#or light something that’s not me on fire

[cherryxbooo]

Yeah, I’m the lucky one

Summary: Hiding it when you're sick from your boyfriend is one thing, but hiding it from your clingy boyfriend is a whole other challenge.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff

The paddock is alive with energy, buzzing with anticipation, the sound of engines roaring in the distance, and the hum of the crowd outside.

Lando is in his element, calm yet radiating an excitement that’s palpable.

The focus in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and it’s clear that today matters more to him than most.

The weight of the race, the pressure of the expectations, and the fire in his heart are all simmering beneath the surface.

It's a mix of raw determination and adrenaline, and it brings out the best in him.

But me? Well, I feel the complete opposite.

I woke up feeling off, my head pounding and my body aching with a fever I couldn't shake.

I knew I should stay in bed, but I couldn’t. Not today.

Not with everything he’s worked for. I couldn’t let something as trivial as being sick get in the way of him having the best race of his career.

He’s been talking about this day for weeks, getting ready for it with an intensity that I’ve only seen in the world of motorsport.

But as I made my way through the paddock, trying my best to act normal, I felt the weight of my own discomfort pulling me down.

I’ve been silently counting the minutes until I can just crawl into a quiet corner and hide.

But the last thing I want is for him to see me like this. He’d immediately worry, go into panic mode, and lose focus.

Lando, with his big heart, would put everything aside just to take care of me, and I don’t want to do that to him.

Not today. Today is about him.

As I stand next to his family, making small talk with his friends, I feel dizzy.

The lights are a little too bright, and the sounds a little too loud.

I try to steady myself, offering a weak smile whenever someone glances my way, but the effort feels exhausting.

Lando’s mum catches my eye, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of concern in her expression.

But she doesn’t say anything, just gives me a warm, reassuring smile. I’m grateful, but I can tell she knows something’s off.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel a familiar hand on my back. A small shiver runs down my spine as I turn to face Lando, and I instantly feel a warmth spread through me, despite the fever still creeping in.

“Hey baby, you okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, like he’s always aware of everything around him, especially me.

I don’t want to worry him. I can’t.

So I give him a smile that’s more practiced than I’d like to admit,

“Yeah, just a little tired. Big day, huh?”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

He studies me for a second, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, his hand gently squeezing my back.

The touch is warm, comforting. “You sure? You don’t look so great.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You focus on the race. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

Lando hesitates, his lips pressed into a thin line as if trying to gauge if I’m really okay.

But then he nods slowly, though his concern doesn’t quite vanish.

“Alright… but if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

His voice is almost a whisper, like he’s trying not to give away just how much he cares.

“I will,” I promise, trying to keep my tone light and convincing.

But as he walks away to prepare for the race, a sense of loneliness settles over me.

The noise around me feels overwhelming, and the crowd only amplifies the ache in my head.

I find a quiet corner, away from the chaos, hoping to just breathe for a moment.

I didn't realize that I had been hiding away for a while already.

But before I know it, Lando’s voice cuts through the distance.

“You’ve been hiding from me.”

I turn to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His presence alone seems to calm the storm inside me.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I protest weakly, though my voice cracks just slightly.

“Just… taking a break.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Taking a break from what? From me?”

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin.

I close my eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, even though I feel like I might collapse at any moment.

“From the chaos of the paddock,” I admitted softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softens, the teasing in his eyes fading. He steps in closer, his body brushing against mine as he gently cups my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Hey…” His voice is tender now, a deep, comforting lull.

“Are you really feeling okay love?"

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat suddenly unbearable.

“Yes, don't worry Lan. I'm fine.”

I whisper, my voice slightly breaking as I fight the urge to lean on him completely.

I stare up at him, feeling a mix of love and pain.

I don’t want to be the one who holds him back, but I can’t deny how much I crave the support and warmth he gives me without even thinking.

Lando lowers his hands, but not without giving me one last comforting touch, his fingers brushing my wrist.

“You need to rest,” he says firmly, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind his words now.

“I’m not going to let you make it through today without me taking care of you at least once.”

I laugh softly, despite the dizziness still swirling in my head.

“I’m fine, Lando. You go be amazing out there.”

He looks at me, his eyes soft but filled with determination. “I will be. But only because you’re here.”

Before I can say anything else, he leans in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll make sure to get at least P3 for you.”

And with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of engineers and teammates.

But the moment he’s out of sight, I feel my energy drain completely.

Regardless of how I felt I still made my way to the rest so I could support Lando and be there for him.

Everywhere I look, there’s movement, excitement, and a sense of urgency.

Lando’s already suited up and surrounded by his team, getting ready to focus on the race that could mean everything for his career.

I’m supposed to be the one cheering him on, being his support, his calm, but instead, all I can do is try to survive the overwhelming wave of heat coursing through me.

Every few seconds, my head spins, my chest feels like it's on fire, and the nausea rolls in like a tide.

It’s getting harder to keep it together, but I’m trying. I can’t let anything distract him.

I can't make this his problem today, not when he’s been working so hard for this moment.

I take a seat next to Max and Pietra, hoping the three of us can keep the mood light and give Lando a little peace before he heads into the race.

I force myself to laugh at Max's joke about the weather, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

My throat feels like it’s coated in something dry and scratchy, and each breath feels like I’m not getting enough air.

Max doesn’t notice, but Pietra does.

She’s always been that way, observant, kind, and so very perceptive.

I’ve always admired how in tune she is with people.

She shifts in her seat beside me, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face.

“You okay, Y/n?” she asks gently, her voice laced with concern.

“You look a little pale.”

I immediately try to put on a smile, but it feels like the most exhausting thing I’ve done all day.

“I’m fine, really,” I say, hoping I can convince her.

“Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Pietra doesn’t buy it, not even for a second.

She leans in closer, her gaze steady as she inspects my face, my trembling hands.

“You sure?” she presses, her brow furrowing.

“You don’t look fine. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

The room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me.

The dizziness that had been simmering beneath the surface is starting to take hold, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes focused on her.

I swallow hard, trying to push the wave of nausea down, but it’s impossible to ignore now.

I nod weakly, doing my best to stay composed.

“I’m okay, Pietra. Just... a little dizzy. I think I’ll sit down for a moment.”

Max, still glued to his phone, glances up briefly, probably sensing the shift in the air.

His eyes scan me quickly before he leans closer to Pietra, muttering something under his breath, probably about how pale I look.

I’m about to wave it off, to reassure them both that it’s nothing, when Pietra’s soft hand touches my shoulder.

It’s warm and grounding, her touch gentle but insistent.

“No, you’re not okay, Y/n,” she says firmly.

“You’re not fooling me. You need to go back to the hotel and rest. Max and I will handle everything here. Don’t worry about Lando. He’ll understand. He doesn’t need to know right now, and you’re not helping him by pretending you’re fine.”

My heart clenches at her words. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to make him worry.

He’s about to race, about to compete for something so important to him.

The last thing I want is to make this about me. But Pietra’s expression leaves no room for argument.

Her hand squeezes my shoulder, and I feel a wave of guilt hit me hard.

“I... I can’t just leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“I don’t want him to—”

“Y/n,” Pietra interrupts, her voice soft but full of authority.

“Lando will be fine. He’ll be more upset if you stay here, pretending to be okay when you’re not. Let us take care of everything. He doesn’t need the distraction. He needs you to get better, not to keep pretending.”

I shake my head, still fighting it. “But he’s going to think I don’t care.”

“He knows you care. You don’t have to prove it by running yourself into the ground,” she says, her tone firm yet reassuring.

“You need to listen to your body. Max and I can make sure everything’s fine here.”

I hesitate for a moment, my vision swimming in and out of focus, and then I feel it, the dizziness getting worse.

My stomach turns violently, and I barely suppress a gasp. Before I can protest, Pietra’s up and at my side, helping me stand.

“Max,” she calls out to him, her voice tinged with urgency.

Max looks up from his phone, his attention now fully on us. He doesn’t need to ask questions.

Without a word, he stands, motions to security, and gestures for them to clear a path.

“We’re getting you back to the hotel,” Max says, his voice gentle but decisive.

“No arguments.”

I open my mouth to protest, to tell them I’m fine, but the dizziness overtakes me again.

I feel my legs wobble, my knees threatening to give way beneath me. The nausea is so strong now that I can’t hold it back any longer.

My head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and my heart races as I fight to keep everything together.

“Okay,” I whisper, too weak to resist any longer. “Okay, let’s go.”

Max’s arm wraps around my shoulder, steadying me as Pietra follows closely behind.

I glance over my shoulder at the paddock, seeing the hustle and bustle of the team preparing for the race.

And even though I want nothing more than to stay and support Lando, I know Pietra’s right, he doesn’t need to see me like this.

As we make our way out of the paddock, past the busy crew and excited fans, the world seems to blur again.

All I can think about is Lando, how much he’s worked for this, and how much I wish I could be there cheering him on.

But right now, all I can do is focus on getting back to the hotel and trying to heal.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Pietra murmurs, sensing my anxiety.

“Lando will understand. We’ll make sure he stays focused.”

“Thank you,” I whisper back, squeezing her hand.

Max looks over at me, offering a reassuring smile.

“No problem, Y/n. We’ve got you.”

And as they guide me toward the exit, the sound of the engines roaring to life in the distance feels far away, almost like a distant memory.

All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that, by the time Lando crosses the finish line, I’ll be okay.

Meanwhile,

The race was intense, there was no other way to describe it.

Lando’s heart was pounding, his breath coming in quick bursts as he fought to stay focused on the track ahead.

Each corner, each straightaway felt like it mattered more than the last.

The roar of the engine under him, the vibration in his hands as he gripped the wheel,it was like the world was screaming at him to push harder, to get everything he had into every lap.

And he did.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, the world outside of his car becoming a blur of colors and sounds.

But amidst the chaos, there was something else tugging at his mind, something he couldn’t quite shake.

Just before the race started, he had caught sight of Y/n sitting among their friends, looking beautiful as always, but something was... off.

Maybe it was the way she had looked at him, her tired eyes betraying a sense of exhaustion that didn’t quite match the energy of the day.

Or how quiet she seemed, like a flicker of something hidden behind her usual smile. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something wasn’t right.

But there was no time for that.

He pushed those thoughts away, focusing back on the race, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the track with everything he had.

He couldn’t afford to think about anything but the next corner, the next lap, the next move.

And when he crossed the finish line, the elation of victory should’ve been enough to make everything feel perfect.

After all, he had gotten P2.

The cheers, the confetti, the roar of the crowd, it was everything he’d been working for, everything he’d dreamed of.

But in the midst of it all, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Y/n.

His gaze searched the area, instinctively looking for her.

He was surrounded by teammates, sponsors, friends, but all he wanted in that moment was to see her smile, to know she was okay.

He scanned the area again, but she wasn’t there.

Not where he had left her. His stomach tightened, his mind racing. Something wasn’t right.

Lando quickly moved through the crowd, dodging everyone on his way, his eyes darting between faces, searching for any sign of her.

He was so focused on finding her, he almost didn’t see Max and Pietra standing off to the side.

When he finally noticed them, his heart skipped a beat. You weren't there.

Lando’s pace quickened as he approached them, his voice betraying the worry he couldn’t hide.

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, his words coming out sharper than he intended.

Pietra exchanged a glance with Max before she sighed, the look on her face telling Lando everything he needed to know.

"She wasn’t feeling well," she said softly, her eyes clouded with concern.

"We had to send her back to the hotel."

Lando’s chest tightened, a heavy weight settling over him.

His pulse quickened, the sudden rush of guilt and worry clouding his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice rising slightly, not in anger, but in genuine confusion.

Max stepped forward, his expression calm but serious.

"Mate she didn’t want to distract you. She said it was important not to take your focus away from the race."

Lando’s mind was spinning now, the elation of his victory evaporating as quickly as it had come.

Guilt was flooding him, he couldn’t believe Y/n had been struggling, that she’d hidden it from him.

She’d always been there for him, supportive, understanding, even when he was caught up in his own world.

And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let her down.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the situation was suffocating.

He didn’t know what to say.

All he could think about was how she had been sitting there, probably feeling miserable, and he hadn’t even noticed.

The race, his career, all of it felt so insignificant compared to the thought of Y/n being alone and sick.

“Why didn’t she just tell me? I would’ve understood. I could’ve—”

Pietra stepped forward, her hand gently resting on his arm, grounding him in the moment.

“Lando, she didn’t want you to worry. She knew how much today meant to you. She didn’t want to take that away from you.”

Max nodded in agreement.

“She’s always there for you. But she’s not the type to let herself be a distraction, not when you’re in the zone like that. You know how she is, she cares about you more than anything, but she didn’t want to pull you away from your focus.”

Lando let out a long breath, feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.

“I should’ve noticed,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I should’ve been paying more attention."

"You’re not a mind reader, Lando," Pietra said, her voice calm but firm.

Lando realized that she was right.

He quickly greeted the rest of his family and did some other duties before changing and heading back to the hotel.

Lando arrived at the hotel room, his body still buzzing from the race, but his mind consumed by a different kind of worry.

As soon as he entered, the first thing he did was quietly close the door behind him.

The soft hum of the air conditioning and the dim light from the lamps were the only sounds in the room.

His eyes immediately fell on your figure, still asleep, your peaceful face glowing softly under the sheets.

The sight of you, so vulnerable yet so beautiful, made his heart ache with both affection and guilt.

He quietly pulled a chair from the small desk and sat down beside the bed, never taking his eyes off you.

He wanted to be close to his girl, but he didn’t want to wake you.

He knew you needed rest, but the worry of the day, the worry about you, hadn’t let up.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

His fingers lingered there for a second before he let out a soft breath, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee.

He could almost hear the questions running through his mind, wondering why you hadn’t told him what you had been feeling.

He could feel the weight of your absence, the quiet ache in his chest from not knowing exactly what had been going on with you.

The minutes seemed to stretch on, each tick of the clock amplifying his thoughts.

He hated this uncertainty, this feeling that something had been left unsaid.

Then, after what felt like forever, a soft groan escaped from your lips, and Lando’s attention snapped to her immediately.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dim light in the room.

Your gaze slowly focused on him, confusion settling on her face as she took in her surroundings.

Lando watched her with a mix of relief and concern, his heart lightening at the sight of you waking up but still heavy with the questions that lingered in his mind.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Lando said softly, his voice full of warmth and affection.

My vision cleared, and I smiled sleepily at him.

Lando’s heart squeezed.

"You’re awake. I’ve been here waiting for you to wake up for, like, ages now." He chuckled softly, though his eyes were still filled with concern.

"But seriously… why didn’t you tell me?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing on me.

My hand reached for his, finding his fingers weakly, and I squeezed them, my fingers trembling a bit.

"I didn’t want to be a burden," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn’t want to ruin your day or take away from the race. It was important to you. I just… I didn’t want to distract you."

Lando smiled at me softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.

"You’re never a burden, Y/n." He looked at me with such sincerity, it made my heart ache in the best way.

"You are always my priority, okay? Not the race, not the fans, not the win. You. Always."

I felt my heart flutter at his words, my eyes softening as I looked back at him.

The tears I’d been holding back threatened to spill, and I could feel them welling up.

Being sick just makes people extra emotional, give it a break yeah?

"I’m sorry," I murmured, my voice breaking slightly.

Lando shook his head, his heart aching.

He leaned closer, cupping my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin.

"You don’t have to apologize," he whispered.

"You never have to hide anything from me, especially not when it comes to you."

I felt the weight of his words, the tenderness in his touch, and I wanted so badly to just melt into him.

I was so grateful for him, for the way he always made me feel safe, loved, and heard.

Lando sat beside me on the bed, leaning back just enough to grab the water and medicine he’d set out earlier.

