait.”

No one had. Their waitress called them “a cute group of tourists” and handed them specialty menus.

Their table was on a rooftop patio, tucked into a private corner wrapped in string lights and soft music. Mira leaned her chin on her palm and smiled across at her girls. “Okay, no demon talk. No fan talk. No stress. Just vibes.”

Zoey lifted her lemonade like it was champagne. “To vibes.”

Rumi raised her glass next. “To no one recognizing us and this restaurant not tweeting about us later.”

“And,” Mira added, tapping her glass gently to theirs, “to us. Being normal. For like, two hours.”

Their food came quickly, and so did the laughter.

Zoey dramatically faked a French accent while reading the dessert menu. “Mira, you must try the crème brûlée. I believe it translates to ‘the kiss of caramelized fire.’”

“That’s not even close,” Mira said through a mouthful of pasta, but her eyes sparkled. “That’s not even French.”

Rumi kept sneaking bites off both their plates and pretending she didn’t. When Zoey caught her for the fourth time, she held up her fork like a duel. “You keep stealing my truffle fries, and I will hold a grudge.”

“Are you gonna post about it on your alt?” Rumi teased, and Zoey choked.

Mira blinked. “Wait—what alt?”

Zoey threw a breadstick at Rumi’s head. “We said no fan talk!”

By the time dessert arrived, Mira was curled up on the bench seat between them, head on Rumi’s shoulder, their plates pushed aside.

Zoey had taken off her glasses to rub her eyes and never put them back on. “I forgot what it feels like to just… be. With you two. Not running. Not hiding. Not dying my hair because a demon set it on fire.”

Rumi turned to her, eyes soft. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m right though.”

“You are.”

Mira hummed, wrapping an arm around both their waists. “I want more nights like this. Not fancy. Not perfect. Just… us.”

Zoey leaned in. “Next time, we wear better disguises.”

Rumi grinned. “Next time, you don’t bring a fake ID for ‘Chloe Tofu’.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Zoey said, stealing one last fry.

They left after hours, tucked beneath the glow of the moon and streetlights. No fans. No chaos. Just three girls walking slowly down the street, hands linked, hearts full.

For one night, they weren’t demon hunters. Just lovers in love, in bad wigs, with crumbs on their shirts.

And it was perfect. Until it wasnt They had almost made it out. Almost. One more block and they’d be back in the car, disguised and undetected.

But fate—and a teenage K-pop stan with sharp eyes—had other plans.

“Wait…” the girl said, stepping out of the dessert shop behind them. “Aren’t you—?”

All three froze like mannequins mid-pose.

Zoey was the first to react. Badly.

She threw her arms up like she was about to throw hands. “AYO, WE DON’T KNOW NOBODY,” she said in a forced deep voice, suddenly doing a terrible impression of a gangster from a movie she definitely misremembered. “WE OUT HERE. ON THE STREETS. WE BUILT DIFFERENT.”

The girl blinked.

Rumi, panicked beyond reason, jumped in with the worst broken Spanish anyone had ever heard. “Uh… no hablo… tú? El... we’re—uh… familia? Del tacos???”

Mira, not to be outdone, started flapping her hands like she was signing something. Only she didn’t know sign language. It was just frantic gestures and jazz hands. Occasionally she added a thumbs up. And then a peace sign. And then inexplicably started miming… juggling?

The fan just stood there, mouth slightly open, watching them spiral into chaos like a live-action glitch.

“I—” she started, then stopped. “What is happening right now?”

Zoey stepped in front of the others like a bodyguard. “We ain’t no idols, aight? We just three real ones. Out here. In the wilderness.”

“We are en la biblioteca,” Rumi added, nodding furiously, sweat forming at her temples.

“Bing bong!” Rumi shouted. No one knew why.

The girl slowly backed away, holding her drink like a weapon. “…Y’all are weird.”

Then she turned and walked off, muttering something about “cosplayers with brain fog.”

They didn’t move until she was completely gone.

Then Zoey collapsed against the wall. “We’re never speaking of that again.”

Rumi stared into the sky. “I said del tacos.”

Mira flopped onto a bench. “I threw up a peace sign. Like I was in a boy band. I don’t even know what happened to me.”

“Bing bong,” Zoey whispered.

“Stop,” Rumi said, voice hollow. “Please stop.”

And then they all burst out laughing. The kind of laughter you get from too much sugar, too much panic, and the comfort of being completely unhinged together.

Zoey wiped her eyes. “Next time we go out, I’m writing a script.”

Rumi groaned. “Next time we wear full mascot suits.”

Mira deadpanned, “Next time, I speak first.”

“…Let’s never go outside again.”

[szariahwroteit]

Girls Need Love: A Kylian Mbappè x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 30

“So, instead of addressing your issues like an adult, you had sex with Kylian and then left while he was asleep to catch a flight home?” Tabitha pointed out, identifying several red flags in the way her sister had handled the argument with Kylian.

“I know I shouldn't have left like that, but as I watched him sleep I felt guilty,” Giselle confessed, her red puffy eyes squinted against the natural light that filtered into her bedroom.

“Guilty for what?” Ayesha asked curiously, a cautious and less direct edge to her voice than her sister's.

“I come with so much baggage. How is he supposed to love me despite it?” Giselle said, her voice breaking as she choked back a sob. “He could have anyone he wants, not… this.”

“Have you ever thought about the fact that this is what he wants?” Tabitha asked motioning over her sister's withered frame, buried beneath a sweater sizes too big for her. “He loves you and you love him.”

“I messed up,” Giselle continued, her voice trembling as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I let my insecurity take over, and I used sex as a way to escape. It was a mistake.”

Ayesha moved closer, her expression softening. “We all make mistakes, Gigi. But running away won’t fix anything. You two need to talk things through. He deserves to know how you feel.”

Tabitha nodded, her tone turning more serious. “Communication is key. You can't carry this baggage alone. If you want him to understand and love you, you have to share your fears with him. All of them.”

Giselle looked down at her hands, the silence heavy in the air. “What if he doesn’t want that? What if he sees me as broken?”

“Everyone has their scars,” Ayesha reminded her gently. “It’s how we deal with them that matters. Facing it together could make your bond even stronger.”

Giselle took a deep breath, her heart racing as she considered the weight of her sisters' words. “But what if he chooses to walk away?”

“Then that’s on him,” Tabitha said firmly, her intensity unwavering. “But you owe it to yourself to be honest. You owe it to him too.”

Rubbing her weary eyes, Giselle nodded slowly. “Good, now get dressed so we can head to brunch,” Ayesha snapped playfully, pulling the comforter from her little sister. “Mom’s waiting on us.”

Tabitha and Ayesha were always the first to tease their younger sister, poking fun at her endlessly about one thing or another. However, when the time came to step up, they became her protectors in every sense of the word, always there to lift her.

“Please don't mention anything about Kyliam to Mom,” Giselle pleaded, her voice wavering as she looked at her sisters with wide eyes. “I just need a little time to figure this out for myself first.”

“Relax, we won’t say a word,” Ayesha reassured her, tossing the comforter aside and heading to the closet. “You know Mom has enough on her plate without adding your love life to the mix.”

Tabitha smiled softly, sensing Giselle's anxiety. “Besides, brunch is our time to catch up, not to dive into heavy stuff. Just focus on enjoying some time with us, good champagne, and delicious food out parents’ dime.”

“Right,” Giselle replied, a hint of a smile breaking through her earlier distress. “Let’s just have a normal day, please?”

As Giselle got into the shower, her sisters picked out a simple outfit for her to throw on and a pair of sunglasses to hide her swollen eyes.

Time zones made it easy to avoid Kylian for the most part, she hadn't spoken to him since fleeing Paris days prior, but they had messaged back and forth.

All he wanted was to know that she was safe and in turn Giselle was torn between the urge to reach out and the fear of her vulnerability.

She spent the flight home to Atlanta curled up in tears, she'd hardly touched any of the food and instead chose a diet that consisted of vodka and water to quench her thirst.

She regretted her decision to leave the moment she stepped out of Kylian’s place, but the hole she dug for herself wasn't one she could simply climb out of. Instead, she had to burrow through and come out on the other side.

As the warm water cascaded over her, Giselle reflected on the past few days. Memories of Kylian flooded her mind—the way he smiled, the warmth of his embrace, the way they laughed together over dinner. Yet, every joyful moment was tainted by the weight of her insecurities. She sighed deeply, trying to wash away the sorrow that clung to her.

Once dressed, she joined her sisters downstairs, and the familiar atmosphere of teasing and laughter enveloped her. But despite the light-hearted banter, Giselle felt a nagging emptiness inside, a disconnect from the joy around her.

The brunch spread was inviting, a colorful array of dishes that made her stomach growl. But instead of diving in, she pushed her food around on her plate, too distracted by her swirling thoughts.

Despite her daughter's silence and solidarity, a mother's intuition came second to none. Eva could feel her daughter's inner turmoil as they sat down together at the table. Eva observed Giselle's half-hearted attempts to engage in the conversation, her mind clearly elsewhere. The sunglasses over her eyes did very little to conceal her emotions.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” Eva finally asked, her voice gentle but filled with concern as she reached across the table placing her hand over Giselle’s. “I haven't seen much of you since you've been home.”

“It's jetlag,” Giselle lied.

“Is that what we’re calling him?” her mother asked, a soft knowing smirk etched onto her features.

Giselle felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her; she couldn't meet her mother's knowing gaze. “Mom, please,” she murmured, trying to deflect the conversation.

Eva could sense the anguish radiating from her youngest daughter, and although she had been asked to let it go, she couldn't.

She leaned in closer, her voice soft and reassuring. "Giselle, you know you can always talk to me, right? No judgment, just a mother's love and support." She paused, her eyes searching Giselle's face. "Whatever's bothering you, whatever mistakes you think you've made, we can face it together. You're not alone in this."

Ayesha and Tabitha exchanged a glance, knowing that their mother's intuition had kicked in. They had hoped to shield Giselle from this conversation, but they knew better than to interfere with Eva's protective instincts.

Giselle felt a lump form in her throat, her eyes welling up with tears. She glanced at her sisters, who offered encouraging nods, silently urging her to open up to their mother. Taking a deep breath, Giselle removed her sunglasses, revealing her puffy, redrimmed eyes.

"I... I messed up, Mom," she sobbed.

“I’m a woman of resolution and I raised you and your sisters to be the same, Tell me what happened, and then we’ll go about how you can fix it.”

Eva, the middle child of four, spent her former years competing in pageants around the world before being crowned Miss Universe at the age of twenty-three.

After meeting her husband, who was a lawyer in Atlanta at the time, she retired from pageantry and transitioned to a career in event planning, collaborating with some of the most reputable names in America.

Giselle took a shaky breath, her fingers trembling as she fiddled with the stem of her champagne flute. The bubbles tickled her nose, but the familiar comfort of the drink did little to ease the knot in her stomach. She knew she couldn't keep running from the truth, not from her mother, not from herself.

She recounted their story to her mother, starting from the moment she met Kylian at Elise’s engagement party in Paris. Their chemistry had been electric from the very beginning, although she chose to omit the details that would make her blush.

She explained who he was in terms of his career and him at his core, confirming her mother’s suspicions that she had been involved romantically with someone during her long weeks in Europe.

Eva listened intently as Giselle poured out her heart, her expression softening with understanding and empathy. She reached out, gently squeezing her daughter's hand, offering silent support.

"Oh, Giselle," Eva said softly, her voice filled with compassion. "I know it's scary to open up and let someone in, especially when you've been hurt before. But from what you've told me, Kylian seems like a good man. He's shown you kindness, patience, and understanding. Those aren't qualities to take lightly."

Giselle nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I know, Mom. But I still doubted what we had. What if he realizes I'm too much and walks away?"

“Gathering that you're here and not wherever he is, he might feel like you've done the same thing,” Eva rationalized.

Eva's words struck a chord within Giselle, and she felt a pang of guilt for how she had left Kylian. She had been so consumed by her insecurities that she hadn't considered how her actions might have affected him.

"I know I should have stayed and talked to him," Giselle admitted, her voice trembling. "But I was scared. I'm scared, Mom. I don't want to lose him, but I don't know how to face my fears and let him in."

Eva reached out, cupping Giselle's face gently. "Sweetheart, love is never easy. It requires courage, vulnerability, and a willingness to be seen, flaws and all. But it's in those moments of raw honesty that true connections are forged."

Giselle's eyes welled up with tears, and she leaned into her mother's touch. "I just don't know if I'm strong enough, Mom.”

“Love isn't about being ready; it's about learning as you go. I read something once that said, “The first letter of love is L, and L stands for learning.” Eva's words hung in the air, resonating deeply within Giselle. The idea of love as a journey of learning, not just an endpoint to reach, began to shift her perspective. "Learning," she repeated softly, contemplating the depth of what that meant.

Her mother continued, "Every relationship comes with its challenges, and they require effort from both sides. If Kylian is worth the risk, don’t let fear of the last rob you of the chance to love and be loved correctly."

Giselle felt a weight beginning to lift off her chest. "But what if he doesn't want to carry my baggage?”

“Has he told you he doesn't want to, or was it the little voice in your head?” her mother asked knowingly.

Giselle hesitated, reflecting on her mother's question. She realized that Kylian had never suggested he couldn't handle her past or the complexities of her life. It was her insecurities whispering those doubts into her mind, twisting her perception of how he might feel.

“No, he never said that. He's always been understanding,” Giselle admitted, biting her lip.

“Exactly,” Eva encouraged, her voice firm yet caring. “Sometimes, we’re our own worst critics. Kylian may see you for who you truly are, not just the baggage you believe you carry.”

Taking a deep breath, Giselle wiped away her tears, rekindling a glimmer of hope within her. “Maybe I could reach out? We've messaged one another but I haven't been able to bring myself to talk to him and he hasn't called me.”

Eva nodded, her smile encouraging. “You said you needed space and he's giving it to you, but he deserves peace of mind just as much as you do. Call him later.”

Giselle felt lighter than she had upon leaving brunch with her mother and sisters, those words resonating deep within her. As they wrapped up their meal and finished their mimosas, she could sense a shift in the air. The brunch had been a welcome distraction, but now she was eager to face the truth.

When they returned to the family home, Giselle was met by a small stack of cardboard boxes each labeled fragile and addressed to her.

Ayesha and Tabitha curiously followed their sister as she took the boxes into the kitchen, grabbing a pair of scissors so she could begin opening them.

Starting with the smallest box, Giselle carefully peeled back the packing tape, her heart racing with anticipation. Inside, she found a delicate velvet box, and as she pulled it out, her breath hitched in her throat.

“What is it?” Ayesha leaned closer, her curiosity piqued.

Giselle opened the pouch to reveal a sparkling diamond necklace that caught the light and dazzled before her eyes. The brilliance of the diamonds was overwhelming, and she felt a rush of emotions flood over her.

“It’s beautiful!” Tabitha exclaimed, her eyes wide in amazement.

Giselle’s fingers trembled as she lifted the necklace from the box, the diamonds shimmering like stars against her skin. The realization hit her like a wave; this had to be Kylian's doing.

Looking inside the box the jewelry was delivered in she noticed a small white envelope and pulled it out, a lump forming in her throat before she even began to read the note.

Giselle,

No matter the distance or the doubts that linger in your mind, I see you for who you are and I want every part of you. Good, bad, and whatever in between.

- Kylian

Giselle's eyes filled with tears as her bottom lip trembled, The necklace was beautiful and must've cost a fortune, but it was the card that stole her heart entirely.

A gasp from Tabitha stole her attention away from the note as she lifted the unmistakable orange Hermes box from another package.

“What is that?” Ayesha asked, her eyes gleaming with excitement as Tabitha carefully pulled the lid free from the box.

“I can’t believe this. He went all out!” Tabitha exclaimed, her disbelief evident as she reached inside, pulling out a beautifully crafted yellow mini Kelly handbag that practically shimmered under the kitchen lights.

Giselle's heart raced as she recognized the design—it was a bag they'd seen whilst in Monaco that she'd practically salivated over. “Kylian didn’t...,” she whispered, caught between disbelief and gratitude.

“Wow, this is incredible!” Ayesha added, her excitement contagious. “You need to call him, Giselle. Gifts aside, he is making an effort!”

Giselle felt a rush of emotions wash over her. While the gifts were extravagant, it was Kylian’s words in the note that resonated the most deeply with her. He understood her struggles, and he still wanted her. She had been so focused on her insecurities, she hadn’t considered how he viewed her at all.

“Just give me a second,” Giselle said, her voice soft as she carefully placed the necklace back in its box, the sight of the handbag still making her giddy with excitement. She needed to think, to come to terms with what this meant for them.

“Do you think he went overboard?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. “I mean, this is crazy.”

“Are you kidding?” Tabitha chimed in. “He wouldn’t have sent you that if he didn’t mean it. This is a declaration, Gigi! He wants to show you how much he cares!”

A wave of warmth spread through her as she thought about Kylian's intentions. Perhaps his gifts were more than just extravagant items; they were a symbol of his commitment. But beneath the excitement, her insecurities still loomed, casting shadows over her heart.

Grabbing her phone in one hand as she held the jewelry box in her other, Giselle left her sisters gushing over her gifts in the kitchen making her way upstairs to her childhood bedroom in search of a little more privacy.

Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts to find Kylian's number, uncertain of how he would react to speaking with her after her disappearing act in Paris.

As she hovered over his name, a wave of anxiety washed over her. Would he be angry? Disappointed? She took a deep breath, reminding herself of her mother's words. Love required vulnerability, and this was her chance to face her fears.

With a quick tap, she dialed his number, heart racing as it rang. One ring... two... three...

“Hello?” Kylian’s voice broke through the line, warm and inviting, but Giselle could sense the caution underlying his tone.

“Uh... hey, it’s me,” Giselle stammered, biting her lip as she paced her room, her hands shaking.

“Giselle,” he breathed, a mixture of relief and concern evident in his voice. “I’ve been worried about you. Are you okay?”

“I... I didn’t want to bother you.” Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of her emotions coming to the forefront. “But I got your gifts. They’re beautiful. Thank you. I'm so sorry for leaving like I did.”

Silence hung in the air, a heartbeat that stretched on forever. Giselle held her breath, unsure of how he would respond.

“Giselle, you didn’t need to leave without saying anything. I just want you to feel comfortable talking to me,” Kylian said gently. “I didn’t want to pressure you, but I was worried.”

“I know, and I was scared. Scared of ruining what we have,” she admitted, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I thought maybe it was easier to run away than face my insecurities.”

“You should never feel like you have to run from me,” he replied, a hint of firmness in his voice. “I care about you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re too much for me or that your past defines who you are. I want all of you, Giselle.”

His words wrapped around her like a warm embrace, and she felt her fears slowly melting away. “I’m sorry I pushed you away,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “I just didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Giselle, you have to understand it’s hard for me too,” Kylian said. “Being vulnerable isn’t easy, but I want to be there for you. Whatever baggage you think you have, I want to help carry it with you.”

Tears streamed down Giselle's face, and for the first time since leaving Paris, she felt a flicker of hope igniting within her. “I want that too,” she said softly.

“Take the time you need,” Kylian reassured her. “Just don’t shut me out. I’d rather face this together than alone.”

“I promise,” Giselle replied, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”

“Always,” he said, a smile evident in his voice.

As they spoke, Giselle felt the shadows of her insecurities begin to lift. She could see a path before her, one where love could thrive if she allowed herself to believe in it.

“Kylian, I love you but I can't accept the gifts; it's far too much,” Giselle exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and admiration. The diamond necklace sparkled brilliantly in the soft, golden glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the large windows of her bedroom. Each facet of the diamonds caught the light in a dazzling display, casting tiny rainbows that danced across the walls, leaving her momentarily breathless at the sheer opulence of the gift.

“If you want to give it back, you know where to find me,” Kylian said, his voice smooth and teasing over the phone. There was a hint of playful mischief in his tone, a knowing smirk evident even through the receiver, as if he were leaning back in his chair with a relaxed confidence. The warmth of Miami's sun seemed to filter through the call, adding a vibrant energy to his words.

“I’m being serious,” Giselle continued, her heart racing as she held the necklace delicately between her fingers.

“So am I,” he drawled. “It belongs to you, If you want to give it back, come to me in Miami.”

“What happened to me needing to figure things out?” Giselle asked, falling into his trap, under his spell.

“When I asked you to be my girlfriend, it wasn't so you could figure things out on your own. It's about us figuring it out together,” he interjected, and Giselle could hear the sincerity in his voice. “Don’t let your fears dictate our relationship. I want you by my side, baggage and all.”

Giselle felt her heart swell at his words, and she found herself smiling through her tears. "Kylian, I—"

“Listen, I'm leaving for Miami tonight and I want to see you. I want you, Giselle.”

Giselle's heart raced as she processed his words. The thought of seeing Kylian again, of being in his presence, filled her with a mix of excitement and apprehension. The connection they shared was undeniable, yet her insecurities still loomed like shadows.

“Okay,” she whispered, her resolve slowly strengthening. “I’ll come.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice rich with warmth. “I’m sorry for the things I said, too,” Kylian apologized, Upon reflection he could have kicked himself for not remaining calm in the moment.

“Don’t apologize, Kylian. I needed to hear it,” Giselle said softly, her voice filled with understanding. “It’s okay to get upset, to have moments of frustration. I know I can be difficult sometimes, and I appreciate that you’re patient with me.”

Kylian let out a soft chuckle. “You’re not difficult, Giselle. You’re passionate, and that’s one of the things I love about you. Your fire, your intensity—they’re part of who you are. I just want to be there to support you, even when things get tough.”

Giselle felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. She realized that her insecurities had clouded her perception, making her doubt the strength of their connection. But Kylian’s patience and understanding were unwavering, and she knew that she was lucky to have someone who saw her for who she truly was. “I’m sorry for running away.”

“Just come back to me,” Kylian said softly, his voice a balm for her frayed nerves.

Giselle took a deep breath, letting the weight of her fears and doubts slip away. “I will. I promise.”

“I love you, Giselle,” Kylian said, his voice filled with sincerity.

“I love you too,” Giselle replied, her heart racing. Those words felt like a lifeline, a reminder that despite the turmoil within her, she could still connect with someone who truly saw her.

“Once you’re here, let’s take it slow. We can talk things through. I want you to feel secure in this,” Kylian reassured her. “No pressure, okay?”

“Okay,” Giselle whispered, feeling the knot in her stomach begin to loosen. “I just... I want to be good enough for you.”

“You are more than enough,” Kylian's tone was firm, echoing with kindness. “Trust that.”

As their conversation came to a close, Giselle felt a sense of determination rising within her. She wouldn’t hide from her feelings any longer. They’d face whatever obstacles came together, ready to embrace both the beautiful and the challenging parts of their relationship.

After hanging up, Giselle stood there for a moment, allowing her emotions to settle. She took a glance at the luxurious necklace in it’s box—not just reminders of Kylian’s affection, but symbols of a relationship that could flourish into the most beautiful thing if she would only let it.

A gentle knock echoed against Giselle’s bedroom door as Ayesha peeked around it, followed closely by Tabitha, both wearing hopeful smiles.

“Did you conversation go well?” Ayesha asked, walking over the the plush bed so she could take a seat on the edge of it.

“He gets to Miami tomorrow and he wants me there with him,” Giselle revealed.

“Are you going to go?” Tabitha asked excitedly.

“I kinda just dropped everything in Paris and came here, I'm so not prepared,” Giselle responded, biting her lip nervously. "I haven't thought it through."

“That's nothing a shopping trip can't fix,” Ayesha suggested, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Tabitha nodded in agreement, her enthusiasm infectious. “Grab your purse and we can head out right now,” she encouraged, holding out her hand for her younger sister to take.

Shopping with her sisters provided Giselle with the chance to clear her mind of all lingering doubts and focus the present, moving store to store until their hands couldn't carry anything else.

The next day, she was on a private jet to Miami with a stomach full of butterflies and angst weighing heavy on her shoulders.

She didn't know what to expect when she was finally face to face with Kylian again.

The flight was smooth, as was getting from the airport to the car in the early Miami morning, and the drive to the hotel was over sooner than her mind was ready for.

Giselle had barely slept the night before, her mind plagued with thoughts of the unknown. She was fearful that things could worsen even more than they already had.

Despite her nerves, Giselle felt her heart thumping in her chest as she made her way to Kylian's suite. The bellhop relieved her of her bags and took them to the room that Kylian had booked under her name to avoid any backlash from his coaches.

Giselle stood outside the door, her heart racing as she raised her hand to knock. She hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself before finally knocking softly. A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing Kylian standing there, looking as handsome as ever.

His expression shifted from surprise to relief as he took her in, his eyes widening slightly in awe. "Giselle," he breathed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and joy.

“Kylian,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Without saying another word, he stepped forward and wrapped her in a warm embrace, pulling her tightly against him. The familiar scent of his cologne filled her senses, grounding her amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

"I'm so sorry I left," she murmured against his firm chest, her breath warm against his skin.

“All that matters is that you came back to me,” Kylian answered softly, his voice heavy with sleep as he pulled her into his room and kicked the door shut behind them.

Giselle's heart swelled at his words, a mix of relief and affection flooding her.

“Do you have your gifts?” he smirked tiredly, pulling the hat she wore from her head and carelessly tossing it to the floor.

Nodding her head, Giselle reached into her Chanel purse to pull out the jewelry box containing her necklack. “The purse is in my suitcase.”

“This is all we need, come with me,” Kylian drawled taking Giselle's hands into his, stepping backward down the hallway in his suite that led to the bedroom.

Once inside the bedroom, Kylian leaned against the door, pulling Giselle closer. The atmosphere felt charged with unspoken words and emotions swirling around them. He glanced down at the velvet box in her hands, his expression softening as he watched her.

“Open it,” he urged softly, his eyes glimmering with anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, Giselle carefully lifted the lid, revealing the stunning diamond necklace nestled inside. “It’s beautiful, Kylian. Thank you,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe.

“I wanted you to have something that reminded you of how precious you are to me,” he said, stepping closer as she held up the necklace, letting the light dance across the diamonds. “Let me put it on.”

Giselle felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach as she turned around, allowing Kylian to fasten the necklace around her neck. The cool metal against her skin felt like a tangible reminder of their connection. As he clasped it in place, she could feel his breath on her neck, causing shivers to run down her spine.

“Giselle,” Kylian murmured, a hint of vulnerability in his tone, “I want to make sure you know how much you mean to me. I’m not just sending gifts; I’m committing to you. I want to face our challenges together.”

She turned to face him, eyes glistening with emotion. “I want that too,” she whispered.

“You have me,” Kylian said, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m here for you, no matter what. We’ll figure everything out together, I promise. But you have to let me in. Share your fears, let me carry some of that weight, too.”

Giselle took a moment, absorbing his words. The sincerity in his voice and the warmth of his gaze made her heart swell with hope. "It’s just... I’ve been hurt before and it's hard for me to trust.”

Kylian nodded, understanding etched on his face as he took her hand into his, leading her into the bathroom.

Turning Giselle so that they both stood in front of the bathroom mirror, Kylian's lips found the delicate curve of Giselle's neck as he gripped her hips, pulling her body flush against his. The diamond necklace around her neck shone obnoxiously under the bathroom lighting.

“You're so beautiful,” Kylian murmured. “I only want you,” he continued into her ear as his hands found the hem of her oversized hoodie.

Kylian's heart raced as he held Giselle close, the warmth of her body pressing against his igniting a fire within him. He gazed at their reflection in the mirror, captivated by the sight of their bodies intertwined again. His hands roamed over her smooth skin, savoring every inch of her as he slowly lifted the hoodie, revealing her perfect breasts.

His lips trailed down her neck, placing soft kisses along her collarbone as his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples. Kylian's breath quickened, his heart pounding with anticipation, burning with a hunger that could not be contained.

"Look how beautiful you are," he growled, his voice deep and commanding.

Giselle's breath hitched as Kylian's lips caressed her neck, his strong hands exploring her body with a hunger that made her knees weak. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the solidity of his muscular frame pressing against her back. The sensation of his thumbs teasing her nipples sent jolts of pleasure coursing through her, making her arch into his touch.

"Kylian," she gasped, her voice a breathy whisper. Her hands covered his, encouraging his touch as she watched their reflection in the mirror. The way his eyes devoured her, the raw desire etched on his face, was intoxicating. Giselle's cheeks flushed with arousal, her body aching for more of his touch.

Pulling the hoodie over her head, Kylian straightened the diamond pendant in the center of her chest before his hands were on her again, tracing her waist as he admired her in the jewelry.

“I'm so proud to call you mine,” Kylian drawled. “I'm so honoured that you chose me,” he continued, his hand slipping inside the waistband of her leggings as their eyes met in the mirror's reflection. “I belong to you, Giselle.”

Kylian's fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Giselle's leggings, teasing the sensitive skin just above her hips. He could feel her tremble at his touch, her breath coming in short gasps as he explored her body. His other hand remained on her breast, kneading the soft flesh as his thumb circled her nipple.

"You're mine," he whispered possessively against her ear, his voice low and husky. "I'll never let anyone else have you." His fingers dipped lower, brushing against the lace of her panties. "Tell me you're mine, Giselle. Say it."

Kylian's heart raced as he waited for her response, his body tense with anticipation. The mirror reflected their entwined forms, the contrast of his dark skin against her pale flesh sending a surge of desire through him. He wanted to mark her, claim her as his own in every way possible.

His fingers pressed against the damp fabric of her panties, feeling the heat emanating from between her legs. Kylian groaned softly, his arousal growing painful in its confinement.

Giselle's head fell back against Kylian's shoulder as his fingers teased her through the thin lace of her panties. A soft moan escaped her lips, her hips rocking involuntarily against his touch. She could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against her backside, igniting a fire within her.

"I'm yours," she breathed, her voice trembling with desire. "Only yours, Kylian." Her hands covered his, encouraging him to explore further as she watched their reflection in the mirror.

Kylian's breath hitched as Giselle's words washed over him, filling him with a primal satisfaction. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her leggings and panties, slowly dragging them down her legs. He kicked them aside once they hit the floor, leaving Giselle completely bare.

His hand returned to her center, parting her folds and delving deeper, his fingers slick against her arousal.

“I brought you this necklace because the diamond made me think of you,” he mused catching it between his teeth. “But it doesn't compare.”

Giselle was the rarest jewel in Kylian's eyes; to him, she was incomparable. If she ever needed reassurance, he would offer it with every fiber of his being.

She was rendered speechless, her body over come with both pleasure and desire as she melted against him, enchanted by their reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Kylian's fingers moved expertly, circling Giselle's clit and plunging deep inside her. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her hips bucking in rhythm with his movements. His other hand continued to knead her breast, pinching and rolling her nipple between his fingers.

"You're so wet for me," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "So responsive to my touch." Kylian's lips trailed along her shoulder blade, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

Giselle's moans grew louder, echoing off the bathroom walls as Kylian's fingers worked their magic. She could feel the tension building within her, coiling tighter and tighter until she was sure she would snap.

"Kylian," she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. "I need you inside me."

His lips curved into a smirk against her skin as he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. The taste of Giselle on his tongue only fueled his desire.

"Turn around," Kylian gruffly commanded.

Giselle turned to face Kylian, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Her eyes locked onto his, filled with a burning desire that mirrored his own. She could see the hunger in his gaze, the primal need that consumed him.

Kylian's hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. He could feel her heart racing beneath the diamond necklace, matching the frantic beat of his own. His lips crashed against hers in a fierce, passionate kiss, claiming her mouth as thoroughly as he planned to claim the rest of her.

Sitting Giselle up on the bathroom counter, Kylian stood between her legs as he pulled her to the edge grinding his hips against hers, his arousal evident through the fabric of his shorts. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down her neck as he reached for the hem of his jersey. In one swift motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, revealing his chiseled torso.

Giselle's hands roamed over Kylian's muscular chest and abs, savoring the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingertips. She leaned forward, pressing kisses along his collarbone and down his sternum. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the salt on his skin as she explored every inch of him.

Kylian's hands tangled in Giselle's hair, guiding her movements as she kissed and licked a path down his body. His breath hitched when she reached the waistband of his shorts, her fingers deftly unbuttoning them and pushing them down along with his boxers.

His erection sprang free, thick and hard against Giselle's stomach. She wrapped her hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip as she looked up at him through hooded eyes.

Giselle's heart raced as she gazed up at Kylian, his impressive physique on full display. She felt a surge of desire course through her veins, her body aching to be closer to him. Her hand continued to explore his length, marveling at the way he pulsed and hardened beneath her touch.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Giselle leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the tip of his erection. She heard Kylian's sharp intake of breath above her, encouraging her further. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around him, taking him inch by inch into the warm wetness of her mouth.

Kylian's hands gripped the edge of the countertop tightly, his knuckles turning white as Giselle began to move. She set a steady rhythm, saliva and pre-cum dripping from her as she took him, being purposely messy in her execution as she maintained eye contact with him. The sounds of his labored breathing and occasional muttered curses spurred her on.

“Spit on it,” Kylian growled.

Giselle pulled back, a strand of saliva connecting her bottom lip to the tip of Kylian's erection. She gazed up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of innocence and mischief. Slowly, she opened her mouth and spat onto his length, the saliva coating him from base to tip.

Kylian groaned at the sight, his hips bucking slightly forward. "Fuck, that's it," he breathed, his voice strained with desire. "Take me back into your mouth, Giselle. Show me how much you want it."

Giselle didn't hesitate. She wrapped her lips around him once more, the added lubrication allowing her to take him even deeper. Her head bobbed up and down as she sucked him off, her tongue swirling around his sensitive flesh.

Kylian's fingers tangled in Giselle's hair, guiding her movements as she pleasured him with her mouth.

"Just like that," Kylian groaned, his hips moving in sync with Giselle's bobbing head. "You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth."

His grip on her hair tightened as he felt his release building. "I'm going to come," he warned, his voice strained. "Pull back if you don't want it in your mouth."