"You need to drink this," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm.

"Get some rest, and I’ll be right here with you. Just take it easy."

I hesitated for a moment, but then reached for the glass of water he held out to me.

My fingers were still shaking slightly, but I took it from him gratefully.

There was a small, tired smile on my lips as I drank, and Lando’s eyes never left me.

He was watching me closely, making sure I was okay. It felt nice to be looked after this way.

After I finished the water, Lando sat back down next to me again, his hand finding mine once more.

"You don’t ever have to hide something like that from me, okay?" he said, his voice soft but serious.

"If something’s wrong, you have to tell me. Promise me you’ll tell me next time."

I looked up at him, my eyes full of emotion, and I nodded slowly.

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over, and I felt a few of them slide down my cheeks.

Before I could say anything, Lando quickly wiped them away with his thumb, his touch light, tender.

"I’m sorry," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

He slightly laughed, "You're such a crybaby when you're sick babe."

Lando leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

"You don’t have to apologize," he said, his voice full of love and affection.

"I love you, baby. I love you, and that’s all that matters." His voice was quiet but strong, filled with reassurance.

I pulled him closer, resting my head against his chest, letting out a small, exaggerated sigh.

"Mmm, this is the best pillow ever," I mumbled, half-laughing, half-groaning in exhaustion.

Lando wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in tighter.

His chin rested on top of my head, and he chuckled softly.

"You come first," he said with a mock-serious tone, trying to sound all deep and dramatic.

"Always."

I snuggled in a little closer, feeling his warmth.

"Oh, I know now," I said, glancing up at him with a grin.

"You’re basically my personal butler, aren’t you? Always there when I need you."

He let out a dramatic gasp. "But of course! My whole existence is to serve you, my queen."

I rolled my eyes, fighting back a laugh.

"Thank you for being here," I said, the words half-sweet, half-teasing.

Lando smirked, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Please don't cry again... and well yeah, where else would I be? I’m not going anywhere."

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added,

"Besides, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. You know that, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly, feeling him grin against the top of my head.

"Oh, I know," I said, playfully tapping his chest.

"You're my big soft marshmallow. I practically own you."

Lando chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "You absolutely do. And you’re not even sorry about it."

I smirked, rolling my eyes. "Well, I am your number one priority, aren’t I?"

His eyes sparkled with affection, and he pulled me a little closer.

"You’re my number one everything, Y/n. No competition."

I snorted, unable to help the grin that spread across my face.

"Good. Glad we’re clear on that."

As we sat there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside felt miles away.

All that mattered was us, his heartbeat, my tired sighs, and the way we fit together like we’d always been meant to.

For a moment, everything else faded, and all I could think was: Yeah, I’m the lucky one.

The end

[chrissturnsfav]

i’ve been summoned ☝️ ok hear me out here, fuckgirl!reader is flirting with him like always and then he gets a boner… up to u if she notices or not !!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 loser!matt gets a little excited around fuckgirl!reader

you’re sitting in matt’s beat-up old car, legs crossed on the passenger seat, leaning back with a joint dangling between your fingers.

the windows are fogged up, a hazy cocoon of smoke and the faint smell of cigarettes and cologne—matt’s signature scent, clinging to everything he touches. he doesn’t like to smoke weed, never has, but you got him to take a hit tonight. one hit. big deal. baby steps.

he's in the driver’s seat, slouched like he’s got nowhere better to be, one arm draped lazily over the wheel, the other flicking ash out his window.

his lips curl slightly when he catches you staring. not a full smile, but enough to make you grind your teeth. this smug dick knows exactly what he’s doing.

"what?" he asks, voice low, smooth, teasing.

you blow smoke in his direction, grinning. "nothing. just thinking how you keep pretending you don’t wanna fuck me."

his eyes flick over to you, dark and steady, but he doesn’t bite. doesn’t rise to your taunt, never does. that’s the thing about matt—calm, cool, untouchable. a challenge. you love it, even though it's incredibly frustrating.

"cute," he says flatly, like it’s not.

you shift, letting your skirt ride up just enough to get a reaction. he notices—of course he does—but he stays cool, that unreadable expression driving you absolutely crazy.

"come onnn," you coo, leaning closer, voice dripping with fake sweetness as you pout at him, stubbing the blunt into an ashtray in his cup holder. "you can’t keep playing hard to get forever."

"who said i’m playing?" he shoots back, eyes flickering down to his crotch just a second too long.

gotcha.

you lean in further, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him, your lips dangerously close to his ear as you snicker tauntingly. "your dick says different, matt."

his jaw tenses. you see a crack in that infuriatingly calm exterior.

he shifts slightly, like he’s trying to hide something, but you’re not stupid. you know exactly what’s happening, and it lights a fire inside you.

"oh," you whisper, biting your lip through a cocky smirk. "looks like i’m finally getting to you."

he exhales slowly, a mix of frustration and something else you can’t quite name. but he doesn’t pull away. doesn’t stop you.

"careful," he warns softly, voice rougher than usual. "you sure you wanna play this game?"

you grin wickedly, loving every second of this rare victory. "oh, baby, i'm already winning this game. don't get it twisted. started winning when you kissed me a few weeks ago."

his eyes narrow, and for a second you wonder if you’ve finally pushed him too far. not that you'd regret it. matt’s the type who thrives on control, always one step ahead. but tonight that grip is slipping, and you can feel it. it's the same exact tension you felt a few weeks ago at that party.

he shifts in his seat, leaning back like he's trying to remind himself who’s in charge.

you know that move. seen it before. but it’s different now. there’s heat bubbling beneath his cool exterior, something that wasn’t there before.

"yeah?" he asks, voice low, smooth.

you nod, biting your lip. "mhmm."

he hums like he doesn’t believe you, like he’s remembering that party a couple of weeks ago when he kissed you and shattered his whole untouchable vibe.

of course that motherfucker blamed that night on the alcohol. but you're not backing down so easily, and you knew that was all a lie.

besides, you love a good challenge.

you see the flicker of that night in his eyes now, the way he looks at your plush lips like he’s weighing his options.

"you're thinking about it, aren’t you?" you taunt, snickering cheekily, leaning closer until your knee brushes his thigh. "how good my lips tasted."

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head with a dry laugh. "cocky."

"mm-mm, confident," you correct, grinning. "there’s a difference, baby."

his tongue darts over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, and you swear it takes every ounce of self-control inside you not to climb into his lap right then, wanting nothing but to feel his hard tip pressing against your clit through your clothes.

"aw, what’s wrong?" you taunt softly, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "scared you're gonna give in again?"

his jaw tightens, and he huffs out a low laugh through his nose, like he knows what game you’re playing but refuses to let you win outright.

"damn, you're really pushin’ it tonight," he mutters, voice rough, like gravel rolling through his chest.

"am i?" you purr, inching closer until you're practically in his space. your knee brushes his thigh, deliberate this time, and the flicker of tension in his eyes nearly makes you dizzy.

his breath hitches—subtle but not subtle enough to miss.

"yeah," he says low, almost a warning. "you are."

but he doesn't move away. doesn't stop you. and that's when you know you've got him once again.

you tilt your head, biting back a grin. "hmm...what’re you gonna do about it, matt?"

his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second—one fleeting, dangerous second—before snapping back up to meet your eyes.

"thought you liked keeping me on my toes," you tease, voice soft but challenging. "what happened to that whole stupid unbothered vibe?"

"still here," he says, though it sounds more like a lie the longer he holds your gaze.

your grin widens. "doesn't look like it."

you see the exact moment he stops fighting himself—that sharp flicker of decision in his eyes before he moves. suddenly his hand is on your thigh, firm but not rough, heat radiating through your skin like wildfire.

you've got him right where you want him now.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: do not worry, i REPEAT there will be a part two of this where they will be getting freaky, i just want to edge everyone a lil bit hehe

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13

@chrissturnsfav ™

[astrcmoni]

⭒✮⭒ good kisser ⭒✮⭒

MASTERLIST

synopsis: what starts as a simple trip to visit her family in georgia takes an unexpected turn when billie crosses paths with you—a mystery she can’t unravel, a pull she can’t ignore, and a connection that feels as inevitable as it is dangerous.

genre: angst, fluff, suggestive smut

pairing: cowgirl!fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 14.1k

warnings: cowgirl!au, cussing, brief mentions of death, various confrontations, mentions of a gun, annoying ass ex, unwanted attention from a man, making out. thats it i think.

authors note: pay close attention to figure out what’s going on. this was inspired by the movie holes as well as the song good kisser by usher. let me know if you guys want the lore behind this fic. also ignore the spacing i had to make the words fit somehow😭

the truck rumbles over the uneven dirt road, the hum of the tires blending with the cicadas’ song. the late afternoon heat seeps through the windows, thick and cloying, settling into the fabric of the seats. billie is slouched in the back, limbs heavy, exhaustion pressing into her bones. her earbuds do little to drown out the tangled sounds of her family—laughter, chatter, the occasional clang of something shifting in the trunk. she prays it’s not her luggage getting battered against the walls.

her uncle’s deep voice rises and falls, weaving through the warm drawls of her cousins as they catch her up on the latest gossip from a town she barely remembers. he grips the wheel with one hand, the other draped lazily over the doorframe, fingers tapping against the sun-warmed metal. wisps of blonde peek out from beneath a sweat-stained baseball cap, blue eyes sharp as he navigates the bumpy terrain with the ease of someone who’s done this drive a thousand times. the lines around his mouth deepen when he chuckles, the sound rolling and familiar, blending seamlessly with the drone of tires against gravel.

billie offers a polite nod or a faint smile when someone glances her way, but her mind is elsewhere.

her forehead rests against the window, the glass cool against her sun-heated skin. outside, the landscape unfurls in slow motion—rolling hills stretching into the distance, pastures bathed in gold beneath the weight of a fading sun. a lone bird cuts across the sky, wings outstretched, black against the light. it feels like another world entirely, so far from the tangled skyline and neon hum of los angeles.

her music sputters, the connection straining in the vastness of the countryside. the song plays smoothly for a moment, then stutters, catching on itself like a scratched record. the buffering icon spins, lazy and mocking.

she sighs, eyes flicking to the single, flickering signal bar. useless.

with a huff, she swipes out of the app, shutting her phone off and tugging her headphones down around her neck. now she has nothing to drown out the voices in the front seat, nothing to muffle the weight of this unfamiliar place pressing down on her.

her cousins are still talking, voices rising and falling in easy rhythm. she listens despite herself, catching pieces of a story about someone named tommy—how he roughed up some guy last week, something about money, something about a warning.

“you okay, hun?”

billie blinks, her head snapping up at the sound of her aunt’s voice. her gaze finds the rearview mirror, hazel eyes meeting hers in the reflection. there’s something knowing in her stare, something gentle.

“mhm,” billie hums, offering a small nod.

her aunt may doesn’t press, just shifts slightly in her seat, her red hair catching in the wind that filters through the open window. the sunlight turns it to fire, burning bright against the dust-speckled air. her feet are propped up on the dashboard, elbow resting against the frame of the truck, the picture of effortless comfort. her eyes flick to the mirror every so often, watching, checking.

beside her, the twins are deep in conversation. savannah, all strawberry-blonde waves and quick hands, gestures wildly as she speaks, her words tumbling out in a rush. carter, sprawled back against the seat, listens with a lazy smirk, his greenish-hazel eyes shifting between her and the passing scenery.

“so tommy beat the shit outta that guy last week,” carter says, stretching his legs out with an amused huff. “had him beggin’. ”

savannah scoffs. “well, he had it comin’. dumbass thought he could rip him off and just walk away.”

“language, you two,” their mother chides, voice light but firm.

“sorry,” they mutter in unison, sheepish but unbothered.

the truck finally rolls to a stop in front of the ranch, dust curling up around the tires, hanging thick in the heat. billie stretches her legs before the door even swings open, her body stiff from the long ride.

her uncle travis steps out first, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. he slams the door shut, then cups a hand around his mouth.

“dj! come help your cousin with her bags!”

the screen door creaks open, and out steps dj. auburn hair catching in the dying sunlight, hazel eyes sharp and steady as they scan the yard. she wipes her hands on a towel slung over her shoulder, moving down the steps with an easy kind of confidence, like she’s never known the feeling of being out of place. she’s only a year older than billie, but something about the way she carries herself makes the distance between them feel wider.

“you get shorter, billie?” dj teases, a smirk tugging at her lips.

billie rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she steps out onto the dirt. “you get uglier?”

dj barks out a laugh, tossing the towel over her shoulder. “nah, still the prettiest thing in town.”

billie snorts, and for the first time since she got in the truck, she feels something settle in her chest—something lighter, something almost like home.

dj rolls her eyes, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she steps forward, pulling billie into a quick, firm hug. her arms are strong, familiar, smelling of sun-warmed cotton and leather, the faintest trace of hay clinging to her shirt.

“what’s up, city girl?” dj teases, pulling back, one brow raised. “finally decided to come hang out with us country folk?”

billie huffs a tired laugh. “something like that.”

dj reaches for one of billie’s bags, hoisting it out of the truck bed with ease. the twins, still loitering nearby, exchange a look before savannah leans in toward her brother, voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. whatever she says makes carter snort, shaking his head.

“how was the flight?” dj asks, shifting the bag onto her shoulder.

billie groans. “long. i swear, if i had to sit next to that crying baby for one more hour—”

“oh, look,” carter interrupts from the porch, grinning as he leans lazily against the railing. “dj’s killer girlfriend is back in town.”

savannah snickers, blue eyes bright with mischief. “should we start planning the wedding?”

dj shoots them both a glare, her grip tightening on the strap of billie’s bag. “shut the hell up.”

carter only smirks wider. “what? it’s true. haven’t seen her around much lately, but people still talk.”

billie, now intrigued, raises a brow. “who?”

the twins glance at each other again before savannah jerks her chin toward the neighboring ranch, just across the dirt road.

“her.”

billie follows their gaze. standing in the middle of a sun-drenched field, a sleek black horse grazes lazily, its coat gleaming like oil beneath the fading light. beyond it, the ranch stretches out—fenced-in pastures, a weathered stable, a house tucked away behind it all, its porch wrapped in shadow.

carter crosses his arms. “she’s got the black horse. a real nice one. she takes good care of it, though.”

dj shifts uncomfortably, adjusting the strap of billie’s bag. “don’t listen to them.”

savannah ignores her. “people say she’s dangerous.”

carter nods. “no one really knows what she does when she’s not here, but when she is…” he trails off, letting the words settle like dust in the heat.

dj exhales sharply, her jaw tight. “you two sound like every old drunk at the bar.”

“just sayin’,” savannah mutters, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in her expression now.

dj’s patience snaps. “don’t just say. y’all steady talkin’ like you don’t know her yourselves. shut the hell up and take the rest of billie’s stuff inside.” her voice is edged, firm, and the look she gives them isn’t one to challenge.

the twins exchange one last glance before sighing, heads ducking slightly as they grab the rest of the luggage. their movements are slower now, quieter—like scolded puppies slinking away.

billie watches them disappear into the house before turning back to dj, curiosity curling tight in her chest.