But Giselle didn't pull back. Instead, she took him even deeper, her nose pressing against his abdomen as she swallowed around him.

With a final thrust of his hips, Kylian came undone. He spilled himself into Giselle's mouth, his hot seed filling her throat as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

Giselle swallowed every drop, her eyes watering slightly from the intensity of it all.

Kylian was in awe as Giselle looked up at him, pulling her to her feet he guided her body towards the shower, his teeth sinking into her neck.

Kylian's lips and teeth marked Giselle's neck, leaving a trail of reddened skin in their wake. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his mouth, her breath coming in short gasps as he explored her with his lips and tongue.

His hands slid down to her thighs, gripping them tightly as he positioned himself at her entrance. Giselle's legs tightened around him, urging him closer.

Giselle cried out at the sudden intrusion, her nails digging into Kylian's shoulders. The sensation of being stretched and filled by him was overwhelming, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

Kylian groaned as he bottomed out inside Giselle, savoring the feeling of being surrounded by her warmth. He gave her a moment to adjust before slowly pulling out and thrusting back in, setting a steady rhythm.

"No more running," he breathed, his lips brushing against hers, as he punctuated his words with a skilled flex of the hips, the tip of his cock kissing against her cervix.

“No more running,” Giselle mewled, repeating Kylian's words as her eyes glossed over with tears of unadulterated pleasure.

Kylian's hips moved with a purpose, each thrust deliberate and calculated to bring Giselle to the brink of ecstasy. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her body trembling with the impending release.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice low and possessive. "Say it again."

"I'm yours," Giselle gasped, her voice barely audible over the sound of their bodies colliding. "Only yours, Kylian."

Kylian's lips crashed against hers in a fierce kiss, swallowing her cries as he drove into her harder and faster. The water from the shower rained down on them, mingling with the sweat that coated their skin.

"I love you," he murmured against her lips, his movements becoming more urgent. "I fucking love you so much."

Pushing open the shower door, Kylian didn't even care to turn off the water as he stepped out, making a beeline for the bed. Lying Giselle on the edge, he pinned her legs back, groaning into her mouth as he slipped deeper.

Kylian's hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Giselle's warmth. The sensation was overwhelming, her walls gripping him like a velvet vice. He groaned deeply, his forehead resting against hers as he fought to maintain control.

"You feel incredible," he panted, his breath mingling with hers. "So tight and perfect."

Giselle's back arched off the bed, her fingers digging into Kylian's shoulders as he filled her completely. The pleasure was intense, bordering on pain, but she never wanted it to end.

"Kylian," she gasped, her voice trembling with need. "Please..."

He understood what she was asking for without her having to say it. Pulling back slowly, he thrust forward again, setting a steady rhythm that had them both moaning in unison.

"Yes," Giselle hissed, wrapping her legs around Kylian's waist and pulling him closer. "Just like that."

Kylian's movements became more urgent, his hips moving with a desperate hunger. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, mingling with their labored breaths and passionate moans.

"Harder," Giselle begged, her nails raking down Kylian's back. "Fuck me harder."

Kylian obliged, pulling out and flipping Giselle onto her stomach in one swift motion.

Kylian's hands gripped Giselle's hips tightly as he positioned himself behind her. With a powerful thrust, he entered her again, burying himself deep inside her warmth. Giselle cried out, pushing back against him as he set a relentless pace, tangling his fingers in her hair.

Kylian's grip on Giselle's hair tightened as he pulled her head back, his other hand gripping her hip with bruising force. His thrusts became more aggressive, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room.

"That's it," he growled, his voice low and commanding as he landed a stinging slap on her ass. "Take it all."

Giselle could only moan in response, her body trembling with each powerful thrust. She felt completely at Kylian's mercy, and she loved every second of it.

Suddenly, Kylian pulled out, flipping Giselle onto her back once more. He crawled over her, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at her.

"I want to see your face when you come," he said huskily, positioning himself at her entrance once more.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, Kylian entered Giselle again. He kept his pace steady but deep, grinding against her with each movement. His lips captured hers in a passionate kiss as he continued to fill her completely.

“You’re not allowed to walk away,” he groaned into Giselle’s mouth.

Giselle's body trembled beneath Kylian's as he filled her completely, his steady rhythm driving her closer and closer to the edge. She could feel the tension coiling tightly within her, ready to snap at any moment.

"I won't," she gasped, her voice barely audible over the sound of their bodies colliding. "I promise."

Kylian's lips curved into a smirk against hers, his hips moving with a newfound urgency. He could feel Giselle's walls tightening around him, her body preparing for its impending release.

"That's my girl," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Cum for me, mon amour. Let me feel you."

With a final thrust and a twist of his hips, Kylian sent Giselle spiraling over the edge. Her body convulsed beneath him as she cried out his name, her nails digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

Kylian's chest heaved as he collapsed onto the bed beside Giselle, his body slick with sweat. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close as they both caught their breath.

"Come here," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he pulled her body flush against his.

Giselle snuggled into Kylian's embrace, her head resting on his chest as she listened to the steady beat of his heart. She felt safe and cherished in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt her again.

"I love you," she whispered, tracing patterns on his skin with her fingertips. "So much."

Kylian's heart swelled at Giselle's words. He tightened his grip on her, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply.

"I love you too," he said softly. "More than anything."

They lay there in comfortable silence for a few moments, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

“I was thinking…” Kylian trailed off, his voice a lazy drawl while she ran her fingers up and down her spine.

“Hmm?” Giselle hummed, her eyelids growing heavier by the second as raised her head to meet his eyes.

“You should invite your family to the next match,” Kylian suggested, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You want to meet my parents?” Giselle asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

Kylian chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I'm all in, I told you.”

Giselle felt a rush of warmth at Kylian's words, her heart imbued with affection. The idea of him wanting to meet her family filled her with excitement. “That means a lot to me, Kylian. I think they’d love you.”

“Good,” he replied, leaning in to place a soft kiss on her lips. “I want to show them just how special you are to me.”

A smile spread across Giselle's face as she nestled closer to him. “You already have,” she whispered, her fingers intertwining with his.

[coffeegnomee]

No I'm just so obsessed with Spoke talking about his time in his second season, how that was the first season he found what completed him, made him feel whole.

How minutes before he said SPOKE: “i wanted to make sure that there was someone that was gonna [end the season]"

His primary goal, core ideology, is world ender.

And it got solidified in his second season.

I've been talking forever about waiting for the new members to get to the end of their first season, that's no mystery. But I've also been sooo excited and delighted watching the s5 additions take on their second full season and thinking back I actually don't think I've ever written about it, whoops.

They were just getting so comfortable with lifesteal and with themselves. And so much of their ideologies just finally came through in the final weeks. Like unironically I've been excited for s7 since like one month into s6: All the s5 adds on their 3rd season, all the s6 adds on their 2nd. That's the kind of shit that made s4 imo.

And to list them out, Minute, obviously, just posted that video and it's looking like his ideology has solidified into basically what he said that one day early season when Zam asked him his goals MINUTE: "I want two things. I want fun. And I want hearts” 

And backing it up with the theme of the whole video of reconciliation with Clown, and Clown having his own growth moment realizing lifesteal without teammates is really lonely. And that both of them loved hanging out in the finale.

Minute isn't one to be perfectly good, but he isn't one to crave after the evil. He wants fun. With hearts. Friendship and redstone machines and some cool fights and small heavy hitting lore moments.

But destroying spawn, using exploits; that's not him.

But he gets blinded with the goal of hearts, loosing sight on the having fun. Oh my goodness seeing the clip again of him killing Rekrap when Rek was so clearly excited, how much time there was between Rek's excitement and when Minute loaded the cannon. Only realizing after that he regretted it. Offt stab me in the heart bro.

And 4c. In January he said “I feel like deep down i don't trust anyone completely, but i feel like to an extent i choose to trust people anyway. Because on lifesteal i feel like i have more joy of putting myself in those positions of trust because by the end of it you get to see people’s real characters”. And he did that with PRISMS, right until the end though it was a bit scuffed with him not being in the country. And he did it with the tunnel rats. But he will always be the player who puts his trust in others just to see what might happen down the line.

And Jumper, settling quite nicely into the role of psychological tormenter. Like need I say more.

By the end of their second season each one has staked a claim in what they are on lifesteal.

And then Wemmbu, since he banned himself off mid season 6, I count that as completing his first season, since he was added mid season 5. so he begins his second in s7.

Pentar was also mid season s5, so he's at 1.5 seasons and I think we're getting a really interesting look into his mind. I mean for goodness sake did anyone else watch the SB mace video and see him offer Ecorridor as his payment for the mace. What the fuck is wrong with him. But like... no, i don't have thoughts haha. I love him. Taking a separate plot point with Zam and presenting it to SB. like he's too ridiculous /pos I'll probably need 3 full seasons before I understand Pentar.

And then there's Squiddo, once again running the ring of a handmade hacked client, searching and testing and finding exploits. And in the end embracing it to cause chaos, but not necessarily the end of the season. She's also at 1.5 seasons, and I'm so intrigued where they'll go. She's definitely more teammate focused (lol) and oriented to silly things over anything else.

But then to go down memory lane, like Spoke was saying, his season 2 had him doing everything for his team but in the end he found himself in ending the server.

Planet was added s2, but only logged on at the end, so s3 was his first full season, and s4 his second. In both you see an embracing of being a chungus, 3ht, girl talk, changing the trajectory of player's lives through talking. There was so much subtle talking, so much passion for content that is effective. That changed s5, until he banned himself in the Abyss, and then changed back in s6.

Bacon was added halfway through s3, and you can see how by halfway through s4, which he talked about earlier this season, was the time when he got really really invested into lifesteal and started caring, like, a lot. Bro got passionate about the wormhole. But then it wasn't until season 5 that we really saw Bacon become Bacon, when he really started being the critiquer of plots and did his first patented do my tasks plots, when he got passionate about players caring about the server and and wanting to log on and putting in so much effort to make it happen.

Zam's second season was s3. Running from the PrinceZam Empire to Cleansers to the iconic season 3 finale with Spoke. Establishing he's the one who will repair spawn when nobody else does. Accidentally falling into being the hero and never giving up no matter what.

Rek's second season was also s3 which is when his trap escaping and paranoia really kicked off, as well as his willingness to be involved regardless of the moral tilt of his teammates (the cleansing/decimation). He just has a tilt of wholesome chaos that is very rekrap.

ok so eventually we get too into nuance based on player activity and if they skipped a season or not ect ect. but i love this trend. I love thinking about what shaped the lifestealers into what they are now, i love watching them grow and change. Normally in like normal tv/movie content I'm one to love an origin story, whatever the first movie is in a series or the first season of a show. But on lifesteal it genuinely gets better the longer they're online.

[hatsuyuki00]

Is this life… real

Chap 2

SUMMARY: In a world ravaged by disease and chaos, you stumble upon Jackson — one of the few remaining safe havens, offering warmth and shelter to those who survived. But even in its quiet peace, the questions inside you won’t go away.

And a dream begins to haunt you — of a father who lost his daughter. It’s only a dream… so why does it feel so real?

Warning: No Y/N, amnesia, grumpy Joel, grumpy x sunshine, love triangle, character death, blood, injury.

A/N: I hope you’ll enjoy this chap! Things have been a bit busy for me lately, so the next update might take a little longer — but I promise I’ll do my best to get it out as soon as I can!

Let me know if you wanna be on the tag list! 💕

📌 Taglist: @aphroditesblunt @mashnka

W/C: 3.6K

Series Masterlist I Previous Chapter

Thanks to the bits of small talk along the way with Tommy, you start to get a clearer picture of the world you now live in — a world ravaged by a pandemic, where humans are no longer the only threat. Creatures known as the infected — people who were once human but are now reduced to violent instincts and deadly danger — have brought society to its knees. You hear Tommy mention FEDRA and the Fireflies, two factions that once tried to reclaim order… or at least what they believed was order. Strange names — yet somehow, oddly familiar. As if they once existed in your mind, buried deep beneath the dust of untouched memories.

When you arrive in Jackson, you can’t hide your surprise. This town is nothing like what you imagine a post-apocalyptic world would look like. Warm — strangely so — is the first feeling that passes through you. Children run through the streets, their laughter echoing between wooden houses. Adults stand in small groups, chatting, someone holding a plate of freshly baked bread. A dog lies basking in the sunlight on a porch step, completely unbothered by any looming danger. It is a moment so peaceful that… you almost feel like the world isn’t as terrifying as you once believed.

At the stables, Tommy dismounts first and offers you a hand. You take it — a little hesitant, but not refusing.

“I’ll take you two for a checkup first,” he says, his voice still gentle as it has been the whole ride, “then we’ll get some food, and I’ll show you both around a bit.”

He leads you to a building that looks like an old storage barn — simple, but clean. Inside, it’s clearly divided into two sections: one marked “Male,” the other “Female.” The atmosphere here feels more serious than before.

Matt stops right at the entrance, a deep frown on his face. His voice is low, edged with suspicion.

“Enough games. You think this is funny? Why the hell did you bring us here?”

Tommy doesn’t flinch. Calmly, he raises both hands in a placating gesture.

“It’s something we have to do. Standard procedure for new arrivals. Just a quick check — We just need to check for any bites or weapons. Nothing serious.”

He glances at you, as if catching the hesitation in your eyes. His voice softens.  

“Women handle the women’s area, so you don’t need to worry.”

You nod slightly. You don’t fully trust them — not yet — but something in Tommy’s tone eases your nerves. And you believe he isn’t a bad person. More than that, you understand: this is what you need to do if you want to stay — here, in the first place that’s felt even remotely safe since you opened your eyes in this unfamiliar world.

The checkup is quick and uneventful. When the two of you step back out, Tommy is already waiting. He leads you to get food. The meal is simple, but unexpectedly delicious.

As you eat, Tommy shares more about the Jackson community: some people farm, some teach school. There’s a clinic, and even a small library. Everything here has been built by the people who live in it — a real community, not just a shelter.

You listen, almost unable to believe what you’re seeing and hearing. Everything here feels so different from the world outside — the one Tommy described to you.

After the meal, Tommy gives you a short tour of the town, finally stopping in front of a small house set slightly apart from the town center. Dried flowers hang by the door, and inside, it’s fully furnished: a dining table, a kitchen, a bathroom, and two separate bedrooms. Everything is neat, warm, and cozy.

“I’ll meet you both at the dining hall at seven,” Tommy says before leaving. “If you need anything, come find me. Or if it’s urgent, Joel’s right across the street.”

You give a small nod of appreciation. As the door closes behind Tommy, you let out a quiet breath.

Matt stands nearby, his eyes still on the door. Then he turns to you, hesitating a little before asking,

“Back there… was anything wrong? During the check?” He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “I mean… did anything make you uncomfortable?”

You understand what Matt means. And you know it’s his way of caring — awkward, maybe, but sincere.

“Everything was fine.” You give him a soft smile.

A quiet moment passes between you.

“Well… I’ll head to my room then,” you say, turning toward the hallway. “See you at dinner.”

After a quick shower, you sink into the bed, letting the weight of the day dissolve into the mattress. The mattress isn’t exactly soft, but after such a long journey, it brings a strange kind of comfort — almost like... safety.

Still, you don’t fall asleep right away. You lie there instead, letting your mind drift through the events of the day — small fragments, scattered and fragile, yet each carrying an emotion you can’t quite name.

Along the way, you try to piece everything together, try to understand why you are here, why everything feels so familiar and yet so distant.

And then, the name “Joel” keeps slipping into your thoughts.

You’ve barely spoken to him since you met — haven’t even asked Tommy much about him. But his image stays with you: the quiet eyes, the slow, heavy steps, the guarded silence. Joel isn’t warm like Tommy. He’s distant, reserved, always seeming to frown.

Or maybe that’s exactly why you can’t stop thinking about him.

There is something… familiar. A feeling you can’t explain. As if you have known Joel before — have once stood close to him in some place you can’t remember. Logic tells you it is impossible. But your heart keeps insisting otherwise.

You lie awake a little longer — or maybe much longer — before sleep finally creeps in, gently pulling you under without you even realizing.

You wake to a steady knock at the door. Blinking your eyes open, it takes a few seconds to remember where you are. Then Matt’s voice comes from outside — soft, just loud enough for you to hear:

“Hey… you up? It’s dinner time. You ready?”

You rub your eyes, let out a small yawn, then slowly push yourself up.

“Coming… Just give me a sec.”

After changing, you step out to find Matt waiting by the front door. He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed, and turns to you with a faint smile as you appear.

“Sleep well?”

“Sort of,” you reply, offering a gentle smile, then walk with him to the dining hall.

When you arrive at the dining hall, you pause for a moment. It’s busier than it was earlier that afternoon. A long line of people waits for food, the smell of hot stew drifting warmly through the air. Wooden tables are neatly arranged, most already filled. Children run around laughing, and in a far corner, someone is playing music.

Tommy waves when he sees you both. “Over here!”

After grabbing your food, you and Matt make your way over and sit across from him. Sitting beside Tommy is a woman with short blonde hair and eyes that are steady and kind.

“This is Maria, my wife,” Tommy says, gesturing to her. “Maria, these are the two I was telling you about earlier.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Maria says. “Make yourselves at home.”

You nod in thanks, your gaze drifting around the room before you find yourself asking, almost without thinking,

“Is Joel not eating with you?”

“He’ll be here later,” Tommy replies, not looking the least bit surprised. “He’s always like that.”

The mood at the table gradually grows lighter and more cheerful. There’s nothing fancy about the meal, but it warms you —the stew earthy and rich, the bread toasted to golden perfection. Tommy shares a few more stories about life in Jackson, with Maria occasionally adding a witty comment that makes the whole table laugh.

After the meal, Tommy pours apple cider for the group and proudly claims it’s homemade and won’t get anyone drunk.

You give a sheepish smile. “I don’t really drink alcohol,” you say.

Tommy raises an eyebrow and turns to Matt, as if to check if he drinks instead.

Matt grins. “I’ll drink hers for her.”

You excuse yourself for a moment, wanting to get some fresh air. Outside, the evening air is cool and carries the scent of wild grass. You walk slowly around the dining hall, taking in the rare quiet. Streetlamps cast soft golden light, stretching the shadows of trees across the ground. In the distance, a few houses still have their lights on, faint voices drifting out from behind closed doors.

As your thoughts wander, you suddenly catch sight of a figure walking toward the dining hall. Joel.

He moves quietly, as always — heavy but steady steps. When his eyes meet yours, you instinctively give a small nod. Joel returns the gesture with a slight nod of his own, saying nothing, then continues inside as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.

You stop beside a bench under the dining hall’s awning and sit down. From there, you watch the scene before you: the warm glow of lamplight spilling across the dirt road, the occasional passerby moving through it. Inside the dining hall, the hum of conversation and laughter carries on — a stark contrast to the stillness surrounding you now.

You exhale quietly, hands resting on your lap, eyes gazing into the distance.

And for some reason, in that moment, you feel… at peace.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there. Only when a light breeze drifts by, carrying the gentle chill of evening, do you shiver slightly and rise to your feet, deciding it’s time to head back inside.

When you return to the table, the first thing you notice is Matt — cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, mumbling something incoherent to Tommy. You pause for a moment, then let out a quiet breath and chuckle. Just as you thought: you’re going to have to drag him home like this.

Maybe — just maybe — you catch the corner of Joel’s mouth twitch as your eyes meet his. A faint smile, barely there, but still enough for you to notice.

“How are you feeling about being here?” Maria asks, turning to you as you sit down beside Matt. Her voice is warm, genuine.

You pause for a few seconds before answering. “Pretty good… better than what I’ve known before.”

Part of you knows that answer is only half-true. Because honestly, you don’t remember your past well enough to compare. But you do know this: something about this place makes you feel safe.

“I feel lucky to have ended up in Jackson.”

Maria smiles. “Well then, would you be open to helping out? We’re always looking for people —kitchen hands, child care, teachers…”

She lists off jobs one by one, your mind flickering through vague, colorless images — until she says “teacher.”

You almost nod on instinct.

“A teacher?” you echo. You think for a moment, then nod. “Yeah. I think I could do that.”

Maria looks pleased. “Perfect. I’ll set that up for you. As for Matt… he strikes me as the patrolling or gate-watching type.”

You laugh. “Yeah, that’s exactly him.”

Dinner wraps up, and — just as you predicted — you find yourself struggling to get Matt on his feet. Luckily, Tommy notices and calls Joel over to help.

“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it,” you say quickly, a little flustered.

But right then, Matt lurches forward and throws up beside the table. You sigh and glance at Joel. He doesn’t say a word — his expression calm as always — then steps in without hesitation and helps lift Matt up.

The walk back is quiet, the two of you carrying Matt between you. When you reach the house, you open the door and begin to say you’ll manage from here — but Joel doesn’t respond.

He just steps inside, waiting for you to lead. You walk ahead in silence, and he follows, both of you guiding Matt into his room.

Joel drops Matt onto the bed — not exactly gently, more like letting him fall in a controlled way. You can’t help but laugh softly.

“Thanks,” you say, walking Joel to the door.

Before he leaves, he speaks — low and gravelly, like the words have been sitting at the back of his throat all evening.

“You two… are you together?”

You freeze. You’re not sure what surprises you more: the question, or the fact that he spoke to you at all. It’s the first time he’s really said anything directly to you.

You open your mouth — and thud. A loud crash sounds behind you. Both of you turn on instinct.

You laugh — you don’t need to look to know Matt just rolled off the bed.

“No,” you say with a small laugh. “We’re just friends. Anyway… thanks for not killing us earlier. And for helping me get him back.”

Joel gives a small nod. He says nothing else, just turns and walks away, quiet and steady as ever.

You head back into Matt’s room. He’s still on the floor, snoring softly, the sour smell of alcohol hanging in the air. You manage to pull him back into bed — not easily, but you get there.

“You’re gonna regret this tomorrow,” you mutter, tucking the blanket over him and shaking your head.

Finally, you return to your own room. After a quick rinse, you collapse onto your bed. Darkness has settled over Jackson. The wind whispers through the trees, creating a faint, distant rustle that feels like it’s coming from somewhere far away.

You close your eyes — and then open them again.

You still don’t know what exactly Matt is to you. He’s always there, always looking out for you — the person you trust most.

But to you right now, he’s only a companion. Nothing more, nothing less..

When you drifted off to sleep, the darkness took you quickly — no warning, no signs. And then, in that moment, you found yourself standing in the corner of a strange room. Right next to you was an old TV, turned off, its screen reflecting the dim glow of a nearby lamp that cast a soft circle of light on the floor. On the sofa, a blonde-haired girl was curled up, fast asleep.

Just a few seconds later, the door opened. A man stepped in, his footsteps light but steady. The girl woke, rubbed her eyes, then smiled when she saw him. They started talking — her voice bright and clear, his low and warm, full of quiet affection. You couldn’t see his face clearly, but every gentle pat on her head, every glance, every soft joke he made was enough to show you: this was a happy family. The mother wasn’t there, but nothing about the house felt lacking in love.

You tried to move closer, but the sensation was strange — you were there, yet no one saw you. You couldn’t touch anything either. You could only watch.

The scene began to shift. As if something was yanking you forward, images slid out of view and were instantly replaced. Now you were somewhere else — darker, more tense. The man was holding the girl tightly in his arms, running down a street filled with rubble and destruction. Behind them, someone screamed. Fires flickered from burning houses. A helicopter rumbled overhead. They were fleeing — from what, you couldn’t tell, but the look in the girl’s terrified eyes said enough: something terrible was happening.

A soldier appeared. For a moment, it seemed like they were saved. But then the soldier spoke into his radio, and something in his face changed. No one had time to react. Gunfire erupted — sharp, violent, tearing through the air. The girl’s small body crumpled.

You watched as the man dropped to his knees, clutching her close, unable to believe what he was seeing. He called her name again and again, his voice unraveling, desperate. His scream hit you like a storm — raw, broken, soul-deep. It wasn’t just the scream of a man in pain. It was the scream of someone completely powerless — someone who couldn’t do anything more. He held the girl like he was trying to keep something from slipping away — shaking like someone who’d just lost his very heart.

Then a younger, frantic man appeared and, without hesitation, pulled out a gun and shot the soldier. You remained there, trapped in the middle of it all. You couldn’t move forward, couldn’t turn away, couldn’t speak. It was like someone had programmed you to do nothing but witness. To feel — the pain, the loss, the unbearable scream, and the warmth that slowly faded from that father's arms.

You wake to the sound of your alarm. Your eyes are wet, though you don’t know when they started to blur. Something about that dream feels too real. It’s like a memory — one that your mind insists isn’t yours, and yet it lingers all the same. And then, without meaning to, a name slips from your lips — quiet, almost a whisper: “Sarah.”

You freeze. That name… you’ve never heard it before. But saying it brings a dull ache to your chest — not sharp, but deep, solid, real. As if that name is tied to something your heart isn’t ready to remember.

You wonder: who were those two? Why did you dream about them? And that father — after everything, what kind of person does he become? Can he ever move on from that loss? Or does it consume him forever?

Since yesterday, your mind has been full of questions — about yourself, about this strange sense of comfort and unfamiliarity in Jackson, and now… the dream. But still, you have no answers.

You sit up, trying to shake the thoughts away. You know if you let yourself keep thinking, you’ll be swept away. So instead, you get up and head to the kitchen, hoping you can prepare something for the morning.

As you pass by Matt’s room, you notice the door is open. He’s not there. The sheets are still tucked in neat folds, meaning he left early.

You walk into the kitchen, just as you’re about to make something to eat, a sudden knock at the door catches you off guard. You pause, glancing toward the front of the house. Who would be visiting at this hour?

You open the door. A girl stands there — light brown hair, sharp eyes.

“Hey, I’m Ellie. Maria told me to bring this over.”

You take the basket she hands you. “Thanks… and tell Maria I said thank you. Do you want to come in?”

“Nah, I’ve got things to do. See you around,” Ellie says quickly before turning to leave.

You close the door and look down at the basket: bread, a few eggs, some vegetables. A simple breakfast, but enough to warm you a little. In this place, people really do care about each other.

You stand still in the kitchen for a while, your hand brushing lightly over the crust of the bread as if trying to hold onto that warmth just a bit longer. Then you wonder: is life out there — beyond Jackson’s walls — really as bad as they say? You’ve never seen it with your own eyes, only heard stories.

Is it truly that terrifying?

As you prepare breakfast with the ingredients Maria brought, the faint scent of slightly burnt bread drifts through the air. You hear the door open — a familiar sound that tells you without needing to turn that it’s Matt. You’re about to scold him for last night — at least say something — but right then, you see Tommy walking in with him. You let out a quiet breath and offer a faint smile. Maybe… now isn’t the right time

Tommy and Matt are talking, their voices low and steady, interspersed with nods and fleeting smiles. They’re discussing patrols, shifts, the everyday rhythm of life in Jackson. Looking at Matt today, you realize he seems more relaxed than he did yesterday. It feels like he’s starting to open up… at least to Tommy.

Once Tommy says goodbye and leaves the house, you finally turn to Matt, your voice soft, tinged with curiosity “So… you’re going on patrol?”

Matt nods as he rolls up his sleeves. “Yeah. Kinda suits me, I think. And… you feel safe being here on your own, right? Besides… I heard you picked teaching? Sounds like something that fits you.”

You give a small smile and nod. “Yeah. I think so. Probably won’t be too hard.”

There’s a brief pause before you add, “By the way… you were really drunk last night. I had to ask Joel to help bring you home.”

Matt stops for a second, a flicker of surprise passing through his expression, but it’s quickly followed by something else — a clear trace of annoyance. “Joel? That grumpy guy? Didn’t think he was the helpful type.”

You look at him, tilting your head slightly. “You don’t seem to like him much. Something happened between you two?”

Matt shakes his head and shrugs like it’s nothing worth mentioning, but his voice lowers, colder than usual. “No. I just don’t like him. There’s something about him that gets under my skin. And it’s not just me — no one around here really talks to him. I haven’t seen anyone act friendly toward him. Best if… you don’t get too close to that guy.”

You don’t respond. You simply nod, then turn back to finish plating breakfast for the two of you. Matt sits down at the table in silence, and you quietly take your seat across from him, picking up your fork, moving slowly.

As you eat, you can’t stop the quiet stream of thoughts slipping into your mind. Why does Matt hold such a grudge against Joel? Sure, Joel is quiet, a bit withdrawn, but he’s never done anything to make you feel uneasy. If anything… there’s something about him that draws your attention — as if behind that distant shell lies a whole world you haven’t yet reached.

[spuzz]

Lots of thoughts I will run down later but the Nicky and Joe stuff is an immediate forefront so:

I feel like a lot of people are going to be like SEE? I was right in my [extreme characterization] of [nicky and/or joe] re their argument over Booker.

But I think ultimately they’re both correct! And they’re both in character in nice rounded ways. Joe WAS angry and was furious and as Nicky points out WAS arguing for his head. That’s not something that was from thin air, it’s presented in the first film. Then he cooled off, missed him, and started being concerned for his brother and reaching out. Nicky WAS willing to be lenient WAS presenting a lesser sentence but when it was decided he STUCK to what he agreed. I feel like it’s an argument of Nicky saying, this is what I said I’d do and I can’t go back on that, he did a wrong and he needs to repent and be punished. Joe saying, yes we agreed but we punished him enough let’s change it.

Which seems totally in line with who they are and how they approach wrongs and even a bit of their own past. That Nicky would find the principle of it important and be able to move forward with the idea of this is the right thing for the family even if I don’t necessarily agree and it’s painful, it’s punishment. Joe being willing to act in anger but then forgive and want to have all of his family together even if it’s not perfect, it’s what is best for us emotionally and for Booker.

I feel like you could easily see this philosophical debate being argued by them for centuries over any number of conflicts.

And I love that they addressed the idea of “space” from someone you’ve been with for a thousand years. Not only does that make sense just because hey sometimes we do HAVE to be alone just to have our thoughts and reflect and need to be one person instead of always two, you also show the hurt and pain of that when you are still after a thousand years desperately in love! I think this rounds out their relationship without doing actual damage to it. Even in the comics they had conflict and arguments and debate! They’re still people. But their love for each other is deep and as it’s so beautifully put, immortal. Even if they disagree they’ll figure it out.

I think it’s one of the more consistent things they did from 1 to 2 and I liked it. I wish it were even more fleshed out but what we got was more than I expected. It makes their partnership even MORE and expands it in a way I liked without like I said doing damage to it.

Other stuff: I loved how much joy Luca and Marwan put into their scenes outside of this. There was a lot of like…giggly energy and a sense that Joe and Nicky have so much life in them that a lot of the other characters sometimes struggle to show. When they’re with the family it seems like there’s a lot of laughing and storytelling that is driven by Joe and Nicky. They present such a lively couple, people who still find love and energy in the world after a thousand years and it reflects onto others.

I loved that they clearly like to fight together. We saw that a bit in 1 and off screen certainly in the van scene they clearly enjoyed knocking everyone and then bantering about it afterwards. They have such skill and coordination with each other and the sense I get is like…a lot of foreplay with the fighting TBH. It’s definitely fun when they want it to be. It brought to mind Joe being smirky and excited for the first mission in 1. He was hyped up.

It was fun to get to see Nicky have more emotion and get to see Luca show off a bit. He’s such an amazing actor he doesn’t get to do much to flesh Nicky out in the first one. Here they let him do a bit more, not a lot, but a bit more to show him off. He plays giddy and silly, action boy, betrayed, remorseful, loving, etc. I feel like Nicky is an even more real person in this and that is so exciting to me.

More later…

[aritsukemo]

My Late Husband Is Seriously Haunting Me

Venti x GN Reader ( Modern AU )

Summary: After days of being haunted by who you're sure is your late ex-husband, Venti, you seek help like any sensible person in this kind of situation would.

Warnings: Alright.. *cracks knuckles* Firstly, major character death ahead ( Venti is dead throughout the entirety of this fic ). Gore/Body Gore is a big theme throughout this and major injury is stated and implied ( Reader is missing like three-fifths of their right hand ). Reader is not okay, mentally or physically and mental issues are implied but never outright stated. Abuse is vaguely implied at some point when I very briefly bring up Reader's past. Reader needs a lot more help than they let on. The heavy themes involved in this fic are not written or should be seen as romanticizing anything that happens. Finally, long ass fic ahead ( this sits on the throne as my longest fanfic I've ever written rounding out to a whopping 17.8k words ) With all this said, read at your own discretion.

A/N: This fic has been sitting in my drafts for months and still ended up two days late.. Sorry yall lmao- This time, I have a book with a brown covering and heart-shaped ivory surrounding the face and back, a bouquet of forget-me-nots, hibiscus tea, and blueberry scones for...Artemis! Enjoy @mikashisus!

Event: AriTsukemo's 2025 Appreciation STELLARONHVNTERS'S Appreciation Reading Party

Tagging: @tragedy-of-commons, @nursedflowers, and @wystiix

Extra: I officially have a taglist! If you liked this piece, please consider grabbing a loyalty card at the front counter!! <3

   “Look, I- I know how this looks — How..I look, but, please, I..” Your words crumble like sand from your chapped lips. You don’t really notice it. After all, you could barely feel them leave your lips in the first place — in fact most of your body felt unnervingly numb. Even more so with the incessant ringing in your ears.

That said, the little you could feel wasn’t at all great. Your skin feels clammy thanks to the ocean of sweat that’s secreted from you. There’s also the light stinging that comes whenever the beads slide down your skin and meet one of the many deep red lines that litter your body like lines of rubies on a costume.

The sensation reminds you of what it feels like ripping a bandage off a wound that’s still fresh and, oddly enough, that thought comforts you a little.

   “I- I- I’ve been told you were the real deal — That you can help me with…all of this,” You raise your hand to your hair. They’re stained, trembling, and are decorated in similar cuts the rest of your body has. Your nails had begun to darkened in a murky color — one which match the black of some of the older lacerations on your body so you paid it little mind.

All in all, they looked like a result of some terribly botched surgery. As if you had forgotten to wear gloves and ended up slashing, mashing, and mixing up organs instead of trying to preserve them and then let the blood on your hands dry to pose as a grotesque display of makeshift gloves.

You run your fingers through the strands of your hair and you soon find yourself wincing they catch on a particularly mean knot — you should’ve probably brushed your hair before doing this, but oh well. You’re here now, nothing you can really do about it.

You gulp, feeling as though your saliva had hardened into a big lump in your throat as it slowly traveled down your esophagus. When was the last time you were this nervous to say what’s on your mind? When you first walked through the doors of the building of your dream job? When you tried to make that stew a month ago without a recipe? When you pulled your best friend, Venti, into that classroom in highschool and confessed your love for him?

…Right. Venti. That’s why you’re here. You need to stay focused.

   “Okay, l- look, I’m.. I’m not crazy...” You begin, pausing for a moment only to then drive home your points with stern repetition, “I’m not.” 

   “I- It’s just— I...I seriously think my dead ex-husband is haunting me, okay?”

Silence was the given response. It was a type of quiet that would typically comfort the lost — especially one as astray as you are — but all it did was allow you to hear the judgemental whir of the ceiling fan, and ultimately, catch a wisp of unsaid opinions in the air. It causes your blood to boil and spike — to the point that it scorches the root of your mouth, your tongue, and jaw — and forces you to puke out the lava that had begun to pour down your tongue.

   “Don’t fucking give me that look!” You snap. Your teeth gritting and grinding as you continue, voice slightly muffled, “I know how it sounds alright — an- and don’t try and say it’s not happening because- because it is! ..I mean, it’s not like it’s the fucking wind from outside flinging a damn lamp at my chair thinking it’s me, now is it?!”

   “And don’t try to persuade me, I know it’s him. Of course it’d be him. I- I mean he hated me, why wouldn’t he try to…” You begin to lose steam and it's not long before your words cool and evaporate into thick, hot puffs of air.

You begin to heave, and the feeling of sharp pricks — like biting fire ants — that quickly coats your lungs ground you enough to force your head clear again.

It’s not right to blow up on someone that you’re also pleading with for help — especially since they’re all you have left to lean on at this point.

You take a breath, forcing your shoulder lax as you fall back on the stiff couch and look up at the stale ceiling. Tear-stricken skin and yawning eyebags are revealed under the blaring yellow of the circular light above. It burns your eyes and blinds them under the stinging pressure so, in the end, you go to bend an arm over your face and shield your eyes away for a few minutes to allow them to adjust.

   “I’ll.. I’ll just start from the very beginning.. You’ll understand me then, no doubt about it! ..You’ll have to..” You muttered, though you were unsure of whether  or not your words were meant to convince them or yourself. Nevertheless, you continued, beginning your inevitably long tale.. 

  “It all began when I transferred to Teyvat Highschool as a sophomore seven years ago..”

The corridor, lined with pale blue lockers, seemed never ending. The walls were shiny and pristine despite their age and it seemed like they stretched on for a millenia. No matter how long you walked, how many turns you took, or how many staircases you scaled, you were met by the same sight of a long hall filled with lockers, doors, and the occasional bathroom and or waterfountain. It felt as though you were in some kind of loop — no matter how far you went, it felt like you always returned to the same hall you started on. The same hall you walked through when you first stepped through the doors of this enormous school.

And, quite frankly, it was starting to get on your nerves.

To make a bad situation worse — ring! The earsplitting jingle sounded your demise as the realization sets in that you’re now officially late to your — you check your phone again, looking at your clock app and then your schedule in your camera roll — second period class. Wait, second?!

You mutter a curse. How did time fly so fast? You couldn’t have seriously been wandering this school for almost two hours, right? Sure, you spent a little time in the bathroom to quell your nerves, and sure, it did take a few minutes to talk yourself out of getting sent to the principals when you accidentally wandered into the wrong teacher’s class — that lady seriously had some stick up her ass — but those detours couldn’t have costed you so much time, surely.

You grunt out a groan. Well, it doesn't matter right now. However it happened, you're lost and have probably already made a bad impression with a teacher you haven’t even met yet. No doubt, you’ll probably get some kind of punishment for your carelessness if this school was anything like your last..

Gritting your teeth at the thought, you decide to unlock your phone and check your schedule again. ‘Theatre Arts II - Furina De Fontaine - Hall 3,’ was the name it read. You feel like you’ve heard that name before, but the fiery irritation that burns at the back of your head is fogging your brain up with too much smoke right now to pinpoint when or where you saw it.

You should just focus on finding wherever Hall 3 is…and what hall you’re even on to begin with before worrying about other things — that’s what you told yourself as you descended the same marble stairwell you ascended minutes before for what felt like the millionth time.

Focus, you repeat to yourself upon making a sharp turn at the base of the stairs. Alas, your glass of concentration shatters before it even has the proper time to be built to its fullest capacity when you suddenly lose your footing on the last few steps and go tumbling to the floor.

Your phone, books, and other belongings that you didn’t haphazardly stuff into your locker as soon as you found it came clattering to the ground like a novice orchestra booming throughout the corridor. The initial wave of embarrassment has you hesitating to sit up and reveal your face to the world again, but that soon passes as curiosity sets in and you begin to wonder what you slipped on. Eventually, you will yourself into forcing your head up and move your body just enough to peer over your shoulder.

..And to your surprise, the culprit of your slip was some horrendous, green cap.

You sit up fully, twisting your body towards the accessory and lifting it with a singular finger. Upon closer inspection, the cap was much more detailed than you initially thought. Instead of some lousy cap, it was a floppy beret of a deep, grass green shade as its base color and close-knit golden lines in the middle that trace and wrap around to meet on the other side and form a full circle. There were blue stars that sat just under the golden lines that followed a similar pattern. And, to top it all off, an unnaturally large yet gorgeous white flower seemed to sprout from the front corner. Its equally large — if not slightly larger — leaves curving almost cartoonishly at an angle.

To put it simply, the hat looked like something straight out of a fairytale. Something you’d imagine only some of the arts could pull off successfully.

   “Well, what do we have here?” Your heart drops at the sound of someone’s voice vibrating throughout the hollow, but most definitely empty hallway. Their voice was kinda deep yet very smooth in a way that reminded you of the delectable-looking velvet wine you’d always see the rich drink in those older movies you often watched in your free time. Its tune quelled the drumming fear that played alongside the fragile strings of your heart for a mere moment, and in the end, that’s all you needed to coax yourself into turning around to face the perpetrator who almost caused you to have a heart attack.

You’re initially faced with nothing and your brows dip. You definitely heard someone speak, you were sure of it… Were you? Has the stress of everything already gotten to you? Has your yearning for aid made your mind conjure up the illusion of some guy with a pretty voice? You can feel your eye beginning to twitch when you suddenly hear the voice again.

   “I’m over here,” You spin your head to the right and your dull, spasming eyes lock with drooping ones. The emerald color surprises you, and in a way, almost instantly calms you with its steady, yet quick transformation from a darkened shade of green to a much brighter hue that reminds you of the beret in your hands. The delicate twinkle along his irises make the comparison seem kind of underestimating though. What did it remind you of…a gemstone, maybe?

Yeah, that’s the word you were looking for; gem. Those eyes, though stricken with drowsiness, shone like some green diamond under the poor lighting of the hallway. They looked absolutely divine, and you found yourself dumbstruck for a moment before that equally angelic voice sung its tune once again.

   “My, it seems my project has attracted a thief,” The strings that were strung were lighter than before, plucked with an underlying note of playfulness that softened his words and made it lack any and all animosity. Furthermore, he goes on to tease, saying, “With that said, such a lovely criminal has found its way to me and already seems to have fallen for my charms so who am I to complain?”

Like his eyes, his voice dragged under the weight of drowsiness and the almost slurred way he enunciated his sentence managed to quell the fire that raged in your body, allowing cool rain to come in and further bury your anger. It reminded you of when your parents used to sing you lullabies despite barely being able to keep their eyes open and the memory was an instant soother to you.

And, for some reason, the owner of such a serene voice sat under the very stairwell that nearly broke your neck like some hobbit.

Upon gaining your silence as a response, a grin stretched across his glowing, smooth skin. It’s then he decides to continue with his jesting, “Do I have a mute on my hands? Or have I managed to render you speechless already?”

   “My bad,” The words fell from your lips the moment you were able to finally rip your eyes away from the breathtaking sight before you — which took all your willpower to do, mind you — and down at the much less appealing porcelain beneath you.

   “I didn’t know this was yours — I- I mean I didn’t even see you to begin with so it's not my fault that I…whatever. Here, just take it back,” And you tossed the boy his beret without looking, deciding to make use of your new position to pick up all your stuff from the ground.

You hear the bouncy orchestra of his chuckle and you could feel your heart doing inhumane tricks in your chest without your permission. Damnit, even his laughter was gorgeous — you found yourself thinking as you squished your books back into the crook of your elbow.

    “I was only joking around! I’m not seriously upset,” He assured with an almost child-like giggle that did not at all match his earlier wine-like serenade, “Besides, I was the one snoozing underneath the staircase — Ah, which I beg you to keep as our little secret. It’s not exactly allowed here after all, hehe..!”

    “Why are you sleeping here anyways?” You had other questions as well, like why this dude wasn’t in class like everyone else, but you found this question was much more pressed for answers. Thankfully, this beautiful stranger seems more than willing to present you with the answers you wanted to hear.

    “Why not? When the mood arises, isn’t it best to just relax and treat yourself? I was feeling particularly tired this morning and since this hallway is barely used nowadays I thought, why not? Alas, it seems I was in too good of a mood since I seemed to have almost destroyed part of my costume in my sleep,” His giddy laughter dies quickly after that, his voice dropping to a mumble as he began muttering in a way that could only have been directed to himself. Nevertheless, you still heard what he said, “In that case, it would have certainly taken more than a smooth apology to quell Lynette’s anger..”

    “So you’re a student after all,” You said, stating the obvious as a desperate attempt of preventing awkward silence to breach the hallway before you can properly collect yourself. It always drove you insane when people just watched you without saying anything. You were never the best at reading people after all and you always assumed they were judging you in some way whenever they did that.

The people at your last school did that a lot. You never understood why and it drove you up a wall. You’re thankful your stepfather got that new job halfway across town and your family moved. Any longer there and you would’ve seriously—

    “I haven’t seen a face quite like yours before. Are you perhaps new here?” That dulcet tone pulled you from your thoughts quicker than any schoolbell or yell of your name. Despite that, the sentence in it of itself made you jump. Was it that obvious that you were lost and completely clueless of where you were? Was he picking fun? And what was that comment on your face supposed to mean? Was he trying to call you ugly? He wouldn’t be the first, but it didn’t make you any less upset hearing it.

    “Maybe,” You bitterly muttered, allowing the venom that began pooling along your tongue to seep into your words freely as you asked, “Is that a problem?”

You glance up, preparing for a possible verbal assault with a glare hardened by all the malevolence you could muster in that moment. It didn’t last long, quickly replaced by chilling shock when you nearly brush noses with the guy. 

You yelp and slide back so quickly you trip again, this time on your bag, and just like that, all your hard work evaporates into dust as you drop everything again on your short descent to the floor.

    “Sorry! I didn’t expect you to jump back like that!” You hear him say, and damn it, does his voice work wonders to your nerves. Instead of that biting anger from before resurfacing like a waterfall being unclogged, it resurfaced as a small pool at the pit of your stomach. It was controlled, manageable, and in the end, it completely dissipated after only a few seconds.

Seriously, what type of magic does this guy possess? No way a mere voice can have this kind of effect on a person naturally..

By the time you looked up from your lap, half if not the majority of your things had already been collected by him. He was quite fast — on the shorter side of the scale too now that you’ve gotten a look at him standing. You decide to keep your comments to yourself as you watch him dart around to grab the remainder of your pens and mechanical pencils that escaped from your binder.

    “To answer your early question, I don’t mind that you’re new here. In fact, I’m happy to see a new face around here!” He chirped, “I doubt Principal Ningguang or any of the assistant principals had the time to give you a proper tour of the school so that means I have the perfect excuse for why I skipped — Uh, I- I mean the uhm…great opportunity to show the brilliance that is Teyvat High! ..Yeah..”

   “Here’s all your stuff you dropped — sorry again for the scare,” Like some prince from a story, the guy stood tall as he offered you your things. Despite his shorter stature, he towered over you in that moment, smiling down upon you so sweetly and with nothing but cheerfulness gleaming in those emerald jewels of his. There wasn’t a hint of pity or underlying judgement in his eyes as far as you could tell. There wasn’t even a speckle of superiority in that smile — not that you would’ve been able to pick up on it if he was looking at you that way. After all, he seems like someone with a good poker face.

But you're sure of it. That everything about his face was genuine. It was a face you’ve only seen once or twice before in your life so there was no mistaking it.

And, gods, does sincerity look good on him.

    “Thanks..” You said after realizing your prolonged staring as you slowly took the books from his grasp without breaking eye contact. It was like you were under some spell. Maybe you were. If so, you can’t find a reason to complain right now.

    “No problem. So, will you let me show you around? Think of it as an apology for scaring you twice,” He said.

    “I wasn’t scared, just caught off guard,” You corrected. You watch him nod with what you can only assume is understandment so you continue, “And I don’t exactly have time for a tour right now. I’m kinda late, so—”

    “Lemme see your schedule,” He chirped, “I know this place like the back of my hand! I’m sure I can help you find your way.”

He extends his hand out to you and you’re tempted to jump on your first instinct and take it with your own. But alas, reason clouds your judgement and the fear of embarrassment and awkwardness drives you to unlock your phone and go to your gallery instead, plopping the small device in his hand after a moment of searching.

As he brings the phone closer to read the text, that dreaded silence you were trying so hard to avoid comes creeping in to make a brief, unwanted appearance. You always despised silence as it left you with nothing but you and your own mind to fill the quiet, and even then, you never truly filled it on your own.

So, you decide to pop the first decent question your mind could conjure up, “Hey, what’s your—” “Oho~! Maybe lady luck truly is shining on me! We’re in the same class this period!”

Your mouth clamps shut upon the initial interruption, but once his words set in it falls open and your feet move to close in on him. Peering over at your phone as if you haven’t looked at that schedule at least ten or so times prior to this.

    “Really?” You ask, and he nods his head as that same gorgeous smile from before shows itself for an encore performance.

    “Yeah! ..And it’s no wonder you were having trouble finding your classes. The majority of them aren’t even in this building,” He explained. Your brows furrow.

   “There are multiple buildings?!” You questioned, which earned a bewildered glance from him.

    “Yes..?” He drawled slowly, “They should’ve at least given you a map that showed the layout of campus..” And this time, you’re the one giving him an odd look which pretty much answers the remainder of his questions and causes a sigh to slip from his lips.

    “It’s always so hectic in the main office, not that I mind a bit of chaos, but they should’ve at least made sure you were set before sending you off..” He sighs again. 

    “No matter. You have me here now so you don’t need a map anymore.” He extends his hand again, loosening his grip on your phone as his smile widens and his eyes close to grant you relief from a brief staring contest. Could he tell that it made you sweat? Was it really that obvious that you wished to tear your skin off whenever it’s under the intruding gaze of another?

    “Yeah, I guess so..” You grab your phone, releasing it from his pale grasp only for your wrist to end up caught in it mere seconds later. Your eyes widened, but before you could say anything, the boy was already tugging you in the direction of an exit.

    “C’mon! If we end up any later, Ms. Furina may punish us by making us recite the 357 rules of being a successful performer while tap dancing to one of the Beethoven pieces — trust me, you never wanna experience that,” He says, and for some reason the slightly shuddering edge he says it with sends a chill down your spine.

You decide against questioning why he seemed to be so knowing and nodded your head, “Noted.”

    “Oh, and it’s Venti by the way,” He added, turning back to the front and forcing you to gaze upon the pretty blue tips of his hair. The color reminded you of the pretty shade the ocean transforms into the farther you swim from shore. It was such a calming color, one that you believed was befitting for him.

   “Sorry, what were you saying?” You asked after a few seconds, and the guy repeated himself, “My name is Venti. …Wasn’t that what you were about to ask me earlier?”

  “Oh–! Right, right! Yeah, Venti, got it,” You scrambled, shaking your head in an attempt to clear your head, “Mine’s Y/n.”

  “A charming name,” He replied smoothly. 

His comment made your skin heat up as if you were angry, but it didn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable. Instead of the blazing wildfire your body had been scorched in all its life, it tingled as if a bunch of tiny firecrackers were popping along your pores. It was almost a tickling sorta feeling — one that you’ve never felt before.

It was kind of overwhelming, but…kind of nice at the same time.

   “What do you say we start that tour during lunch?” He says, “We can grab something to eat after school to make up for it — Your treat of course, hehe~!”

   “You know he seriously made me pay for lunch that day? Hmph, such a freeloader..” A laugh followed your response, but it was short-lived and lacked any real humor and you continue before the person has any time to critique your sad attempt at comedy..

   “He continued to pester me for so long after that — practically forced our friendship to prosper against my will. H- He was always a brute like that,” You explained, “Such a flirt too! I- It was like he couldn’t go one conversation without throwing some cheeky compliment in there — es- especially during the plays we had to participate in for a grade! He’d always get screamed at for going off script..”

The silence that waned said every word your little helper tried to hide. It was a pathetic attempt. You were nowhere near the mess you were in your teen years and getting into a serious relationship has made you better at picking up on the little things. The small raise of their eyebrow when you mentioned your schedule, the unbelieving glance you earned when you mentioned your plays — it was so painfully obvious what they were thinking and that, quite frankly, irked you.

   “I could act y’know,” You snapped, your gaze hardening, “I was damn good. Th- That’s probably why they didn’t like me at that other place! Those sons’ of a bitches were scared of my talent! E- Envied me because they had to practice endlessly for something that came to me just like that!” You snapped your finger, buffing your words with that brief click, “I could've been the real deal if I actually wanted to, y’know? I- I- I had schools flooding my emails and mailboxes trying to get me into their schools believe it or not!”

   “B- But acting became such a hassle after a while, you know?” Your voice raised, becoming high and pitchy as you breathed out another sandy laugh,  “Bu- Besides I was so in love and my dream school was so far from home..heh. …In the end, Venti was the one to convince me to stay. Can you believe it? I- I myself was…was surprised, I mean, he was always so lax about most things..”

   “He…he fell apart…right there. Begged and cried and pleaded for me to stay by his side.. He even said he’d better himself to make up for the loss — he- he was struggling mentally y’know and it got even worse when schools kept rejecting him. I honestly pitied him — I mean how could I not, right? He was the love of my life a- and I’d be some monster t- to just walk out like that! I had no choice but to move in with him after highschool and go to some local community college!”

   “Y’know, I.. I honestly think he was jealous of me a little,” You chuckled dryly, “Maybe that’s where his hatred started… I- I mean, the majority of the schools I applied for were the same as his… He probably felt…inferior — l- like I was trying to one up him or something! It’s as they say; you can have two stars but only one will truly shine!” As you said this, your lips stretched into a smile as you did jazz hands.

You probably looked pretty unsettling in that moment as you doubt your eyes matched the current situation. Not to mention all the tears and blood from your cuts and your hair being a total mess — …yeah, you probably looked insane right now.

..But they shouldn’t judge the person they’re helping! That’d be cruel and unfair to you and you haven’t done anything to deserve such treatment! It wouldn’t be right to scrutinize someone you know nothing about anyways no matter how they may look!

   “A- Anyways, I got sidetracked… Hmmm where to continue.. Even though it’d be better for me, telling you every little detail isn’t an option since we’re so short on time...maybe I should — ah, I know! I’ll skip ahead a while to the moment I realized I liked him! Yeah!”

Why were you even here — that was the third time you had asked yourself that. Rather pointless seeming as the answer laid plain as day in your face. 

A costume, one that came with a cap plaid in green and a corset with golden buttons — looking deceptively expensive only for the ugly truth to come to light, literally. In the light, it was clear as day that the buttons were made of cheap metal spray painted into appearing gold.

After giving your all out there on stage — bled out every emotion you could onto the wooden flooring — you weren’t given a silver crown like you had expected nor did you gain a throne or a fancy cane. You weren’t given anything, or it’s more like it was taken by someone else and it was decided that it would only be given to you when they weren’t there to wear it..

You were deemed the understudy, and despite all you did, your rights to success were stolen away…and the thief was someone you called a friend.

He didn’t even want the role! He told you himself! The part he yearned for was the carefree, humorous sidekick of the protagonist — a mere pebble in the face of the actual plot, and yet, he was given your flowers! That wench actually thought he’d be better suited to play the charismatic and calculating royal heir. It was ridiculous! 

And what was truly a punch in the gut was his lack of protest. All he did was that stupid laugh of his. As.. As if he expected it or something! Maybe he did. Maybe he was actually aiming for that part but lied to you to make you believe you didn’t have any real competition! Maybe—

   “Ah, Y/n! There you are!”

Your head snapped up and spun towards the door. Your eyes met with the familiar greenery of his hues and you could feel the familiar heat singing your bones. Of course he’d appear now of all times. It’s as if he’s going out his way to try and mock you or something.

   “I have good news—!” “Save it.”

   “What?” Venti proclaimed, bewilderment dousing his tone which only served to aggravate you more.

   “I said save it!” You snapped, “I don’t even wanna hear your stupid voice right now, traitor.”

He was probably here to mock you. I mean, why else would he seek you out like this — who went the extra lengths to hide in the room they throw all the props in after shows? It was just like your classmates from your last school who’d follow you into the bathroom just to harass you. Or when they’d look through the sea of students in the cafeteria just to find you at the farthest corner near the teachers and ‘accidentally’ knock your tray off the table.

Did he think this was funny? Did he find some sick amusement in the way your brows twitched and you chewed at your bottom lip when Lady Furina revealed everyone's roles? It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to you.

After all, friends are the most fickle, cruelest things you could ever have in this world. You learned that the hard way. 

   “...Is this about the roles for the upcoming play? Is that why you’re so upset?” Wow, he really is making fun of you. You can hear it in the way his voice dipped as he talked. It was the same as when he’d do something cheeky during practice and you’d notice and give your exasperated reactions. 

He was holding back laughter. He found glee in your pain and hearing his pathetic attempt at hiding that fact made it feel as though a volcano had erupted inside you and the lava was spreading throughout your body. Like torches being set alight at the back of your throat, charring the tender flesh until it slid off like a hot slab of meat and down your throat for you to puke back up.

It was infuriating — so much so that you wished you could take a needle and sew his mouth up until it was bloody and shut.

   “Y/n, I actually—” “I don’t care! Get out!” You cut him off. If he stayed here any longer, you were sure that your body would act on the first instinct your mind conjured up, and right now, all of them would most definitely get you expelled.

You hear him sigh. The air he omits dragging in the depths of exhaustion — like he had just returned from a long night of dealing with an overactive kid. It went straight through you, hit you like a stone to the face, and had you clenching and damn near grinding your teeth into dust.

..But as you whip your head around — revealing your teary, red eyes, clenched jaw, and your lips which had been chewed bloody — ready to release every bit of the built up fire that overtook your body and burn him into a undefinable crisp, a cold feeling surrounds the skin of your forehead and you freeze.

Slowly, your hands went up and when your fingertips grazed its curves, you pause. Soon enough though, you begin caressing the object that had been plopped on your head.

Aside from its temperature, it was unbelievably smooth and hard like metal. You went up farther and the smoothness comes to an abrupt halt and is replaced by something jagged and rough. It’s what you imagine a diamond encrusted bracelet would feel like.

…Wait, is this—

   “Such a hothead I’ve managed to befriend,” Words that were likely meant to be shot out as more of a lighthearted insult was spoken with the gentleness and grace of a meaningful compliment one would only mutter to their most trusted in the dead of night. It felt like a cool balm being applied to your skin.

His next words were spoken in a similar fashion, “You really need to work on that, my dear — listening to. It would save you from a lot of unnecessary agony.”

   “Look at you..” He mumbled, and in seconds his smooth, nimble hands were on you like freshly fallen snow. His hands clashed with the flames raging along the skin of your cheeks and ultimately extinguished the inferno, allowing that unexplainable tingle from when you two first met to take over as he finally finished his sentence, mumbling, “..you’re a mess.”

He wiped at your skin with his thumbs. Tenderly catching the tears that escaped from your eyes and flicking them away with ease, “To think you may assume I would ever want this..”

And that’s when he finally confessed to you, “I talked Lady Furina into giving me another role.”

   “Why?” You whispered. You didn’t intend for it to come out that way, but you couldn’t seem to control the cracking of your voice no matter how much you attempted to change up the way you talked, much to your dismay.

   “I’m not fond of playing roles like that,” He said before a smile deserving of a thousand roses and a row of applause graced his face, “Besides, weren’t you working so hard all this time to get that role? It wouldn’t be right for me to take that from you.”

   “So it’s out of pity,” You shoot out, your words coming out more as a statement than a question because, to you, that was the truth. Venti was pitying you, no doubt, or so you thought at first. When his eyes seemed to somehow soften impossibly more, all your thoughts kinda vanished from your head.

   “I think you deserve it,” He told you, “How could I not after seeing your dedication firsthand? Seeing you skip lunch to practice lines and being on call all night with you as you further research ways to better yourself.. I’d be a fool not to give this to you.”

   “So cheer up. No need for anymore tears,” He whispered. And for a moment, as he leaned in with his smile being ever so sweet, you thought about leaning in and claiming a different prize other than this crown atop your head. 

That thought didn’t fade even after his hands moved down to grip you by the shoulders and pull you into a hug — if anything, the urges to kiss him only intensified, as if it had always been there, and stained the back of your mind.

Has it? How long has your consciousness yearned for Venti? What thoughts truly clogged the crevices of your brain tissue that you just simply blocked out? Were they ever blocked out to begin with?

…How can a person be so warm yet so cool at the same time? How is it possible for a hug to feel like an oasis in a desert? How come you feel so calm so quickly? And, why do you enjoy this so much?

   “Whether you believe it or not, you deserved this. Congratulations, my dear,” He said, and to your ears, it felt like he was playing your favorite song on a harp; soothing yet so, so addicting. 

It made your body slump and lighten up. Made you release a sigh that, for once, wasn’t burning with animosity or anger. He single handedly managed to transform the meaning of your tears into something light and cheerful. And, somehow, his arms made you feel so safe, so content — as though you always belonged there.

It felt like, for the first time in your life, your heart was truly beating a tune you actually wanted to hear and it made you wish for the moment to last an eternity.

   “He was so cruel for that! I- I- I mean doesn’t he know what that did to me?” You exclaimed, stomping your feet on the ground as your nails dragged along the skin of your reddened face.

   “Y’know he went about his day after that? Just- Just left me with this jumble of…of feelings and thoughts I couldn’t control! How could you get any more self-centered I mean c’mon—!”

Your road of words hit a dead end as a bit of your frustration managed to slip past your toothy defense in the form of a loud groan. It was a brief lapse but it earned you a response from your helper albeit in the wind.

   “What do you mean he ‘doesn’t sound that bad’?!” You shot up, sitting up straight as your eyes widened, “Ar- Are you seriously choosing his side here — look what he’s done to me! I—!” 

You pause, your venomous words dying into your throat and sting the underside of your throat. You suddenly take a breath, collapsing once again and allowing the cushions of the couch to swallow you once more. It seems to do you good as the cushion surrounds your head and blocks off your ears, deafening your suddenly chatty helper and allowing your thoughts a moment to cool you down.

  “I.. I just need to finish the story,” You say after a moment, half thinking aloud, “You’ll understand me then… You’ll.. You’ll see I’m not the bad guy here.. You’ll get it, surely..heh..”

Today was the day. You were going to do it. You were going to confess to your best friend.

After a year of talking yourself out of it a million times, using the tiniest of reasons and coincidences to deter yourself a bajilion more, and after nearly getting outed by your shared friends a trillion and one times over, you’ve had enough of it. 

You were sick of the tricks your heart would do whenever he was in your vicinity. Having to pretend like you weren’t quite literally having a heart attack by merely being in his presence. You were tired of the fantasies you’d conjure up at night that would later distract you come morning. 

You were sick of yearning for a million things from him and living vicariously through the characters you would play that had the honor of being scripted to so much as grab his chin.

You were exhausted — both mentally and physically — and yet as you stood here before the very door that held your prize on the other side, you suddenly felt energized and you wanted nothing more than to use that energy to run as far away as humanly possible.

You blame the frilly pink decorations surrounding the door. The overly large heart stickers with cheesy faces decorating the nearby walls and the banners that were strung up  You blame the sign you passed coming up the stairs that reminded everyone of the upcoming, unofficial holiday which became the sole reason you were partially coaxed into doing this in the first place. 

You blame Lady Furina, who thought it wise to make you and Venti the two main leads in the upcoming play — which was written to be a historical, romantic drama to fit the theme of the day it would fall on — that ultimately gave your friends stupid ideas to tease you two with.

You fish for your phone in your pocket and go straight to your camera app upon unlocking it. Your eyes stare back at you, stained by your poorly hidden nervousness and complemented by the deep rings that hang them down like some heavy dress. Your lips quirk up, seeing if you can manage to make them look less like they’re about to just slide right off your face…only for your smile to drop immediately. 

Yeah, no smile. Venti might just run straight out of the room if he sees that…

All is not lost to the wind — your earrings and matching attire are fairly decent and the bouquet in your hand almost morphs this look into something kind of desirable. At the very least, if he rejects you, it won’t be because you didn’t put in enough effort or something..

Somehow, despite that jumpscare of your own face you just barely managed to recover from, you found the strength to put your phone away in your pocket and reach for the door handle. You pause for the final time, the negativities in your mind going all in for one, big final attack in an attempt to discourage you enough to choose your dignity and pride over your desires. They ultimately fail, and what makes things worse, coming out victorious gives you the courage to take the sliding door handle in hand.

You open the door rather aggressively and the sound bounced off the walls like a gunshot going off. It alerts — and startles — the one in the room, making them jump and spin around to see you; the culprit of their heart attack.

You were the one who had scared him, and yet, your eyes were the ones that ended up widening when you saw each other.

Venti stood at the far end of the classroom, perched against the windows that flooded the room with light. His hair — usually braided into two messy braids and hanging at his shoulders — were replaced with a longer, thicker mane that cascaded down his back and tied up at his hip.

The drapery that hung off him was larger than his usual sweaters, much larger, to the point only the tips of his hands could be seen — and they appeared much daintier when he moved his hand to slide himself off the windowsill. Furthermore, instead of the usual cheap polyester you were familiar with, you could tell from where you stood at the door that his clothes were made of something thinner, lighter, softer — something like silk. 

Majority of his attire was dyed in his favorite color — forest green — but was complemented by golden patterns on the innermost part of his sleeves, his waist, and hem — which seemed to go on and on endlessly until it finally kissed his feet.

Your eyes trailed up his body and up to his face. Your eyes catch like a fish to a hook when his lashes flutter and something near his eyes twinkle under the sunlight’s rays. It was glitter — colored to match the accents of his clothing, pool along the upper lining of his eyelashes ,and trail off a little at the corners. That along with the extravagant chandeliers that hung on his ears made his whole look seem more refined and lavish, like some prince from an olden film.

That’s when it all came rushing back to you. Right, you had texted Venti at probably one of the most inconvenient times known to man; in the midst of dress rehearsal — somewhere you should’ve certainly been at rather than the local flower shop. Lady Furina is definitely gonna chew you a new one for skipping.

Despite the hell your abrupt text probably caused him, Venti doesn’t look the least bit annoyed. In fact, he looked much more bothered. His thin brows scrunched his smooth skin and made it protrude slightly and his lips were pursed uncomfortably. Not only that, but when you first entered the room, you caught a glimpse of him aimlessly staring out the window — as if he was mentally being sucked into the void that is the cloudless sky. 

Maybe he is upset after all.

   “Y/n! There you are! Where have you been?!” His words come out as fast as his feet move to cross the classroom. Before you could say anything, he was talking again, “You go missing for two days and don’t bother giving so much as a heads up?! I thought something happened!”

His usual jovial chatter ceased to exist at that moment. Replaced with nothing but dolorous utterings that came from the abundance of thoughts that have clearly spiraled a bit too far because when he reaches you, he immediately latches onto you as if he hasn’t seen you in years. His sleeves fall down his arms as they snake around you, revealing the puffy, yet slightly more fitted, cream-colored sleeves underneath.

Your heart was going a mile a minute. You wondered if Venti could hear its loud drumming. No doubt he can, with his head leaning against your chest like this you’d be more surprised if he couldn’t hear the cacophony of what you hoped was a heart attack about to strike your heart still. At least if that happened, you couldn’t get mad at yourself later for not going through with this.

   “Venti… I—” “Have you been getting enough sleep? I noticed before you disappeared that your eyebags have been more defined lately.. Don’t tell me you skipped school because you were exhausted. If so, you should’ve told me! I would’ve gladly joined you!” 

He cuts you off with the concern of some worried parent and silences you further by pulling away from you only to immediately reach up and cup your cheek afterwards, holding it as if it were some priceless treasure. 

Venti was always delicate with you even in his silliest moments. It’s one of the things that made those incessant fantasies plague your mind in the first place.

But you can’t let him throw you off course. You need to get this off your chest before you can think straight again.

    “Venti,” You called his name more firmly as you, against your better judgement, slid back and forced distance between the two of you. Venti’s eyes widen at your actions before dipping in a way that matches the frown overtaking his expression. The sight reminded you of a sad kitten and the way his entire demeanor flopped absolutely shattered you. 

Maybe it's not too late to back out — you said that to yourself, but as you did, your arm raised to present the bouquet to him.