“what’s your deal?” she asks, watching as dj slams the truck’s trunk shut, the sound ringing out into the still evening.

dj doesn’t answer at first, just exhales sharply through her nose. “she’s just not someone you should mess around with, that’s all.”

which, of course, only makes billie more interested.

she casts one last glance toward the neighboring ranch. the black horse stands motionless now, ears flicking, as if sensing her gaze.

instead of heading inside, she sets her bags down near the porch and starts across the road.

dj stiffens. “billie, i’m serious.”

billie lifts a hand in dismissal. “i’m just saying hi.”

dj curses under her breath but doesn’t follow.

as billie moves closer, the air shifts. the heat is heavier here, the cicadas louder, their buzzing tangled in the dry breeze. the fences are worn, but sturdy. the stable door hangs slightly ajar, dark inside, like a mouth left open mid-sentence. the house beyond it is quiet. too quiet.

she slows her steps, her shoes kicking up dust.

her curiosity hums beneath her skin, insistent.

something about this place feels like a held breath.

she keeps walking.

the black horse lifts its head when billie approaches, ears flicking forward, nostrils flaring slightly as it takes in her scent. the late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the pasture, bathing the world in gold, turning the dust at her feet into something almost ethereal.

“hey there,” she murmurs, reaching out, fingers just grazing the stallion’s sleek coat, warm beneath her touch.

the moment barely settles before a voice cuts through the stillness, sharp and unwavering.

“who in the hell said you could touch my horse?”

billie startles, turning on instinct. you’re standing a few feet away, a bag of supplies slung carelessly in one hand, the other resting against your hip. dark jeans worn in all the right places, scuffed boots that have seen miles of dirt roads, rolled-up sleeves revealing the kind of forearms that come from real work, not gym hours.

the sun catches on the angles of your face—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, eyes that narrow just slightly, unreadable. your expression is the kind that makes people second-guess their presence. makes them wonder if they’ve overstayed a welcome that was never there in the first place.

billie swallows, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth is. “sorry,” she says quickly, pulling her hand back. “i just got here for the summer. wanted to introduce myself.”

your gaze flicks over her, slow and unimpressed. “that don’t explain why you’re over here on my property. hands all over my damn horse.”

billie scratches the back of her neck, trying for a smile. “didn’t think he’d mind.”

you step closer, the distance between you shrinking to something taut and charged. the air shifts, thickens. billie feels it settle against her skin, the weight of your stare pressing in.

“well, i do.”

a pause, then her voice, quieter now. “what’s his name?”

your fingers flex against the bag in your hand before your gaze flickers briefly toward the stallion.

“…storm. his name is storm.”

billie exhales through her nose, the corner of her mouth tugging up. “fitting.”

you don’t respond, just click your tongue, turning your attention back to the horse, adjusting the bridle with practiced ease. there’s a familiarity in the way your hands move, in the way storm settles beneath your touch. billie watches, her curiosity growing roots, tangling into something deeper.

then you glance past her, your expression shifting, flattening into something edged.

��tell your cousin to stop staring at me.”

billie frowns, following your gaze. sure enough, dj is leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the two of you with something unreadable simmering beneath her stare.

billie sighs, turning back to you. “just ignore her.” a beat, then, “what’s the history between you two anyway?”

your lips curl—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. something in between. something knowing.

“ask her.”

before billie can push further, dj is suddenly beside her, voice firm. “alright, let’s go.”

her grip on billie’s arm is tight, not quite rough, but close enough. an insistence, a warning. but billie doesn’t move, brows pulling together.

“we were talking.”

dj’s gaze flicks to you, then back. her voice drops, steady. “and now you’re not.”

you let out a quiet, amused breath, rolling your eyes. “good lord.”

dj exhales sharply, like she’s trying to rein something in. her voice is lower now, almost like she doesn’t want billie to hear. “i don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it’s not gonna work.”

your smirk deepens, arms crossing over your chest as you lean against the fence. “yeah? and what exactly do you think i’m doing?”

dj steps in closer, the air between you charged. “don’t play dumb. you always do this—pop back up like nothing happened, like you didn’t leave shit all messy the last time.”

billie shifts beside her, confused. “okay, am i the only one not following this conversation?”

you don’t acknowledge her. your eyes stay locked on dj, steady, unreadable.

“your cousin loves running her mouth, but she don’t ever say nothing real.”

dj lets out a dry laugh, tilting her chin up. “and you love pretending like shit don’t stick.”

you push off the fence, stepping into her space just enough. enough to force her to make a choice—stand her ground or back up. she doesn’t move.

“if you got something to say, i suggest you say it. or is your little audience making you nervous?”

dj’s jaw tightens, but her voice lowers, words meant only for you. “i know exactly what you are.”

a slow grin spreads across your lips, something lazy, something dangerous. “then you should know better than to step to me like this.”

the air crackles, thick with something unsaid, something old. something neither of you are willing to be the first to name.

then—

the screen door slams.

“dj!” may’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “you better leave that woman alone and come inside.”

your expression doesn’t shift, but you glance toward the porch, raising a hand in greeting.

“hi, ms. may.” your voice is softer now, almost polite, but there’s something else lurking beneath it. something unreadable.

your eyes cut back to dj’s.

“better get going, don’t wanna worry your dear mama, now do we?”

your tone is smooth, but the bitterness seeps through the cracks.

dj’s mouth presses into a thin line. “yeah, well, at least i have one. last time i checked, where’s yours?”

the words land heavy, sharper than they should be, and even dj looks like she wants to snatch them back.

your head jerks slightly, like the hit lands somewhere deep. for a second—just a second—your smirk falters, the cocky edge dulling into something raw. something open.

“what the fuck, dj?” billie’s voice cuts in, sharp with disbelief.

you lift a hand, almost like you’re about to touch dj’s chest, but it never lands. instead, your fingers curl into a loose fist before falling back to your side.

your voice is quiet now, nothing like before. “that’s enough. go home.”

but dj doesn’t move. doesn’t back down. instead, she steps in again, breath coming out a little harder. “not such a hard-ass now, are you? you—”

“enough.”

this time, your voice is quiet, but firm, final. your index and middle fingers press into her chest just enough to make space, to remind her where the line is.

“dallas, go home. both of you.”

dj exhales sharply, then steps back, her jaw tight. she doesn’t say another word, just shakes her head slightly before turning toward the house.

billie hesitates, eyes flicking back to you, like she wants to say something. like she’s still trying to figure out exactly what just happened.

but you don’t look at her. don’t acknowledge the weight of her stare. you just turn back to your horse, the whole thing slipping off your shoulders like it never happened.

except, it did.

the air is thick as billie follows dj toward the house, silence stretching between them. the only sound is the crunch of gravel beneath their boots, the hum of cicadas in the distance.

billie’s mind is still turning over the moment, replaying it, pulling it apart.

but the thought that lingers the longest, the one that sticks to her ribs—

what the fuck just happened?

the screen door creaks as dj reaches for the knob, shoving it open and disappearing down the hall. a door shuts with a muted slam—not loud enough to be defiant, but enough to make a point. billie watches her go, jaw tight, before exhaling through her nose. the weight in the air lingers even after she’s gone.

her eyes roam the house, scanning over the framed photos lining the walls, the worn wooden floors, the little marks of life scattered throughout the space. it’s been years since she was last here, yet everything still feels the same—like time doesn’t move the way it should in this house.

she slides her foot behind the other, toe hooking at her heel, before slipping off her shoes and setting them neatly by the door. the air is thick with the smell of something rich and homey simmering on the stove, a scent that settles deep in her chest, stirring something old and familiar.

outside, the sun sinks behind the georgia horizon, spilling liquid gold through the blinds, slicing the walls into slats of light and shadow. the sky is a mess of tangerine and violet, the last gasps of daylight stretching thin. the colors shift slowly, bleeding into one another, swallowing the land in a slow-burning glow.

the house hums with quiet movement. the soft clatter of a knife hitting the cutting board, the steady boil of water, the shuffle of feet against the floor. billie follows the sounds to the kitchen, fingers grazing the edges of picture frames as she passes, tracing over time itself. she pauses at one photo—her younger self, nine years old, hair a wild mess, chocolate smeared at the corners of her mouth. dj sits beside her, equally messy, their grins so wide they look like they ache. finneas stands behind them, hands resting on their shoulders, caught mid-laugh.

billie remembers that day. the summer of 2010. her parents had dragged her across the country for a family reunion, her first real introduction to this side of her roots. back when dj was just dj—back before things got messy.

she lets out a slow breath and moves on, fingers trailing along the faded growth chart scratched into the wall, numbers marking years of childhood in different colors of ink. her name is there too, though fainter, proof that she once belonged to this house, if only for a moment.

in the kitchen, may stands at the counter, slicing potatoes with practiced ease. she glances up briefly, eyes flicking over billie before turning back to her work.

“hey, do you mind cleanin’ up and helping me with dinner?” may asks, her voice light but expectant. “the twins are outside with travis, and dj’s, well… you know.”

billie nods, stepping forward to wash her hands. the warm water runs over her fingers, grounding her. she rolls up her sleeves, reaches for a potato, and makes the first incision, peeling the skin back in smooth ribbons. they fall into an easy rhythm—billie peeling, may chopping, the quiet stretching comfortably between them.

for a while, it’s just the sound of the knife against the board, the bubbling pot on the stove, the distant laughter of kids outside. then may breaks the silence.

“you know,” she starts, voice softer now, “it wasn’t always like that between them.”

billie stills, knife pausing mid-peel. she glances at her aunt, waiting.

“they been best friends since the beginning of time,” may continues, shaking her head slightly. “and they were together for a while. two years, almost.”

billie blinks. the words settle heavy in her chest. she knew there was history, but not like that.

may sighs, setting down the knife. she moves to the stove, sliding the potatoes into the pot before grabbing a bowl covered with a damp towel. she pushes it toward billie and retrieves a stick of butter from the fridge.

billie pulls back the towel, fingertips grazing the soft, risen dough. she watches as may butters a pan, waiting for her to continue.

“but things change,” may says simply. “people change. and their relationship went sour.” she kneads the dough with steady hands, her movements slow and deliberate. “one night, they had a big fight. a bad one. don’t nobody know what it was about, ’cause dj won’t talk and that girl sure as hell ain’t sayin’ a word.”

billie rolls the dough between her palms, watching how it folds over itself, how it yields to pressure but never loses its form.

“and i think that was her last straw,” may murmurs. “’cause ever since then, she done cut everybody off. comes and goes as she pleases, don’t ever talk to nobody unless she has to. she lives right next door, and i ain’t seen her step foot in this house in god knows how long.”

may shakes her head, rolling the dough a little rougher now. “so now i gotta make excuses. like this,” she gestures to the half-made dinner between them, “just to go see her.”

a silence settles between them, thick with something unspoken. billie turns may’s words over in her mind.

she hesitates, then asks, “so… do you think it’s true? you know, the killing stuff.”

may’s hands still, her sharp hazel eyes cutting over to billie. there’s something dark in her expression, something fiercely protective.

“hell no,” she says, voice low, firm. “uh-uh. no way. those rumors? started by a bunch of no-good folks who like to prey on somebody’s grief. they don’t know shit. they just like to talk, to stir up trouble.” she picks up the butter knife again, presses it against the dough with more force than necessary. “one day, they gon’ get what’s comin’ to ’em if they don’t shut the hell up with all that bullshit.”

billie swallows, nodding. her aunt’s words settle deep in her bones, but they don’t quite shake the feeling in her gut.

they work in silence after that, finishing up dinner as the sun outside finally disappears, leaving only the hum of cicadas and the distant rumble of an oncoming storm.

billie’s mind drifts back to you.

there’s something about you, but she still doesn’t know what.

the following days move in slow, hazy waves, each one bleeding into the next. billie spends most of her time trailing behind her uncle, helping around the ranch, or dodging dj’s moods. the tension from that night still clings to the air, stretching thin between them, unspoken but heavy.

but the one thing she notices—no matter where she is, no matter what she’s doing—is you.

you’re never in the same place for long. she catches glimpses of you moving through town, slipping into stores and out of sight before anyone can stop you. sometimes, she spots your truck kicking up dust down the dirt roads, music thumping faintly through the open windows. other times, she just hears your name in passing, hushed voices weaving together pieces of a story she still can’t make sense of.

and yet, despite all of that, you never come around. not to dj’s place, not to may’s kitchen, not even when the sun sinks low and the porch lights flicker on like an unspoken invitation.

the house is quiet when billie wakes, the kind of quiet that settles thick in the early hours of the morning. the sky outside is a deep shade of blue, the horizon barely kissed by the first traces of sunlight. she doesn’t know why she’s up—maybe the restless heat of summer, maybe just habit—but she swings her legs out of bed anyway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she heads downstairs.

the kitchen is dim, only a sliver of light cutting through the blinds. she grabs a glass from the counter, filling it with water from the sink, but just as she lifts it to her lips, movement outside catches her eye.

you.

you’re by the stables, moving with that same quiet, effortless ease she’s seen a handful of times before. the saddle rests in the crook of your arm, your other hand brushing over your horse’s side in a way that looks almost second nature, like you belong here, like the land and the creatures on it are an extension of yourself.

billie sets her glass down, her breath catching for just a second, like her body had been holding onto something it didn’t realize it had let go of. she can’t stop herself, and before she knows it, she’s pulling her clothes on and slipping outside, the cool morning air curling around her, brushing against her skin, mingling with the dust of the earth beneath her feet. each step toward the stables is light, calculated, like she’s stepping through a dream she doesn’t want to wake up from. but you don’t seem surprised when you glance up.

“what are you doin’?” billie asks, her voice still thick with sleep, raspy and half-formed.

you adjust the straps on your saddle, barely sparing her a glance. “what’s it look like?”

billie runs a hand through her hair, glancing at the familiar sway of your movements, the way you handle your horse with such ease. “do you always ride this early?”

“depends.”

“on what?”

finally, you look at her—really look at her, like you’re trying to read her all over again, your gaze lingering a moment too long before it moves past her, steady and unflinching.

“depends on whether or not i feel like answering questions at this hour.”

billie leans against the stable door, crossing her arms. “you always this grumpy?”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head but not offering a full smile. “do you always ask this many questions this early?”

billie tilts her head, a mischievous smile creeping onto her face. “maybe.” she watches you for a moment before she adds, with a teasing spark, “let me come with you.”

your brows lift just a fraction, an unreadable expression passing over your face. “why?”

billie shrugs, her fingers brushing against the rough wood of the stable. “why not? we could play twenty-one questions or something.”

you study her, your eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing her words, but the corners of your mouth twitch up into something of a smile.

“just how old are you?” you ask, half-smirking, like you’re daring her to keep this up.

“i’m twenty-three, you?” she retorts, a smug, challenging smile tugging at her lips as she expertly deflects the subtle jab.

there’s a beat of silence, and then, just as quickly, a small smirk pulls at the corner of your lips.

“alright,” you say, swinging yourself up onto the saddle with a practiced, fluid motion, as though you were born to move like this. “you can tag along, if you can keep up that is.”

billie doesn’t hesitate. she moves quickly, heading toward the nearest stall. she grabs the reins of her uncle’s horse, her fingers brushing over the worn leather, feeling the familiar tension in the saddle as she swings herself up with an ease that surprises even her. the muscle memory kicks in almost immediately, grounding her as her feet settle into the stirrups. you’re already moving, not waiting for her to catch up.

billie clicks her tongue, urging her horse forward as she takes off after you, the cool morning air rushing against her skin. the golden glow of the sunrise stretches across the open fields, the colors turning the horizon into an abstract painting—reds, purples, and soft oranges blending into one another. she focuses, forcing herself to concentrate on the rhythm of the ride, on the sound of hooves pounding the earth beneath her, the echo of your horse’s gallop ahead of her.

the silence stretches between you both for a while, just the sound of hooves against dirt and the steady rhythm of your horses moving in sync. but eventually, billie breaks the silence.

“so what, you just ride out here by yourself all the time?”

you keep your eyes ahead, barely glancing at her. “sometimes.”