White suns were practically shoved in his face, blinding the boy with its radiance and causing his eyes to blow wide once again albeit for a different reason. His eyes lit up, sparkling brighter than any star as his aqua hues reflected the delicate arrangement of flowers in his irises. 

You caught yourself staring at him in awe, marveling at the way the oceanic coloring of his eyes made your lackluster bunch of flowers seem so much more appealing the longer his gaze stayed on them.

    “I.. I- I got these for you — cecilias,” You stammered. Your words practically tripping over each other, much to your embarrassment, “Aren’t they your favorites — they are, I- I mean we’ve known each other for almost two years now why wouldn’t I know something like this—”

    “What’s the occasion?” He asked softly, and your throat dried faster than any plant in a desert. This was it. All or nothing. You had to say something now or forever hold your peace. Just rip it off like a bandaid.

    “I- I wanted to..do this for you..” You said slowly, feeling your cheek growing impossibly warmer by the second, “I thought, y’know, since Valentine’s Day is around the corner and…and…” 

You gulp, your lips twitching as the saliva runs slowly down your throat. Were you really doing this? You could feel your hesitance slowly creep up on you like some infectious disease. 

You already have one foot out the door, but are you truly willing to walk out?

You almost told yourself no. That you weren’t as fearless as you gaslight yourself into being…until you felt his touch once again, this time encasing your hand which tightly held the bouquet.

Your eyes darted over from the chalkboard you had found false interest in to lock with what truly had your attention in that moment; Venti. His expression was different from the glum one he was wearing earlier. His lips had evened out and curved at its edges and his eyes were narrowed in the same way it always did when he’d watch you fumble after he’d poke fun at you. It was akin to the face he’d make whenever he was about to do something rather mischievous and it did nothing to quell your nerves in the moment.

    “Go on..don’t hesitate now,” He said. His voice dipped to a low, but coherent murmur as he took a small step closer, “You’ve already gotten so far, it’d be wasteful to turn back, don’tcha’ think?”

But then, his voice raises slightly and he speaks in by far the most dulcet tone you’ve ever heard as he lightly puts pressure on your hand by squeezing down on it..

   “Indulge in your heart. Speak what’s on your mind. You know you can tell me anything.”

You could feel yourself melting at the way his voice tickles your ears. Suddenly, all your worries seemed miniscule in that moment as you two stared into each other’s souls. It felt as though you had finally reached land after struggling tirelessly against the heavy sea’s currents. Like you could finally breathe after being surrounded by thick air for so very long. 

And in that moment, it truly felt as though nothing could go wrong so you finally utter what you’ve wanted to say to him for months now. .

    “I.. I like you, Venti — more than a friend would.”

Your words travel along the stale air of that dank classroom and fills his ears seconds later. You expect to hear his soft rejection or to even hear his laughter before he completely changed the subject like he was oh so good at doing. Instead, you heard a sigh escape his lips. One that you imagine a soldier returning home alive after a war and seeing his family for the first time in years would breathe.

    “Is that so.. That’s such a relief..” He whispered. Finally closing the distance you had put against you two to wrap his arms around you once again. His head falls to rest against your shoulder and he quickly ends up nose-deep in the cloth of your shirt, hiding the deep shade of red that was already running wild on his face and beginning to stain his ears.

    “I don’t think I was going to be able to make it much longer,” He confessed, allowing an airy chuckle to slip from him afterwards, “I was actually planning on just dumping my heart out to you before the play, but this is so much better..”

   “Wait, you actually..liked me back?” You choke out.

   “Of course I like you back,” He corrects, “Why wouldn’t I? You’re so amazing…and being around you always feels so nice and fun… I’ve..never really been around someone who seems to enjoy me as much as you do.. Wh- Who looks at me with such a fire in their eyes..”

He trails off completely and your eyes grow wide for nth time today upon the most shocking realization coming to you; Venti…was actually as, if not more, nervous than you were right now. The same guy who has sung in front of half your school before and has said the most embarrassing lines known to mankind in plays before an even larger audience…was a flustered mess against you right now.

And that…was probably the most comforting reaction he could’ve ever given to you.

   “...Venti—”

   “—How could you say that?!” Your loud exclamation echoed throughout the room and bounced off the bland-colored walls. You could care less about the ruckus you were making, it was deserved after the insult that was just hurled at you — the one who’s getting haunted right now!

   “I’ll have you know he was a horrible boyfriend! A- And an ever worser husband!” You spat, “He would flip all his problems on me and call me all kinds of rude nicknames! N- Not to mention how he’d blow up about every little thing — like can you imagine having to walk on eggshells all the fucking time?! It– It was absolute hell!”

In the face of your distress, their words of gentle protest were like a compress that managed to somewhat ground you. Their words attempt to sink in, but all the buzzing in your head only allows it up to surface level, and ultimately, you end up snapping again.

   “I.. I need help? ..Well isn’t that why I’m here talking to you?!” You yelled, “Obviously I need help! I- I can’t fucking sleep, I’m too scared to even go into my kitchen… My damn late husband is making my life a living hell for no reason! Look—!” At your exclamation, your right hand is finally revealed and raised into the air — which you can barely pin the name to at this point.

Crimson overtakes what was previously off-white bandaging, obscuring the wrap’s beginning and ending. The sloppy hast of which was used to wrap your hand with shines through painfully so as a mere closer inspection shows peeks of blotched, bloody flesh — which stopped halfway and is replaced by so much red that even moving the little you did has made it ooze out from the seams like strawberry jam and slowly dribble down the palm, down your wrist, and all the way down to your elbow where it then dripped onto the plate of your lap.

   “He… He did this to me!” Your voice fell apart like cracked glass — which one would assume was the weapon used to sever the tendons of your hand if they saw the massacre that replaced three out of five of your fingers. 

   “L- Last week. I- It.. It happened then I.. I was trying to make breakfast and I was chopping up fruit— Th- The knife slipped and…he — it wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t—!”

Thick globs of translucence glided down your face as rib-racking sobs replaced the slither of coherency you had left. You tried to save face by hiding it away, but all that managed to do was smear possibly infected blood on your wet cheek — which quickly mixed and polluted with the ongoing stream of teardrops.

   “This wasn’t— I- I didn’t ask for this!” You weeped, “Th-... Wasn’t me…. This was all because of him—!”

   “Shh, shh.. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay..”

His faint hushing was like a mouse’s squeak in the face of your body-racking hysterics, yet it seemed so much louder when his arms caged you against his chest — or at least you assume that’s what the sudden warmth surrounding you is. Your thoughts had ripped you from reality quite some time ago so everything seemed unnervingly numb.

   “It wasn’t my fault… Please… Please believe me…it- it wasn’t— I never wanted this to happen I- I swear..!” 

You practically threw up those words along with the metallic liquid that your tongue has been bathing in for far too long — the horrendous color of which also matched your mashed knuckles and stained the cashmere of your costume.

   “I- I didn’t… I— This—!” You tried to plead. Just like the peasant you portrayed mere moments ago. As if you were being trialed for the murder of your mother just like they were, you begged for the ear of the one who held you so tenderly and woefully requested they listen so that you could explain this.

Alas, they don’t seem willing to hear your explanation. Instead, they shushed you again before releasing you from your suffering of lying on the floor of… Where are you even at? You didn’t really take notice of the labeled doors you barged through as you fled from the stage. You just remember running for what felt like ages before your knees finally buckled and you collapsed..

   “No need to explain yourself. Just focus on your breathing..” The voice said calmly, but as it entered your ears, it felt as though the words were being amplified by a blow horn. It made your panic worsen and you immediately tried to break free from their temporarily soothing grasp.

You struggled and broke free, but in the end, only managed to make it a handful of steps before your feet caught on something protruding from the floor. You trip, and your descent is as quick as your landing is painful. Sharp prickles quickly shoot through your side as you smash into what your mind took ages to discern was a staircase, leaving you with no choice but to writhe and blubber.

   “Y/n, are you okay?!” That same warmth surrounded you seconds after that and the pain was so dizzying that you could do nothing but curl into that heat whilst wishing for a million things to cease from your being.

This embrace was not one of them. Not anymore.

   “Crap, you’re covered in blood.. Uh—! Dear, can you hear me? Can you please listen?” The more the voice spoke, the more your brain began to familiarize itself with it. The calming tone like a lullaby, the lightness of their words, the affection of which they carried.. Eventually, the wires finally connected and your discolored, foggy eyes widened.

   “Ven’?” You croaked, “Ven’...! Ven’, I- I didn’t—!”

   “I know, I know..” He said, “It’s okay... You can relax. I’m not going to blow up on you like the others did..” 

The frigidness you’ve long since grown fond of finds place in your hair, rooting itself in your scalp to allow you to feel the supple flesh of his fingertips before dragging it along to further mess up your hair. It sends a light shiver down your spine but you embrace it regardless, burying your face into his chest to better allow him access.

   “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” You whispered after a few seconds of relishing in the feeling and allowing it to guide you back down to earth, “It’s not my fault… I didn’t mean to..”

  “I believe you,” He hushed, “And I’ll take care of it for you, okay? It was an honest mistake so.. so I’m sure I can make everything right…but before that, I need you to calm down, alright? Breathe in and out..” 

He leans in until your foreheads kissed and your ragged breaths were warming his lips. He closes his eyes and then continues, “Don’t focus on anything else but me and the rise and fall of your chest. I’ll do it with you. Just breathe, okay?”

   “In…” He pauses, following his own instructions as his chest slowly puffs and fills with oxygen. He then holds that in for a handful of seconds before saying, “Out,” and releasing it in a slow exhale. Nothing like you, who sucks in air as if it were going out of style and pushing it out just as fast.

   “Let’s try that again. In…” He draws in a breath. You do the same yet quicker. He then pauses, you do not. 

   “Out..” He exhales in a slow breath. By the time he's done, you’ve long since started on your next breath.

   “In…and out… In….and out…”

   “In…. I- In….and..out… In….and out..” As if you were a teenager again, covered in your friend’s blood and sitting on that hard staircase whilst being strangled by your thoughts just like you had been that day, you focus all your attention on the cushy feeling of the sofa caging your thighs and the rise and fall of your chest — just like the love of your life who hated you oh so much had taught you so long ago.

   “I- In…and out… In..a- and..out… In…and out…” 

Eventually your repetitive mantra began to sink in and your chest became lighter. The boulders that sat on it were no longer there, allowing the delicious air to flood in with vigor. It tingles your skin which causes you to tremble a little, but when you’re finally able to feel the leather of the couch again, you didn’t pay much mind to it.

Minutes pass, and it's only when the room finally stops spinning that you’re able to speak again. Your voice still quakes, but now that you’ve managed to caress the ground again and actually feel it, you can formulate your thoughts a little better.

   “Th- That was about it.. Those..were some of the most notable moments of my life with my late husband…be- before he died anyways,” You said in a tone that could be mistaken for one of sadness, “Our dates in between, our wedding…and all that other stuff aren’t really important to the situation— I-I don’t wanna waste time, y’know?” You force out a chuckle. 

    “I’ll just skip right to when all this freaky stuff started and…huh?”

Your tongue stills in your mouth as the question fills your ears. It sank in slowly — like a rock floating to the bottom of a moat — before you finally managed to fix your lips to ask, “Wh- What do you mean? I have been completely honest..”

    “Do you think I’m lying?” You shoot out, “I- I haven’t even finished my story don’t you think it’s wrong to just… To just fucking interrupt me?!” 

Your voice rises faster than any slingshot ride at a fair. For as long as it took for you to finally touch the ground, it’s astounding how fast it was to get you right back in the air. Understandably so, I mean they were really trying to pin all of this on you when they don’t even know the whole story!

    “What? Are you going to say that all this isn’t happening or something? Be- Because it is! I showed you my hand as proof so—” 

    “…Did I…speak to him on the day he died?”

    “I- I don’t see how that matters when I—” You’re cut off again as their stern tone deads all coherent thoughts in your head. Once again, as they continued speaking, it felt as though the room had begun to shift and spin in a circle.

You felt…uneasy. Like you were suddenly being watched by more than just the two pairs of eyes before you — as if the paintings on the wall were staring at you a little too hard and the lights had micro cameras in them, ready to catch the moment you inevitably crack. The air suddenly felt so thick again, as if you were inhaling bricks. The room was on the warmer side, but for some reason, you’re getting the chills from simply sitting in place on the couch.

And then, it finally clicks and your heart drops, “Ha- Has he.. Is he..here?”

You shoot up from the sofa, your eyes twitching worse than a dying insect, “Wh- Wh- What is he telling you?!” You ask. Deafening silence is the response you’re given so you raise your voice again to snap, “Tell me what he’s saying to you!”

The more the silence impeded the space, the more you felt the urge to flee as fast and as far as you could. Suddenly, your little helper seemed more like a judgemental bystander and their gaze began to stab your flesh like a thousand little needles. Their eyes blown wide in your direction felt like a bullet going straight through your heart and oh, did the beedy nervousness that darkened their hues deal the final nail in the coffin.

    “Are you..scared of me?”

    “No,” His response flew out faster than the train you two took to get back home. It did little to comfort you. I mean, how could it when you were surrounded by the product of your own rage?

The lamp lays in the corner, the bulb that was previously being protected by its pretty floral shield now laid shattered along its snapped cusp. Your sofa lays flipped over on its side — the pillows that once complimented the color now ripped to shreds with its cotton guts pooling out. Your coffee table was like the rug beneath it; in ruins. Stained like a picasso painting with the deep red of the wine that you failed to finish serving as the base of the bleeding sky and the glass of the expensive champagne glasses serving as the translucent stars.

The love of your life and best friend laid against the wall mere inches away from the door. Unlike his surroundings, he was the one thing that remained perfectly intact and untouched by your tantrum — aside from the sweet smell that now clings to his pants after you had accidentally doused him in it upon knocking the bottle out of his hands.

He doesn’t seem to be able to meet your eye. Looking past you, to the side of you, down at your feet…but never directly into your eyes even when you tried to meet them. 

Those pretty skylight gems that would often end up the last thing you see before you give into slumber — those same hues that tended to stare at you with such adoration — seemed so dim right now for some reason.

…Well, the reason is obvious. In fact, a fraction of it lays in pieces at your feet.

    “You don’t have to lie,” You said, “It’s okay. I’ll understand.”

You said that, but just the thought of him nodding his head and admitting to fearing you made your eyes sting and your chest tighten. Mere minutes ago, you had just been clinking glasses and getting quick tastes of apple cider from Venti’s lips. You were just rambling about the future — with Venti already cooking up ways he’d sneak into your dorm unsuspected to get his nightly cuddles while you online shopped for items you’d possibly need in said room as you hummed the song you had performed for your entrance exam a while back.

It’s astonishing that a mere piece of paper managed to drastically change the mood and cause such a mess..

    “...I’m..not scared of you,” He admits at last, causing you to sigh out his name, “Venti—”

    “I’m not,” He repeats more firmly this time. You almost want to believe him, “I’m just…shaken and- ..and upset about all the delicious wine we wasted just now, heh..” 

He pushes out his laughter and you cringe at how dull it sounded. Even as great of an actor as he was — more amazing than you, seeming as he was the one given the chance to live your dream — his panic and distress shone through as if it was in front of a clear curtain. You could practically see his tongue twitch with hesitation, hear the light clicking of his teeth as he struggled to decide whether to open his mouth and say something or remain in silent fright. You could just about feel the tremors at the end of every word that he managed to force out and it made your heart ache.

He was terrified, and the fact that he was trying to hide it was honestly pissing you off a little.

   “Don’t look like that,” He says after sneaking a glance at your face and seeing your narrowed look. Your expression doesn’t lighten so he adds a trembling, “..Please,”

   “D- Don’t.. Don’t look so down, dear..” A rather strong crack in his sentence has him pausing. He decides to take a moment to slowly inhale and exhale, but you — ever the impatient one — decide to open your mouth once again.

   “Lying makes things worse,” You hated how threatening that sounded and despised even more that you couldn’t catch the growl in your tone before your words came out of your mouth. It makes you scramble to save yourself, and ultimately, causes you to stammer, “Ju- Just..admit it already. I.. I’m not…—”

    “You need help,” He shoots out just as strongly, but then he gulps and you hear him murmur, “..I’ll help you.”

    “What are you saying?” You ask half frustrated, half curious. After what just happened, how come he isn’t sprinting for the door that’s literally right next to him? It’d be so easy to run to the local police station or go telling everyone about this and turn what little friends you managed to keep after high school into enemies, and yet…he stays, avoiding your gaze and trying to curl impossibly more into himself.

    “I can help you with…this,” He motions quickly to various broken objects in the room. You notice then how badly his fingertips tremble.

   “Ju- Just give me some time… I’ll fix this,” He tells you, but you’re beginning to doubt that he’s talking to you still, especially when his words continue and his voice drops to a whisper, “I can fix this…”

   “You’re staying? E- Even..after all this?” You question, your brows furrowing, “Are you an idiot?”

   “Maybe.. But I- I don’t consider myself one..” He mutters, and finally, finally he meets your gaze. 

Once he locks eyes with you, his lips twitch up and he shows you the sweetest smile he could muster in that moment, which to you, looked as though it tasted sweeter than any of the drinks you had down that evening…and it absolutely broke your heart at the way your heart leapt for joy at the sight.

    “Hey..Ven’,” You whispered, fearing that talking any louder than that would shatter this illusion and reveal an ugly reality — that Venti had run off as soon as the first wine bottle hit the ground and you were actually talking to some hallucination of him or something.

    “...Do you think I’m a monster for this?”

And luckily for the both of you, his smile persisted and he replied, “No, of course not, dear. I could never see you in such a way…not even if I wanted to...”

    “I’m not a monster,” You snapped firmly only for your voice to give way to uncertainty soon afterwards, “I- I- I’m not — and I don’t know about any of the bullshit you’re spewing!”

    “I don’t know so- so…stop looking at me like that — like I’m some murderer! Do you think I’m a murderer?!” 

You can’t decide whether you wanted that to come out as a confident assertion or a genuine concern. Not that one could blame you, right? I mean, you’re seriously being accused of murdering your husband right now!

    “..I haven’t done anything to deserve these- these baseless accusations!” You said, “A- All I’ve done is seek help with my little problem that has been driving me fucking insane for the past few days and I get treated like some damn criminal! How can you be so- so heartless?!”

    “I ha- haven’t even gotten into the main issue here and you’re already labeling me! I mean, sure, ma- maybe I did speak to him that day but it was only for a few minutes and- and — stop giving me that fucking look! Pl- Please, I- I can’t handle it—! Please, please, please…!”

    “Dear, please…listen to me.”

His gentle request has your face souring and scrunching up. You’ve done nothing but listen to him. To his empty promises. To his tender lies. You’ve listened to his animated chatter whenever he’s on the phone with friends when he thinks you’re asleep. You’ve listened to all his little sighs of relief he’d let slip when he thinks you’ve walked off. You’ve listened to the huffs of disappointment he’d give whenever someone so much as mentions your name.

And oh how all of it has waned on you.

    “Is it because I was rejected from all those schools I applied for?” You questioned, “Maybe it’s due to the fact that I can’t seem to hold down a damn job because everyone’s incompetence keeps causing me to snap!” 

As if to emphasize your point further, you lift the clever — that barely passes for a knife — into the air and slam it down with a force powerful enough for the simple slicing of vegetables to sound as though a building had just collapsed on itself.

It was quick, but you caught the slight jerk his body made at the sound.

To play it off, Venti kept his tone incredibly even — an impressive feat even for someone as gifted as him, “That has nothing to do with this—!”

    “Then what is it, huh?” You asked, now fully turning to look at him, “And while you’re at it, explain to me why you’ve been hiding that from me too!” You swing the large knife haphazardly — earning a more obvious flinch from the man — as you aim it in the direction of the countertop where the main cause of your rage sat glistening like a pearl under the kitchen’s poor lighting.

There, on the faux marble countertops where you two often dined out on cheap quick meals…was a gorgeous ring.

It wasn’t the biggest in size, but the gem that sat perched atop the silver, decorated band looked like something the two of you only wished you could afford — hell, from the looks of it, half of your apartment combined couldn’t compare to the likely price of that thing.

It was odd to find such a treasure snug between some old articles of clothing at the bottom of the drawers. After all, even with Venti choosing to get a job at Xiao’s family business and studying locally, he claims to mainly spend his money on therapy, your anger management courses, necessities for the apartment, and his books for classes. 

Moreover, the topic of marriage — even in a joking sense — had quickly erased itself from the conversation around the time of his first semester of his freshmen year. 

So that begs the question; what was the reason for such expensive jewelry and who was it for? It was surely not for you — you’ve done nothing but give Venti severe headaches, bad habits to get rid of stress, and deep eyebags — and no amount of sweet nectar from his lips or honeyed words are going to make you believe otherwise.

    “I can’t believe you’re accusing me like this..” He murmurs in a way that almost seemed rehearsed — like he’s been forced to reenact this exact scene a thousand times before. 

He softly exhales, holding his hands out as he begins his slow approach towards you, “...I can understand the anger from your perspective of things,” He takes tiny steps, closing the distance at a miniscule pace, “That said, I also know how you can get when you’re upset, so first lets—”

   “You don’t know anything!” You screech, knife swinging loosely in your grasp as you shake your head wildly in disagreement. Venti halts in his tracks, eyes widening before narrowing.

   “Hey! Watch where you’re swinging that thing!” He yells. Yes, he yells at you. You; his supposed darling. You; the one who he has claimed to want to spend the rest of his life with. You; who he used to speak of marrying at every waking moment he could because he was just that eager to have you all to himself.

You; who he once swore to never raise his hand or voice to you out of his love for you and understanding of how triggering such a thing is to you — who grew up surrounded by mainly that.

This time, you’re the one to freeze in place. Venti, not realizing his mistake, relaxes when he sees you’ve stopped. He goes back to inching towards you soon after that. His tone when speaking is now lighter, but in a more scolding tone.

   “You need to be more careful! Otherwise you’ll hurt someone, or worse, nick yourself!”

His words sink into you like oil, slowly leaking into your bloodstream once it's slipped into your tender flesh. Iit sets everything it comes into contact with aflame as if the crimson in your veins were some kind of match or ignitor and it rises to your head in a big surge — causing your brain to writhe from the overwhelming pain of being unable to stabilize it immediately. 

That pain pounds at your head, fueling the flames to the point that your fingertips tremble from all the heat and the kitchen seems to start shrinking and closing in on you.

In your almost dizzying haze, you hadn’t realized you had begun backing away from the counter — and ultimately Venti — until you felt the cool, smooth concrete of the wall. You jolt, as if you had been shot in the gut, and a lightning strike of pain hits you like a harsh wave as you realize how unbearably warm the air around you and how barren your chest felt.

And then, suddenly, his voice penetrated your ears, “I think I should hold onto that for now.”

Your eyes dart over to look at his face — part of you seeking comfort like you had done so many times in the past. But alas, unlike before, his expression doesn’t seem so loving.

Instead of his usual grin — softened by the calming waves of his attitude and perked up by his chipper cheeriness — it seemed flat, almost frowning. As you lock eyes with him, hoping to find the familiar glimmer of love in the aqua green ocean of hues that always seemed to be there, you’re instead met with narrow, dimmed, stale grass that was devoid of everything other than exhaustion and…annoyance? Irritation? You aren’t sure what that slight flicker was you saw before it was blinked away, but you’re sure it wasn’t anything good.

Your eyes widen, but not because of his expression itself but more so due to the fact that you weren’t surprised by it. Weren’t moved at all in particular…as if you had seen it a million times before.

Have you? 

How long has your boyfriend looked at you as if you were some annoying little pest he was obligated to take care of? When did it start and why? And…was that ring a possible byproduct of him seeking an escape from it all? From you?

As a million questions begin to swarm your brain like buzzing cicadas, you find your hands coming up to smash against your ears in a futile attempt to block it out. As the already diminishing room begins to swirl and spin like a tornado, you find your quivering eyes snapping shut in hopes that when you open them up once again, it’ll be revealed that this was all just some nightmare and that you were actually in bed curled up with your beloved.

Was he your beloved? Did he see himself as such? You remember all who heard the news of you two getting together being shocked as Venti seemed like the type to never tie down with anyone — being a free spirit of sorts in their eyes. Maybe that was true. Maybe you weren’t as important to him as he was to you. Maybe he didn’t like you at all and was just scared of how you’d react back then so he said yes. Maybe—

    “Y/n,” You gasp. He was so much closer than before. As if he were right on top of you. It made your heart still in your chest. Made you fear opening your eyes and becoming trapped under such an abhorrent stare..

…until you suddenly felt the skin of his palm surrounding your hand which still held the kitchen knife, now in a tighter grasp.

    “Let me see the knife,” His voice sounded as cold as his hand felt and the hold of which he held you felt suffocating and constrictive. It was as though he was holding a stranger, or rather, a wild beast and not his sweetheart. That realization came down on you like a sack of bricks as you finally let it sink in that Venti didn’t love you in the slightest.

Everything he did — all those memories that you would often use to ground yourself. All those sweet apple cider touches that you would eagerly drink in and get dunk on. All those equally tender kisses he’d give you as he whispered professions of his love for you in your ear — were all just parts of a script he had written for his own twisted amusement. 

It was all to spite you because deep down, for whatever reason, he despised you. Just like your mother, who was rather disgusted by that title — and by extension, you — and attempted to dethrone herself of it so much so that your father was forced to flee from his sacred home. Just like your stepfather, who only rescued you from that horrible situation to force you into another one that benefited him and his pleasure. Just like those girls, who thought it a fun idea to pick on a defenseless kid who so happened to get into it with one of their friends and just barely come out on top. Just like most of the people you and Venti used to hang with in highschool — and even your theatre director Miss Furina — who viewed you as some ruthless monster after you had been so obviously provoked by Lumine onstage that day and decided to distance themselves from you two and even spread rumors about the entire ordeal.

He. was. just. like. them. all!

    “Y/n, let go of the— Hey!” As he caressed your knuckles and slid his thumb over to try and peel back two of your fingers, he was met with resistance. As if his touch was poison, you attempted to yank your hand away but failed due to him tightening his grip at the last second.

    “Get away from me! You fucking traitor!” Your shouting sounded like a blood-curdling scream of a bell as a struggle for the knife broke out.

    “What are you saying?! Just give it…here!” Venti cried out, keeping a firm grip on your hand until you suddenly jerked your hand downwards and—

    “Ah!” A sharp cry sounds throughout the kitchen, and as if it were that same bell from before signalling that the brief fight had come to an end, you came to a swift stop.

Venti fumbles back, and by the time you look up, he has already opened his hand to himself to reveal the deep color that now stains it.

It oozes out quicker than you can register the large cut it seeped from and before you knew it, his entire hand was shaking terribly and that hideous color you once saw constantly in your life was dripping down his arm and splashing unceremoniously onto the smooth, wooden flooring.

Various childish curses fell from his lips ever so gracefully along with quick, stammering cries for help. None of them reached your ears as the ever so shocking feeling of your blood rushing every which way coursed through you. It was unexpected, overwhelming, and tingled every morsel of your body.

You couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling, but as you gazed down at his slight hunched over form which cradled his bleeding hand with utmost care — and with more than he’s probably ever held you with, you’re sure of it — you felt the wildfire inside you spreading into something uncontrollable.

His cries were like nails scratching along a chalkboard to you and, as if it were the final push you never needed, you felt your body — now light and floating off the ground and away from any and everything that could pull you back down — move and your hand pull the now bloodied kitchen knife back, ready to strike.

The next time you could feel the ground again, it seemed as though you were in an entirely new room — one that was unfamiliar to you at first.

The once dull colored walls of your kitchen now had splatters of red here and there that served as a backdrop to the bloodbath at the center of it. The cabinets looked a similar way, but the cabinets bore so much more of the crimson shade that you could hardly tell what the previous color was.

…And at the center of that gruesome canvas sat you — who matched the walls, cabinets, counters…and body in front of you — with silent tears streaming down your face.

    “Hey…Ven’?” You called softly. Silence. You try again, “Ven’... Venti…dear…? Are you… Are you okay?”

You wait a few seconds this time — ever so patient — but when you’re met with no response, you decide to wait some more. Those seconds quickly turn into minutes and those minutes end up stretching to who knows how many hours of you calling his name and waiting in silence for his inevitable response that, for some reason, never came. Why hasn’t it came? Why hasn’t he responded back to you yet? Is he mad at you?

    “Venti…please…” You croaked. Your voice coming out as a mere glass-thin whisper — a product of endlessly calling out to him until the orange of the sky faded into a deep navy outside the small window that sat at the end of the tacky carpet runner you two laid out to make the tiny kitchen pop. 

    “Ven’...? What happened to you…? …Venti!” 

Your eyes — reddened and fluttering from the endless stream of tears that has left your sockets without stopping even once — slowly look down at the knife splayed across your bloody, tremoring, half-open palm…

Something clicks — something you wish hadn’t — and a deep sense of consternation dawns and swallows up your being.

    “I- I didn’t…! I would.. I would never even think about it…” You said, your teeth clenching to the point they crackled and popped in a way that would make anyone who heard cringe and seek respite from the noise, “H- H- How dare you accuse me of… o- of…”

Then, out of nowhere, you let out a horrific scream — one that seemed to claw its way from your throat with its sharp nails. It went on until you physically could not and you were left sputtering and hacking on the soft fur of the cozy rug.

     “I didn’t do it!” You yelled, “I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t! No way I did! Yo- You have — have to believe me!” 

You could barely get the words out. With your voice still recovering from the blood-curdling scream, your words were pitchy, broken, and sounded like an incessant ringing even a deaf person would writhe in agony hearing.

Eventually though, your words failed you and in place of those came incoherent blubbering and tears that, no matter how hard you wiped at it with your hands — which smeared freshly discolored and puffy blood along your cheek — never stopped flowing. Leaving you to do nothing but paint your face in your past mistake..

    “Why… W- Why couldn’t you just tell me?” You asked, dull thudding resonating throughout the room in a quick succession as you chopped at the veggies on the cutting board. Your voice was light and quivering just like the hand you were using to chop with.

But that’s okay! A bit of trembling is expected when news such as this arises!

    “Y- You were...— You were really tuggng me along there, heh heh heh...” You said, your lips — doused in cherry — stretched beautifully across your face, “I mean for- for a second— For a second I thought you, y’know….heh.”

Just inches away from your feet, your masterpieces lay there, unrecognizable and colored to match your attire. His aquamarine eyes dulled a monochrome green being the only thing that can distinguish who it is. Not that it matters, after all, you already know who's behind you. No need to check.

Just don’t look behind you. No matter what.

    “Were you nervous? Scaaaared?” Despite your cheery, giggly tone, the words leave a bad taste in your mouth just like the liquid that occasionally coats it when you roll your tongue and move your lips simultaneously to talk. It stings — tingles your taste buds numb — and for the briefest second, your hand tightens on the handle of the knife and you raise it only to suddenly slam it back down.

     “I- I- I wouldn’t have rejected you, y’know? I- I would never— Never!” Your voice raises and your eyes subconsciously dart over to look over at him only to immediately dart away.

Don’t look for even a second. It’s for the best.

    “You were acting so so so odd that — I- I have to confess — I went through your phone..” You pause from your ministrations on the half chopped up carrot to grab the phone nearby. It’s a bit difficult — what with your hands so slippery right now and the screen cracked beyond belief — but you manage enough to turn it on and swipe up, ready to put in the pin.

The crimson circles that you left an hour or so ago give way a clear hint to what the password is — not that you needed the clue in the first place — and you’re quick to type it in and slide open the phone, ruining the screen further.

 Without looking back, you hold up the phone, revealing chopped off green bubbles of texts. There’s no way to read the whole conversation due to the fact that half of the screen wasn’t even there, but does it really matter? He of all people should know what this was!

    “Th- This ring— You…bought it for me, ri- right? You were planning on proposing, weren’t you? Weren’t you?” Deafening silence is the response you earn from your eager question, but it tells you all you need to know and you let out a small cheer.

    “This- This! It’s so beautiful — and the color — it’s my favorite!” You hold up your left hand — which shook like a leaf and was uncomfortably slick — to show off the jewel that sits on your ring finger, “It- It- It fits perfectly too! You shouldn’t have, babe!”

After pulling your hand back for a moment of ogling, you go back to cutting the carrot, “How long have you kept this from me, hm? Months? Years? Why so long? Did you want to wait until after you graduated? Ma- Maybe after we moved out and got a biiiiig, big house like we always talked about!”

    “That was the reason, right? Nothing else?” You pause again. Waiting forever for a response that never comes. Even so, you wait — ever the patient spouse you were — but after a while, that everlasting patience seems to stretch thin.

    “I… I- I happen to see an old….acquaintance of ours in your messages,” You commented, your hand slowing as you finally part from the overly and sloppily chopped carrot to lift the board and slide the bits into a bowl of other similarly cut veggies. You then reach for a radish, your grip immediately staining it in the same grotesque liquid that’s all over your hand and even spreads up your arm. 

   “Do you know who?”

You waste no time, cutting off even the wind in your haste to answer your own question, “Of course you do! O- Of course… You just… Just couldn’t part with her even after all she’s done to us! To m- me.”

    “Your texts went back so far — al- almost like you never stopped talking to her e- even when you told me otherwise. Isn’t that strange, love?” 

The cuts made into the radish quickly turned sloppy and slanted. Alas, it was something you had no choice but to look the other way at as it was due to your left hand — which held the knife firmly in its grasp and shook intensely despite how calm you were in that moment.

You were calm. Completely. No doubt about it.

    “She seemed oddly interested in that ring…— Sh- she was always so nosy, wasn’t she?” You quipped, “I- I- I mean really she just wouldn’t. stop. talking. Li- Like it was her ring or something, hehe.. S- So silly, right?” The speed of your hand increases, “Right?”

And of course, silence is what you're met with. Such a rude response to give to the one you loved.