“ever bring anyone else?”

you shoot her a look, sharp but playful, a glimmer of amusement flashing in your eyes. “you’re askin’ a lot of questions again.”

billie grins, leaning forward slightly, her body shifting with the rhythm of the horse beneath her. “that’s the point. just trying to get to know you.”

your lips twitch like you’re fighting back a smirk, but you remain silent, your eyes trained on the horizon. instead, you give your horse a quick nudge, urging him to pick up speed.

billie huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “oh, it’s like that, huh?”

you glance back over your shoulder, your expression half-masked by the wind whipping around you, but the amusement is unmistakable. “c’mon, i told you to keep up.”

and then, just like that, you’re gone. the sound of hooves grows distant, leaving billie to scramble, to push herself harder, faster, as the wind roars in her ears and the open field stretches wide before her. she’s not letting you win, not when it feels like she’s finally found a challenge worth chasing.

with a sharp exhale, she digs her heels into the sides of her horse, urging it faster. her heart beats in time with the gallop, her breath steady as she closes the distance between you. she catches sight of your silhouette again, outlined in the early morning light, and for a second, she swears she sees a flash of something—joy, maybe? or something deeper. but before she can catch her breath or dwell on it too long, she pushes herself harder, the space between you shrinking with every stride.

soon, she’s even with you. just enough to catch the smirk playing at your lips, the subtle shift in your posture that betrays the challenge you’ve put out there.

“not bad,” you call, voice carried by the wind.

billie exhales a sharp laugh, her grin widening. “what, you thought i couldn’t ride?”

“never said that.”

“yeah, but you were thinkin’ it.”

you just hum, your gaze flicking ahead again as you steer your horse toward a small clearing in the distance. the sun is rising higher now, and the light seems to stretch out across the land, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. the air smells faintly of wildflowers and earth, the scent of morning fresh in every breath.

you lead the way into a hidden meadow, one billie hadn’t seen before, nestled between trees whose branches weave together above, casting dappled shadows over the ground. the grasses sway gently in the breeze, and the air is thick with the scent of green life, of something untouched.

you dismount with ease, guiding your horse toward a stream that trickles softly through the meadow. the water glistens in the light, reflecting the vivid colors of the earth and sky. billie follows suit, her legs stiff as she slides off her horse with a soft grunt, feeling the weight of the ride in her muscles.

the quiet of the meadow wraps around them like a blanket. billie stands beside you, her gaze drifting over the peaceful scene before her eyes fall on you again. you’re crouched by your horse, fingers working carefully through its mane, each movement deliberate, practiced.

billie sits down beside you, the cool grass soft against her legs. for a moment, neither of you speaks. the quiet stretches, filling the space between you, and despite the tension of the last few days, it feels like a rare kind of peace.

“jesus,” billie mutters after a while, breaking the silence. “i think my ass is permanently bruised.”

you snort, a dry laugh escaping you as you continue working with the horse’s mane. “yeah, well, ridin’ ain’t for the weak.”

you snort, settling onto the grass as you untie a loose braid in your horse’s mane. “yeah, well, ridin’ ain’t for the weak.”

billie doesn’t say anything at first, just takes a seat next to you, mirroring your posture. the silence between you both is calm, stretching, like the stillness of the earth at dusk, with only the rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets filling the space.

she grumbles, rubbing her thigh before dropping down beside you. she leans back on her palms, exhaling slowly, as her eyes trace the fading light across the fields. “damn. this place is real pretty.”

“mhm,” you hum, eyes following the way the breeze moves through the trees, making the leaves shiver and whisper. you can almost hear the land breathe with you, like it’s been waiting for this moment to fall into a quiet that feels too rare.

billie tilts her head toward you, studying your face. there’s a certain way she looks at you—like she’s trying to understand something that might not be easy to explain. “you come out here often?”

“when i can,” you say, fingers still working through your horse’s mane. your hand moves with practiced ease, the bond between you and storm unspoken but undeniable. “it’s quiet. no one botherin’ me. just me and my horse.”

billie nods slowly, letting the silence stretch, letting it settle comfortably between you for a beat. then, with a small smirk, she nudges your arm, playful but thoughtful. “are you sure you’re not just avoiding people?”

you huff out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “there’s nothin’ wrong with wanting some peace and quiet.”

“yeah, but i don’t know,” billie says, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “feels like there’s more to it.”

you don’t say anything at first, just let her words sit in the space between you both, heavy like the air before a storm. your eyes drift over the land, taking in the scenery, the blanket of quiet that’s settled over everything. there’s a sort of ache in the stillness, but it’s familiar, comforting in its own way.

but billie, ever curious, finally breaks the silence.

“your farm,” she starts, her voice light but edged with something thoughtful. “it’s empty compared to the others around here.”

you don’t move for a long moment, eyes fixed on the flowing water. the question doesn’t surprise you—it’s the kind of thing people always ask, but hearing it from billie feels different. her words settle, a quiet weight on your chest.

“yeah,” you murmur, picking at a blade of grass between your fingers. “that’s ‘cause we had to sell most of it. my dad—” you pause, exhaling slowly, trying to push the words out without letting them get tangled in your throat. “he was a musician. not exactly the most stable job when you’re trying to keep a farm running. and my mom… she was in the rodeo. damn good at it too.”

billie leans in slightly, listening intently, her focus unwavering.

“she kept everything together,” you continue, your voice steady but distant, as if the memory is both close and miles away. “but when she passed, it all started falling apart. bills piled up, and daddy… well, he tried, y’know? did everything he could. but eventually, he had to start selling off the land, the animals, anything we didn’t absolutely need.”

your fingers brush against storm, his dark coat soft beneath your touch, grounding you in the present. you focus on the sensation, trying to keep it from spiraling back into that place you don’t like to go.

“now, it’s just me and what little we’ve got left.” you look at storm again, a quiet ache in your chest as you find comfort in his presence.

billie doesn’t speak right away. she watches you, taking in the way your posture has shifted, the way your voice has softened. the usual sharpness in your tone is dulled now, replaced by something heavier, something more fragile, like a quiet thread that could snap if you tugged on it too hard.

“that’s a lot,” she says after a moment, her voice quieter than usual, as though she’s treading carefully around your pain.

you nod once, sliding your hands off your coat and letting them curl into the blades of grass beneath you. you feel the earth there, steady, unmoving. maybe you wish you could be like that sometimes.

“yeah.”

the meadow falls silent again, but this time, it’s different. the weight of your words lingers, but it’s not uncomfortable. billie doesn’t press, doesn’t push for more than you’re willing to give. she just sits there, her presence steady next to you, breathing in the same air, sharing the same space, the same history, the same grief. it’s enough for now.

after a while, she breaks the silence with something lighter, like a pebble thrown into the still water.

“so, what you’re saying is… you could’ve been a rodeo star?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes with a playful glance at her. “hold on now—i ain’t say all that.”

“nah, i bet you were real good,” she teases, grinning, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “i can see it now. you riding in all dramatic, wavin’ to the crowd, all eyes on you.”

you shake your head, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with the smallest hint of a smile. “you talk too much.”

“part of my charm,” she says easily, her grin widening.

you huff out a breath, pushing yourself up. “c’mon, we should head back.”

billie groans dramatically, throwing her head back in exaggerated defeat. “damn. was kind of hoping to stay out here just a little while longer.”

“nope,” you say, clicking your tongue to get your horse’s attention. the sound breaks the silence like a familiar rhythm. “sun’s up, and i know mr. travis has probably got some work for you to do.”

billie sighs, shoulders slumping like the weight of the world is on them, but she stands anyway, dusting off her jeans before climbing back onto her horse.

the ride back to the ranch is slow, the sun now fully risen, casting golden light over the open fields. the air is warm, thick with the scent of sun-warmed grass and damp earth. billie rides a little closer this time, your horses moving in rhythm, the soft thud of hooves in sync with the quiet, steady pulse of the morning. she glances at you every so often, like she’s got something on her mind, the corners of her lips tugging in subtle hesitation.

“so, uh,” she starts, adjusting her reins, eyes flickering to the horizon. “random question, but how do you feel about—like, i don’t know—eating plants?”

you cut her a sideways glance, brow furrowing in confusion. “eating plants?”

“yeah, like—” billie presses her lips together, her words hesitant, “i mean, i’m vegan.”

you pull on your reins slightly, slowing your horse just to give yourself a second to process. “you’re what?”

“vegan,” she repeats, dragging the word out like she’s bracing for impact, her gaze shifting away, taking in the sprawling landscape.

you blink. then blink again. “you’re tellin’ me you came all the way out here, ridin’ horses, stayin’ on a farm, and you don’t even eat meat?”

billie shrugs, a small, almost defiant gesture. “technically, it’s not really a farm anymore.”

you shake your head, a soft chuckle slipping from you, amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “that’s wild.”

“not really,” she says, grinning, her voice a little lighter now. “i just don’t see the point in eatin’ something with a face.”

“couldn’t be me,” you mutter, shaking your head with a smile that feels warmer than you expect.

billie laughs, a low, genuine sound that carries in the still morning air. she doesn’t push the topic further. instead, she shifts in her saddle, rolling her shoulders before speaking again, her tone lighter now, like the tension has eased just a little.

“so,” she starts, her words casual, like she’s asking about the weather. “my cousins told me there’s this little town event tonight. are you going?”

you adjust your grip on the reins, eyes fixed on the dirt path ahead, your horse’s hooves kicking up a trail of dust in the warm breeze. “maybe.”

“maybe?” billie echoes, tilting her head toward you, the question lingering between you, playful yet genuine. “that’s not a yes.”

you shrug, eyes narrowing slightly as you continue to lead your horse down the familiar stretch of road. “ain’t a no, either.”

billie hums thoughtfully, considering your words. the rhythmic clopping of hooves fills the space between you, soft and steady. the town event was just another yearly gathering—music, food, and an excuse for folks to catch up. you’d been to plenty before, but with everything on your plate, it hadn’t exactly been a priority this time. still, the thought of it lingers in the back of your mind, shifting like the breeze that ruffles your hair.

“why you ask?” you glance over at billie, curiosity creeping into your tone.

she shrugs, but there’s a glint of something in her eyes now, something playful, something sly. “can’t blame me for wantin’ to see a pretty face in town, now can you?”

you pause mid-step, your horse shifting beneath you, the sudden shift in the air catching you off guard. you turn to look at her, her gaze steady, a playful smirk on her lips.

you huff, shaking your head. “are you always this bold?”

billie smirks, nudging her horse forward as the ranch comes into view. “why? is it workin’?”

you roll your eyes, but a small smile betrays you, tugging at the corners of your mouth, the warmth creeping up your neck. something about her makes it hard to stay completely composed. the two of you ride in silence for the last stretch, the ranch growing larger as you approach, the familiar smells of hay and dust filling the air.

by the time you reach the ranch, the sun is higher in the sky, bathing everything in golden light, casting long shadows that stretch across the land. your horse slows to a stop near the fence, and you swing off with practiced ease. billie follows, though she takes a second longer, muttering something about her legs not working right after the long ride.

she lingers for a moment, rocking back and forth on the heels of her boots, a smirk still playing at her lips. then, with a casual tilt of her head, she looks at you. “so, tonight… you comin’ or what?”

you look at her, considering. the words hover on your lips, but for a moment, you just let the silence stretch between you, the sun at your back, the ranch before you. “i’ll think about it.”

billie grins like she already knows what your answer will be, her eyes sparkling with something mischievous. “i’ll see you there, then.”

and with that, she gives you one last lingering look, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you before she turns on her heel, heading back toward the house. you stand there for a moment, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin, a weird flutter in your chest, like the space between the two of you hasn’t quite closed yet.

you didn’t say yes.

but you sure as hell didn’t say no.

the rest of the afternoon billie spends helping her uncle with some work around the farm, though her mind keeps drifting back to your conversation. maybe. that’s all you gave her. no promise, no certainty—just maybe. and yet, it lingers in her thoughts, like an unfinished sentence hanging in the air. the farm feels quieter than usual, the distant hum of work beneath the weight of her uncertainty.

by the time the sun dips below the horizon, stretching shades of orange and purple across the sky, billie finds herself getting ready back at her uncle’s house. she pulls on a clean shirt, the fabric soft against her skin. she rolls up the sleeves just enough to keep cool, her movements deliberate, like she’s trying to prepare for something she’s not entirely sure of. she runs a hand through her hair in the small mirror by the door, the reflection staring back at her with an edge of doubt.

her aunt, may, passes by and raises an eyebrow. “you sure are fixin’ yourself up just to go to a town event.”

billie scoffs, shaking her head, but her voice softens a little, a flicker of defensiveness hidden under the surface. “there’s nothing wrong with wanting to look decent.”

may hums knowingly, the corners of her lips turning up in a knowing smile, but she doesn’t press. instead, she tosses billie a light jacket before nodding toward the front of the house. “dj’s out waitin’ on you. y’all don’t get into too much trouble, ya hear?”

“me? trouble?” billie grins as she shrugs on the jacket, the weight of her aunt’s words lingering longer than she expects. “never.”

may chuckles, shaking her head, and billie steps out onto the porch, the cool evening air brushing against her skin.

dj is already leaning against the fence, arms crossed, a bored expression on her face, as if she’s been waiting for ages. “took you long enough,” she mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “you tryin’ to impress somebody or somethin’?”

billie rolls her eyes, stuffing her hands into her pockets, the motion automatic, like a shield she’s used to. “let’s just go.”

they set off down the dirt road, the warm night air wrapping around them like a soft blanket. the path into town is well-worn, the grass flattened from years of footsteps, an imprint of countless journeys. crickets hum in the distance, their song like a steady pulse in the background, and the occasional firefly flickers in and out of sight, like tiny stars caught in the evening breeze. it’s a short walk, barely fifteen minutes, but it gives billie time to get lost in her own thoughts.

dj notices.

“you’re thinkin’ ‘bout her, aren’t you?”

billie doesn’t answer right away, just kicks at a loose rock on the path, her boots sending it skidding off into the darkness. “you always gotta run your mouth?”

dj laughs, a low, amused sound that cuts through the quiet. “when i’m right? yeah.”

billie exhales sharply, shaking her head, the air leaving her lungs in a huff. “she said maybe.”

“and you’re holdin’ onto it like it’s a damn promise.” dj shoots her a knowing look, her voice steady, almost too knowing for comfort. “look, i know her better than you do. and if she said maybe, it means no.”

billie doesn’t argue, but she also doesn’t agree. the words hang between them, but there’s something she’s not ready to let go of. instead, she just keeps walking, her thoughts swallowed by the rhythm of her footsteps, the sound of her boots against the dirt path. the tavern’s glow finally comes into view up ahead, warm and inviting, a sharp contrast to the coolness of the night air. it flickers like a promise, even though she knows better than to expect one.

the closer they get, the louder the night becomes—music drifting through the air, the steady hum of voices rising and falling like a pulse. billie can already see the crowd through the open doorway, bodies swaying on the dance floor, others gathered near the bar, laughter spilling into the warm evening air like a melody of its own.

as they step inside, the scent of whiskey and something fried clings to the air, filling her lungs with a sharp, familiar bite. billie takes it all in—the packed dance floor, the row of worn wooden stools lined up against the bar, the occasional clatter of pool balls from the back of the room. the atmosphere is thick, buzzing with energy, but billie’s mind is elsewhere, pulled in a direction she can’t quite shake.

she barely hesitates before scanning the crowd, her gaze flickering across the sea of faces, as though she’s searching for something—or someone.

dj notices that, too.