    “Don’t go all quiet on me now!” You finally snapped, your voice sounding like a banshee’s screeching as your right hand moved from the wooden board to ball into a fist, “I’m your fiance, spouse — whatever, right?! I- Isn’t— Isn’t it unfair that I’ve been left in the dark this entire time?! Th- That my partner may be cheating on me with…some…bitch that I beat up back in highschool that ruined everything I strived so hard to build for myself?!”

The loud clacking that boomed and bounced off the walls played like a novice drumline; bad, offbeat, and unnecessarily loud to the point it stung your ears and made them cry out for help with rings high enough to break glass. 

As if the poor vegetable had wronged you like Lumine did all those years ago — and still seems to terrorize you even now — you slam the knife down over and over and over and over. 

Loud chop after chop followed one after another like falling dominoes, and as you began to float from earth — as your anger began to blindside reason and your vision began to twist and turn colors — you were suddenly yanked back down by heavy chains and slammed back down onto the ground.

   “D- Do you really, really hate me that—!”

Your eyes went wide, bug eyed, to the point it stung and your mouth flew open to let out a scream so loud, so intense, that it made you dizzy. You choked on that scream — and as if you had been forced to swallow a metal sword set on fire — it burned your throat, strangled your vocal cords, but nothing hurt worse than the searing pain that caused such a piercing scream to rip from your throat in the first place.

Everything became blurry and a storm of noise ensued. A singular, quick clack led to an ear-splitting clatter that blended in with your gagged, breathy cry as you felt your feet teetering on flat flooring. You heard a string of similar noises follow before the drumming of your heart in your ears drowned out everything else.

The last thing you could make out was a sea of crimson that splattering everywhere and a glimpse of your hand before everything went black and you collapsed onto the floor — failing to realize the chunks of meaty flesh you had left behind on the countertop in the wake of metallic-smelling cherry jam..

In a heated frenzy, you launched yourself from the ground and towards the chair where your helper sat perched and comfortable.

You reach them in record time and your hand immediately goes to curl around their neck and grip them tightly, as if you were trying to break a bone.

You squeeze down and are met with little resistance as their flesh caves in to bend at your grasp. You pay no mind to it — not even when you lift them into the air by the throat and reveal their infant-sized and colorful body in the light — too focused on the blackened stars in your vision to realize the beady dots that supposedly perceived you with judgement had no intellect or awareness to do so in reality.

  “You don’t wanna believe me?! Wa— Wanna take his side, huh?! Just like everyone else…?!”

You dangle them in the air, crushing them even further to the point your nails dig into the skin of your knuckles. Their clown-like smile merely stretches wider at the assault as the round blush neatly sat on their cheeks began extending ovally.

   “Well I’ll show you! I- I’ll give you di– definite proof and- and shove it right down y- your fucking throat!”

Stumbling about your wobbly legs like a chicken with no head, you drag your left, then your right, then your left, then your right foot over and over as you tread the winding hall of your home. 

It seems to stretch on forever — the many framed pictures and paintings along the walls taking obvious glee in your distress as if they were all being possessed by him — but you eventually make it to the end where a door resides that blocks off your safe haven from the brutish world your forced to mingle in every day against your will.

With clumsy movements, you jiggle the handle and the door falls open to reveal your realm that has held you ever so dearly at your lowest point — unlike a certain someone who currently transcends death just to drive you mad. 

The floor was decorated in various objects, none of which were in one piece, just hoping to trip you off your feet with the rugged, sharp, arms of your destroyed desk — or possibly the snapped chair leg — and embrace you with the cotton guts that were snatched from various pillows you often curled up to at night and wet with your translucent grief. 

The walls were torn, its dress baring holes the size of your fist and thin claw marks that could’ve been made by your chipped nails — of course, it’d be a hard feat seeming as the majority of them were no longer bedded into fingers and lost who knows where. The room also had a pungent odor wafting every which way. One that smells heavily of rusted nails and pennies, but to you — who’s been a victim to this scent for far too long now — it stung softly and even began to resemble the vanilla of the candle you set out a few days ago.

    “E- Excuse the mess..” You throw out with haphazard politeness as you trudged along, just barely dodging some objects and not even trying with the rest despite the fact that whatever you don’t avoid is inevitably stabbed into the flesh of your foot. 

All that mattered right now was clearing your name and proving that you were the one truly suffering in all of this.

You finally make it up to your wardrobe where the stench seemed to linger the most, almost as if the sleek wood of the dresser doors were made out of infested, moldy flesh themselves.

The smell tinges your nostrils — practically sears your nose hair off as it travels up your gummy airflow — but it doesn’t stop you and even causes a smile to break out on your face.

    “H- H- He’s..in there,” You say as if what waited on the other side was your celebrity crush, “Riiight in there, hehe..~! Told ya’ I did nothing wrong!”

    “...Why is he in there?”

You pause, your smile dropping just to straighten out quickly after, “We- Well isn’t it obvious! I- I- I put ‘em in there! I mean, I couldn’t just have him l- laying there in the kitchen — he’s still my husband s- so when I found him like that I just…y’know, helped him out..”

You could feel a teasing quip forming on their plushified lips in the way the room’s atmosphere shifts so you quickly add, “I’m still mad at him. Won’t forgive ‘em that easily, just…

   “...H- He seemed so..cold…on- on the ground— I had no choice but to stuff him in here to warm him up! It can get kinda stuffy, but i- it’s right here by our heater so…yeah— just— …here, look!”

And with that stammering bellow, you swing the door open at last and, just like that, your indisputable evidence comes flopping right out to lay at your feet with a rough thud like a sack of bricks. 

As your eyes slowly part from your helper to gaze downwards at your inexplicable truth, your smile begins to return. Though he looked like a completely different person under the room’s warm lights — his skin dark in color and cracking all over for any insect nearby to seep into and his joints eerily stiff for someone usually so animated — there was no denying that this doll-like lump crushing your toes was the acting extraordinaire, the whimsy ‘airhead’ with the siren's voice and big heart; Venti!

He was right here, sleeping like a rock — rather ill-mannered, seeming as you two have a guest and there will soon be more to come, but oh well! What can you do about that?

You crouch down — tossing your dear helper aside as if they weighed less than a feather — and place both your hands on either side of Venti’s shoulders. Putting all your strength into your unbandaged hand, you manage to lift the surprisingly heavy body of your spouse that he could almost sit straight up on his own — almost. As soon as you let go, he slumps against your chest and his head lolls to limply rest on your shoulder. 

Nausea begins creeping up your throat, but you try your best to ignore it as you lean in and lay your own head against his shoulder. Water builds up in your eye sockets, but you force your lips to widen to the point a glimpse of your pearly whites peek out.

You push out a small giggle, but that quickly devolves into a hysteric fit of laughter — one that would only be appropriate to a group of clowns despite it being fueled by nothing but inner turmoil that has poisoned your thoughts since the day you inhaled your first breath.

…The same thoughts that led to this very situation.

    “H..a… See..?” You said to your fuzzy friend, “He’s just fine! Heh… W- We were just kidding around earlier, surely! I– I– I mean there’s no way all that stuff coulda happened for real, r- right? A- After everything we went through…after everything…w- we don’t deserve an ending like that!”

    “...I remember reading some story about a woman haunting her ex-boyfriend who wronged her a while back… Re- Real interesting story, definitely recommend! ..Th- That’s probably where all of this is coming from.. Like, I- I must be having some nightmare based on that…story.. N- No way this is all real, I- I would never—”

As the first tears finally break free from your waterline and drip off your lashes, the sharp whirring of sirens outside calls you to attention as your entire bedroom is quickly dyed in two-toned flashing, colored lights.

You let a gasp fall from your lips — weak and high, like a whimpering animal — and you’re barely able to stay coherent with your next words as you shuffle to your feet.

    “Th- Th– Look! T- They’re finally, finally… hehehehaha~!” You giggle. Your chest rising and falling quickly as some of your tears begin to seep in at the root of your mouth and splash against the back of your throat as you throw your head back, “Finally…finally…”

    “Le- Let’s go greet them together!” You exclaim, taking a step towards them only to suddenly trip. It doesn’t deter you in the slightest, and in the end, you crawl the rest of the way over to your bear-shaped helper — while promptly ignoring all the new cuts you gain in the process — as you whisper to them, “Please come with me…hehehe..”

At last, you grasp at your new friend and hold him so closely to your chest one would think you were trying to fuse with it — I mean, them.

As yells roar from outside your window, you stand to your feet with your plushie friend-slash-helper in hand.

You step once, then twice, then thrice before stopping. Hesitance clouds your judgement, but as you look behind you and finally, finally peer at reality — the corpse you’ve let fester and rot for nearly two weeks in your home — and let all those heavy truths sink in, you suck in a stuttering breath. One which held all your sorrows and self-directed anger — the same anger that single handedly ruined your life and the lives of many people you love.

You find yourself looking forward to take another step. This time you don’t stop, even when your body threatens to give out to your bone-racking sobs and your many, many regrets and silent apologies. 

You don’t stop, even when your bandaged hand that you single handedly severed falls limp atop the plushie in your hands — which Venti had taken a half an hour  trying to win for you on your first date at the fair — and throbs uncontrollably.

You don’t stop, even when your mind fights for you to just run back to that room and lay beside the one person who’s ever brought you comfort and a sense of hope in your life.

You don’t stop because, deep down, this is what he would’ve wanted to happen, surely.

    “R- Ready?” You ask upon making it to the door. You look down, waiting for their response like you’ve been doing all evening. As expected, they don’t respond. Leaving your mind to fill in the blanks and your smile to turn rather bitter as you hear their ‘answer’.

    “I know… I- I know… I’m not either..” You confessed quietly, “But we have too… T- T- Too late to back out now… We… W- We’re doing this for him..”

Without allowing another second to pass, you begin twisting the knob as the first series of knocks vibrate and shake the door. When you finally gain the courage to finally swing it open, you look up to stare at your guests in the eyes as you allowed them to lay their gazes upon you — who looked and smelled as though you had went swimming in pig’s blood and probably had the worst bedhead known to mankind — and presented the warmest smile you could. A trick taken straight from your late…boyfriend…husband?

Taken straight from your late…best friend’s book.

  “Welcome everyone, hehe…~! Wo- Would any of you like some tea?”

⇢ On the last page, you notice two stick figures sitting side by side. One seems to be starry-eyed and staring up at the other, who's seems to be relaxing while playing minecraft on their nintendo switch, it reads..

Artemis, I love, love, love your energy!! When you were still in the server, I’ll admit I was a bit intimidated ( though everyone and everything intimidated me greatly back then ) but seeing you interact and laugh and joke in the server made that feeling diminish pretty quickly. I loved talking to you and seeing snippets of TATT ( which I plan to read as soon as the time arises. It’s literally like number three on my read list ). It’s not often I meet someone who gets Venti’s character and truly seems to understand him past what he actively portrays and it’s such a relief to see!!

Another thing I love about you is how relaxing you are!! That one time I popped in the vc when you were playing minecraft is a core memory for me. You’d make an amazing streamer and I’ll die on that hill your voice is so calming and nice to the ears ughhh watching you stream would be a lovely experience I’m sure of itI I also followed your selfship blog for a time and I found it becoming a staple on my blog feed. I always looked forward to seeing it pop up and marveling at the artwork you commissioned or made and I’m sorry you haven’t had an absolute blast over there.

Anything that ails you behind the screen, I hope you know that I’m here, praying for things to get better so you can smile, laugh, and have fun again!! If you ever need to rant or simply talk, my dms are always open and I’ll always listen and accept you. Sending virtual hugs and love your way! <33

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[nanoko857]

Love is Brewing:

Sonoko's OkiAmu Fanfiction

Four story snippets I wrote from @the-red-thread-that-strangles AMAZING idea in this post! @dracrownian I hope you like it as well <3

Please also enjoy this image I crudely edited together XD

1. The Plot is Brewing

A couple of Poirot customers were giggling while looking at Amuro. He was quite accustomed to the attention by now, but overhearing their conversation piqued his interest. 

“Hey, it’s him isn’t it? From the new story?”

“It has to be, right? I wonder who the other guy could be.”

The undercover waiter flashed his signature smile, making his way to their table. “How are you liking your meal? Can I get you another coffee?” 

“Oh! We’re fine, thank you Amano- ah no, Amuro-san!” She giggled.

He gave them a puzzled look and went back to the counter. He was deep in thought, trying to solve this new mystery.

“Azusa-san, do you know what’s up with the customers today?”

“Well, there’s this really popular author that writes um… short stories about Kaito Kid. It looks like she’s been uploading a new story concept recently!” She handed her phone over to Amuro. “I guess some people think the main character is inspired by you.”

Love is Brewing by BelovedKidSama

Amuro raised an eyebrow as he read the description. 

“Cafe worker Amano Touya and grad student Okuda Honda. Two devilishly handsome men with charming exteriors but dark secrets hidden within. Their lives entangle in… a steamy romance hotter than coffee?”

‘Ok, Amano Touya could definitely be Amuro Tooru. But Okuda Honda… His eyes widened in realization. Wait, swap Honda with another car brand, and it could be Subaru right? Does that mean this is about me and Akai?!?’

“It might really be about you Amuro-san, but I promise I won’t read it. It would be a little awkward, after all…”

“Awkward?”

“You know, because of the tags” She said, pointing below the summary. 

#boyslove #this one is for the beika girlies #touya is the bottom ofc #enemies to lovers #lots of action in more ways than one

‘Bottom… I’M the bottom?!?! Wait, no… I’m getting upset at the wrong thing.’ He sighed.

“Azusa, do you know who Belo…” he cleared his throat. “Do you know who the author is in real life?

“Who knows.” She shrugged. “They post on social media sometimes, but I don’t think they’ve shown their face or name before. Ah, but maybe a detective like you can figure it out?”

...

Meanwhile, at the Suzuki residence, Sonoko stretched out her hands as she began typing up her next scene.

Sonoko, you’re still doing homework? Her mother asked as she passed by her room.

“Oh no, I finished that hours ago.” She grinned. “THIS is my life’s work.”

2. Spill the Beans

Catching a serious case of curiosity, Rei decided to read the first chapter of Love is Brewing. It seemed like a typical slice of life romance, until he got to the end. 

As he bid farewell to his last customer for the day, Touya’s smile faded into a grim frown. He took off his apron and went down to the storage room. Similarly, Honda took off his glasses and crept into the basement of his house. The two turned on their lights, revealing walls filled with various weapons and documents plastering every last detail of one another. They grinned at each other’s images, excited to close in on their prey.

As it turned out, those daily coffee runs filled with flirtatious quips weren’t just your average meet cute story. There was something far more sinister hidden. Two rival spies out to get each other. Only time will tell… who will win out in the end?

“Th…They’re spies?! This writer…” He grimaced. “They’re practically taunting me! Don’t tell me they actually know our true identities!”

Upon this revelation, Rei decided to uncover the author’s identity no matter what. He was at his desk in the PSB department, scrolling through their social media to find any clues. 

His colleague Kazami peeked over his shoulder, curious about the serious look on his boss’ face. 

“What are you working on, Furuya-san?” 

“Ah, it’s nothing! Just something for my undercover mission.”

“Can I help with anything?”

“No!” He adamantly said, shutting off his phone. “It’s uh… confidential. I have to go now, time for my shift at Poirot!”

…

As he stood behind the counter, Rei cautiously examined each and every customer. ‘To be able to capture Akai’s tone and… figure so well, they must have also had close proximity to him as well. There’s only so many that could fit that description, and I’d rather not ask Conan-kun about it.’ He shuddered.

Meanwhile, Kazami found BelovedKidSama’s fanfic page, as he had searched the user name he saw on Rei’s screen. ‘I see…’ he became a little flustered while reading through the many adventurous stories. 

‘This person is some sort of Kaito Kid expert. We did encounter him one time… Ah, Furuya-san must have been recruited to help capture Kid, and wants to find this writer to help! Hm, this story seems to be the most recent. Love is Brewing?’

The bell hanging on Poirot’s door suddenly rang, instinctively making Rei turn around and cheerfully greet the guests. “Welcome!”

“Hi Amuro-san!” Ran and Sonoko had stopped by for an after school treat. He noticed Sonoko shooting an adoring look at him, but that wasn’t unusual for most of the teen girls that dined here. He served them their usual order of iced tea and ham sandwiches. As the two ate, Ran mentioned stopping by Shinichi’s house to pick something up. 

Sonoko hummed as she sipped on her drink. “Can I come? I’d love to see that hottie Okiya-san again!”

"I knew you'd ask!” Ran giggled.

‘Hottie’s a bit of an overstatement.’ Rei grumbled internally as he wiped down the counter.

“Hey Ran, did you see the video of Kid-sama’s latest heist? He looks so dashing, doesn’t he?”

‘Wait.’ Rei’s body froze. ‘A Kaito Kid fan who’s familiar with both Akai and I?’

He nervously chuckled to himself, glancing at the unassuming teen girl. ‘No way… seriously?’

...

Meanwhile, Kazami finished reading the first chapter of his discovery. 

“Wow, what a great story! This website is really interesting. They even have a bookmarking option!” He excitedly said as he clicked on the button. 

“How nice, I can’t wait to see what happens next!”

3. You Affogato be Kidding Me

I knew you weren’t just an ordinary student… You’re a spy!

Honda let out a sly smirk. It’s about time, I was wondering when we’d finally get to play out in the open.

Honda leaned in close, pressing his body tightly against Touya. He was a little taller, and his light brown hair began to blend into Touya’s blonde strands as he leaned over him.

His sultry voice hummed in Touya’s ear. “I’ve been watching you for a while, Agent Touya… He whispered. My employer tasked me with getting those files. And I always get what I want.

That’s funny, I could say the same… Touya said as he licked his lips, quickly gripping Honda’s waist. He could feel the man’s ab muscles, even under clothing. His mind began to wonder how they must feel without anything covering them.

“Woah… this is getting kind of…” Rei blushed. He quickly shook his head. “I should keep reading, for research…”

He decided to make an account and follow the story. If Sonoko really was aware of his secret identity, it could be bad news. It was his duty as a police officer to follow pursuit. That was it. No other reason. None at all.

He wondered if he should write a comment, noticing that Sonoko is pretty active in responding. 

Yoko_fan_30: Can’t wait for the next chapter!

BelovedKidSama: Thx!

StarlingxxGamer: kiss kiss kiss

BelovedKidSama: Coming soon :D

MeitanteiOfTheWest: RAHHHHH I LOVE THEM ALREADY ashbfwbuwenxdbeuo

BelovedKidSama: <33333

He sighed, carefully typing a comment. “It IS for my job after all…”

Zer000: Love ur story so far!!!! ///>.</// How do u come up with these characters? They feel so real!

After about an hour of pacing around (and re-reading the story, you know, for research purposes), he got a reply.

BelovedKidSama: ty!!! I like to pull inspo from ppl I know irl. I think they would be so cute together, thus this story was born! Ofc, I just threw in the spy stuff to add a little spice ~ 

“I wonder if the spy element really could be just a coincidence, but…” Rei’s heart skipped a little, looking at the comment over and over. “Do Akai and I really look cute together?”

Meanwhile, Akai had also taken note of this story making waves online. He gave Jodie a phone call, getting a familiar feeling from the username in the comment section. 

“Hey Shuu! What’s up?”

“Did you read a story online recently? One of that kid’s friends wrote it, the short haired one you used to teach.”

“Oh! Love is Brewing? Yes, I love it!”

“So you DO know about it?” 

“Eh? Of course I know about it! I encouraged her to try translating her stories for English practice after all. Say, how much of it is based on true events?” She teased.

“…Excuse me.”

Akai Shuichi had become used to keeping a stoic and cool-headed exterior. However, one of the things he enjoyed about being Okiya Subaru was that he felt more comfortable being expressive. And sometimes, those expressions were simply screaming into a pillow.

4. Par-Tea Time

After his latest heist, Kuroba Kaito performed his usual ritual of scrolling online to check out his fan’s posts. “Eh?! My most loyal fan… has she moved on to something else?!” He gasped.

Meanwhile, Sonoko devised a plan to get Okiya and Amuro in the same setting in order to do some character research, inviting them to a company gala. ‘Of course, there was another reason I threw this party.’ She thought to herself. ‘To display my family’s latest addition, the moon diamond! Kid-sama will surely come to retrieve it right?’

...

The two men arrived at the party in perfectly tailored suits. Many of the guests looked in awe as they entered the luxurious hall. 

They went over to admire the grand jewel that was encased in bulletproof glass. “It really is a magnificent piece.” Okiya said as he turned to Amuro. “Don’t you agree, Touya-san?” 

“You-” Rei blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Oh? My ‘sultry voice and rock hard abs’ don’t ring a bell?”

“She never called them rock hard!” He blurted out before quickly covering his mouth.

Before Akai could continue teasing him, the lights suddenly shut off, and a voice rang throughout the hall. 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!!”

Kaito Kid appeared, pulling out his most impressive tricks. It was practically a circus performance! Confetti and lights sparkled all over. 

‘There’s no way the fans can ignore this now!’ He snickered to himself.

The crowd cheered at the sight, and the security guards rushed over as fast as they could. Of course, he decided to leave the jewel behind at the end. 

…

Rei smirked, removing pieces of confetti that had fallen onto Okiya’s wig. “Hold still, I’ve got it. We wouldn’t want that “hair” of yours to get messed up in front of everyone.” 

The sudden movement surprised Akai. Although they were usually at each other’s throats, he felt some sort of gentleness from Rei. 

‘Is that story rubbing off on me?’ He thought to himself. ‘Yeah, that must be it, I’m conflating him with Touya. Rei’s not that affectionate in real… life…’ His thoughts became muddled as he noticed the delicate smile on Rei’s face as he played with Akai’s hair. It was a softness that he rarely got the pleasure of viewing, at least from this close up. 

He put his hand over Rei’s, although the blonde man didn’t pull away. They simply looked at each other, gazing into each other’s eyes.

‘There was one thing she wasn’t able to capture.’ Rei thought to himself. ‘Those deep set green eyes… the ones that always managed to pull me in.’ He sighed, slowly looking down. ‘No wonder I can’t stand looking at you.’

Akai, noticing a sudden shift in his mood, boldly held him by the chin, forcing him to look his way once more. 

Sonoko gasped at the sight, excited to see the unexpected gesture. ‘A fabulous Kid appearance AND new writing material??’ She was so moved, a tear nearly formed. 

“This night really is perfect…”

[evelynpr]

Might be a hot take as a bkdk and tgck truther here, but I find izuocha endlessly fascinating, beautiful, but also tearfully tragic.

I see their love for each other as something representative of their innocence and naivety when they only knew so little about who they were, and what was to come.

I think the main barrier of their relationship is that its rooted in how they see each other very idealistically, specifically that they're attached to the image of their Best Heroic Selves, and not the deeply selfish, destructive, freaky, and egotistical parts of them. To each other, they need to keep fulfilling that image or else that same person they looked up to would almost die in front of them, and that would be too cruel. Although that hero is still there, that same person they looked up to is not the same now because of...well...everything.

Izuku had barely even talked to girls when he first met her. She was Izuku's first ever real friend (Sorry Kats, everyone and him knows he was terrible), so he saved her in that entrance exam even if it was so dangerous. She gave a new meaning to his derogatory nickname just by being a friend that believed in him. After that, she saved him several more times (Blackwhip and Megaphone are the biggest samples iirc). It makes perfect sense that she is Deku's hero.

Ochako hardly knew what it meant to be a hero when she first got into UA. Just by reaching out to some kid tripping, she made a new friend who would then save her in that exam, then save him again in return. This boy then became someone who was always working so hard to save everyone in trouble, and she realized she wanted to be just like him too. "I want to save people"

But...Deku changes. The weight of One for All is on his shoulders and he needs someone to carry this burden with him. He continues to want to save other people at the expense of himself, still not letting his true selfishness and ego ever show- and it only grows more and more unbearable.

Then...Ochako fell in love with Himiko. Truly, relentlessly, selfishly and devotedly in love with a girl who then dies giving her blood to her- the greatest expression of love Himiko could ever give.

Not that they can't love each other because of this happening (and...so many other things oh god), I'm honestly not sure how to explain it- But them ending up together after losing that innocence and naivety? After Ochako will forever grieve the girl who showed her love in its most beautiful and ugly form? After Izuku changed so fundamentally as a person that the butterflies of a nice girl talking to you doesn't exist anymore? After that simple image of being a hero and being in love has completely changed for them both?

Even so, I believe they still love each other. There is no label I know of that can properly describe them though. They are each other's image of being a hero when it comes to saving people. Aside from Shoto, no one else can grasp the grief of the person you tried to save dying in your hands. They would no doubt try to cope with these losses together, and just try to get better together...but so much has changed. They've changed. The world changed. What are they now? Who are they now?

"What happened...to us?"

[akuma-tenshi]

your honour i simply adore them

[sskk-manifesto]

What a good episode. Maaaaaan

[honeyhaeya]

(🧸ྀི)🖇 ༘ ⋆"My Brother's Bestfriend"

' ╰┈ 'who would've thought you'd end up in a tangled mess with your brother's bestfriend?'

' .☘︎ ݁˖' '원우 x f!reader

🎧ྀི 'ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Home (Seventeen) ♫⋆₊˚ ﾟ. 'ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: fluff, light angst, smut, established relationship, doting!boyfriend wonwoo, slightly possessive!wonwoo, light comedy, soft but intense makeout sessions, lap-sitting & straddling, emotional intimacy, domestic sweetness, wonwoo being obsessed with reader™, mild tension but nothing too serious, clingy!wonwoo (unintentionally), wonwoo official lipstick tester & lip plumper ੈ✩‧₊˚ warnings: NSFW WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT ! wonwoo being so whipped it's unfair, excessive cuteness & boyfriend material behavior, a little bit of yearning ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ nsfw warnings: oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, semi-public sex, reader doesn't get pregnant, heavy & passionate makeout sessions, straddling wonwoo’s lap, deep kissing, light grinding, soft!but still kind of desperate!wonwoo, possessive whispers, needy touches, some lip biting, breathy moans, heated tension but still very loving ੈ✩‧₊˚ wc: 11,809 ੈ♡ a/n: i'm never going to shut up about wonwoo fics. i love this one and yeah, it's my favorite now. i don't even know if i want to end it, so i made a part two cause i love this way too much. if you don't like it, DON'T READ>>>don't steal my happiness.

It was a Friday—a perfect day to go outside, breathe in the fresh air, and maybe even touch some grass. But Wonwoo? He was planted in his chair, fingers flying over his keyboard, eyes locked on his screen as he dove deeper into his game. Sunlight streamed through his window, but he barely noticed. His entire focus was on his mission.

Then, of course, his phone rang.

The sudden vibration made him flinch, just in time for his in-game character to take a fatal hit. A sigh slipped past his lips, long and resigned, as the screen dimmed to black. Game over.

Annoyed, he reached for his phone without checking the caller ID. "What."

"Hey, Wonwoo!" Mingyu's voice rang through, far too cheerful for his liking. "You remember that money you owe me?"

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "I paid you back."

"Yeah, like, half. You still owe me ₩103,000."

Wonwoo scowled. "What do you want, Mingyu?"

"I'll cancel the debt if you pick up my sister from her hagwon."

Wonwoo blinked. He could practically see Mingyu's smug face through the phone. "...Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. Think of it as a fair trade. You get out of debt, and I don't have to leave my photoshoot early. Win-win, right?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, glancing at the gaming laptop he had been saving up for. A hundred thousand won wasn't something he could just brush off. And really, what was so hard about picking someone up? He'd just drive there, wait, and drop her off. No big deal.

"Fine. Send me the details."

"Knew I could count on you!" Mingyu cackled before promptly hanging up.

Wonwoo stared at his phone, regretting everything.

Later that evening, Wonwoo pulled up in front of the hagwon (cram school), resting his arm on the window frame as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone. The street was packed—students flooding out, parents calling names, engines revving. He ignored all of it, his attention on the notifications lighting up his screen.

A knock on the window pulled him out of his trance. He looked up.

There you were, bright-eyed and smiling. Mingyu's sister. You had the same features as him, Mingyu was handsome, there was no second guessing you'd be really pretty as well.

It really runs on the family huh, but your energy was a complete contrast. Where Mingyu was overbearing, you seemed naturally lighthearted.

Wonwoo unlocked the door, watching as you slipped inside. "Hey, thanks for picking me up! I could've taken the bus, but this is definitely an upgrade."

He put his phone down and shifted into drive. "Mingyu made me."

"Obviously." You laughed, buckling your seatbelt. "If it were up to you, you'd rather be home playing some game, right?"

Wonwoo glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. "...Something like that."

You stretched out in the passenger seat, completely unfazed by his short responses. "Figures. My brother said you never leave your house unless it's life or death."

"He exaggerates. I go out when I need to."

"Mmm-hmm. Like now?"

"Like now."

You laughed again, shaking your head. "Unbelievable."

You both drove in silence for a bit, though it wasn't uncomfortable. You hummed softly to whatever song played on the radio, while Wonwoo kept his eyes on the road, appreciating the fact that you weren't forcing conversation.

Then, after a few minutes, you turned to him. "So, what's the real reason Mingyu couldn't pick me up?"

"I told you. Photoshoot."

You raised a brow. "And you believe that?"

Wonwoo hesitated, then shrugged. "Not really, but it's not my problem."

You grinned. "Smart man."

He smirked slightly but didn't comment.

When you pulled up in front of your house, you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him with an easygoing smile. "Thanks again, Wonwoo. I owe you one."

"No, you don't. Mingyu does."

You laughed. "True. But still, I appreciate it."

Wonwoo just gave a small nod. "It's fine."

As you stepped out of the car, you waved. "See you around!"

He didn't respond, but after you disappeared into the house, he lingered for a second longer than necessary before finally driving off.

Maybe the day hadn't been a total waste after all.

A couple of days later, Mingyu called Wonwoo again, but this time it wasn't for any money or favor. Instead, he was inviting him over to his apartment for a casual hangout.

"Yo, you coming? I'm having a few friends over tonight, including Joshua, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Minghao. It's nothing special, just wanted to hang out."

Wonwoo was about to decline—he had a ton of work to do—but then Mingyu dropped the one detail that made him reconsider.

"Oh, and my sister will be here too. She's staying with me for the weekend, so I figured you could catch up with her."

Wonwoo didn't immediately respond. It wasn't the idea of seeing Mingyu's sister that stopped him—it was more the fact that he wasn't entirely sure how to act around you yet. The two of you hadn't really had a chance to talk much after that brief car ride. He had no idea what you'd be like outside of that moment, and Mingyu always had a way of making everything a little awkward when it came to his little sister.

"...Fine," Wonwoo finally relented, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll stop by."

When Wonwoo arrived at Mingyu's apartment, the atmosphere was relaxed. Joshua was already lounging on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone, and a few other friends were scattered around, chatting. Mingyu was in the kitchen, preparing snacks—probably to feed his giant appetite. The usual loud energy that always accompanied Mingyu's presence was alive in the air.

But there was no sign of you.

Wonwoo made his way to the living room, greeting Joshua with a nod, but the silence between them was noticeable. Joshua shot him a playful glance, but before they could talk much more, Mingyu called out from the kitchen.

"Yo, Wonwoo! Help me with these drinks!"

Wonwoo reluctantly walked into the kitchen, but as soon as he stepped through the doorway, he froze.

There, standing at the counter, was you—completely at ease, casually chopping vegetables as if you'd been there the whole time. You looked up at him, your eyes lighting up in surprise.

"Oh, you're here!" you exclaimed with a smile, your hands still busy at the cutting board. "I didn't think you'd be the first one to show up."

Wonwoo blinked, a bit caught off guard. He hadn't expected to see you in the kitchen, especially not so comfortable.

"You're... here?" he said, unsure of how to react. "I thought you were... uh, I don't know... staying in your room or something."

You let out a small laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "I was, but then Mingyu didn't have enough snacks. He asked me to help out." You gestured to the plates you had already prepped, your movements smooth and confident, as though you'd done this a thousand times. "I figured you'd all be hungry."

Wonwoo was honestly impressed. The last time he saw you, you were cheerful and talkative, but he didn't expect this... domestic side of you. He felt a little out of place in the kitchen, but he didn't want to act awkward.

"I'm sure Mingyu can handle it," he replied, trying to mask his surprise with a nonchalant tone.

You smirked, clearly catching onto his tone. "Yeah, but I'm sure he'll make a mess of it. You know how he is." You shook your head, looking back at your brother as Mingyu popped his head around the corner, grinning.

"I heard that!" Mingyu called, sticking his tongue out before retreating back to the living room.

You chuckled at his antics before focusing back on the food you were preparing. "Anyway, I'm glad you made it. I figured we'd finally have some time to talk," you said, your voice light and welcoming, making it clear you weren't bothered by the sudden interruption.

Wonwoo nodded, still trying to shake off the initial surprise. "Yeah, I guess we never really got to chat much." He leaned against the kitchen counter, unsure of where to go from there.

"You're a bit of a man of few words, huh?" you asked with a teasing grin, raising an eyebrow as you slid the plate of veggies aside. "Mingyu always talks about how you're so quiet, but I didn't realize it was this bad."

Wonwoo gave you a half-smile, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I don't talk much unless I have to," he said, his usual dry tone creeping through.

You just laughed, the sound easy and warm, making him feel less self-conscious. "Well, I'll make sure to fill the silence then," you said cheerfully, as if you were on a mission to make him feel comfortable. "You're kind of a hard nut to crack, but I think I can manage."

The tension that had been there earlier started to melt away, and Wonwoo found himself talking a little more than he usually did. You asked him questions, talked about school, and even joked about how overprotective Mingyu could be at times. As the minutes passed, he realized how much easier it was to talk to you than he initially thought.

By the time he moved back into the living room with the snacks, there was no awkwardness between the two of you anymore. You had succeeded in doing what few could—making Wonwoo feel at ease.

A few days later, Wonwoo had stayed at Mingyu's apartment, slacking off on the sofa while playing some horror games on Mingyu's television.