“she’s not comin’,” dj says, her voice cutting through billie’s quiet search. “i suggest you don’t get your hopes up.”

billie smirks, slipping her hands into her pockets as she leans against the bar. “or maybe,” she muses, tilting her head, “she is.”

dj exhales sharply, shaking her head as she orders a drink, her voice tinged with disbelief. “you’re impossible.”

billie doesn’t respond, just taps her fingers rhythmically against the counter, her gaze flickering back toward the door every so often, like the rhythm of the night is tied to the beat of her waiting.

and then—

the door swings open. and there you are.

standing just inside the threshold, framed by the dim, amber glow of the tavern lights. the room seems to shift around you, as though the space itself is adjusting to your presence. you scan the crowd, your expression unreadable, the quiet control you exude almost tangible.

dj notices first. she huffs out a quiet laugh. “well, i’ll be damned.”

billie grins, pushing off the bar slightly, her posture shifting as if she knew it all along. “told you. maybe ain’t a no.”

you’re dressed head-to-toe in all black. your long-sleeve shirt is tucked neatly into your jeans, the edges of your collar sharp against your throat, and a black belt cinches your waist, defining your silhouette. a cowboy hat sits low on your brow, casting a shadow over your sharp, unreadable expression. your chaps, draped over black denim, hug your legs in all the right places, the subtle swish of the fabric whispering as you move. the faint golden gleam of your belt buckle catches the light, but it’s the deep, sultry burgundy lipstick that steals the show, bold against the subtle darkness of your outfit.

billie swallows hard, her mouth suddenly dry, her breath caught on the edge of something unspoken.

the tavern shifts as you step inside, the energy crackling like a storm rolling in. people pause mid-conversation, eyes dragging over you, the hushed whispers slicing through the noise. it’s not just your presence—it’s the way you carry yourself, the effortless confidence, the unbothered aura that makes them stop, even for just a moment. you don’t need to try; they can’t help but look.

your eyes scan over the room until they land on billie, and when they do, your lips curl into the smallest, knowing smile—subtle, but impossible to miss.

billie, still leaning against the bar, watches you with something close to amusement, but there’s something else there, too—a hunger, a quiet longing that she doesn’t bother to hide.

you make your way over, your boots clicking against the wooden floor, each step cutting through the tension in the air, your presence undeniable. but as you draw closer, you feel another pair of eyes on you, heavy and knowing. your gaze flits over to your left, and there she is—dj, already looking at you, her gaze sharp as steel. the tension between you and her is thick, palpable, and it almost seems to snuff out your smile, just like that—flickering out like a candle’s flame in the wind.

you don’t stop walking, but there’s something stiff now in your posture, a tension that settles in your shoulders, your gaze hardening as it locks with hers.

“dj,” you greet, your voice even, but missing the warmth it had just moments ago, the friendliness gone, replaced by something cooler, more guarded.

dj dips her head in acknowledgment, shifting her weight slightly, her eyes flicking to billie and then back to you. “what’s up?” she says before taking her glass and knocking back her drink in one smooth motion.

there’s a beat of silence, thick and uncomfortable. then dj clears her throat, glancing toward the back of the tavern, the movement casual but deliberate. “i’m gonna go talk to amari.”

you just nod, your chin tilting in the slightest acknowledgment, though you know her announcement was meant for billie and not you. you don’t stop her, and neither does billie.

the air between you and billie is still, charged but unspoken, as dj walks off into the crowd, leaving both of you standing in the flickering light, surrounded by the hum of the tavern’s life.

once she’s gone, you and billie exchange a glance, one that carries the weight of unspoken understanding. the tension that hung in the air moments ago lingers, but it’s quickly brushed aside, buried beneath something lighter.

billie’s lips curl up, playful and easy. “you look nice.”

you tilt your head, smirking, a flicker of something in your eyes. “just nice?” you ask, your voice low, teasing. you do a slow, deliberate spin, letting the fabric of your clothes ripple as your hips sway with the motion, letting the room drink in your confidence. “you like it?”

billie exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head in mock disbelief. “yeah. you look real pretty,” her gaze drags over you, warm and appreciative, and she leans in slightly, her eyes lingering as she adds, “but i guess that’d be an understatement.”

“damn right it would.”

billie chuckles, tilting her head, a small smile curling on her lips. “you fishin’ for compliments?”

“if i was, would you give ‘em to me?”

billie doesn’t miss a beat, her response immediate, sure. “yeah.”

your smirk deepens, satisfaction humming through you. “figured. you don’t look too bad yourself.” your eyes trace the outline of her outfit, noticing the easy confidence she wears like a second skin. her blue plaid flannel looks soft, faded from time, its edges curling slightly at the sleeves, the worn fabric complimented by a white tank peeking through, the silver chain resting just above it, catching the low light.

the shift in the air between you both is palpable, a playful current that sparks and hums with unspoken words. you slide into the seat next to her, claiming the space once occupied by her cousin. your elbow rests on the worn wood of the bar, fingers drumming a slow, absent rhythm, as if the movement is just another part of the atmosphere now.

the bartender slides a basket of potato wedges across the counter, a quiet gesture that speaks volumes about the casual comfort of the place. he asks if you want anything to drink, and you don’t hesitate.

“sweet tea,” you say with a slight smile, watching him disappear behind the bar, the cool clink of ice filling the silence.

billie looks at you, curiosity in her gaze. “you don’t drink?”

“nah, that shit’s disgusting,” you reply, your nose scrunching up at the thought of anything stronger than tea. the word lingers between you, casual yet definitive.

billie watches you, her amusement flickering in her eyes. “so, no alcohol at all?”

“not my thing,” you mutter, sipping your drink once it arrives, the amber liquid cool against your lips, the black straw making soft sounds as it shifts in the glass. you swirl the ice, and the clink rings in the silence.

“what about special occasions?” billie presses, leaning in slightly, her eyes narrowing with playful intrigue.

you shake your head with a slow, deliberate motion. “nope.”

billie hums thoughtfully, tilting her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “so if i showed up at your birthday with a nice bottle, you wouldn’t take a sip?”

you raise a brow, the challenge clear in your eyes. “you plannin’ on showin’ up to my birthday?”

“maybe,” billie says, her grin widening, knowing the game she’s playing.

you huff a laugh, swirling the straw in your glass. “i’d take the bottle. give it to someone else, though.”

billie laughs at that, a warm, easy sound that fills the space between you. she grabs a potato wedge, dragging it through a small cup of ranch before popping it in her mouth. “so what do you like?”

“besides sweet tea?”

“yeah.”

you tap your fingers against the table, pretending to think. “long rides, warm nights, good music.”

billie’s lips curl into a smirk. “you sound like a country song.”

“and you sound like you don’t know what good music is.”

billie gasps, hand dramatically pressed to her heart. “wow. you wound me.”

“you’ll live.”

before billie can come up with a retort, the speakers crackle, and then the smooth, rich tones of a blues song fill the room. the bass hums, slow and steady, and the vocals pull at something deep within you, a familiar ache.

billie’s face lights up, her eyes shining with recognition. “oh, hell, i love this song.”

you pause, letting the sound wash over you. something flickers in your chest, a memory rising unbidden, soft but sure. “really?” you murmur, almost to yourself. “my daddy used to play this all the time when i was younger.”

billie leans in, drawn in by the quiet depth in your words. “yeah?”

you nod, your fingers lightly tapping the rim of your glass. “on this smooth black bass guitar. i used to sit by his feet, just listenin’ while he played. never got tired of it.”

billie smiles at you, her gaze warm, unguarded. “what’s your favorite part?”

you hum softly, considering. “probably the way the bass carries the whole thing. i mean, it’s just so damn sexy. you take that out, and the song wouldn’t hit the same.”

billie nods in agreement, her expression thoughtful. “yeah, you’re right. that deep groove just makes it.”

“exactly.”

you both fall into easy conversation, dissecting the song, the way it moves beneath the surface. it’s effortless, like finding a rhythm in the chaos, like something that’s always been there, waiting to be heard.

and then, just like that—

“you’re cute when you’re like this.”

the words are soft, easy, but they hit you with the force of a slow burn.

you blink, caught off guard. “huh?”

billie leans in, elbows on the table, chin resting in her hand as she regards you with an easy smile. “when you’re all into something. i dunno. it’s cute.”

your mouth opens slightly, but before you can even find your voice, your gaze flickers past billie’s shoulder.

dj.

she’s staring.

the easy warmth between you and billie evaporates, replaced by something colder, something sharper. the air shifts, and you find yourself straightening, your posture stiffening, your smile faltering. you clear your throat, the moment slipping through your fingers.

“uh—i’ll be right back,” you mutter, already standing.

billie watches you go, curiosity lingering in her gaze. but she doesn’t stop you.

you slip through the crowd, the steady beat of the music vibrating through the floor beneath you, boots heavy against the worn wood, the sound almost swallowed by the chatter and clinking glasses. the air smells of sweat, spilled liquor, and something faintly sweet, an odd cocktail of scents that make your skin feel sticky, like the night is wrapping itself around you.

dj is already moving before you even reach the hallway, her presence a shadow in the dim light. she falls into step behind you, her pace matching yours as you push through the bathroom door, the sound of it creaking on its hinges before slamming shut behind you.

you lean over the sink, the cool porcelain beneath your fingertips grounding you, the dim lighting casting a soft, golden hue across your reflection. the deep burgundy on your lips is striking, bold—a statement you didn’t even mean to make. but now, under the harsh light, it feels too loud, too much, like you’re wearing someone else’s face. something about it doesn’t sit right.

you grab a paper towel, wet it, and press it to your lips, gently wiping away the color, the faint scent of soap mingling with the metallic tang of the bathroom air. a quiet sigh escapes you as you take your time, removing the boldness until only a faint stain remains, something softer, quieter. reaching into your pocket, you pull out a sleek black tube, twisting it open, the motion smooth and practiced, like you’ve done this a thousand times. the new shade is just a tad bit lighter than the one you had on moments before, the deeper shade now tucked away in its golden case in your other pocket. you apply it with a practiced ease, rubbing your lips together, you flick your gaze back up to the mirror.

the door swings open with a crash, slamming against the wall, and you freeze, eyes narrowing before you turn.

dj.

she moves fast, crossing the bathroom in only a few steps, the space between you both closing like a predator closing in on prey.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she demands, her voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

you frown, tucking the lipstick back into your pocket and folding your arms across your chest. “excuse me?”

“you know exactly what i’m talking about,” dj hisses, her eyes flashing with something between anger and fear. she crosses her arms tightly, like she’s trying to keep herself together. “you need to stay away from billie.”

your confusion twists into irritation, the edges of it sharp, dangerous. “what? why the hell would i do that?”

“because,” dj says sharply, her voice low and dangerous, “you’re playing with fire, and you don’t even realize it.”

you scoff, leaning back against the sink, the cold touch of it pressing into your back. “look, i don’t know what your damn problem is, but i’m not bothering you. so how about you return the favor?”

“you’re not bothering me?” dj laughs, but it’s hollow, empty, and you know the words aren’t meant to be funny. “you’re out there, batting your lashes at billie like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. what you’ve been doing.”

you narrow your eyes, taking a small step forward, your pulse quickening, the heat rising in your chest. “and what exactly do you think i’m doing?”

dj steps closer, her shoes scraping against the floor as she closes the distance. “don’t play dumb.”

you hold her gaze, unwavering. “i’m not playin’ anything. i’m minding my business. just like you should be doing.”

dj’s jaw tightens, her whole body coiled like a spring, ready to snap. “billie isn’t some random girl you can mess around with. she’s not—” she stops herself, exhaling sharply, biting back something heavy, something that’s been weighing on her for too long. “you just need to back off.”

your patience wears thin, the tension in the room curling around you like smoke.

“oh, back off?” your voice drops, low and sharp, every word a knife. you push off the sink, your fingers curling into fists by your sides. “and what exactly gives you the right to tell me what to do? last time i checked, i make my own damn choices.”

“and you’re making a mistake,” dj snaps, her voice tight with something she can’t hide.

“you don’t know shit about what you’re talking about.” you snap back, the words bitter and cold.

dj shakes her head, her eyes wide with frustration. “i know enough. i swear to god, if you hurt her—”

you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head, exhaling through your nose. the sound is empty, but something dangerous lingers in it.

then, your voice drops to a low growl, steady and calm, “and i swear to god, dallas joelle, if you don’t back the fuck up out of my face—”

the use of her full name cuts through the air like a slap. dj freezes, her posture going rigid, her breath hitching in her chest. you watch as the words land, the shift in her body language like a brick wall slamming into place.

but you don’t wait for her to respond, turning on your heel and pushing past her, the tension still hanging thick in the air. you can feel her eyes on your back, but you don’t turn around. not now. not yet.

the bar is thick with cigarette smoke and the sticky scent of cheap whiskey, the air pulsing with music too loud for the space. you move through the crowd, heat buzzing beneath your skin, but it’s not from the alcohol or the night’s tension. it’s from the sight of billie at the bar, her posture stiff, her gaze set forward, ignoring the man leaning into her space like he belongs there.

reggie.

his breath reeks of liquor and bad decisions, his voice dripping with the kind of charm that curdles in your stomach.

“hey, sweetheart,” he drawls, grinning wide enough to flash the gold in his mouth. “you know, a girl like you shouldn’t be out here alone. i got plenty of time. could use a drink, maybe some company.”

billie doesn’t even blink. doesn’t turn her head. “i’m good.”

reggie chuckles, like this is a game and she’s just playing hard to get. “you sure? ‘cause you look like you could use some company.”

his fingers ghost too close to her arm, and you see it—the way her jaw clenches, the way her shoulders go taut beneath her leather jacket.

your stomach tightens.

billie rolls her eyes, shifts to stand, but reggie steps in her way, tilting his head, all confidence and no sense.

“c’mon now, don’t be like that,” he presses, voice syrupy. “i got plenty to offer—check this out.” he lifts his wrist, flashing a thick gold watch, letting the dim light catch on the metal.

billie doesn’t spare it a glance. “i said, i’m good.”

but reggie just grins wider, because he’s the type who never takes no for an answer.

“c’mon now, don’t be like that. you’re new ‘round here, ain’t you? you oughta let someone show you a good time.” he

billie exhales sharply through her nose, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “yeah? you know someone?”

his smile falters just a bit, but before he can respond, a voice cuts through the tension.

“reggie.”

he turns, his smug expression shifting the second he sees you. dj lingers behind you, but this isn’t her fight. it’s yours.

reggie’s lips curl into something too familiar, too easy. “well, look who it is. where’s that southern hospitality, huh?”

“you can take it and shove it up your ass,” you say, voice cool, steady.

he lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “damn, girl, now is that how you greet an old friend?”

“we ain’t friends.”

his grin doesn’t waver. “aw, don’t be like that. used to be real sweet to me, remember?” he tuts, shaking his head. “what happened?”

“my daddy realized you ain’t shit.”

dj shifts, ready to step in, but you’re quicker—you put your hand out to stop her, letting her know that you don’t need her.

reggie hums, rubbing his jaw like he’s considering something. “you always had a smart mouth on you. i like that.”

you don’t flinch. “leave her alone.”

he tilts his head toward billie, barely sparing you a glance. “just bein’ friendly.”

“ain’t nobody want your friendliness,” you bite out. “why don’t you go home to your wife and kids?”

his smile tightens. “my family is none of your damn business.”

you fold your arms, tilting your head. “you sure about that? ‘cause you make it my business, steady lurkin’ around bars, tryin’ to holler at women who don’t want you.”

his nostrils flare, irritation creeping into his expression, but then his eyes flick to your hip, catching the glint of your gun.

his lips part, just slightly.

he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “now what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ with a piece like that?” he tuts, his bravado inching toward something meaner. “you don’t need them kinda toys, baby. what you need is a real man to—”

your laughter cuts him off, sharp and sudden.

“real man?” you mock, glancing around like you’re looking for one. “where?”

a few men at a nearby table stifle their laughs, and reggie’s jaw flexes.