"You're really bad at Identity V, Mingyu," Wonwoo teased, getting a little frustrated at how Mingyu had to be revived multiple times.

"Just switch the game already, this one's boring," Mingyu groaned, throwing the controller to the side.

Wonwoo just chuckled, not even pausing the game.

Then, the doorbell rang.

Mingyu groaned, dragging himself off the couch. "Ah, right. I forgot—my sister was dropping off some kimchi from Mom before she heads to cram school."

When you stepped inside, you flashed Mingyu a quick smile before handing him the containers. "Mom said to eat it while it's fresh."

Mingyu took them with a nod, already peeking inside. "Smells good." Then, without looking up, he asked, "You want me to drop you off at cram school?"

You shook your head. "Nah, I'll just take the bus. It's not that far."

Wonwoo, who had been watching from the couch, found himself unexpectedly... disappointed? He wasn't sure why, but he had kind of looked forward to talking to you again. You were easy to be around—bubbly, charming, and not at all fazed by his quiet nature. Not many people could handle his silence so effortlessly.

Mingyu, meanwhile, was still leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "You sure? It's getting late."

"I'll be fine," you insisted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "It's just cram school, not a different planet."

Wonwoo hesitated for a second before speaking up. "Hey."

You turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He cleared his throat, feeling a little out of place but saying it anyway. "I can walk you."

You blinked, clearly surprised. "Oh? Why, so you can chat me up again?" you teased with a wink.

Mingyu snorted, looking between the two of you. "Since when do you offer to walk people places, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo shot him a look but didn't bother responding. Instead, he turned back to you, waiting for your answer.

You grinned, clearly amused by the whole situation. "Alright, alright. But no awkward silences, got it?"

Wonwoo nodded, grabbing his jacket as he followed you out the door. Mingyu watched the two of you leave, shaking his head with a grin. "Well, that's new."

Mingyu leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene with growing amusement. Wonwoo wasn't the type to jump at social interactions, especially not when it came to people outside their usual circle. And yet, here he was, offering to walk you to hagwon like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mingyu's brows furrowed, suspicion creeping in.

No way. Does Wonwoo... like my sister?

The thought nearly made him laugh out loud. He knew Wonwoo well—too well, in fact. His best friend wasn't the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, let alone make some grand romantic gesture. But still, the way he lingered, the way his gaze flickered toward you, even the fact that he was putting in the effort to talk—something was definitely up.

Mingyu smirked, but he kept his mouth shut. For now.

"So," he drawled, pushing off the doorway, "you two gonna be alright?"

Wonwoo shot him a look, equal parts unimpressed and knowing. Meanwhile, you just rolled your eyes. "We'll survive, Gyu."

Mingyu chuckled. "Alright, alright. Have fun, lovebirds."

"Bye, Mingyu," you deadpanned, grabbing Wonwoo's wrist and tugging him down the hallway before your brother could say anything else. Wonwoo barely had time to process it before he was matching your pace, hands stuffed into his pockets.

The air between you was light, easy. You glanced up at him with a grin. "Didn't think I'd ever get you to walk me to hagwon. Kinda fun, huh?"

Wonwoo huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not what I expected to be doing today, that's for sure."

You nudged him lightly. "What, hanging out with me is that bad?"

He glanced at you—really looked this time. You were different from Mingyu's usual crowd. Where his friends were loud and chaotic, you had this effortless energy that didn't demand anything from him. You just... talked, and somehow, he found himself talking back. It was weird, but not in a bad way.

"You're different," you mused, tilting your head. "I mean, I knew you were quiet, but you're not as... closed off as I thought you'd be."

Wonwoo smirked slightly, gaze forward. "I'm still quiet."

"Mm, not with me," you pointed out, eyes twinkling. "Why's that?"

Wonwoo hesitated, not because he didn't have an answer, but because he wasn't sure how to say it. Instead, he settled for the truth, plain and simple. "I don't feel like I have to try so hard with you."

Your steps slowed just slightly, your expression softening. "Huh. That's kinda nice."

He exhaled a small chuckle. "Guess you're a special case."

"Ooo, so I'm special?" you teased.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he muttered, but the faint smile on his face gave him away.

The conversation drifted into easier topics, laughter and playful jabs exchanged as the hagwon came into view. Wonwoo still didn't know what exactly made him want to be around you, but he didn't mind figuring it out along the way.

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Mingyu leaned against the window, watching the two of you disappear into the distance.

Yeah, something was definitely up.

And as your older brother, he was gonna keep an eye on it.

A few days after that walk, Wonwoo found himself running into you more often than he expected. At first, it was innocent enough—quick encounters while he was out running errands or grabbing coffee with Mingyu. But soon, those moments stretched longer, turning into something he actually started looking forward to.

It didn't help that teasing you had become his new favorite pastime.

You'd be minding your own business, walking down the hallway in Mingyu's apartment building, when suddenly, you'd sense a presence behind you. Turning around, you'd find Wonwoo leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Going somewhere, princess?"

The nickname never failed to make you flush, though you'd gotten better at rolling your eyes in response. Still, it was the way he said it—so effortlessly teasing—that made your stomach flip, like you were missing the punchline to some inside joke.

At first, you chalked it up to friendly chatter. But the more it happened, the harder it became to tell if he was just being playful or if there was something else beneath it.

Then came the café incident.

You were sitting with your friends, chatting about classes, when one of them suddenly perked up, nodding toward the entrance. "Hey, isn't that your boyfriend?"

You blinked in confusion, following their gaze—only for your breath to catch slightly when you saw Wonwoo stepping inside, exuding that quiet, effortless confidence he always carried.

"What? No way," you sputtered, your voice catching as you waved off the idea.

Your friends exchanged knowing looks. "Come on, we've seen you two together all the time lately," one of them pointed out. "And let's be real, you'd make a cute couple."

Your face went hot. "He's not my boyfriend!"

"Then why do you look so guilty?" Another friend smirked.

Before you could form a coherent response, Wonwoo approached the table, sliding into the seat next to you as if he belonged there. "What's all this talk about me?" he asked, his deep voice laced with amusement.

"Nothing!" You nearly choked on the word, sitting up straighter.

Your friends weren't buying it. "We were just saying how cute you two look together," one of them supplied, grinning mischievously.

Wonwoo, the absolute menace, didn't even flinch. Instead, he leaned back lazily, his lips curving into that smirk that made your heart stutter. "Cute, huh?" he mused. Then, with a glance in your direction, he added, "She's already shy around me. You think she'd survive being my girlfriend?"

You gawked at him. "Wonwoo!"

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you flustered so easily. "Relax," he murmured, leaning in slightly, just enough to send your brain into overdrive. "I'm just helping you out. You should be thanking me for making you so popular."

You shot him a glare, but your friends were eating it up, laughing as they nudged each other. "Honestly, you two are like an old married couple already."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, half-expecting the ground to swallow you whole. Meanwhile, Wonwoo looked way too pleased with himself, the playful glint in his eyes only growing stronger.

And from that day on, it only got worse.

Every time he ran into you, your friends' words echoed in your mind, making you hyperaware of every smirk, every lingering glance, every low chuckle. You weren't sure if it was all just a joke to him, but the real problem was—you were starting to hope it wasn't.

Because, teasing aside, there was something about the way he looked at you lately. Something softer, something unreadable. And that? That was the most confusing part of all.

Over the next few days, it became a pattern—these little run-ins, the teasing, the way Wonwoo always seemed to appear right when you thought you'd get a break from his smug remarks. If you were being honest, it was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like... something else.

Like right now.

You had just finished your class at the hagwon and were walking home when you heard footsteps behind you. At first, you didn't think much of it. But then—

"Hey, princess."

You nearly tripped over your own feet. Whipping around, you found Wonwoo standing there, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too smug.

"Seriously?" you huffed. "Do you have a tracker on me or something?"

He chuckled, falling into step beside you. "Nah. Just good timing."

"Suspicious timing," you muttered under your breath.

He grinned. "What, you don't like seeing me?"

You opened your mouth, ready to give a snarky reply, but the words stuck in your throat. Because, truthfully, you did like seeing him. You liked how he always managed to sneak into your day, turning normal moments into something else—something charged with a kind of tension you weren't sure how to handle yet.

But you weren't about to admit that.

"Did you just happen to be in the area, or are you stalking me now?" you teased instead, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Wonwoo made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. "Hmm. I guess I should start charging for my services if I'm going to be your personal bodyguard."

You rolled your eyes. "Bodyguard? Please. What are you protecting me from? My own two feet?"

He smirked. "You almost tripped earlier. Maybe you do need me."

Your mouth opened, then closed. He had a point, but you weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of winning this round. Instead, you crossed your arms and shot him a playful glare.

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"And yet, here we are," he mused, his voice low, almost amused. "Walking home together. Again."

You faltered. There was something about the way he said it—like he was reminding you that these weren't just coincidences anymore. That maybe, just maybe, he was seeking you out just as much as you were looking forward to seeing him.

The thought made warmth creep up your neck.

The walk continued, the air between you shifting—still lighthearted, but tinged with something heavier, something unspoken. At some point, you felt the faintest brush of his hand against yours. It was barely anything, just a fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt up your spine.

You glanced at him, half-expecting him to be smirking at your reaction, but instead, Wonwoo was looking ahead, his expression unreadable.

The silence stretched between you for a beat too long.

"You're quieter than usual," you finally said, your voice softer now.

Wonwoo hummed, glancing at you. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "You."

Your breath hitched. You blinked, caught completely off guard by the casual way he said it—like it wasn't something that would send your heart into a tailspin.

He must've noticed your reaction because his lips twitched into something close to a smirk. "Surprised?"

You scoffed, desperate to regain some control over the conversation. "You say that like I should just expect it."

"Maybe you should," he said, voice smooth, teasing, but with a weight behind it that made your stomach flip.

And just like that, the game between you shifted. It wasn't just harmless teasing anymore. It was charged, loaded with something more than just playful.

You were in trouble.

And worse? You weren't sure you minded.

Wonwoo should've seen it coming.

He was halfway through his iced americano when Mingyu—who had been rambling about his fantasy basketball team for the past fifteen minutes—suddenly leaned forward with a serious look. The shift in his tone was so abrupt that Wonwoo nearly choked on his drink.

"Don't date my sister."

Wonwoo blinked. "...Huh?"

Mingyu crossed his arms, leveling him with a look that was rare for him—stern, like he wasn't just joking around. "I'm serious. I know how you are, Wonwoo."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. "How am I?"

"You don't do relationships," Mingyu shot back. "You flirt, you have fun, and then—poof—you're gone."

"That's not true," Wonwoo muttered, looking away.

"Dude. Jiwoo? Jiekyo? Mijin?" Mingyu listed off names, counting on his fingers. "You get bored too easily. My sister's not just some girl you can play around with."

That one stung.

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. "You make me sound like some heartless asshole."

Mingyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'm not saying you're a bad guy. I know you, Wonwoo. You just... don't take these things seriously. And I don't want her getting hurt because she thinks you do."

Wonwoo didn't answer. He could argue—say that things were different this time, that maybe he didn't know why, but the usual rules didn't seem to apply whenever you were involved. But he also knew Mingyu had a point.

Did he even know what he was doing?

Mingyu must've taken his silence as agreement because he nodded, looking satisfied. "Good. I just wanted to clear that up."

And that should've been the end of it.

Except... you had other plans.

The problem was, you were very aware of Wonwoo's usual avoidance tactics. And yet, despite Mingyu's warning (which you totally overheard, thank you very much), you weren't about to back off. If anything, it made things more fun.

So, naturally, you decided to corner Wonwoo after one of his gym sessions.

You found him outside, sitting on a bench, scrolling through his phone like he wasn't sweating buckets from lifting weights for an hour.

"Hey," you greeted, plopping down beside him.

He glanced at you, then back at his phone. "Hey."

Silence.

You smirked. "You're avoiding me."

His thumb hovered over the screen. "No, I'm not."

"You so are." You leaned in, trying to peek at his phone. "What, are you texting my brother to report my suspicious activities?"

He sighed, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. "Your brother would kill me if he knew we were talking right now."

You tilted your head. "Funny, I don't see Mingyu around."

He shot you a flat look. "That's not the point."

"You're acting like he owns me or something," you teased, nudging his arm with your shoulder. "What, are you scared of him?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "It's not about that—"

"Then what's it about?"

He paused.

You took the chance to scoot closer. "Let me guess," you hummed, tapping your chin dramatically. "You think you'll break my heart? That you'll flirt, we'll have fun, and then poof—you're gone?"

Wonwoo visibly stiffened.

Bingo.

You grinned. "What if I told you I like a little risk?"

He groaned. "Don't say stuff like that."

"Why? Is it making things harder for you?"

He looked at you then, really looked at you—like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him or if you actually meant it. And that's when you knew you had him.

"Relax, Wonwoo," you said, leaning back with a smug smile. "I just wanna grab coffee. Not a wedding ring."

He exhaled, shaking his head, but you caught the small smirk tugging at his lips. "You're impossible."

"And you are running out of excuses."

He stared at you for another beat before groaning, rubbing his face like you were the biggest headache of his life. Then—finally—he let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

"Fine," he muttered. "One coffee."

Your grin widened. "I knew you liked me."

"Shut up."

And just like that, the game was back on.

You should've known.

One coffee turned into another. Then into late-night calls. Then into hanging out at Wonwoo's apartment, always under the pretense of studying or just chilling.

Which was a huge lie. Because, really, what kind of studying involved Wonwoo's knee pressed against yours, his fingers grazing yours every few minutes, and him murmuring things in that low voice that made your brain short-circuit?

The worst part? He knew what he was doing.

And the proof?

Right now.

You were hanging out at his place after a long day, claiming his couch like it was yours while he sat beside you. Some dumb multiplayer game was on the screen, and you were so sure you were winning.

Until Wonwoo conveniently lost at the very last second.

"You're so bad at this," you teased, laughing as you nudged his arm.

Wonwoo, who had been sitting back lazily just seconds ago, suddenly leaned forward. "You made me lose on purpose."

You gasped dramatically. "How dare you accuse me—"

Before you could finish, he moved.

Fast.

One second you were playfully bickering, and the next? You were flat on your back, pressed against the couch, with Wonwoo hovering above you—his hands trapping you on either side of your head.

Your brain short-circuited.

"W-Wait—"

Wonwoo's knee nudged between your thighs, pressing down just enough to make you hyperaware of every single point of contact between you. The air shifted, playful teasing melting into something heavier.

Something that made your skin burn.

The way he looked at you—half-lidded eyes roaming over your face, his smirk growing as he took in your reaction—made your stomach twist into knots.

The corner of his lips curled. "What's wrong?"

Your throat was so dry. "You're—you're too close."

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Am I?"

And then—because this man had no mercy—he dipped even lower, his nose brushing against yours as he whispered against your lips,

"You started this."

A second later, his lips crashed onto yours.

Soft but demanding, like he had been holding himself back for too long. His hands slipped down, gripping your waist, fingers digging into your sides as he pulled you impossibly close. The kiss was slow at first—just a gentle press of lips—but then Wonwoo tilted his head, deepening it, his mouth moving against yours with a languid, intoxicating rhythm.

You melted.

Your hands, which had been gripping onto his hoodie for dear life, moved on their own—one slipping into his hair, tugging slightly. The groan he let out against your lips sent a shockwave down your spine.

Wonwoo's hands moved lower, resting on your thighs before effortlessly pulling you up onto his lap.

The sudden shift made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. But before you could even think, his lips found yours again, this time more urgent, more needy.

And you?

You couldn't even pretend to fight it.

Because Wonwoo kissed like he meant it. Like he was making up for all the stolen glances, the teasing touches, the lingering tension that had built up between you for weeks.

And you let him.

Because, honestly?

You wanted it just as much.

From that night on, it was impossible to pretend you weren't completely wrapped around each other's fingers.

Sure, Mingyu didn't know yet, but Wonwoo made it really hard to act normal.

Like when he'd pick you up from hagwon (cram school) at night, leaning against his car like some effortlessly hot drama lead, hands in his pockets, waiting for you. And when you walked up, flustered and mumbling about how someone might see?

He'd just smirk and lean down, murmuring, "Let them."

Or when he'd help you study at the library but deliberately lean in too close—his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You're not focusing."

As if he was helping??

And the worst part? He loved seeing you flustered.

Like the time he casually pulled you into an empty library aisle, tilted your chin up, and kissed you right then and there.

"You keep getting distracted," he murmured against your lips, eyes gleaming with amusement.

And you?? You just stood there, clutching your book like your life depended on it.

But hey. What Mingyu doesn't know won't kill him, right?

...Right?

---

Honestly, you and Wonwoo had been too good at sneaking around.

The stolen kisses in empty library aisles. The late-night study sessions that turned into him pulling you onto his lap just to mess with you. The way he'd casually lean against his car outside your cram school, hands shoved into his hoodie, waiting like some effortlessly cool drama lead.

Y'all really thought you were slick.

Until one night.

You were saying your goodbyes outside your house, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the both of you. Wonwoo had driven you home like always, but this time, instead of the usual quick peck and see you later, he leaned in, his hands resting on your waist, his breath warm against your lips.

"You're so cute when you're nervous," he murmured before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, tilting his head just right so you felt it all the way down to your toes.

And that was the moment your soul left your body.

Because the second Wonwoo pulled away—both of you breathless, smiling like lovesick idiots—you heard it.

A slow. Dramatic. Clap.

You froze. Wonwoo froze.

And then—

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here."

Your blood ran cold.

You turned around so slowly you swore time slowed down.

And there, standing in front of the house, arms crossed, wearing the most betrayed expression you'd ever seen, was Kim Mingyu.

"Oh, shit," Wonwoo muttered under his breath.

"OH SHIT IS RIGHT, JEON WONWOO," Mingyu roared, stalking forward like an older brother about to ruin your entire existence.

You instinctively stepped in front of Wonwoo like that was gonna protect him from the absolute storm that was about to hit. "Mingyu, listen, before you freak out—"

"BEFORE I FREAK OUT???" Mingyu's voice cracked, eyes darting between you and Wonwoo. "YOU'RE KISSING MY BEST FRIEND ON OUR FRONT PORCH LIKE IT'S A K-DRAMA AND YOU WANT ME TO STAY CALM???"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked at Wonwoo for help.

Wonwoo: 😬

You: 😭

Mingyu let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning to Wonwoo with the deadliest glare known to man.

"You. Follow me. NOW."

Wonwoo shot you a look—part this is it, I'm gonna die and part I regret nothing. And then he followed Mingyu inside like a man walking to his execution.

You just stood there, hands on your head, wondering if you should start preparing a eulogy.

Because one thing was certain.

Kim Mingyu was about to ruin your entire love life.

You had never paced so much in your entire life.

Standing outside your front door, you tried to listen in—tried being the keyword. But Mingyu's voice was booming from inside the house, and you could already tell from his tone that he was about to make Wonwoo regret all his life choices.

You pressed your ear against the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Oop. You winced. That was not a good start.

"Mingyu, calm down—" Wonwoo started, but Mingyu was having NONE of it.

"CALM DOWN? OH, SORRY, SHOULD I THROW YOU A PARTY INSTEAD? CONGRATS, YOU'RE DATING MY BABY SISTER??? BRO, I TRUSTED YOU!"

There was a pause. A deep sigh. Then:

"I told you to break up with her."

WHAT.

You slammed the door open so hard it bounced off the wall.

"EXCUSE ME??"

Both of them turned to you like deer caught in headlights.

"YOU WHAT???" you yelled, pointing at Mingyu like he'd just confessed to murder.

Mingyu blinked at you like he just realized what he said. "Uh—wait. No, that's not what I—"

Wonwoo was dying. You could see it. He was looking between the two of you, lips pressed together, trying so hard not to laugh.

You turned to Wonwoo, still pointing at Mingyu. "DID YOU KNOW THIS?"

Wonwoo immediately held his hands up. "Nope. No idea. But honestly, this is the best plot twist I've ever witnessed."

"Mingyu," you hissed, grinning like an absolute menace. "Wonwoo's a great guy. Make him break up with me and I'll never talk to you again."

Mingyu let out the loudest groan, dragging his hands down his face. "I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. I meant—I don't know! I just didn't want you dating Wonwoo of all people!"

"Wow. Okay. Ouch," Wonwoo muttered, actually offended.

Mingyu whirled on him. "I'M SORRY, BUT DO YOU KNOW YOUR OWN HISTORY? YOU'RE A HEARTBREAKER, BRO. I'M NOT LETTING YOU BREAK MY SISTER'S HEART."

Wonwoo's face immediately darkened. "Mingyu," he said, voice low.

And just like that, the room shifted.

Because that tone? That was not Wonwoo the sarcastic asshole. That was Wonwoo the serious guy who doesn't mess around when it comes to things that matter.

Mingyu must've felt it too, because his whole demeanor changed.

"I'm not playing around with her," Wonwoo said, steady and clear. "I'm not screwing this up." His gaze flickered to you—soft, almost apologetic, like he hated that this conversation was happening in front of you.

"I like her," he continued, voice quieter now. "A lot. More than I probably should." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I get it. You're looking out for her. But Mingyu, you have to know—I wouldn't start something with her if I wasn't serious about it."

...

DEAD. SILENCE.

You held your breath, watching Mingyu's expression shift.

He looked at you. Then back at Wonwoo.

Then back at you.

And then—he sighed the biggest sigh of his life.

"Ugh. Fine." He dragged a hand through his hair, groaning. "Fine. If you two wanna make out and be disgusting, whatever. But," he said, suddenly deadly serious, "if you hurt her, Wonwoo, I swear on my life—"

"I know," Wonwoo cut in, smirking. "You'll kill me."

"No," Mingyu said. "I'll make you wish I did."

WELL.

You weren't sure whether to be relieved or terrified.

But at least you and Wonwoo weren't hiding anymore.

And the best part?

Mingyu would never find out just how much sneaking around you two had already done.

Mingyu had no idea what he had just unleashed.

Because the second he begrudgingly gave his approval, Wonwoo had decided on a new mission in life:

Make. You. Flustered.

And he was very good at it.

---

EXHIBIT A: THE COUCH INCIDENT

Mingyu was in the kitchen, completely unaware of what was happening in the living room.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, a controller in hand, fully focused on the game—or at least, you were trying to be.

Wonwoo, on the other hand?

Oh, he was definitely not focused on the game.

He was watching you. Studying you like a predator stalking its prey.

And the moment you made a mistake in the game, he pounced.

"HAH—GOTCHA," he laughed, tackling you onto the couch.

You yelped, the controller flying out of your hands as Wonwoo pinned you down, his arms caging you in.

"W-Wonwoo—!" you stammered, wide-eyed.

"Cheaters don't deserve to win," he teased, leaning closer. His weight was warm, his cologne intoxicating, and his smirk was nothing short of sinful.

And just when you were about to absolutely combust, he dipped his head—

And kissed you.

Deep. Slow. Lingering.

Your hands fisted his hoodie, a helpless whimper slipping from your lips as he tilted his head, kissing you deeper.

His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world. Like this was something he'd wanted to do for so, so long.

And then—

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FU—"

MINGYU.

Mingyu. Was. Here.

You froze.

Wonwoo froze.

Mingyu's scream could have shattered glass.

"WONWOO, GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY SISTER RIGHT NOW."

But Wonwoo?

Wonwoo smirked.

And he didn't move.

Instead, he pressed another slow, deliberate kiss to your lips—just to spite Mingyu.

"OH MY GOD, YOU—YOU—"

You didn't even know who moved first—Wonwoo scrambling off you or Mingyu lunging at him like a wild animal.

All you knew was you were absolutely dying of embarrassment.

EXHIBIT B: THE STUDY SESSION FROM HELL

You should've known studying with Wonwoo was a terrible idea.

Not because he wasn't helpful—he was. Very helpful.

But his idea of helping you study was apparently making you flustered as hell.

You sat across from each other in the library, a pile of textbooks between you. Wonwoo was supposed to be quizzing you, but instead—

Instead, his foot nudged yours under the table.

You ignored it.

Then his foot slid up your calf.

Your breath hitched.

And when you finally looked up at him, the bastard was smirking.

"W-what?" you stammered, gripping your pen so tight you thought it would snap.

Wonwoo propped his chin on his hand, voice low and teasing.

"Nothing," he murmured. "Just wondering how long you can focus before I distract you."

Oh. Oh.

You gulped.

And then—you felt a shadow loom over you.

MINGYU.

Again. AGAIN.

His arms were crossed. His expression? A mix of pure disgust and betrayal.

"...Am I interrupting something?" he asked flatly.

You and Wonwoo both jumped apart like you'd been electrocuted.

"N-no!" you squeaked.

Mingyu's eyes narrowed.

"...Are you two seriously making out in the LIBRARY???"

Wonwoo, without missing a beat: "Wouldn't be the first time."

Mingyu died on the spot.

Mingyu was 100% sure he was living in his own personal hell.

Because every time he turned around, Wonwoo was doing something to make his little sister blush like crazy.

A hand on her waist. A whisper in her ear. A kiss on the cheek.

AND IT WAS DRIVING MINGYU INSANE.

He started setting rules.

"NO KISSING IN FRONT OF ME."

But then, Wonwoo would smirk and kiss you on the forehead instead.

"NO TOUCHING."

So Wonwoo would lace your fingers together behind his back, out of Mingyu's sight.

"NO SECRET GLANCES—OH MY GOD, I SAW THAT, YOU THINK I CAN'T SEE YOU TWO STARING AT EACH OTHER??? STOP IT. STOP IT RIGHT NOW."

Wonwoo, grinning like a menace: "I don't know what you're talking about."

Mingyu was this close to throwing himself off a cliff.

The moment Wonwoo got you alone in his apartment, there was no hesitation. The second the door clicked shut, his hands were already on you—warm, firm, desperate in a way that sent shivers up your spine. His fingers trailed along your waist, pulling you flush against him before he backed you up against the kitchen counter, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something dangerous—something hungry.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured, voice low and rough, the heat of his breath fanning over your lips.

Before you could answer, his lips crashed onto yours, devouring, claiming, stealing every last ounce of air from your lungs. His hands roamed, fingers sliding down the curve of your back, gripping, exploring, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Your knees nearly buckled from the intensity, the sheer heat of it all, but Wonwoo held you firm, like he'd never let you go.

His lips trailed down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, sucking lightly until you whimpered—until he had you melting for him, hands gripping onto his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you'd fall apart.

"Wonwoo," you gasped when he suddenly hoisted you up onto the counter with ease, spreading your thighs so he could step between them, his hands sliding under your dress, fingers tracing the sensitive skin along the inside of your thighs.

You barely had time to react before he tilted your chin up with his fingers, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "Tell me to stop."

But you didn't. You couldn't. Instead, you pulled him in, kissing him with all the desperation you felt in your body.

He groaned into your mouth, deep and guttural, and suddenly, the warmth of his hands was gone—but only so he could hook his fingers around your dress and unzip it, painfully slow.

The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling around your waist as Wonwoo's eyes darkened. His fingers traced down your bare skin, mapping out every inch of you, as if memorizing the way you shivered under his touch.

Then, in one swift motion, he lifted you off the counter with ease, his lips never leaving yours as he carried you through the apartment—straight to his neatly arranged bedroom.

You barely had time to take in your surroundings before Wonwoo pinned you onto the bed, hovering over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his eyes burning into yours.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he muttered against your lips before kissing you senseless— deep, slow, and thorough, like he was savoring every second.

His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your collarbone, his hands exploring, teasing, making you squirm under his touch.

He was taking his time, driving you insane, and when his fingers finally dipped lower, teasing at the edge of your underwear, you let out a shaky breath.

"Wonwoo," you pleaded.

He smirked, dragging his lips back up to your ear. "Patience, princess."

But patience was the last thing on your mind when he finally, finally touched you.

The second his fingers slipped past the band of your underwear, featherlight but deliberate, you shivered beneath him. Wonwoo took his time, tracing along your soaked heat with the slightest pressure—just enough to make you tremble, but not enough to satisfy the aching need building in your core.

He was cruel like that.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low, deep, and intoxicating.

"Look at you..." he murmured, dragging a single finger down your slick folds before circling your entrance—just barely pushing in. "So wet already. Is this all for me?"

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

"Wonwoo, please—"

A sharp gasp left your lips when he suddenly pushed in one finger, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch before curling it just right, pressing against that sensitive spot inside you.

"Please what, baby?" His smirk was dangerous, his movements even more so as he added a second finger, stretching you, filling you, setting an excruciatingly slow rhythm that made you feel helplessly desperate.

Your hips bucked instinctively, seeking more, but Wonwoo only chuckled, his free hand pressing you down against the mattress.

"Needy little thing," he muttered before dipping down to kiss you again, swallowing every whimper, every broken moan as his fingers moved faster—deeper.

You were barely holding onto reality at this point. The heat, the pleasure, the way his voice sent shivers through your spine—it was too much and not enough all at once.

Then suddenly, he was gone.

You whined at the loss, blinking up at him in frustration, but Wonwoo only chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head—revealing his lean, toned body, his sharp jaw, his intense gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing he could see.

"Relax, baby," he whispered, crawling back over you, caging you in beneath him. "I'm not done with you yet."

His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your chest, your stomach— his tongue and lips teasing, tasting, claiming every inch of your skin until you were gasping beneath him.

By the time he reached your soaked heat, you were already a mess—whimpering, squirming, aching for more.

And when he lowered his head between your thighs, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours just before his tongue flicked against your most sensitive spot—

You swore you saw stars.

The first stroke of his tongue sent a full-body shudder through you, your fingers immediately tangling in his hair as he dragged the flat of his tongue along your soaked heat.

Wonwoo hummed at the taste, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you still as he set a slow, torturous rhythm—kissing, licking, sucking—his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud before flicking against it in teasing little strokes that left you gasping for air.

Your thighs trembled, threatening to close around his head, but he only chuckled against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through your already overwhelmed body.

"Already shaking, baby?" he murmured, lips brushing against your core, voice dripping with amusement and hunger. "Thought you wanted more?"

You barely had time to answer before his tongue plunged inside you, and that was it—your head fell back against the pillow, your back arching off the bed, your grip in his hair tightening as he ate you like he was starving.

Deep, slow strokes. Messy, wet kisses. His nose brushing against your clit just right.

It was filthy. It was heaven.

Wonwoo knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it so well it had you a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him, your legs trembling as he took his sweet time ruining you.

The heat in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter, your thighs twitching with every sinful movement of his mouth, until—

"Wonwoo—I'm—"

He didn't stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, one hand reaching up to lace his fingers with yours while the other pinned you down as you cried out, your orgasm crashing over you so hard your vision went white.

Your whole body tensed, shook, melted all at once as he licked you through it, riding out your high until you were twitching from oversensitivity.

Only then did he finally pull away, lips and chin glistening, looking up at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

"You taste so fucking good," he muttered, crawling back up, his body hot and solid against yours as he captured your lips in a messy, heated kiss—letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

And just when you thought you couldn't handle any more, you felt it.

The hard press of his cock against your thigh. Heavy. Hot. Desperate.

Wonwoo groaned against your lips, his hips grinding against you in slow, torturous drags.

"I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips, his voice wrecked with hunger, want, need.

He reached down, gripping himself, lining up against your still-throbbing heat—

"Tell me you want this."

His voice was gravelly, deep, wrecked, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

You exhaled, still dizzy, still trembling, but you knew exactly what you wanted.

"Wonwoo..." You cupped his face, brushing your lips against his, meeting his dark, burning gaze.

"I want you. All of you."

That was all he needed.

With a low, guttural groan, he pushed in—

The stretch of him had you gasping—a slow, deliberate push that filled you inch by inch, his cock dragging along your walls so deep, so hot that your nails dug into his shoulders.

Wonwoo groaned against your throat, his breath ragged as he stilled inside you for a moment—his fingers gripping your thighs tightly, almost trembling.

"Fuck—you're so tight, baby," he muttered, voice wrecked, strained, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck as he bottomed out.

The feeling was overwhelming. The stretch. The heat. The way his hips were pressed flush against yours, his cock pulsing inside you.

"You okay?" he whispered, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

You barely had time to answer before he rolled his hips, dragging himself out before pushing back in with a slow, deep thrust that had you moaning into his mouth.

And then he did it again. And again.

Slow. Deep. Hard.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you against him with every thrust, burying himself so deep you felt him everywhere.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, forehead pressed against yours as his pace quickened, the slow drag of his cock turning into harder, deeper strokes.

Your body arched beneath him, chasing the friction, your legs wrapping around his waist as you gasped, whimpered, moaned, nails raking down his back as he thrust into you harder.

The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, of breathless gasps, of desperate moans.

The pleasure built fast and hot, your body tightening around him, your thighs trembling as his movements turned desperate, hungry.

"Wonwoo—" you moaned his name, voice wrecked, needy, broken.

His pace stuttered at that—his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself deeper, faster, harder, hips snapping against yours in deep, punishing thrusts.

"Say it again," he growled against your lips, his hand slipping between your bodies, fingers pressing against your sensitive clit, rubbing tight, slow circles.

"Wonwoo—oh my god—"

The heat coiled tighter, your body tensing, trembling, shattering—

And then you were falling apart.

Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body tightening around him as you cried out, gasping his name, trembling beneath him.

Wonwoo groaned, cursing under his breath, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, rougher as he chased his own high—until with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body shuddering as he came, moaning your name against your lips.

For a moment, the room was silent, heavy with heat, with breathless gasps, with the aftershocks of pleasure still running through both of you.

Then, slowly, he pulled out, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to your lips, his hands still holding your body so close, so tight.

You were dazed, boneless, completely ruined.

And so was he.

Wonwoo chuckled, breathless, tucking your hair behind your ear as he smirked down at you.

"Think Mingyu's gonna kill me if he finds out?"

You groaned, shoving him playfully, but he only laughed, kissing you again, slower this time, softer.

"You're mine now, you know that, right?"

And with the way he was looking at you, you knew there was no going back.

The aftermath was warm, quiet, and dangerously comfortable. Wonwoo was still half on top of you, his body radiating heat, his breath slow and steady against your shoulder. His arm was firm around your waist, keeping you close, like he wasn't ready to let go.

"You good?" he murmured, his voice deep, low, still wrecked from what just happened.

You hummed, nuzzling closer, feeling the soft press of his lips against your forehead.

This was nice.

Too nice.

And then your phone vibrated.

Wonwoo groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Don't answer it."

But you had to. Because when you reached for it, Mingyu's name was staring back at you.

Shit.

You shot up so fast that Wonwoo barely had time to react before you were scrambling for your clothes, your heart pounding.

Wonwoo, still half-naked and looking so effortlessly wrecked, just lay there, watching you in pure amusement.

"Relax," he said, grinning like a menace. "He doesn't know you're here."

You shot him a glare, still clutching your phone like it was a ticking bomb.

"He will if I don't answer," you hissed, and before Wonwoo could make another smart remark, you swiped to pick up the call.

"Mingyu?"

"Where the hell are you?"

You froze. Shit.

Wonwoo was watching you closely now, eyes dark with amusement, but he didn't move—just propped himself up on one elbow, looking like sin itself.

You cleared your throat, desperately trying to sound normal. "I—I'm at the library."

Wonwoo bit his lip, shaking his head.

Liar.

"The library?" Mingyu sounded skeptical. "You never stay this late."

Think. Think.

"Uh, yeah, well—Wonwoo said he'd help me study," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

The silence on the other end was deafening.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.

"Mingyu?" you tried again.

"You're with Wonwoo?"

Your stomach dropped.

Wonwoo, the absolute devil that he was, just grinned, running a hand through his messy hair like he wasn't literally in bed with you.

"You—" Mingyu let out a sharp exhale. "I swear to god, if that bastard tries anything—"

"Relax!" you cut in quickly, forcing out a laugh. "It's just studying."

Wonwoo snorted.

Mingyu sighed. "I don't trust him."

"Gee, thanks, Gyu," Wonwoo said loudly, just to be annoying.

You glared at him, mouthing 'shut up' before turning back to the call. "I'll be home soon, okay?"

Mingyu grumbled something under his breath but eventually let you go.

The moment you hung up, you turned to Wonwoo, scowling.

"You were not helpful."

Wonwoo only smirked, sitting up, the sheets sliding down his torso, revealing even more of his very distracting body.

"Studying, huh?" he teased.

You threw a pillow at him.

"Shut up."

Sneaking around was thrilling.

Maybe it was the risk of getting caught, or maybe it was the way Wonwoo would sneak touches when no one was looking—his fingers grazing your waist, his lips brushing your ear just to whisper the most unnecessary things.

But Mingyu was getting suspicious.

And Wonwoo? He was making it worse on purpose.

Like now.

You were sitting across from Mingyu at a café, trying to act normal, when Wonwoo slid into the seat beside you—so close that your knees bumped under the table.

"Gyu," he greeted casually, stealing a fry from Mingyu's plate.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Wonwoo just shrugged, unfazed. "Saw you two and thought I'd join."

Liar.

You knew for a fact that he had been waiting outside the whole time, texting you the filthiest things under the table, just to watch you squirm.

Now, he was acting innocent.

And he was way too close.

So close that you could feel the heat of his thigh against yours, the brush of his fingers as he reached for another fry.

Mingyu was still watching him suspiciously.

And then Wonwoo did it.

His hand, sneaky as hell, slid under the table.

Onto your thigh.

You froze.

Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers pressed against your bare skin, teasing, stroking, inching higher.

You shot him a warning look, trying not to choke on your drink.

He only smirked, looking way too entertained.

Mingyu, completely unaware, was rambling about something—basketball? A movie? You weren't even listening. Because Wonwoo was dragging his fingers along the hem of your skirt, toying with it, barely slipping underneath.

You squeezed your legs shut, but it only trapped his hand there.

His gaze flickered to yours, dark, teasing.

'Relax,' his eyes seemed to say. 'Unless you want him to notice.'

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt.

Mingyu frowned. "Why do you look weird?"

Shit.

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile. "I—I don't?"

Mingyu narrowed his eyes.

Wonwoo, the absolute menace, just chuckled and leaned back, finally pulling his hand away.

"You should eat more, princess," he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your entire face burned.

And Mingyu? Oblivious.

For now.

Your voice was barely a whisper, heart pounding as you felt Wonwoo's breath against your ear.

"That's what makes it fun," he murmured, voice low, teasing.

This was dangerous. Reckless, even. But you couldn't stop yourself.

It started as a simple study session. Wonwoo had picked you up after hagwon, claiming he'd "help" you with your assignments.

Total bullshit.

Because now?

You were pressed up against the library bookshelf, the dim glow of the emergency exit light barely illuminating the mischief in his eyes.

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed over your jaw, slow, calculated. "You're so easy to mess with, princess."

You swallowed, trying to act indifferent, but your body betrayed you.

Because his hands were already on your waist, sneaking under your oversized hoodie, fingertips grazing your skin, making you shiver.

"Wonwoo," you warned, voice wobbly. "Someone might see—"

He kissed you.

Cut you off completely, swallowing any argument you might've had. It was deep, consuming, with just enough desperation to make your knees buckle.

And he knew.

He gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the shelves. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively.

His lips traveled down to your neck, kissing, sucking—leaving marks in places only he would see.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, earning a low groan from him.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he murmured against your skin, his voice sending heat straight to your core.

And then, his hand slipped under your skirt.

You gasped, back arching as he dragged his fingers along your soaked panties, teasing.

"Already wet for me?" he whispered, grinning when you squirmed in his grip.

"Wonwoo," you hissed.

"Shh," he hushed, lips finding yours again, muffling your soft whimpers. "Unless you want someone to catch us."

Fuck.

This was so, so wrong.

But god, it felt too good to stop.

His fingers moved against you, slow, deliberate, applying just enough pressure to make you tremble.

And then—

"Hello? Is someone there?"

A voice.

Somewhere in the library.

You froze.

Wonwoo, however?

He didn't stop.

His fingers kept moving, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clothed heat.

"Wonwoo," you pleaded, voice barely a breath.

He just smirked.

The footsteps got closer.

Your heart pounded as Wonwoo kissed you again, swallowing your gasps as he slipped his fingers past the fabric, stroking your bare heat.

And then—

The footsteps faded.

Whoever it was, they were gone.

And you were falling apart in Wonwoo's arms.

He didn't stop until your body was trembling, until your head fell against his shoulder, until you were gripping onto his sweater like it was the only thing grounding you.

And then, finally, he pulled back.

He grinned, watching you struggle to catch your breath. His fingers—still wet from you—slid up your thigh, leaving a teasing trail.

"You were so loud, princess," he whispered against your ear. "I almost thought you wanted to get caught."

FUCK.

---

There were no fancy words, no grand declarations.

But when Wonwoo loved, he showed it in every little thing he did.

It was the way he kept your water bottle filled when you were too busy studying. The way he brought you warm meals when you forgot to eat. The way he let you borrow his headphones, knowing you liked his playlists better than yours.

Even now, as he sat in his gaming chair, his fingers absentmindedly traced circles on your bare thigh, pulling you closer onto his lap.

"You're too busy for me," you pouted, resting your chin on his shoulder as he adjusted his headset.

Wonwoo smirked, clicking a button on his keyboard. "I just spent two hours helping you study, princess. What do you mean?"

You huffed, nuzzling into his neck. "I mean, you're always playing games or working. I miss you."

His fingers paused on the keyboard.

A moment later, he let out a sigh and removed his headset, turning to face you.

"You're clingy," he teased, but the way his hands slid up your arms, the way his thumb brushed your cheek, said otherwise.

"You like it," you shot back.

He chuckled, pulling you in for a soft kiss. It was lazy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world for you.

Maybe he did.

Because after that, he turned off his PC.

You blinked. "You're done?"

"Yeah." He stood, effortlessly carrying you to the bed. "I'd rather spend time with you."

Your heart melted.

"But your game—"

"It's just a game," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're more important."

Fuck.

That did things to you.

You clung to him tighter, burying your face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Wonwoo wasn't the type to say 'I love you' a hundred times a day.

But he showed it. In the way he adjusted your blanket at night. In the way he massaged your shoulders after a long study session. In the way he never let you walk on the side of the road.

And in moments like this, where he'd drop everything just to hold you.

"You don't need anything but me, right?" he whispered against your hair, voice warm, teasing.

You smiled, pulling him closer.

"Right."

You were curled up on the couch, drowning in an oversized hoodie that—surprise, surprise—smelled like Wonwoo. The weight of your laptop sat in your lap, screen glowing with the absolute horror that was your unfinished assignment.

Two thousand words. Due tomorrow. You had written ten.

A dramatic sigh left your lips as you flopped onto the cushions, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life.

Wonwoo, who had been watching you from his desk, barely glanced up from his monitor. "You're sulking."

"You're ignoring me," you shot back, hugging a pillow.

"I'm working," he replied, but there was a teasing lilt in his voice. "And you should be too."

You groaned into the fabric. "I can't. I have no motivation."

Finally, he turned his chair around, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he studied you. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable—fond amusement, exasperation, love, all tangled into one.

"You're acting like a baby," he murmured, but the way he got up and walked toward you said otherwise.

And then—before you could process it—he was lifting your legs and settling himself between them, pulling you into his lap with ease.

"W-Wonwoo?" you stammered, hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

"You don't have to ask, princess," he said, voice soft, low, knowing. "I already know what you need."

Your breath hitched.

And then his lips were on your forehead—one slow, lingering kiss.

Then another on your cheek.

Then your temple.

Then your nose.

The kind of kisses that weren't just physical, but something deeper. Like he was pouring everything he felt into them without saying a single word.

Your heart felt like it would burst.

"W-Wonwoo," you whispered again, but this time, it came out softer, more delicate.

"Mm?" He hummed, resting his chin on top of your head.

You swallowed. "You're distracting me."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Good."

You wanted to be mad, but how could you be?

Especially when he wrapped his arms around you tighter, rocking you slightly, like he was trying to comfort you without even realizing it.

Like you were his whole world.

---

Wonwoo didn't like extravagant gestures.

But spoiling you? That was different.

He'd do anything to make your life easier.

Which is why, when you walked into your apartment after a long day, you stopped in your tracks at the sight of takeout containers neatly placed on the table.

Your favorite food. From your favorite restaurant.

And beside them—a brand new necklace, delicate and subtle, but undeniably expensive.

You blinked.

"Wonwoo?"

From the couch, he looked up from his book. "Yeah?"

You pointed at the table. "What is this?"

"Food," he deadpanned. "And a gift."

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You had a long day."

Your heart faltered.

You took a slow step forward, staring at him. "Wonwoo, I told you not to keep buying me things."

"And I told you to stop acting like you don't love it," he murmured, flipping a page.

You huffed, but your face was already burning. "That's not the point!"

"You're so spoiled, you know that?" he said, tilting his head. "If I don't do this, you sulk."

"I do not."

"You do," he smirked, and before you could argue, he was standing up, taking slow steps toward you.

Your breath caught.

"You like being taken care of," he murmured, stopping just inches away. "And I like taking care of you."

Fuck.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

"Wonwoo," you whispered, and his hands slid up your arms, featherlight, teasing.

"Mm?"

"You're not being fair."

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, sending shivers down your spine.

"Neither are you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And just like that, you melted.

Wonwoo wasn't a morning person.

But when he woke up to the empty space beside him, his eyes narrowed instantly.

You were supposed to be asleep in his arms, tangled in his sheets, where he could keep you safe and warm.

Instead—

He blinked blearily, pushing the covers off. The faint glow from your laptop illuminated your silhouette, hunched over at the desk.

"Baby?" His voice was gravelly, hoarse from sleep.

You turned, blinking at him. "Did I wake you?"

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, eyes flickering between you and the glowing screen.

He didn't say anything. Just stood up, walked over, and gently closed your laptop.

You gasped. "Wonwoo, I need to finish—"

"Later," he murmured, voice low, commanding. Not angry, not strict. Just firm.

You opened your mouth to protest, but then—he was lifting you effortlessly, carrying you back to bed.

"W-Wait—"

"Shh," he whispered, tucking you back under the sheets before crawling in beside you.

Then his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest, his lips grazing your shoulder.

"Come back to bed," he murmured.

You shivered. "But—"

"You can finish in the morning," he whispered, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. "Just stay with me right now."

And really, how could you say no to that?

"You're exhausted. Just sleep, princess."

The dull ache in your shoulders was killing you.

It had been a long-ass day, and all you wanted to do was collapse.

But your laptop blinked back at you, merciless and taunting, deadlines creeping closer.

Wonwoo watched you silently from across the room, arms crossed, brows furrowed. You could feel his stare, heavy and knowing.

"You need to sleep," he finally murmured.

You didn't even look at him. "I'll sleep after this."

A beat of silence.

Then—before you could react—arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you with ease.

"W-Wonwoo?! Put me down—!"

"No." Deadpan. Unbothered.

And just like that, you were in bed.

He pressed you into the pillows, throwing the blanket over you like tucking in a child.

"W-Wait—"

"You're exhausted," he muttered, climbing in beside you. "Just sleep, princess."

You tried to fight it. You really did.

But then—his arms tightened around you, his lips ghosted over your forehead, and his warmth melted into your body.

And suddenly... your eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

Damn him.

"Give me your bag, princess."

College was draining you.

You had just finished a three-hour lecture, your brain barely functioning, your bag heavy as hell.

And then—there he was.

Waiting outside, tall and gorgeous in a black hoodie and sweats, hands in his pockets, eyes softening the second he saw you.

Wonwoo, your personal chauffeur.

You sighed in relief, grateful for his presence alone.

Until—he took one look at your slouched shoulders and frowned.

"Give me your bag."

You blinked. "Huh?"

He nodded at your shoulder. "Your bag. Give it."

You clutched it instinctively. "It's not that heavy—"

Wonwoo didn't even let you finish.

He gently pried it from your grip, slinging it over his own shoulder like it weighed nothing.

"Wonwoo—"

"You looked tired, princess," he murmured, taking your hand. "Let me take care of you."

Your heart skipped a beat.

...Yeah. You weren't arguing with that.

"Sit still, princess. Let me take care of you."

You sighed in bliss, eyes fluttering shut as Wonwoo's fingers worked through your damp hair, massaging your scalp.

God, he was good at this.

His touch was gentle, slow, firm—soothing every little knot of tension you didn't even know you had.

"You're going to fall asleep," he murmured, amused.

"Mm," you hummed, barely awake, tilting your head into his hands.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're so easy to please."

You smiled, eyes still closed. "Only when it's you."

Wonwoo paused.

And then—you felt his lips on your neck, slow and deliberate, his voice dropping into that low, teasing drawl.

"I like the way that sounds, princess."

Shit.

Suddenly, you weren't sleepy anymore.

"Stop looking at me like that, princess, or I'll take you right here."

Wonwoo knew what he was doing.

The man had zero shame when it came to making you blush, and he thrived off of it.

Which is why—when you were in the middle of a crowded restaurant, surrounded by people—he had the audacity to run his hands up your thighs under the table.

Your breath hitched.

"W-Wonwoo—"

He smirked, taking a casual sip of his drink. "Something wrong, princess?"

You shot him a glare, but your face was burning.

"I hate you," you muttered under your breath.

"Liar," he whispered back, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin.

You gulped, shifting in your seat. "We're in public."

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

"Stop looking at me like that, princess," he murmured, voice deep, teasing. "Or I'll take you right here."

Your breath caught.

And the worst part? You knew he meant it.

"I missed you, princess."

The night was quiet, the air cool, the city lights glowing softly through the window.

Wonwoo had been away for a few days—a work trip, nothing major—but God, you had missed him.

And apparently—he had missed you too.

Because the second he got back, he grabbed you by the waist, pulled you into his lap, and buried his face in your neck.

"You good?" you laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He didn't answer.

Just... held you.

Long. Deep. Like he was soaking in your warmth, grounding himself in your presence.

And then, after a few moments—he whispered against your skin, voice low, hoarse.

"I missed you, princess."

Your heart melted.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. "I missed you too."

His arms tightened around you.

"I know."

"Stay close to me, princess."

Crowds were overwhelming.

Wonwoo didn't care about them much—he was good at blending into the background, unbothered.

But you? You were a whole different story. One talk with a stranger, you'd be friends with them almost too immediately.

Which is why—his arm was always around your waist, keeping you pressed firmly against him.

"Wonwoo, I can walk by myself, you know," you teased, looking up at him.

He just hummed, pulling you closer. "I know."

You rolled your eyes, but secretly?

You loved it.

Because as long as he was there, holding you like this, you never had to worry.

Not about getting lost.

Not about anything.

The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.

It started innocent enough.

A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.

You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.

Or maybe not.

Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—

He snapped.

Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.

"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.

Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"

"Now, princess."

You gulped. Obeyed.

The second you stepped outside, he was on you.

He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.

"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.

The world disappeared.

Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'

And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.

It was love.

Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.

And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—

You knew.

You would never belong to anyone else.

And neither would he.

Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.

"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.

"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.

You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.

"Wonwoo—"

He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.

"Tell me how much you want me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.

"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."

That was all he needed.

With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.

"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—

You shattered.

Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Wonwoo didn't stop.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Open your mouth," he murmured.

You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.

"Mine."

His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—

He didn't let you go.

He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—

"I love you."

And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.

This was obsession.

This was forever.

The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.

It started innocent enough.

A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.

You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.

Or maybe not.

Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—

He snapped.

Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.

"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.

Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"

"Now, princess."

You gulped. Obeyed.

The second you stepped outside, he was on you.

He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.

"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.

"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.

The world disappeared.

Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'

And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.

It was love.

Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.

And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—

You knew.

You would never belong to anyone else.

And neither would he.

Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.

"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.

"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.

You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.

"Wonwoo—"

He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.

"Tell me how much you want me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.

"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."

That was all he needed.

With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.

"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—

You shattered.

Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Wonwoo didn't stop.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Open your mouth," he murmured.

You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.

"Mine."

His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—

He didn't let you go.

He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—

"I love you."

And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.

This was obsession.

This was forever.

a/n: aeya here ! BELATED HAPPY VALENTINE'S EVERYONE ! i hoped y'all like this because if you did, i already have the part two ready. it's march, and i hope this fanfiction will make up for the long stop i've been. i'm back to being a stranger ig, but hey, count this as a celebration for my 500+ followers. i love yall sm please never stop expressing yourselves from supporting me. also, I PROMISE i will eventually get to y'alls reqs because i love yall too much mwuahhh

[wispitty]

(short reacts) | "he confronts you after a spicy dream" + one piece men

summary: you left on a mission for a few days. but you haunted his dreams each and every night. moaning his name, begging for him. now you're back. and he can't take it anymore.

characters: crocodile, mihawk, marco, ace, shanks, law, corazon

CROCODILE

The office is dark when you step in.

The only light? The glow of a cigar. And a man in a chair, surrounded by smoke and silence—eyes locked on you.

“You’re late.”

You blink.

“What? I came as soon as I got ba—”

“Not tonight.”

His voice is low. Rough.

“Two nights ago.”

He stands.

You barely get out a breath before he’s in front of you.

Back hits the door. His real hand catches your chin. Tilts your face up.

You inhale.

His scent is overwhelming—smoke, spice, and something darker.

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?” he murmurs.

You shiver.

“I—”

“You think I didn’t feel you in those dreams you left me?”

His lips brush your jaw. Not a kiss. A threat.

“You said my name like it was the only word you knew.”

His hook rests cold at your hip, grounding you as his hand slides down your side.

“Begged me to touch you. Open you.”

“I—I don’t remember—”

“Then let me remind you.”

He kisses you.

Not soft. Not tentative.

Devouring.

You gasp. He groans—like he’s been starving and just tasted salvation.

“You haunted me.”

“Crocodile—”

“Say it like that again and I’ll bend you over this desk until there’s nothing left.”

You whimper.

“That’s the sound.”

He nips your collarbone. Hard enough to mark.

His hand drags down. Under your shirt. Fingers grazing your skin, slow and possessive.

“You sure you don’t remember the dreams?” he whispers, lips brushing yours.

You shake your head. Barely.

“Then maybe I should show you everything you begged me for.”

And this time?

He doesn’t stop.

MIHAWK

You return late, without a word. Just how you left.

Boots click softly through the marble halls of the castle-like manor. The candles are dim. The place is quiet.

You round a corner.

He’s there.

Leaning against the wall. Cloak heavy around his shoulders. Eyes gleaming under low light. Watching you like he knew the exact moment you stepped foot on the property.

You blink.

“...Mihawk?”

He says nothing.

Pushes off the wall.

Walks toward you—purposeful. Silent.

Something in your chest tightens.

You take a step back—

He’s faster.

His hand slams the wall beside your head. You flinch—your spine hits stone.

He leans in. So close your noses nearly brush.

“You’ve been gone. Too long.”

His voice is low. Rougher than usual.

“I—I had something I needed to—”

“And every night since...”

His hand trails down your side. Grips your hip.

“You came to me in my sleep. Whispering my name. Writhing beneath me.”

You freeze. Lips parting.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

His other hand catches your jaw, fingers tilting your face up.

“You think I believe that?”

His eyes lock to your lips. And for a moment—he hesitates.

But you’re looking up at him like you want him to break.

And that’s all it takes.

He crushes his mouth to yours.

Hard. Heated. Deep. It’s not gentle. It’s not slow.

It’s possessive.

His lips bruise. His tongue leaves no space between you. His hand on your waist tugs you tight into him.

Your gasp gets swallowed.

He presses you to the wall like he’s trying to anchor himself there.

“You cast quite the little spell on me.”

“Mihawk—”

“Say my name like that again and I’ll ruin your throat.”

You moan softly into his mouth.

He groans.

Your legs go weak. He notices.

And he loves it.

“Don’t you ever disappear like that again.”

You nod, dazed.

He kisses you again. Slower. But no less deep.

This time, it’s not about frustration.

This time, it’s about need.

MARCO

You return to the medbay late, expecting a quiet reunion. You’re humming. Tired. Just hoping to get off your feet.

But the moment the door shuts behind you—

“Oi.”

His voice is low. Hoarse.

You turn.

He’s standing near the supply shelf. Lab coat undone. Sleeves rolled. Hair messy like he’s run his hands through it too many times.

And his eyes? Locked on you.

“...Marco?”

He doesn’t say a word.

Just strides toward you, slowly, like a lion pacing down from its throne.

You barely open your mouth—

SLAM.

Your back hits the cabinet. A low gasp escapes you.

His hand settles against the wood beside your head. The other curls around your waist, pulling you in tight—flush to his chest.

You can feel it.

His heat. His tension. His arousal.

“You really didn’t know what you were doing, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked.

“W-What do you mean—?”

He chuckles darkly. Nudges your nose with his.

“Four nights, baby.”

“Marco—”

“Four nights of you on top of me. In my head. Moaning my name like I was the only thing keeping you alive.”

You blink. Breathless.

“I—I didn’t know I—”

His lips crash into yours.

It’s deep. Wet. Desperate.

His fingers slide under your shirt, ghosting over bare skin. His knee slips between your legs, pinning you harder to the cabinet.

Your body arches into his without thinking.

“I woke up aching for you every damn morning, yoi.”

Another kiss. This one filthier. Your gasp draws his tongue in deeper.

“I thought it would stop when I saw you again…”

He growls against your mouth.

“But now I want you worse.”

You whimper.

His hand tangles in your hair.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

Your lips meet his again with fire.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispers.

And this time, when he kisses you—

He kisses you like he’s never letting you leave again.

ACE

You come back from your assignment around sunset.

Your boots echo down the corridor as you head to the deck of the Moby Dick.

He’s sitting on the railing just outside the kitchen, watching the waves, posture relaxed.

But when he hears you?

He turns his head— And his whole body stills.

You smile.

“Hey, straaanger. Missed me?”

His lips twitch.

“You have no idea.”

You walk closer, thinking nothing of it. He stands as you pass.

“Phew, long trip! I brought snacks, though. Figured you'd be—”

He grabs your wrist.

You blink up at him.

“Ace?”

His expression is unreadable. A soft frown. Something burning low behind his eyes.

“You were in my dreams.”

Your breath catches.

“I was? Awwww, how cute—”

He glares. Steps closer. You're almost touching.

“Not just once.”

You shift, your back brushing the wall behind you. You don’t realize it until it’s too late.

“For three nights.”

He places a hand against the wall beside your head.

“Kept thinking it’d stop.”

He chuckles. Dry. Not amused.

“But it didn’t.”

His eyes lower to your mouth.

“You had your hands all over me. Said my name like it actually meant something for once.”

You try to respond, but your breath betrays you.

He leans in.

“It felt real. Too real.”

His voice drops, low and steady.

“Woke up sweating. Frustrated. Missing you.”

Your back hits the wall completely as his hand slides to your waist.

“And now you’re here…”

“—Right here in front of me.”

He kisses you.

Slow. Deep. Hot.

A kiss that knows exactly what it wants.

You gasp into it. His hand on your waist tightens. His body presses into yours just enough to make your knees shake.

When he pulls back, his voice is husky and the air is scorched.

“Did you mean it?”

You swallow.

“...What?”

He brushes your hair behind your ear.

“The way you touched me. The way you said my name.”

You stare into his eyes.

Then nod.

“Y-Yeah.”

He leans in again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles.

“I'm glad.”

He’s so glad. Because this time?

He’s not letting you wake up without him.

SHANKS

You board the Red Force just before sunset, waves golden and glittering behind you.

You stretch your arms and laugh.

“Mmm, it feels so good to be back!”

He hears you before he sees you.

Leaning against the railing near his quarters, half-shadowed. A bottle in one hand, his coat slung over his shoulder.

But his eyes? Dead on you.

“Well, well… look who finally came home.”

You grin.

“Miss me?”

“Every night.”

You laugh—but don’t notice how still he’s gone.

“Bet the crew missed me more.”

“I didn’t say the crew.”

Your smile falters.

He steps forward.

You step back on instinct.

“Shanks—?”

Your back hits the cabin door. He cages you in—one arm next to your head, his chest pressed against yours.

“Three nights.”

His voice is low. Rough. Not joking.

“You. Me. Right here.”

You blink, breath catching.

“I don’t—I didn’t know I—”

“You didn’t have to.”

He leans in, brushing his nose against yours.

“You rode me like you owned me.”

“Shanks—”

“Said I was aaall yours.”

And then?

He kisses you.

It’s filthy.

His tongue parts your lips without warning. His hand grips your thigh, pulling it up against his hip as he pins you harder to the door.

Your gasp disappears into him.

His breath is fire. His mouth is all heat and hunger.

When he finally pulls back, you’re dazed—barely holding yourself up.

He chuckles, low and dangerous.

“Still think I didn’t miss you?”

You shake your head.

“Good girl.”

His lips graze down your neck.

“Now let’s see if you meant everything you whispered when you were possessing me in those dreams.”

Your knees give out.

He catches you.

And smiles like he’s won the grand line.

LAW

You walk into the Polar Tang’s medbay with a skip in your step, tossing a file onto the counter.

“Mission complete. I didn’t die. I deserve snacks.”

He doesn’t answer.

You glance over.

He’s sitting on his stool, coat off, gloves gone, eyes on you.

But there’s something off in them.

Sharp.

Tense.

You blink.

“...You okay?”

He stands.

Silent.

You open your mouth to speak again, but he’s already crossed the room—grabbing your wrist.

“Law—?”

You’re turned, spun, and pinned to the steel wall.

His body cages yours. His hand slams the wall beside your head.

“Three. Nights.”

His voice is dangerously low.

“Three nights you’ve been crawling on top of me in my sleep.”

You blink. Red.

“What? What do you—”

“Shut up.”

His fingers slide along your jaw.

“You said you wanted to be ruined. By me. Only me.”

“I-It was just a dream—!”

“No. It wasn’t.”

He leans in. Breath hot. Voice sharp.

“Because I’ve thought about it every minute since.”

His lips brush yours.

“And now you’re back. And I just don’t give a fuck anymore.”

He kisses you.

Rough. Desperate. Unforgiving.

You gasp—he swallows it. His hand grabs your waist, the other threading into your hair. His body presses close, hips locking you into place.

He kisses you like he’s claiming you.

And maybe he is.

“Law—” you whisper, dazed.

He breathes against your lips.

“You want me to stop? Say it now.”

You shake your head.

“Good.”

His mouth is on yours again before the word even leaves.

Because whatever happened in those dreams—

He’s making it real.

CORAZON

You slip into his room like always, balancing a warm drink and a little smile.

“Rosi, I brought you chamomile! Thought you could use a quiet night in.”

He turns.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, coat off, shirt wrinkled, hair ruffled like he’s barely slept.

And the moment he sees you?

His whole body goes still.

You don’t notice at first.

Until you take a step closer—and he suddenly stands.

Tall. Towering. Staring.

You blink.

“Rosi—?”

He crosses the room in three slow, heavy steps.

Takes the cup from your hand.

Sets it aside without a word.

Then leans in.

You try to speak—

“I dreamed of you.”

His voice is quiet.

But deep. Raw. Wrecked.

“Every single night you were gone.”

Your blink, then smile. Hesitantly.

“U-Um, was it at least a nice drea—”

“—You were on top of me. Whining. Begging. Touching me like you’d die if I stopped.”

You freeze.

His fingers brush your jaw. Tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry. I thought I could handle it.”

He leans closer.

His nose grazes yours. His lips hover.

“But now you’re here, and I...”

“I can’t.”

And he kisses you.

Not soft. Not shy.

Hungry.

His hand cups the back of your head. His body presses into yours, guiding you gently but firmly against the nearest wall.

The kiss deepens—wet, open, breathless. You whimper. His hand tightens at your hip.

He pulls back, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” he pants. “I just can’t pretend you don’t undo me.”

“Rosi—”

You kiss him back.

And he melts.

But only for a moment—before pressing his forehead to yours.

“You said you loved me. Tell me you meant it.”

“I did.”

He exhales—shaky.

Then smiles.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

He huffs a laugh, blinking back tears.

And kisses you like he’s never letting go.

[vylosinbound]

Slipping into sleep

MC falls asleep in front of the brothers

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor

Genre: Fluff / Slice of Life / Comfort

In the Devildom, it’s always night, and for a human like MC, the lack of sunlight can become exhausting. With different rhythms and endless-feeling days, it’s not unusual for MC to suddenly collapse onto someone… even at the most unexpected moments.

How would each brother react?

LUCIFER

A soft, elegant melody played in the background, keeping you company alongside two glasses of fine demonus, one of Lucifer’s favorites. In his study, your voice had grown quieter and quieter until you finally gave in, leaning against his shoulder with a slow, deep breath.

Lucifer paused mid-sentence, his gaze drifting down to you.

“...Really? Now?”

he sighed softly, though a small, fond smile tugged at his lips.

The truth was, the warmth of your body against his affected him more than he cared to admit.

He watched you for a moment, then set his pen aside and slid an arm around you, pulling you closer to better support you.

“...You’re so fragile sometimes. But with me, you’re allowed to be.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

Lucifer continued his work with careful composure, though every so often, his eyes would flicker back to you, as if to make sure you were still breathing easily.

MAMMON

You were lying together on the couch, watching one of his favorite movies (a loud, over-the-top action flick), and Mammon was in the middle of an animated rant about how he could "take that guy down in five seconds flat", when he felt a soft breath against his chest.

You had completely collapsed, curled up against him. "Hey... MC...? You even listenin’—oh..."

His cheeks instantly flared bright red. Mammon bit his lip, barely holding back the urge to wake you up just to see that confused little face of yours. Instead, he tightened his arms around you, heart pounding wildly.

"Sleep tight, babe..."

The words were whispered so quietly he was sure you couldn't hear them, a sweetness he only ever let slip when he thought you were fast asleep.

LEVIATHAN

You had been gaming in his room, surrounded by piles of plushies and anime merch. At some point, your controller slipped from your hands, and you slumped against him, fast asleep. Levi froze instantly, his entire body stiff with panic.

"O-OMG... MC?! W-what do I do?!"

He was sweating bullets, heart racing, mentally flipping through every "how to handle sleeping MC" trope he had ever read in fanfics. Finally, he cautiously, so cautiously, laid a trembling hand on your hair, stroking gently.

"I-it's fine... you can sleep on me if you want..."

His voice was barely a whisper, but the tips of his ears were burning bright pink.

SATAN

You were reading with him in his room. His voice, calm and deep as he read aloud, had an almost magical way of lulling you to sleep. Without warning, you leaned against him, your breathing slow and even.

Satan noticed immediately and smiled to himself. "You really are precious, MC."

Without a word, he pulled a blanket around you and kept reading, this time just for you. His voice softened even further, a silent promise to guard your dreams.

ASMODEUS

Asmo had been showing you some new skincare products, excitedly chatting about face masks and beauty routines. You leaned into him, clearly exhausted.

He gasped, then giggled softly. "Aww, my darling MC… completely worn out! So cute!"

With infinite care, he repositioned you comfortably against him, running his fingers through your hair in slow, affectionate strokes.

Every now and then, he pressed tiny kisses to your forehead.

"Sleep well, love. You're in the best hands possible."

BEELZEBUB

Beel was munching on a snack after training when you slumped beside him, yawning.

He noticed right away when you leaned into his side, falling asleep without a second thought.

"Oh... MC fell asleep?"

He set his food down quietly and wrapped his massive arm around you like a protective wall.

Beel didn't even dare to move too much, afraid to disturb you. He simply sat there, holding you gently, feeling the slow rhythm of your breathing against him.

BELPHEGOR

Belphie was already half-asleep, of course. But when you curled up against him and buried your face in his chest, a smug little smile appeared on his lips. Without even opening his eyes, he tightened his arms around you, pulling you even closer.