“watch your mouth,” he warns.

you take a step closer, voice dropping, steady as stone.

“get on before i use it on you.”

reggie’s nostrils flare. “ the fuck you just say to me?”

you don’t blink. “i said get. the fuck. on.” your voice is calm, steady, but there’s a razor-sharp edge to it, something unshakable.

the way you say it—the certainty, the weight behind the words—makes something flicker in his eyes. a hesitation. a calculation.

his fingers curl into fists at his sides, but after a long, simmering moment, he scoffs, clicking his tongue. “ain’t worth my damn time.”

he turns on his heel and stalks off.

you don’t bother watching him go. instead, you turn to billie.

“you good?”

billie exhales, like she’s just now remembering how to breathe. then she nods, her lips parting, something unreadable in her eyes.

and then—

“that was sexy, as hell.”

you blink, caught off guard, before raising an eyebrow. “really?”

billie laughs softly, her voice a little breathless. “yeah,” she says, eyes gleaming. “you just… told him off.”

you shrug, trying to play it off. “wasn’t much.”

billie smirks, and it’s the kind of smirk that makes your stomach do something stupid. “it was kinda impressive.”

the air shifts, the static between you lingering just a second too long.

you glance toward the door. “wanna get outta here? i need some fresh air”

billie nods, too quick, too eager, and it makes you smile. “yeah. let’s go.”

as you head for the door, billie hesitates, then glances at you.

“you want me to walk you home?”

you don’t miss the way her voice dips, just slightly.

you glance at her, amusement curling at your lips. “yeah,” you say. “i think that’d be nice.”

the walk back to your house is slow, both of you dragging your feet just a little, neither wanting the night to end too soon. the cool air hums with the distant sounds of crickets and rustling trees, the scent of the earth richer out here under the open sky.

the town has settled into its quiet, the rowdiness of the tavern now just a distant murmur. porch lights flicker lazily, moths circling the glow, casting long, restless shadows across the dirt road. overhead, the stars sprawl endlessly, silver and cold, sharp enough to cut through the darkness.

billie kicks a stray pebble, hands shoved deep into her pockets, her gaze flickering to you every now and then, unreadable. you can feel her eyes on you, the weight of them, like she’s turning something over in her mind.

“so,” she drawls, breaking the comfortable silence, “you always that quick to pull a gun on a man, or was tonight special?”

you smirk, side-eyeing her. “depends on the man.”

“right, right.” billie nods, her lips twitching around the edges of a smirk. “he deserved it, though. you put the fear of god in him.”

“good.” you stretch your arms over your head, rolling out your shoulders, the tension from earlier still humming beneath your skin. “he needs to learn when to shut the hell up.”

billie huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “you’re somethin’ else.”

“what? you ain’t ever seen a woman put a man in his place?”

“oh, i have.” billie grins, slow and knowing, tilting her head at you. “just not one that looks as good as you do doin’ it.”

you scoff, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “real smooth, billie.”

“i try.” billie glances at you, playful, eyes gleaming under the moonlight. “it seems to be working though.”

you roll your eyes but don’t deny it.

by the time you both reach your house, the moon hangs high, silver light spilling across the porch, pooling in the spaces between the wooden planks. you stop at the steps, turning to her, your hands settling at your belt, fingers hooking loosely around the buckle.

“i really appreciate you walkin’ me home,” you say, voice softer now, like the night has finally wrapped its arms around you, settling into something quieter. “i had a good time tonight, billie. y’know before all the bullshit happened.”

billie nods, rocking back on her heels, her gaze lingering on you. “yeah. me too.”

the quiet stretches between you both, thick with something unspoken. the cicadas hum. a breeze rustles through the trees, carrying the faint scent of pine and the lingering smoke from the tavern.

billie tilts her head slightly, her lips curving into something half-smirk, half-thoughtful. “so… what now?”

you hum, tilting your head, eyes glinting under the porch light, the warmth of the evening still clinging to your skin. “i reckon you want a kiss?”

billie exhales a small laugh, the sound caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “yeah,” she admits, nodding once. “a kiss would be nice. really nice, actually.”

you just hum again, waiting.

billie steps closer, closing the space between you. her lips brush against yours, soft and brief—too brief. when she pulls back, you don’t move, just raise an unimpressed brow.

“hold on now,” you murmur, fingers curling into the loops of her jeans, tugging her back in with a slow, deliberate pull. “come and do it right. wasn’t given them pretty lips for nothin’. kiss me like you mean it.”

billie exhales another quiet laugh, but there’s something else beneath it now—something heavier, more certain. this time, when she kisses you, it’s slow, unhurried, her hands sliding to your waist, fingertips pressing into the fabric of your shirt like she’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

she kisses like she don’t want to forget. like she needs to know how you taste, how you feel under her hands, how your breath hitches just slightly when she deepens it.

when she finally pulls away, your lipstick stains her lips, a deep smudge of color against her own. you smirk, brushing your thumb across her lower lip, your touch lingering.

“well, now you’re just wearin’ my lipstick.”

billie licks her lips, smirking. “i don’t mind it.”

her hands are still on you, grip loose but firm, like she don’t wanna let go just yet. she steps forward, backing you against the door, her breath warm against your skin.

you don’t hesitate, don’t fumble. just reach behind you, unlocking the door with practiced ease, pushing it open, the wood groaning softly under your touch.

billie glances past you, taking in the inside of your house, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“huh,” she mutters.

“what?” you ask, raising a brow.

billie shakes her head, smirking. “nothin’. just—figured you’d have somethin’ a little messier goin’ on.”

you roll your eyes, stepping back just enough to let her in. “you really thought i lived like a damn outlaw?”

“maybe.” billie grins, stepping closer, her presence filling the space between you. “you’ve got the attitude for it.”

you huff, shaking your head, but before you can say anything else, billie moves again, her hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you into another kiss—deeper this time, more sure, more wanting.

you don’t stop her. hell, you don’t even think about stopping her.

you just kiss her back, letting her press you further into the house, her hands gripping you like she’s scared you’ll disappear. and maybe she’s right to—because if she keeps kissing you like this, you just might.

you take a slow step backward, leading her toward your room, your fingers threading through the soft waves of her hair. there’s an ease in the way you move, something effortless yet deliberate, a quiet kind of confidence that has billie watching your every motion like she’s committing it to memory, like she’s afraid it might slip through her fingers if she blinks too long.

she exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “you always this smooth?”

you smirk, tilting your head just enough to make her breath catch. “you always this easy to pull in?”

billie bites her lip, her eyes flicking to your mouth for just a second too long. “for you? always.”

and you don’t waste another second.

you kiss her again, slow and deliberate, letting her feel exactly what she’s gotten herself into. it’s the kind of kiss that lingers, that pulls her under like a deep tide she has no intention of fighting. your lips move with a teasing slowness, a subtle push and pull that has her chasing after your mouth every time you threaten to pull away.

her breath stutters as your hands slip beneath her shirt, fingers tracing along the dip of her spine, feeling the way her body responds to your touch. billie exhales against your lips, the sound soft, a little unsteady.

you smirk. “somethin’ wrong?”

she shakes her head, lips parted. “just—never been kissed like this before.”

you hum, tilting your head as you trail your lips down her jaw. “like what?”

her hands tighten at your waist. “like i might not recover from it.”

your smirk deepens, your voice dropping lower. “good.”

you pull her shirt over her head, your lips never leaving her skin as you press kisses along her collarbone, down the curve of her neck, leaving faint smudges of lipstick in your wake. your fingers move to the buttons of her jeans, slow, deliberate.

billie’s breath hitches as you toy with the waistband, teasing, testing. her grip tightens against your sides, grounding herself.

“you sure?” you murmur, looking up at her beneath your lashes.

her answer comes without hesitation. “i’ve never been more sure of anything.”

your smirk lingers as you press another kiss to her lips, slow and intoxicating, before finally undoing her jeans and tugging them down. her fingers slip beneath your shirt in turn, skimming over warm skin, tracing along the edges of your ribs like she’s learning you by touch alone.

when her jeans finally hit the floor, you step back slightly, gaze dragging over her, taking in the sight of her—flushed, breathless, her pupils dark with something heady.

you lift your cowboy hat off your head and place it onto hers, tilting it just right.

“relax,” you murmur, voice thick with promise. “i got you.”

billie blinks up at you, dazed, lips slightly parted. “i think you want to kill me.” she mutters, voice thick with something dangerously close to reverence.

you grin, leaning down to brush your lips over hers, teasing. “nah,” you whisper, your breath fanning over her mouth. “just tryna make you feel real good.”

her hands slide up your back, nails scraping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “already do,” she breathes.

you hum in satisfaction before moving lower, undoing her jeans completely and letting them pool at her ankles. she lifts her hips to help you, breath catching when your nails lightly scrape down her thighs.

you sit back for a moment, just looking at her—how undone she is beneath you, your lipstick still smudged across her throat, your hat perched slightly crooked on her head.

“damn,” you mutter, shaking your head slightly. “prettiest thing i ever did see.”

billie laughs, breathless, her hands reaching for you. “please, have you seen you?”

she pulls you back in, fingers tracing down the line of your spine, undoing the buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric from your shoulders. her touch sends heat skimming along your skin, a slow, simmering burn.

there’s a careful give and take—the slow unwrapping of each other, the soft murmurs exchanged between kisses. her hands are gentle yet eager, memorizing every inch of you as you do the same to her.

when her fingers trace over the clasp of your bra, she hesitates for the briefest moment, gaze flicking to yours as if waiting for permission.

you smirk, reaching behind you to unhook it yourself, letting the straps slide down your arms. “don’t get shy on me now.”

billie exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head. “not shy. just—” she swallows, gaze dark. “don’t wanna rush.”

your smirk softens just a little, and you brush your fingers along her jaw, tilting her chin up. “baby, we’ve got all night.”

her lips curve into something small, almost reverent. “yeah. we do.”

the moment stretches between you, heavy with something unspoken, something deeper than just the press of skin against skin.

you kiss her again, slower now, like you’re savoring every second, every inch of space between you disappearing as her hands roam, her breath mingling with yours.

time feels like it’s slipping away, dissolving into the heat of your skin, the rhythm of your heartbeats in sync. the world outside ceases to exist—no past, no future, just this. just her. just the warmth of her hands, the press of her lips, the weight of her body against yours.

the night stretches on, lost to whispered gasps, tangled limbs, and the quiet hum of something that feels dangerously close to forever.

billie wakes up to the quiet hum of morning, the kind that stretches slow across the land, warm and drowsy. the weight of sleep clings to her limbs, thick and slow, like honey refusing to drip from a spoon. the soft light of the morning filters in through the curtains, painting the room in muted golds and sleepy shadows. the sheets are tangled around her legs, clinging to the heat left behind, but the space beside her is empty.

she shifts, blinking against the haze, her body aching in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. instinctively, her fingers reach for her neck, grazing over the remnants of last night—your lipstick, deep burgundy, smeared like a brand against her skin. the memory of your mouth, your hands, your weight pressing her into the mattress, lingers like an echo.

but you’re not here.

the realization settles in slow, an unease curling at the base of her spine. she sits up, raking a hand through her hair, her eyes scanning the room. nothing’s out of place, yet something feels off, like the air has been disturbed, like the warmth of you has been stripped away too soon. your hat rests on the chair by the window, untouched, but there’s no note, no message, nothing to tell her where you’ve gone. just an absence that gnaws at the edges of her mind.

her heart drums against her ribs.

last night—she remembers last night. the way you looked at her, the way your lips had parted like you wanted to say something but never did. the way your fingers had trembled, just for a second, before tightening in her hair.

so why does it feel like something slipped through her fingers while she was sleeping?

she swings her legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor grounding her, but it does nothing to settle the unease curling in her stomach. pulling her clothes back on feels mechanical, the fabric stiff from sweat and the lingering scent of you as her fingers moving on autopilot. she doesn’t know why she feels like this, like she’s standing at the edge of something unseen, something she doesn’t have the words for yet.

outside, the sun is already high, too bright, too warm against the cold twisting in her chest. she starts walking, boots kicking up dust as she heads toward her family’s ranch. the land stretches out before her, familiar yet suddenly foreign, like she’s seeing it through a different lens. her thoughts run circles around themselves.

then—

a scream. it’s sound, sharp. splintering.

billie stops cold, her breath catching.

then she’s running.

the sound draws her forward like a thread pulled too tight, unraveling her step by step. when she reaches the clearing, there’s a small crowd gathered, faces stricken, whispers curling in the air like smoke.

and then she sees him.

reggie.

lying still, his body slack, emptied.

his skin is pale, his body still. lifeless. but there’s no blood, no clear wound. just the eerie stillness of him, like something vital has been stolen right from under his skin.

but it’s not just his stillness that makes billie’s stomach drop. it’s the details.

his wrist—bare where his gold watch used to be.

his mouth—slightly open, missing the glint of a gold tooth.

his cheek—marked with a kiss, deep burgundy, the similar shade billie felt against her own skin hours ago.

billie stares. her pulse is a roar in her ears, her breath turning shallow.

her gaze lifts, flickering wildly through the gathered faces until she finds dj already watching her.

dj’s eyes are steady, dark, knowing.

billie can’t move.

dj tilts her head just slightly, and then, almost too soft to hear, she says,

“told you.”

billie sways where she stands, the earth beneath her suddenly unsteady.

the night unravels in her mind, thread by thread, until she’s left with nothing but a sinking realization.

the lipstick. the missing watch. the missing gold tooth.

the empty bed.

the ghost of your touch still warm on her skin.

billie swallows hard, stepping back, her skin cold despite the heat of the sun.

she doesn’t know what’s worse—the sick certainty curling in her gut or the fact that, deep down, some part of her already knew.

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[stvolanis]

!DARK THEMES!

maybe it was the courage of the alcoholic beverage you drowned yourself in earlier, or maybe it was the way Rafe looked at you through hooded eyes. The way he inhaled the smoke from the blunt that you had watched him roll up himself made him look even more delectable on this night full of tension between the two of you. Your breakup was messy, but the yearning, unfinished arguments, and one-ups were even messier.

it was at least one in the morning as danced a little too close to a boy who’s name you hadn’t cared to catch. He was whispering something in your ear, something you didn’t care to know—you couldn’t take your eyes off of Rafe. His eyes, full of fire as he sat on Toppers couch manspread like he owned the fucking place. His breathing was uneven, and his hands were curled into fists, almost like he was trying to restrain himself.

You smiled, completely aware of what you were doing to the short tempered man obsessed with you in every way imaginable. You were playing with fire, wanting to see just how far you were able to push him till she snapped. Rafes breaking point was when the boy you were dancing with groped your breast over your low cut dress that made it so obvious you didn’t care to put on a bra—what you did put on though, was a show.

Like a flash, Rafe was up and on top of the boy in an instant. Though you felt bad for the boy, you couldn’t find yourself to truly care. He was a pawn in this game between you and Rafe. A casualty. It took Topper and some other guy to pull Rafe off of the boy who’s face was now bruised and bloodied, but still, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Rafe.

It wasn’t till he turned around that you really got scared. He was fuming, anger still unbelievably prominent as he looked at you like you’d crashed his favorite car—which, you had done before. You backed up, feeling like the room was closing in on you, before turning around to book it for the door. You’d made it outside as you fumbled with your keys, but you were stopped by Rafe.

He was pressed against your back, hand sneaking up to grip your throat with so much force, you gasped for air. His mouth was next to your ear, and his voice sent a chill down your spine. “This what the fuck you’re doin’ now, huh? Slutting yourself out to the first guy who’ll give you attention?” He asked, tone calm but you knew—you knew just how deep his anger flowed.