"Yeah... right where you belong..."

He nuzzled against your hair, completely content, and let himself drift into sleep with you tangled securely in his arms.

[yuramour]

★ IT'S TRUE LOVE — F1 GRID

synopsis. f1 grid as different romance tropes pairing. f1 grid x reader (ft. mv1, yt22, ln4, op81, gr63, ka12, cl16, lh44, dr3, aa23, cs55, ob87, ih6, jd7) genre. fluff, angst??, headcanons warnings. mostly fluff?, some of these are angsty tho, some brief mentions of suggestiveness, not proofread wc. 7k (about 500 per driver, 2 paragraphs each)

a/n. ollie's is based on a dream i had that i woke up CRYING from. also, i think isack's is the longest, but like...that's my man stfu. also, very much not proofread. soz!

MAX VERSTAPPEN

☆ strangers to lovers?

you and max met when you first moved to italy. you were working the front desk at a fancy hotel in monza that served as a temporary home for some of the richest people in the world. he hardly paid you any notice at first- just a simple smile and wave whenever he passed by the front desk. you didn't really know anything about formula 1- or really care. but something about the man stuck with you. after a few months of working at the hotel, he finally approached. asking if you wanted to go for a drive. of course, you said yes. he took you to a secluded lookout point at the edge of the city. you talked for hours, the conversation winding down after the sun had long since set. it was clear he just wanted someone to talk to, confide in. someone who didn't care about who he was. he took you back to his hotel room that night- and in the morning, he was gone. it turned into something of a routine for you two; every time he would visit monza, he'd stay in your hotel, take you out for a drive after your shift, and invite you to stay the night with him. every time, he'd tell you he missed you. those words awakened some sick satisfaction in you every time he uttered them- he missed you. he thought about you.

you knew nothing would ever come of it. he was rich, powerful, at the top of his game. everyone knew him. everyone loved him. and you? you were nothing. barely even a character in the background of everyone else's life. but every night you got to spend with max, you felt like the world revolved around just the two of you. then came the night he told you he loved you- you thought he'd said it as a mistake, just a slip of the tongue as his hands wandered your body. but he said it again the morning after, when he thought you were deep in sleep. maybe nothing would ever come of it. you were from two different worlds. your paths only crossing when he had business in the city. but you held on hope that next time he came, he'd whisk you away from the monotony of your life and tell you he loved you with his chest. but until then, you reveled in the fact that he thought of you when he was gone- the image of you at that lookout point in your pretty red dress staring out at the sunset was burned into the back of his mind.

YUKI TSUNODA

☆ forced proximity

you would've liked to be friends with yuki, as everyone else seemed to be. but any time the two of you were left in a room together, he'd leave as quick as he could. it was like he was avoiding you. in the heart of winter, the red bull racing team informed you that you'd be going to a conference in switzerland with the team. you were excited to be getting out of the country for a while. you'd been going through a bad breakup- the type of breakup that practically crippled you with misery. so you were willing to take any opportunity to run from your problems. the night you arrived at the giant house the team had rented for the weekend, you decided to stay in and take a nap while the rest of the team went out to explore the town. you woke up a few hours later to a dark house, the wind howling loudly outside your window. you stumbled down the stairs- nearly jumping out of your skin when you ran into (literally) none other than yuki tsunoda, who told you that he opted to stay behind and rest as well. at first, the tension in the house was palpable- the awkward air between you and yuki thick as you waited for the storm to pass. the blizzard outside lasted for two days- the rest of the team unable to come back up to the house, leaving you and yuki alone the entire time. the first several hours were awkward, his apparent aversion to you still going strong. but slowly, very slowly, you managed to wear him down- getting him to crack a few smiles, joke around with you a bit, and by the second day, you would even call yourselves friends.

the team eventually got back up to the house, apologizing profusely for having to leave you and yuki alone during that time. but neither of you minded. for some reason, the next few days at work, you avoided yuki like the plague. now it was your turn to flee the room whenever you were left together- the tension in the room immediately turning up to 100 every time you were alone with him. it was too much for you. you didn't expect yuki to show up at your apartment on a random friday night. but by the time morning came, you couldn't find it in yourself to complain. that same day, you threw out everything of your exes that you'd kept for some stupid sentimental reason- expelling his memory from your home. while your heart was heavy when you saw his coat in your closet, you grinned like a lovestruck teenager when a few days later, you saw the toothbrush yuki had left in your bathroom. just a few weeks ago, you never would've guessed that yuki tsunoda- the man who was seemingly determined to keep you as far away from his as possible- would be the one to help you finally get over the man whose memory had been holding you back.

LANDO NORRIS

☆ enemies to lovers

you hated lando norris. and lando norris hated you. despite having so many mutual friends, you always managed to rub each other the wrong way. especially recently. you'd been going through a bit of a hard time- you were an american fashion designer and stylist. that's how you and lando first crossed paths. you were the personal stylist of carlos sainz back when he and lando were teammates. you were young, eager to prove yourself, and you did just that. your styling on carlos had opened a lot of doors for you in the fashion industry- and you took every opportunity you got to move up the ranks. you kept in close contact with carlos, having become close to him over the two years you were his stylist, and even becoming close to some of his own friends. you'd been having a rough few months- a well respected fashion journalist had given your new line a horrible review, which led to half of your contracts dropping you, and hardly anyone in the industry willing to even interact with you. carlos invited you to a party one night, just to get you out of your apartment that you'd been sulking in for the past couple weeks. unfortunately, he didn't tell you that the party was a celebration. for lando. of course.

you spent the whole night avoiding him as best you could, not wanting to hear him jeer over you potentially losing your career. you ended up standing outside, the cool air helping clear your mind of every horrible thought that ran through it. you were having a pleasant time until none other than lando norris sidled up next to you, you rolled your eyes and made a move to walk away, but he reached out for you, and for some reason, you stayed. and maybe it was the alchocol, but, you confided in him, telling him your fears, your hopes, everything that you'd never thought you'd say to him. and he listened. and he didn't judge. he told you about his own life, how he felt he was on a downward spiral, the confident cocky facade he'd put on around you slipping away until all you saw was him. the real him. you blamed it on the alcohol, but something in the both of you shifted. you couldn't deny that the kiss you shared that night made you feel something you'd never felt before. you kept your relationship a secret- not wanting the tabloids and media that seemingly hated the both of you to take the knowledge of your relationship and run with it. the more time you spent with lando, the more you saw of the real him, who held you so gently, treated you like you hung the moon and the stars, instead of the lando who criticized your every move, making you want nothing more than to scream at him (which you often had). you realized that he was just like you. hurt by the world, and by himself. and now, you were helping each other heal.

OSCAR PIASTRI

☆ opposites attract

oscar wasn't a party person. hell, he wasn't even really a people person. but you were. so he forced himself to be. you had met at an afterparty that you were dj-ing years ago. neither of you ever thought that you'd end up where you were- you were loud, excitable, a total social butterfly. and he was anything but that. he liked to keep to himself, holding his real thoughts and feeling close to his chest. but you took pleasure in breaking down walls, getting people to say what they really felt. he didn't like partying- but he loved watching you have fun. he was content to watch from the sidelines as you danced with your friends, approached complete strangers to strike up conversation, enjoying being the center of the universe. at the beginning of your relationship, it took you a while to understand each other- you didn't really get why oscar preferred to stand in the back of the room, just observing, and he didn't really understand how you had the energy to party so long, how you were able to talk to anyone and everyone so effortlessly. it took a lot time time and patience, but you grew to love and appreciate those differences.

both of your favorite moments together were in the back of the cab after the parties- your head resting on your shoulder, his hand on your knee. you were always so tired after the parties, just wanting to go home with oscar, take a warm bath, and sleep soundly wrapped in his arms. and he loved to take care of you, washing your hair, setting a big cup of water and bottle of aspirin of your bedside table for your inevitable hangover. or the aftermath of the parties you'd throw at your shared apartment; the quiet music still playing through the speakers as you cleaned up the half-empty discarded bottle on the tables. oscar taking your hand and pulling you close, taking his turn to dance with you now that everyone else had left. everybody questioned how the two of you managed to stay together- your lifestyles seemingly complete opposites of each other. they didn't see the way you brought oscar out of his shell, bringing out the goofy personality he hid under that nonchalant persona. and they didn't see the way oscar taught you to appreciate the quiet moments, like cooking together or staying in and watching tv. they didn't understand that if you really love someone, you find a way to make it work. and you and oscar definitely made it work.

GEORGE RUSSELL

☆ high school sweethearts

you couldn't count on both hands the years that you and george had been together. your relationship was practically perfect by almost every mean. you started dating when you were both sixteen. going from sitting next to each other in biology to cheering him on at his races. you supported george through every step in his racing career, form f4 all the way to f1. through all the traveling, stress, and high emotions, you and george stuck together. you often felt out of place amongst the people that had become george's peers; the billionaires, the models, the politicians- but george never made you feel like you didn't belong with him in his world. it wasn't like you needed constant reassurance that he wouldn't leave you for some model- but he gave it to you anyway. telling you that there's no one else he'd rather come home to. you shared a pretty apartment with an even prettier view, often spending your evenings on the balcony with a glass of wine, watching the sun set over the water. it was simple. it was lovely.

of course, no relationship comes without its ups and downs. and while it was mostly ups, the downs were...pretty down. you knew george supported you in your career just as you did him. always cheering you on during your final exams or whenever you got a promotion. you knew he supported you. but he said something in a post-race interview that just made you feel distinctly unimportant. like he didn't even care about you or your aspirations. you knew that he could say some pretty dumb stuff due to the post-race adrenaline and general stress of race week. he'd said a lot of things he didn't mean over the years. but this really set you off. you were packing your bags in the hotel, getting ready to go home early. you didn't want to be around him at the moment. but you never could stay mad at him for long. he was practically (literally) in tears as he explained himself- the shame of his words flooding over him as you begged you not to leave. of course you would never leave him. the two of you went home together early, dodging the parties and interviews for the comfort of your home. at home, he listened when you told him how his words made you feel, and he explained what he really meant by his words. as the two of you ended the night as you always did- sharing a bottle of wine on your balcony- you found yourself counting your blessings. you didn't know what you did to deserve such a beautiful, healthy, perfectly imperfect relationship, but you knew you'd never take it for granted. and neither would he.

KIMI ANTONELLI

☆ fake relationship

you swore it started as a joke. ollie had made a stupid bet that kimi wouldn't be able to find a girlfriend before the summer ended- he was right, of course. which is why kimi asked you- one of his oldest friends- to help him out. was it cheating? sure. but kimi couldn't let ollie win that bet. it was fun at first; trying to trick ollie into believing that you two were actually dating. you and kimi went on "dates" so you could post them on instagram to make it more believable. you held hands in public, after every race, kimi would rush over to you first, and you'd hug him tightly, leaning your forehead against where his would be under his helmet. you giggled while reading the comments about how cute of a couple you were. because there was no way you two would actually date. you were friends. best friends. and this was all just an elaborate joke.

and then came the night at the bar. kimi and ollie had a couple of weeks before their next race, and wanted to celebrate their break along with some of the other rookies and their girlfriends. you, being kimi's "girlfriend" were invited along as well. it was all fine. really, it was. even though kimi was seemingly flirting with another girl right in front of you and all your friends. it hurt. you knew it shouldn't have, but it did. and you knew why. you always knew. but as soon as the tears in your eyes started shedding without warning, kimi noticed immediately and whisked you away. you cried the whole drive home, continuously telling him that you were fine- but of course you weren't. you didn't remember asking him to stay- or maybe you didn't ask. but when you walked into the living room of your apartment the next morning to find kimi asleep on the couch, you knew you needed to talk. you thought he'd leave the second you told him you loved him- but he stayed, and told you the same. guess it never really was a joke, after all

CHARLES LECLERC

☆ starcrossed lovers

it seemed as though no matter how hard you tried, things never seemed to work out between you and charles. schedules never aligning, families never approving, media never leaving you alone. you'd been with charles for six years- more or less. it felt like fate when you first met. despite your drastically different lives, it seemed like the universe just kept drawing you two together- bumping into each other in the most random places. you first met while you were working at a coffee shop in your final year at university- and then again while you were vacationing in italy during your celebratory graduation trip- and he remembered you. you didn't know anything about him, or who he was, but it just felt right. the first several months of your relationship were difficult. you'd just started grad school, and were fully committed to continuing your education- which he understood. and your parents were vehemently against your relationship, stating that he was a distraction from your studies, that you two were rushing into things, and that given his career, he'd surely be unfaithful to you. things only got harder after you went public with your relationship. you'd been together in private for a little over a year- flying out to see each other whenever you could, nightly video calls, and constant texting had long been the norm in your relationship. but charles wanted you to really be a part of his life. so you agreed to attend one of his races, and make your first public appearance as his girlfriend.

the articles were written practically the second you stepped foot in the paddock. tabloids digging into your family history and questioning why charles leclerc- the prince of monaco- one of the most famous men in the history of the sport- would be with you, who was by all means, nobody. it felt as though things were on a constant downward spiral after that. of course, you and charles loved each other, there was no doubt about that. but you weren't used to this life. you weren't used to people with cameras waiting for you outside of class, customers taking pictures of you working to post online, stumbling across random hate posts while peacefully scrolling through social media. despite charles constant reassurance that he loved you, tha he supported you, that you were all he ever wanted, you just couldn't handle the pressure. that was the first time the two of you broke up. but like i said earlier, it was as though the universe was intent on making your paths cross. maybe it was intentional on his part- the panel he held at your university one year after your breakup, and of course, you just couldn't stay away from each other. but that didn't last for long- your second breakup came not long after. you'd gotten your masters degree, and wanted to focus on your career. you somehow managed to stay away from him for two years after that. until you were invited to speak at a conference in monaco, that charles was the guest of honor at. there was no denying that you missed each other. and when you ended up going home with him that night, you were determined to stay this time. fuck the tabloids, fuck your parents. he was yours. always had been, and always would be.

LEWIS HAMILTON

☆ second chance

ten years. that's how many years you'd dedicated to lewis hamilton. you started dating right out of high school, after having been friends for years. you supported lewis throughout his entire career, all his ups and downs. you were always there, cheering him on no matter what. when lewis signed to mclaren for his first ever f1 season, you couldn't have been prouder. he'd been working towards formula 1 for such a long time, and it was finally happening. at first, you loved going to all the parties with lewis. you were never much of a party person, but you went for him, just proud to see him being recognized for the talented man you always knew he was. but after the first couple seasons, his new lifestyle had just gotten to be...too much for you. you of course were so proud of him in all his success, but all the parties, the practices, the traveling, all that was enough in and of itself. but you just felt so...out of place in his life. now instead of celebrating his wins with his friends from home, he was celebrating with celebrities; models, actors, musicians, all the people you saw on tv that seemed so unattainable were now falling over themselves to talk to your boyfriend at the afterparties. you were never an insecure person- but that realization made you feel so small. when you first shared your feeling to lewis, he assured you that those people meant nothing to him- that all he really wanted at the end of the day was to come home to you. that he'd miss every single party if it meant being able to watch tv on the couch in your shared apartment. but the question burned in the back of your mind; if that was all he really wanted, why was he even at the parties?

the breakup was gradual. lewis would come home from the races and accuse you of being unsupportive, and you'd accuse him of not caring about you now that he was famous. you weren't really sure who was in the wrong, but after ten years of commitment, ten years of love, of support, of being family, you were done. he was the one to tell you that it was over, but you both knew it was only a matter of time. and now, almost a decade later, you were certain you'd fully moved on. you were sure that lewis had forgotten all about you. he went on to date models and actresses, while you focused on your career. you certainly hadn't expected to see him at the charity gala that your boss had invited you to, but here he was. he'd somehow changed so much in the past ten years, and not at all. he was older, more poised, but his face was practically the exact same. like he hadn't aged a day since you last saw him. he was talking to some politician when he saw you, jaw immediately dropping once he noticed your presence. you don't know why you followed him when he silently asked you with a tilt of his head to meet you out on the balcony, but you did. the conversation flowed as naturally as it always had, and the tearful apology followed soon after. you took his offer to take you out for dinner the following night. it was like you were meant to follow him up to his penthouse with how naturally it felt. you stayed the night with him, and the night after, and the night after, when suddenly, you realized that weeks had passed without even realizing it. falling so easily back into your old routine that you'd broken out of over a decade ago. it all just felt so natural, so right, so perfect. maybe time really does bring you closer.

CARLOS SAINZ

☆ unrequited to requited love

you were everything to carlos. his oldest friend, his closest confidant, his lifeline. you'd known each other for almost as long as he could remember- you karted together as kids until an injury prevented you from furthering your career. after that, you just kind of stuck with carlos, which he was thankful for. he loved having you around, always there to cheer him on for every win, and pick him back up after every loss. as you got older, you followed him less and less, focusing on your newfound passion in journalism- but the bond between you remained stronger than ever. a few years after he joined the formula 1 grid, you became a presenter for the sport, your previous experience in karting and constant exposure due to your best friends career coming in handy. carlos had always admired your way with people, with speaking, able to speak to eloquently even under intense pressure. truth be told, carlos could listen to you speak for hours and never get bored. he had listened to you speak for hours and not gotten bored. carlos loved everything about you, really. always had. in fact, he'd been in love with you for nearly as long as he could remember. he'd drunkenly confessed to you the night he finished his first f1 race- and you let him down easy. because you didn't love him the same way. he pretended to not remember what he said the morning after, and you were content thinking he really didn't.

before that night, you somehow hadn't picked up on the fact that carlos was in love with you- despite it apparently being painfully obvious to everyone else. maybe you just didn't want to think that your best friend saw you in that way- because you really didn't see him in that way. at least, you didn't before that night. but after his confession, you started seeing carlos in a new light- the way his big brown eyes focused on you so intently whenever you spoke, the way he ran his hands through his thick hair whenever he was frustrated, the way he would squeeze your hand before the two of you parted ways for your separate jobs on the track. they were all habits you'd noticed before, but for some reason, your started stuttering whenever you met his eyes when you spoke, your stomach fluttering whenever he ran his hands through his hair, your hand felt empty as his left yours. you pushed those feelings down- thinking that surely after his drunken confession wasn't how he truly felt. it had been a couple years, after all. surely if it was real, he didn't feel that way anymore. until one night, the two of you were celebrating his first win with ferrari- a huge achievement for your friend. something about the way the dim lighting of your apartment made his skin glow, his eyes soft as you drunkenly giggled at a lame joke he'd made. he just looked so perfect. you hadn't intended to tell him you loved him- but you did. immediately regretting it when he froze, telling you that you'd had too much to drink. he helped you into bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving your room. the following morning, you went into the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee. you attempted to explain yourself, but he stopped you. simply asking if what you said was true. of course, it was. and of course, he still loved you. as he always did.

ALEX ALBON

☆ soulmates

somehow, it had always been you and alex. it was like your lives were intwined from the moment you were born. there were so many coincidences throughout the course of your lives- somehow often being in the same place at the same time without even knowing. you were literally born at the same hospital, two years apart, delivered by the same doctor. him and your brother had karted together for a brief time as kids- alex had even found a picture of the two of them together, with you looking on in the background, buried deep in a box in his parents basement. you wouldn't realize it until years later, but the two of you even shared a math tutor, occasionally passing by each other as your sessions ended and his began. when you got older, you and your brother decided to move to monaco- your brother had long retired from karting and turned towards engineering, managing to snag a role as an engineer for none other than the atlassian williams formula 1 team. you were really just along for the ride. you'd always followed your brother wherever he went, and he hadn't led you astray yet. his work at williams was enough to cover the rent for your little apartment, but you decided to pick up a job on the side as a barista at an aesthetic little cafe while you did online university classes.

you loved your job as a barista. especially since you were in monaco. all the random celebrities and politicians you met in your day-to-day life was something you never even dreamed of. and now you were a background character in their lives. it was fun! you enjoyed being an observer, watching these seemingly untouchable people live somewhat "normal" lives, ordering coffee like your average person. your cafe was right on the route of alex's morning runs, but he didn't ever go in. not until over a year of you working there. you had no idea who he was. despite the fact that your brother worked closely with him as an engineer for his team, and the fact they they karted together as kids (a fact that neither of them remembered), you didn't even really watch f1. only really knowing the most famous racers. your interaction at the cafe was like literally any other- no more than a few words on each side exchanged, and then he was off. but you would see him again just a few months later during the monaco grand prix. your brother had managed to snag you a pass for the race, able to get you inside the williams garage for you to see his job up close. when he introduced you to the racers, the chemistry between you and alex was immediate. it was like the two of you had known each other your whole lives (totally unaware that you sort of had). he asked for your number as soon as your brother was out of earshot, and not even a week after that, you were officially dating. the realization of how entwined your lives were came slowly, childhood stories lining up weirdly perfectly, joking about how odd it was until realizing that you were telling the same story. you never felt a connection with anyone else the way you felt it with alex. it was as if there was an invisible string that had been drawing you together your whole lives- and you wouldn't have it any other way.

DANIEL RICCIARDO

☆ meet cute

you weren't quite sure how you ended up alone at a wine-tasting event at a winery in australia- several thousand miles away from home. you knew nothing about wine. or alcohol in general, really. but here you were. you weren't the type to go to events alone- or to go to events at all. you were a bit of a homebody, but you'd made a new years resolution to go on a spontaneous solo trip. which you were starting to really really regret. despite almost regretting the thousands of dollars and time that you'd spent to come here, you decided that if you were going to be here, you were going to get at least a little bit tipsy. you were a big introvert, and you were completely content just standing in the corner not talking to anyone, and not having anyone come up and talk to you. but as you got your third fourth glass of wine and went to retreat back to your corner, you found yourself colliding with what, in your inebriated state, felt like a brick wall. looking up, you quickly realized that it was not in fact a brick wall, but a very handsome man, in a very expensive looking suit- that you had just spilled red wine all over. you stuttered out an apology, embarrassed tears threatening to spill from your eyes before you looked up and saw the man...grinning? a chuckle escaping his lips as you fumbled over your words. he told you it was no big deal, that suit was old anyway. he helped you dust yourself off, inquiring about where you were from, your accent piquing his interest.

you weren't quite sure how you ended up spending the rest of your trip to australia with daniel ricciardo- but here you were, in the passenger seat of his car, singing along to an american country song. daniel was almost your complete opposite; he was charismatic, cool, friendly, practically magnetic. you were...definitely none of those things. fumbling through life as an awkward introvert, letting people walk all over you- until you met daniel. he clocked you immediately, from the second you met. he was determined to get you out of your shell, make you live life a little, and just enjoy the little things. he was dead set on making sure that your time in australia was the best time of your life. and it definitely was that. he took you sand duning, rock climbing, cliff diving, salsa dancing- things you could never see yourself doing in a million years. things you never would have done without daniel. at the beginning of your trip, you almost immediately regretting going in the first place- but as daniel drove you to the airport on your last day, you found yourself not wanting to leave. sitting in the parking lot of the airport, you and daniel sat in silence, just looking at each other. no words were exchanged, but the look in his eyes begged you to stay- and so you did. you didn't have much keeping you in your home country- your job was remote, your family lived across the country anyway, you had few (if any) friends. and if you went back, you wouldn't have daniel. maybe you were making a mistake, leaving your entire life behind for a man you met two weeks ago- but you weren't leaving your life behind, because your life was just starting.

OLLIE BEARMAN

☆ friends to strangers to lovers

you missed him. you had been best friends when you were kids- practically attached at the hip since you were born. you grew up right across the street from each other. your parents were best friends since before you were born, so naturally, the two of you were inseparable growing up. you of course supported ollie through his whole career, you were his most avid fan. it was blatantly obvious to everyone except him that you were completely in love with him. you should have told him. the night before he left, before he moved to italy forever, leaving everyone and everything behind for his career, the two of you were walking down the old streets of your neighborhood as you always did. you were looking up at him- he'd just gone through a growth spurt, you weren't quite used to it yet, and he looked down at you. you knew you should've told him then, but you didn't. you just let him go. you didn't know if you'd ever get to say it to him. after he moved, he was busy nearly 100% of the time. you tried to keep in contact at first, but it was hard. slowly but surely, the two of you fell out of contact. you kept an eye on his career, watching all his races, no matter what odd hours of the night you had to wake up for them, reading every article about him, practically stalking the instagrams of all his new friends. you wondered if he did the same for you. while you were proud of him, it sucked to see him living such a cool life. rather, it sucked to see him live such a cool life without you.

you weren't surprised at the people that ollie ended up around- especially after he managed to get the second haas seat. now that he was in f1, he was going to fancy parties, surrounded by the most rich and glamourous people out there. you didn't expect his parents to bring you out for one of his races- you weren't sure if you even wanted to go. you hadn't seen him for years, now. hadn't spoken to him for almost as long. you really wish you hadn't gone. it was so painfully awkward seeing him again- the weird side-hug, the fact that he'd gotten even taller, his accent had even changed. he didn't even sound like the same person you used to know. the next few days weren't much better; the weird tension between you two hadn't dissipated at all. it broke your heart that the boy who used to be your favorite person in the world now just felt like another stranger. the night before you and his parents went back home, you and ollie were alone for the first time in literal years. you hadn't really made much conversation in the past few days, the tension in the air between you too thick for much of that. the awkwardness came to a head when you realized that the two of you were sitting on complete opposite sides of the room from each other, staring at your phones. you were sick of it. you used to be best friends, you could talk about anything, literally anything. and now, it was like you didn't exist to each other. you were done with it. you crossed the room, stopping right in front of him, his brown eyes looking up to meet yours, confusion evident in his face. you laid it all on him- all your frustrations over the past few years and come spilling out without filter- and in those frustrations, was your confession. he sat still, mouth agape. you regretted it immediately, turning around to leave the room and hide from your shame- but he grabbed your wrist and turned you around, you both stood still for a moment, eye contact unwavering before he pulled you in. all those years spent thinking he'd forgotten about you, he was thinking the same about you.

ISACK HADJAR

☆ childhood friends to lovers

everyone you met thought that you and isack were a couple. he brought you practically everywhere with him, his hand a constant presence in yours. you always laughed at them, at the way everyone was so sure that there was something more between the two of you. clearly the two of you were best friends- practically since birth. obviously there was nothing more between you. you were just close. very very close. you never batted an eye the way you were the first person he ran to after a race, the way he placed his hand on the small of your back while walking through a crowd, or the way he took every opportunity to touch your face; brushing your hair behind your ear or wiping some invisible food from the corner of your mouth. and he never minded the way you would plant a kiss on his cheek- dangerously close to his lips after every race, good or bad. he never minded the way you not so subtly admired the slope of his nose and the freckles that adorned it, or the way your face flushed whenever he helped you with your bags, his biceps showing clearly through the fabric of his shirt. and neither of you paid any mind to the way you got a little too close while watching tv in your apartment, his arms wrapped tightly around your back as you both laid on the couch. or the way your lips got as close as they could without actually touching when you would turn in his arms to face him. you were friends. best friends. of course you were close...

you loved isack. of course you did, how could you not? he was funny, determined, passionate, yet so gentle and sweet. of course you loved isack. the two of you were at a party- he was never much for parties, but all the other drivers and their friends would be there. you figured it'd be good for him. you got a little drunk- not drunk enough to be delirious, but drunk enough to become the most confident you'd ever been in your life. and you were jealous. very jealous. you were proud of isack for fulfilling his lifelong dream of becoming a real formula 1 driver, but that meant he was getting a lot more...attention. normally, you'd cheer him on, be proud of him, maybe tease him a little bit in the car after the event. but tonight was different. there was a pit in your stomach eating away at you. all because of the way he laughed. you were across the room, standing between kimi and ollie, no longer paying attention to the conversation. because your attention was on him- or rather, on the girl that was making him laugh. you didn't even realize you were glaring at the pair until ollie asked if you were okay. you didn't answer- instead, you marched across the room with purpose, stopping right in front of the two. isack turned to you with a smile that quickly faded as soon as he saw the look on your face. you told him you were going home. it wasn't a question. he nodded and apologized to the girl, who, on any other day, you would have felt bad for. but you took isack's hand and marched him outside to his car. he drove you home without question, and when you turned to him after he stopped outside your apartment building and asked him to come in, he said yes without hesitation. nothing happened after that, you both just laid atop the covers on your bed, eyes gazing over each others features as if you were trying to memorize the placement of every freckle, every line, every perfect imperfection. you woke up the next morning to a headache and the smell of eggs wafting in from the kitchen. when your eyes landed on isack standing over the stove, cooking breakfast for you so dutifully- you felt it. you didn't remember telling him you loved him the night before, and you didn't remember him telling you the same- but you felt it in the way he looked up at you with that pretty smile, and that little gleam in his eye. it didn't need to be said with words, you could both feel it in the way you wrapped your arms around him from behind. you loved isack hadjar. and he loved you.

JACK DOOHAN

☆ best friend's brother

you never saw jack coming. his sister had been your best friend since you started school, so jack was always just kind of...there. he was your best friend's annoying older brother- that was really it. whenever you'd stay at the doohan's house, he would barge into his sister's room just to annoy the two of you- laughing when you both yelled and pushed him out of the room. whenever you were at their house sitting on the couch watching tv with your friend, overpriced smoothie in hand, he'd descend from his upstairs room and plop down next to you, snatching your smoothie from you hand and taking a sip before you yelled at him, taking the drink back and attempting to lay a hit on him. he'd just laugh and swat your hands away before going into the kitchen and returning with snacks for you and his sister. it wasn't like you had a crush on him growing up- you really didn't. you just couldn't see him that way. he was jack. your best friend's older brother who stole your food and made fun of your clothes. you could never like jack. that was at least, until you started university. you decided to go overseas for university- leaving australia and all that came with it behind as you started this new chapter of life. italy seemed like the best bet- far enough away from home to basically start fresh, but italy was a hub for both formula 1 and motogp, so you'd still get to see your best friends whenever she'd come to the country to support her dad and brother. you'd rarely seen jack over the past couple of years, his racing career had started taking off and consuming all his time. not that you minded, of course. you were friends with his sister anyway, not him. but something shifted the first time you saw him after your big move. something was different about him- or maybe about you. either way...it was weird.

you'd come home for christmas break, excited to see your family and friends after months of awkward communication through time zones and differing schedules. you decided to visit the doohan household. like old times, you let yourself in, calling out to see if anyone was home. the house seemed empty so you kicked your shoes off and made a beeline for the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of juice that you knew your friend always had stockpiled. you nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard jack's voice behind you. your jaw dropped as your turned to look at him- he was different than last time you saw him. not even really in looks, just his energy. you held an awkward conversation in the kitchen before jack rolled his eyes and invited you to his room to watch a movie until his sister got home. you swallowed the lump in your throat and followed him without question. the tension in the air was thick as you both sat stiffly on opposite sides of the bed, determined to not look at each other. it was an accident when you did- but once your eyes locked, neither of you could look away. you never saw it coming- jack doohan; your best friends brother, who poked fun at your haircuts, rolled his eyes whenever you spoke, and ruffled your hair when he passed by. somehow, at the drop of a dime, you were in love with jack doohan. if you'd have told your middle school self that you'd end up making out with jack- your best friend's older brother, jack- on his bed, you'd have wrinkled your nose in disgust and called yourself a liar. but here you were, with your hands in his hair and his on your waist, and it was no lie. you loved jack doohan.

taglist: @revelauver @bear-yawns

[ofbatsandballads]

recently got reminded of Jason’s “hello bed, hello pillow,” line and how deeply I feel that reflects his character and his longing. so here’s some yearning!jason because that boy loves deeply and profoundly down to his very soul. have I mentioned I love him? also once again the romanized arabic at the end translates to “my life” and it’s quickly becoming one of my favorite terms of endearment for Jay to use.

Thinking about Jason Todd and how deeply he yearns for you. He’s waited so long to be loved in the way he craves, has been so hungry for it that the ache in his belly has never really gone away. He’s been a wraith, a corpse, a man starving for affection and sweetness. And then you come along and change everything for him. How couldn’t he yearn for you? How couldn’t he long for you every moment that you’re not in his presence? Revere you and worship you every moment that you are?

Thinking about Jason Todd who treats you like something divine, something holy. He kisses the bruises you get from bumping into countertops or tripping along the crooked cobblestones in Gotham Heights. He ghosts his thumbs over your closed eyes when you lay down with him to sleep in the early hours of the morning. Jason Todd who holds you so, so close to him. He knows you run cold and he runs burning hot, so it’s only right that he wraps his entire body around you to keep you warm and safe. It’s proof to him that the two of you may be something fated, something that life and death can’t touch. How perfectly you suit each other. His fire to your coolness, his strength to your gentleness, his storm to your clear shining day.

Thinking about Jason Todd who clings to everything he’s ever loved and lost with bloodied fingers from how tightly he holds on. His fingers aren’t bloodied with you though. He doesn’t have to dig his nails in, bite down with his teeth, and force you to stay. You remain peacefully in his arms. You lie there content like you trust him, like you love him. That’s what makes his yearning all the more fierce—it’s returned by you. He used to doubt it, used to think he was unworthy and undeserving and that no one could possibly pick him out of all the people in the world. But you’ve stuck around and proved him wrong. So when he yearns for you, it isn’t with the pain of clawing into something bound to leave him. It isn’t with the bone-deep terror of loss. He yearns for you with the peace of coming home.

Thinking of Jason Todd who comes back from patrol just before daybreak. The sky is the same blue-green as his eyes and exhaustion weighs down his body. Still, his soul lifts when he sees what he’s been longing for for the past three hours. A warm bed, a soft pillow, and his heart snuggled up under the blankets.

“Hello, bed,” Jason says as he pulls his helmet off and sets it on the dresser.

“Hello, pillow,” he greets as he lays his gear on the balcony railings to be cleaned tomorrow.

“Hello, hayati,” he whispers with a kiss to your hair as he climbs into bed and pulls you into his arms.

Just…thinking about Jason Todd who yearns for you.