God, you were scared—terrified, even, but the burn between your thighs was becoming unbearable, and he knew that. Your hands reached up to try to claw at the grip he had on your neck, but his free hand was quicker as he pinned your hands behind your back. “Made me make a big scene, all because you’re an attention seeking whore.” He spat out coldy. It was a low blow, because he was right. All you had wanted was his attention, and you didn’t care who got hurt in the process.

“You just need some good dick, don’t you, baby? Yeah? That what it is? Need me to fuck you?” He cooed mockingly as his grip on your loosened enough for you to catch your breath again. “Please, Rafe—M’sorry—you’re right.” You whined as you rubbed your thighs together. His hand moved away from your neck, and trailed down your body. He hunched the bottom of your skirt up, and cupped his hand harshly over your mound.

Your wetness soaked through your panties, and he could feel it. Rafe groaned into the side of your neck, pressing light kisses as he pushed your panties to the side, sliding a finger through your folds. “Dirty fuckin’ girl, aren’t you? You have everyone fooled, sweetheart. What do you think they’d say if they knew how good you cream on my dick every night.” He whispered as his finger entered your dripping entrance.

A moan slipped past your lips, but Rafe caught them in a searing kiss. He added a second finger, and was merciless in the way his fingers fucked you out in the open. You legs were shaking as his thumb toyed with your clit skillfully, and suddenly, he stopped. You let out a whine as your eyes watered—your pussy was aching painfully and Rafe was the only one who could fix it.

“Should’ve just been good, hm?” He said as he fixed your panties, tugging down your dress properly.

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[00valentina-writes00]

Idfk why why ask was being weird- ANYWHO I decided to do them both cause- why not?

✞⛧ Sevika AND Ambessa when they see your self harm scars ✞⛧

Warnings: mentions of self harm/self harm scars

✞⛧ Sevika ✞⛧

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the flickering lantern on the bedside table. You sighed as you peeled off your long-sleeved shirt, letting the cool air brush over your arms. It had been a long day, and you were exhausted. Your body ached from moving through the bustling chaos of the Undercity, and the only thing on your mind was sinking into bed and forgetting the world for a few hours.

You never let your arms go uncovered for long. The habit was second nature—ingrained in you like muscle memory. You kept them hidden under fabric, tucked away from wandering eyes and the questions they might ask. But here, in the privacy of your room, you thought you had a moment to breathe.

You didn’t hear the door open.

Didn’t register her heavy boots stepping across the wooden floor.

Not until a sharp inhale cut through the quiet.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Sevika stood just a few feet away, her usual composed expression cracking at the edges. Her dark eyes, always so unreadable, were wide as they flickered down to your arms.

You reacted on instinct—snapping your arms to your chest, scrambling for the shirt you’d just discarded. Your fingers fumbled, shaking as you tried to cover yourself. “Sevika,” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “I—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was low, steady. Not commanding, not harsh—just… careful. Like she was afraid of breaking something fragile.

You couldn’t look at her. Instead, you focused on the floor, on the way the shadows danced against the wood. Your heart pounded in your chest, shame crawling up your spine like a slow-burning fire

Seconds passed in suffocating silence.

Then, the sound of footsteps. Not leaving—but coming closer.

You felt her presence before you saw her. Warm, solid, steady. Sevika was always larger than life, always carrying herself with unshakable confidence. But now, there was hesitance in her movements, like she wasn’t sure how close she was allowed to get.

“Let me see.”

It wasn’t an order. It wasn’t a demand. It was a quiet request, filled with something unreadable.

You swallowed hard, your grip on your own arms tightening. “It’s nothing,” you lied, voice strained.

Sevika exhaled through her nose, and for a moment, you thought she’d let it go. But then—gently, with a patience you weren’t expecting—she reached out.

Her calloused fingers brushed over your wrist, slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You let her take your arm, her hand dwarfing yours. Her thumb traced over the raised, uneven lines etched into your skin—ghosts of old wounds, memories of battles fought in silence.

She didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t ask the questions you dreaded. Didn’t recoil, didn’t pity, didn’t make you feel like you were something broken that needed fixing.

Instead, she just held you.

The weight of her hand was grounding, a tether keeping you from slipping into the dark corners of your own mind.

“Were these before or after me?” she finally asked, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

Your throat tightened. “Both.”

Sevika let out a slow breath, her fingers ghosting over the scars once more before pulling back. Not because she didn’t want to touch them, but because she was giving you space.

You expected her to say something—anything. Maybe a lecture about how you should’ve told her. Maybe a cold dismissal, because Sevika didn’t do emotions, not like this.

But she surprised you.

She stepped back just enough to pull off her own vest, leaving only the dark tank top underneath. And then—she lifted her cybernetic arm, rolling the fabric up until the jagged scars lining her shoulder were on full display. Some were old, barely visible in the dim light. Others were fresh, still healing.

“This?” she murmured, tapping a particularly nasty scar running up her shoulder. “Got it from a an explosion tryin to protecting silco.”

Her fingers moved to another, this one along her ribs. “This one? Some idiot thought he could get the jump on me.”

Her gaze flickered back to you, unreadable. “We all carry scars, ma chérie.”

Your breath hitched.

Sevika wasn’t the type to bare herself—physically or emotionally. But she was doing it now, showing you the marks of her past without shame, without hesitation. She wasn’t comparing pain. Wasn’t trying to tell you that your struggles were the same as hers.

She was just… there.

Acknowledging, not judging.

You swallowed hard. “It’s not the same.”

“No,” she agreed, voice firm. “It’s not.”

A beat of silence.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t get it.”

Your vision blurred, and you quickly looked away, blinking rapidly. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of her. But Sevika saw right through you, just like she always did.

She didn’t push. Didn’t press for explanations or force you to talk about things you weren’t ready for.

Instead, she did the one thing that mattered most.

She stepped forward, closing the distance between you. And then—slowly, carefully—she wrapped her arms around you.

Her grip was firm, steady, unwavering. A silent promise that she wasn’t going anywhere. That you weren’t alone in this.

You hesitated, your body stiff. But then, little by little, you let yourself sink into her warmth.

She held you like you were something precious. Something worth staying for.

And maybe, just maybe—

You believed her.

✞⛧ Ambessa ✞⛧

The Noxian sun was relentless, casting waves of heat down onto the bustling city streets. The scent of metal, sweat, and baked stone filled the air, and even the war-hardened soldiers patrolling the avenues looked weary from the oppressive warmth.

You felt it clinging to you, the unbearable heat creeping under your clothes, making your long sleeves stick to your damp skin. But still, you refused to roll them up.

You never did.

Not even when you were alone with her.

Ambessa Medarda, the indomitable warlord, walked beside you, her presence commanding even in the simple act of strolling through the city. She wore her usual armor, layered but crafted to withstand the heat. The heat did not faze her—it never did.

She cast a glance at you, sharp and assessing. “You’re roasting.”

You forced a small smile, already anticipating where this conversation was headed. “I’m fine.”

Ambessa let out a soft huff, unimpressed by your deflection. “You are many things, my love, but a good liar is not one of them.”

She reached out, fingers brushing against your wrist, thumb toying with the fabric of your sleeve. The touch was casual, effortless, as if she had every right to do so—because she did.

But then—she felt it.

The slight ridge beneath the cloth. The way you tensed, your body going rigid beneath her fingertips.

Her grip remained gentle, but there was a shift in the air. Something heavy. Something undeniable.

Her dark eyes flicked up to yours, searching.

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your throat.

There was a moment where you considered lying. A dismissive laugh, a playful shove, Oh, it’s nothing, you’re imagining things

But Ambessa was not a woman you could deceive. Not about this.

Not when her gaze had already sharpened with quiet understanding.

She didn’t demand, didn’t press. She simply waited, the weight of her presence steady and unyielding, offering you the choice.

To show her.

Or to walk away.

Your hands trembled slightly as you exhaled, shaky and uneven. Then, slowly—hesitantly—you pulled back your sleeve.

The scars were laid bare beneath the sun.

Some had faded to thin, white lines, whispers of old battles fought in silence. Others were fresher, pink and raised, standing in stark contrast to your skin.

Ambessa didn’t flinch. Didn’t recoil.

Instead, she reached out, fingers tracing along the uneven ridges with the same care she gave her sword—reverent, precise, knowing.

“How long?” Her voice was low, steady.

You hesitated before answering. “Since before you.” A pause. “And… after.”

Her jaw tightened just slightly. But it wasn’t anger—not at you. Never at you.

She took another step closer, and it was only then that you realized how much larger she was, how easily she could shield you from the rest of the world. Her body was built for war, for command, for power—but her touch was nothing but careful as she cradled your arm in her palm, as if what she held was something precious.

A lifetime of battle had made her hands rough, calloused, but they were warm. Solid. Real.

She didn’t speak right away.

Instead, with deliberate patience, she lifted her other arm and rolled back her own sleeve.

And there, against her dark, battle-worn skin, were her own scars.

Some were old, earned in battle, jagged and ruthless. Others, though, were different. Smaller. Intentional. The kind that did not come from war, but from something far more personal.

Your breath caught.

Ambessa Medarda—the warlord, the lioness, the woman who had commanded armies and toppled rulers—knew.

Knew what it was like to bear a weight too heavy to carry alone.

Your throat tightened, words failing you.

But Ambessa didn’t need them.

She simply turned your hand over in her grasp, palm to palm, fingers threading between yours.

“You are not weak,” she murmured. “Not for this.”

A lump formed in your throat. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Her grip tightened just slightly, grounding.

“Strength is not measured by what scars us,” she said. “But by the choice to keep going despite it.”

The words settled deep, threading into the cracks of your armor, into the places you had never let anyone reach.

And then, softer, more tender than you thought her capable of—

“You do not carry this alone, my love.”

She brought your hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, a silent vow etched into the warmth of her touch.

And for the first time in a long time—

You believed her.

[heliosunny]

Hi! An idea I'd love to see - Fae!Phainon with a Reader that used to play with him where they were a child and visited the little village they grandma lived in. It's too bad they made a little promise to him long time ago without thinking through the consequences and now that they are back...

Yandere!Fae Phainon x Reader

You were only a child when you first met him, lost in the dense, whispering woods beyond your grandmother’s village. The elders always warned you about the Fae, about the creatures that watched from the shadows, their laughter mingling with the rustling leaves.

They said the Fae despised humans. That they could see through human nature, through the greed and the lies, and that no bond between mortal and fae could ever be genuine.

But you were young. You didn’t understand hatred. Not yet.

You found Phainon sitting in the roots of an old, gnarled tree, silver hair tangled and matted, his strange, sharp blue eyes narrowed in pain. Bruises marred his skin, dark against his pale complexion. His fine, delicate clothes were torn, though even in their ruined state, they were more elegant than anything you had ever seen.

It was clear that he was not human. He glared at you, his small hands curling into fists as you stepped closer.

“Go away!” His voice was sharp, like the cold bite of winter. “I don’t need your pity.”

You hesitated.

“I just want to help” you said.

Phainon bared his teeth at you, his pointed canines flashing in the dim light. “Help? Like a human could ever help me.”

Even at that young age, his hatred for humans ran deep. You should have listened. You should have left. But instead, you did something foolish. You took him back to your grandmother’s house.

It was not easy. He resisted at first, lashing out like a wounded animal, but he was too weak to fight you properly. The moment your grandmother saw him, her face paled, and she immediately started whispering old protection charms under her breath. But she did not turn him away.

“Fae or not, a child is a child” she murmured as she tended to his wounds.

Phainon never forgot that.

For days, he was silent. You would sit near him, chattering about the village, about the flowers that bloomed in spring, about how you wished you could fly like the birds. You never expected him to respond. Until one evening, when the fire crackled low, he finally spoke. “I hate humans” he whispered, staring into the flames. “They’re cruel. Selfish. Liars.” You were quiet for a moment. Then, you asked, “Do you hate me?” Phainon turned his head, and for the first time, he truly looked at you. “…I don’t know yet.”

Time passed, and Phainon became your only fae friend.

He showed you the hidden places in the woods where the fae danced under the moonlight. You brought him food from the village, and in return, he whispered the names of things humans had forgotten, the true names of the wind and the rivers, the secret paths that bent reality itself.

But the fae did not forget. Phainon was warned, again and again, that no good would come from caring for a human. And yet, he stayed.

When the time came for you to leave your grandmother’s village, you saw something you never expected in his eyes. Desperation.

“You’ll come back” he said.

You smiled. “Of course, I will. And when I do, we’ll be together. Forever.”

It was just a childhood promise. A silly thing. You meant it in the way children always do fleeting, thoughtless, without weight.

But words have power. And the fae never forget.

Years passed. The world changed. Fate pulled you back to that village, back to where Phainon waited, where your long-forgotten promise had never been forgotten at all.

Phainon had changed.

Once a wary, quiet fae, he had risen through the ranks, becoming one of the most revered among his kind. Where once his presence had been dismissed, now fae spoke of him in hushed admiration, their words laced with awe and devotion. He was no longer just Phainon, he was an elite, his power undeniable, his beauty otherworldly.

When you returned to your grandmother’s house, the air felt different. She was no longer there.

The fae had not forgotten you, nor had they forgiven. The moment you stepped into the village, whispers slithered through the wind, voices filled with contempt.

“The human has returned.”

“They dare come back after abandoning him?”

“Phainon will visit them. Let’s see if they still holds that promise.”

You barely had time to react before you felt it, an undeniable presence looming nearby. And then, from the shadows, he stepped forward.

Phainon stood before you, taller, sharper, his gaze piercing through you with unreadable intensity.

“You came back!” One evening, while wandering near the village, you stumbled upon a scene that made you pause. A beautiful fae woman, adorned in glistening silks and with eyes full of admiration, stood before Phainon, her voice carrying through the air.

“Phainon, you have become someone great. Would you consider taking me as your bonded one?”

A silence stretched between them before he replied, his tone cold and dismissive. “No.”

The fae woman's face twisted in disbelief. “Why? Is it because of the human?” Her gaze flickered in your direction before she turned on her heel and vanished into the night.

Later, you found Phainon sitting beneath the same ancient oak you used to share. Smirking, you teased “So, rejecting admirers now? You must be quite popular.”

He sighed, but the corner of his lips quirked slightly. “Their affections are meaningless.”

You nudged him playfully. “I dunno, she seemed quite taken with you.”

Phainon only looked at you, his gaze unreadable.

However, what you didn’t see was the seething anger lingering in the eyes of the rejected fae. She had seen the way Phainon looked at you, the way he reserved his softer moments for you alone. Her heart burned with jealousy, and she would not accept being cast aside so easily.

That night, something was slipped into your drink. A strange, shimmering liquid that clouded your vision and made your limbs feel weightless. Panic gripped you as the world spun, and before you could cry for help, only one name slipped from your lips.

“Phainon…”

He was there in an instant, catching you as you collapsed. His grip tightened as he caught the scent of foul magic laced within you.

“Who did this?” His voice was deathly quiet, but rage simmered beneath his words.

You barely managed to whisper “I... don't know.”

His expression turned lethal. Whoever dared to harm you would pay.

A flush spread across your cheeks, and your fingers instinctively gripped his cloak. "Phainon... I feel strange."

Realizing something was terribly wrong, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you inside your room as you buried your face against his chest, your breath ragged.

Laying you down on your bed, his fingers brushed your damp hair back, his gaze flickering with a mixture of worry and something deeper. "Focus on me." he whispered.

A strange, intoxicating need curled in your gut, making you shift restlessly. Your hand trailed up his arm, seeking warmth, grounding. He exhaled sharply, his resolve flickering. "Damn it" he muttered, reaching into his pouch with one hand while the other took out a dagger. He brought a bundle of crushed herbs to your lips. He used the dagger to cut his wrist, leaving blood flows upon your lips "Chew on this. Careful."

You obeyed, the bitterness jolting your senses. The fog clouding your mind slowly lifted, though your body still trembled with residual heat. Phainon's thumb brushed against your bottom lip as he ensured you swallowed the antidote, his eyes lingering on yours.

"Better?" His voice was quieter now, rough with restraint.

You nodded slowly, the frantic beating of your heart beginning to settle. "Phainon... thank you."

His fingers traced your cheek before he pulled away, visibly struggling with his emotions. "They won’t get away with this" he vowed. But the fae were relentless. The whispers started first, mocking murmurs whenever you walked through the village. "Pathetic human" one sneered. "Thinking you belong here just because Phainon protects you."

Another laughed cruelly. "He only pities you. Do you really think he’d ever choose a weak creature like you over his own kind?"

Shoves in the marketplace, stolen goods, malicious pranks that left bruises and cuts, each incident only added to the growing tension. When you confronted Phainon about it, he merely stared at you, his eyes unreadable. Then came the worst of it. You had been walking near the cliffs, taking in the salty air, when you felt an unnatural shove against your back. The world blurred as you teetered dangerously close to the edge. A voice whispered "Oops, did you slip?"

A shriek tore from your throat as you struggled to regain balance, the abyss below calling to you. Just as you began to fall, strong arms wrapped around you, yanking you back with inhuman speed. Phainon.

He turned to your attacker, his expression deathly cold. "You dare lay a hand on Y/n?" His voice was low, laced with a promise of suffering. The air crackled with an ominous energy, the fae responsible shrinking back in fear.

You clung to him. "Phainon, don't waste your energy on such matter."

But the damage was done. When you returned to the house, you made a firm decision. "I should leave" you said firmly. "If they keep coming after me, it’ll only put you at risk too."

"But... You promised me that we will be together forever." he whispered, brushing his fingers along your wrist, where your pulse trembled. "You said we'd never part. That no force in this world or the next could take you from me."

You didn't remember making such a promise. Forever? That word felt too large, too binding. Yet Phainon gazed at you with the certainty of someone who never forgot. His ethereal blue eyes shimmered in the dim light, holding you captive in their depths.

You tried to deny it, but a distant memory stirred, laughter echoing beneath the silver moon, hands clasped tight. Oh the naivety of youth. You hadn't thought it serious. But Phainon had.

"And now..." He raised your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingertips before turning your palm upward. A faint, sharp sting followed, his nail slicing just enough to draw a drop of crimson.

Your protest died on your lips when he did the same to himself, allowing a single droplet of his shimmering fae blood to meet yours. The moment they touched, the world shifted.

A searing warmth crawled through your veins, more intoxicating than fire, more binding than chains. Your breath hitched as unseen threads wove around your soul, pulling tight. You swayed, gripping Phainon's arm for balance, and he only smiled, his touch gentle, his eyes alight with triumph.

"It's done. I've been planning this for so long." He licked on your fresh wound, it healed almost immediately. His voice held no malice, only devotion "You are mine, as I am yours."

"Do you remember the night you drink my blood along with those herbs. I didn't expect them to act so careless. But lucky me, you didn't even doubt a thing. With this bond, you can never leave."

A chill ran through you, even as your senses sharpened. You could hear the whisper of leaves outside, feel the heartbeat of the forest in time with your own. You had changed.

The following days brought a drastic shift. Barriers of ancient magic wove around your grandmother’s house, binding you in an invisible cage. Phainon's voice carried over the wind "No matter what happens, you’re staying here. With me. Forever"

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Spicy Noodles Challenge

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: paige being a tease, Paige almost losing her life.

Paring: Paige Bueckers x fem reader x Azzi Fudd

Fandom: UConn's Women's basketball

Summary: spicy ramen and sheer willpower

TikTok Live was rolling, the ring light illuminating my face as I stared at the terrifyingly red bowl of noodles in front of me. Aubrey and Caroline sat beside me, all of us mentally preparing for what we were about to endure. The rest of the UConn women’s basketball team was gathered around us, off-camera but fully invested in our suffering.

"Alright, y’all," Aubrey said dramatically, looking at the screen. "We’re doing the spicy noodle challenge, and I already know I’m not making it out alive."

"Me either," Caroline added, shaking her head. "Why did I let y’all talk me into this?"

I scoffed. "Y’all got nothing to worry about. I have a reputation to uphold."

The comments were already flying in.

@p.y.aluver: "Y/n's about to humble everyone."

@UConnsfavtoy: "Paige and Azzi gon’ clown her if she starts crying."

@Purplepaigepurples: "Why do I feel like Aubrey is gonna tap out first?"

Paige and Azzi were standing behind me, flanking either side like my own personal hype squad—and personal menace squad. Paige rested her chin on the top of my head, peering down at my bowl.

"You sure about that, babe?" she teased. "‘Cause that looks lethal."

Azzi smirked, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Don’t get cocky now. You know you can’t handle spice."

I nudged her off me. "Y’all are so fake. Where’s the encouragement?"

Azzi patted my back. "You got this, baby."

Paige shrugged. "Yeah. You got this, but if you cry, just know I’m laughing."

KK Arnold snickered from the side. "You already know Paige and Azzi about to be the worst cheerleaders."

"I am offended," Paige said dramatically. "I support my girl in every way."

Azzi nodded. "Yeah, we just support her… with a little bit of clowning included."

Aubrey clapped her hands. "Okay, okay, less talking, more suffering. Let’s go."

We counted down together.

"Three… two… one—go!"

I took my first bite, and immediately, I felt the heat punch me in the throat. The spice didn’t creep up—it attacked. My tongue burned, my lips tingled, and my throat felt like I had swallowed actual fire.

Beside me, Aubrey was already gagging. "Nah. Nope. I’m out."

Caroline had taken one bite and was chugging her water like her life depended on it.

I powered through, despite my taste buds screaming at me to stop. My eyes watered, my nose was already running, and I could feel Paige and Azzi watching me, waiting for me to break.

"You good, baby?" Azzi asked, rubbing my back.

I nodded, swallowing another bite. "Yup."

Paige tilted her head. "Are you crying?"

I shot her a glare. "No."

The comments were going crazy.

@paxazxyn35: "Y/N IS STRUGGLING OMG LMAOOO."

@aubreyslefttoe: "Paige just wants to see her suffer 💀"

@ynrealluver: "Aubrey is already gone, Caroline is barely hanging on, but Y/N IS STILL FIGHTING."

Azzi handed me a napkin as I sniffled. "Babe, your nose—"

I wiped my nose quickly, taking another bite even though my throat felt like sandpaper.

"She’s fighting for her life," Ice Brady laughed.

"Ice, be useful and get me some milk," I croaked out, voice slightly hoarse.

Paige raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you need something?"

I exhaled, trying to cool my mouth down. "Yes, I need milk, now."

Paige smirked, holding up a glass of milk she had magically produced from somewhere. "I’ll give it to you… but you gotta kiss me for it."

I stared at her, deadpan. "Paige. Madison. Bueckers, if you don’t hand me that damn milk—"

Azzi, bless her soul, grabbed a different glass from the side and handed it to me before I committed a crime. "Here, baby."

I immediately chugged the milk, sighing in relief as the burn subsided slightly.

Paige pouted. "Wow, Azzi. You’re ruining my fun."

Azzi rolled her eyes. "You were gonna ruin your own fun when she knocked you out on live."

I slammed my glass down dramatically, after regaining the ability to truly speak. "I WIN. I FINISHED IT ALL."

The team burst into cheers and laughter, clapping for me.

"A TRUE CHAMPION," Aubrey declared, even though she had up two minutes ago.

Caroline wiped her own watery eyes. "I don’t know how you did that."

"Sheer willpower," I said, sniffling.

Paige kissed the top of my head. "Proud of you, baby. Even though you look like you just fought for your life."

Azzi cupped my cheeks, looking at me with faux concern. "Do you regret it, though?"

I leaned into her hands, sighing dramatically. "Yes."

Paige and Azzi both laughed before kissing me on either cheek at the same time.

"Never doing that again," I mumbled, still sniffling.

The chat was blowing up with laughing emojis and comments, but the best part? The stolen kisses, the teasing, and the way my girlfriends never let me suffer too much.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[doritochoi]

pairing: king elf choi san X human!reader

genre: fantasy, smut, slow burn, dark romance, supernatural, royalty, forbidden desire

word count: 11,6k (42 minutes)

warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, blood and injury, dark themes (including fear and death), morally gray characters, power imbalances, explicit language, eventual explicit content (smut), themes of captivity, slow trust-building, mentions of magic and curses, and emotionally intense scenes.

A/n: Hey everyone! I’m so sorry it’s been such a long time since I last posted—I’ve been swamped with school and barely had time to write anything. Recently, I rewatched The Lord of the Rings, and it completely inspired me to create a story with a similar vibe. I hope you’ll love this twisty, magical world as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think! 💗

Your village sat on the edge of a dark forest, a place where sunlight rarely touched the ground. It was a simple life, full of chores and quiet days. People often told stories of the forest—how it was sacred, forbidden, alive in ways no one could explain. But you never believed those stories. To you, they were just warnings to scare children, until the night the creatures came. They arrived without sound, like shadows in the dark. Their glowing eyes and twisted forms were unlike anything you had ever seen. They destroyed homes, set fires, and dragged people screaming into the night. Your family begged you to run, to leave them behind and save yourself. You didn’t want to go. But when you saw one of the creatures tear through your neighbor’s door, you had no choice.

So you ran

The hills stretched endlessly before you, but you could feel it—their eyes on you. One of them was still following, its growl echoing in the distance. When you reached the edge of the forest, you stopped. The trees were massive, their trunks twisted and ancient. The stories of the elders whispered in your mind: “The Forest of Luthënar is no place for mortals. Those who enter are never seen again.” But the growl behind you grew louder, and you knew there was no other way. You stepped into the forest.

The air changed immediately. It was heavy, damp, and strangely silent. The only sound was the crunch of leaves beneath your feet as you pushed deeper into the woods. You could hear the creature behind you, crashing through the trees, and your heart pounded. The forest didn’t seem to want you there. Roots twisted up from the ground, trying to trip you. Branches reached out like claws. You dodged them as best you could, but you were already so tired. When you glanced back, the creature’s glowing eyes locked on yours. It was fast—too fast. You tried to push yourself harder, but the forest was too wild. Your foot caught on a thick root, and you fell. Pain exploded in your head as you hit the ground. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was the forest above you, the trees twisting together like they were closing in.

When you opened your eyes, it wasn’t the forest floor beneath you. You were lying on something soft, like a bed, and warm light streamed through the air. Slowly, you sat up, wincing at the ache in your body. The room around you was unlike anything you’d ever seen. The walls seemed to be made of living wood, with golden light shining through cracks in the branches. The carvings on the ceiling looked ancient and beautiful, full of strange symbols and patterns. You looked down at yourself. Your old, dirt-stained clothes were gone, replaced with a soft tunic. Before you could wonder what had happened, a voice cut through the silence. "She's awake". You turned your head to see a man standing by the door. He wore silver armor that gleamed in the light, and his sharp features were cold and unreadable.“Bring her to the king,” he said. Two other guards stepped forward, their expressions as blank as stone. They helped you to your feet, ignoring your protests, and led you out of the room. The halls were like a maze, carved from the trees themselves. The air was thick with magic, and the light seemed to shift and shimmer. But you didn’t have long to look before you were brought to a massive room. At its center was a throne made of twisting branches and silver, and sitting on it was the most striking figure you’d ever seen. Choi San, the king of this strange, hidden realm. His hair was short and dark red, a deep color that reminded you of embers. It framed his sharp features perfectly, his piercing eyes watching your every move. He was dressed in robes of dark green and black, lined with silver thread that shimmered as he moved. San sat with one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed but his presence overwhelming. He studied you carefully, his gaze moving from your face to your hands, as if searching for something. The longer he looked, the smaller you felt. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice low and cold. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “I… I didn’t mean to come here,” you said, your voice shaking. His gaze didn’t waver. “And yet, here you are.”, “I was being chased,” you said quickly. “By something… I didn’t know where else to go.” San tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t mean to—” ,“Silence,” he said sharply, and you froze. He rose from his throne, the movement so smooth it seemed unnatural. As he stepped closer, the light caught the silver embroidery on his robes, making it seem like he was glowing. “You entered the Forest of Luthënar, knowing nothing of its laws or its dangers,” he said, his voice calm but dangerous. “Do you have any idea what this place is?”. You shook your head, trembling. “This is no place for mortals,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “And yet… you’ve survived.” For a moment, he stood there, his expression unreadable. Then, without looking away from you, he spoke to the guards. “Take her to the dungeons,” he ordered.

The days in the dungeons bled into weeks. Weeks into months. Time became a haze of cold stone, fleeting dreams, and the weight of unspoken words. The guards came and went, wordless as always, their presence a fleeting shadow. Yet, despite the monotony, there was a shift in the air—a tension that hadn’t been there before. You noticed it in San’s visits. At first, he had come to question you, his cold eyes cutting through you as he demanded answers you couldn’t give. Over time, those visits grew less frequent. But when he did appear, something in his gaze lingered too long. His sharp features—too perfect to be mortal—softened ever so slightly, as though he were searching for something he could not name. You had long since stopped trying to understand him. Yet, even in the dim silence of the dungeons, you felt his presence looming, like the whisper of a storm on the horizon. That night, you were jolted awake by the sound of iron scraping against stone. The cell door swung open, and two guards stepped inside, their expressions as impassive as ever. “Up,” one of them barked. You blinked, groggy and disoriented. “What’s happening?” The guards didn’t answer. They seized your arms with unyielding force, pulling you to your feet. You struggled, fear clawing at your chest. “Where are you taking me?”, “Silence,” the other guard snapped. You had no choice but to comply as they dragged you through the winding corridors. The forest palace was silent, the usual hum of its magic muted as though it, too, were holding its breath. When they threw open the doors to the great hall, the sight before you stole the air from your lungs.

The room was vast, its walls carved from living trees that stretched impossibly high, their branches intertwining to form a ceiling of shimmering leaves. Light cascaded down in ethereal beams, casting the hall in a golden-green glow that felt both warm and foreboding. Intricate carvings adorned every surface—scenes of battles, feasts, and stories long forgotten by mortals. And at the center of it all, on a throne of twisting silver and ebony, sat him.

Choi San.

The Elven King.

His presence commanded the room, even as he sat in stillness. His dark red hair, like the embers of a dying fire, caught the light in a way that seemed otherworldly. His robes, deep green lined with silver, draped elegantly over his lean frame, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. He looked as though he had been sculpted by the gods themselves—beautiful, cold, and untouchable. Yet, his expression was far from serene. His jaw was tight, his piercing eyes fixed on you as though you were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. At his side was a long table, its surface littered with scrolls, maps, and what looked like an ancient goblet. The guards shoved you forward, and you stumbled, landing on the cold stone floor before the throne. You winced, the impact jarring your knees, but you barely had time to register the pain before something clattered onto the ground in front of you.

Your medallion.

The delicate chain glinted in the soft light, and the pendant, a green, pearlescent leaf. For a moment, you simply stared at it, your heart thudding in your chest. San rose from his throne with the grace of a predator. Every movement was calculated, his robes shifting like water around him. He descended the steps slowly, each step reverberating in the silence until he stood over you. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. You looked up at him, confusion and fear warring within you. “It—it’s mine.”

“Do not lie to me.” His tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “This medallion… it does not belong to you.” Your brows furrowed. “I’m not lying. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.” He crouched before you, his piercing eyes boring into yours. “You expect me to believe that a mere mortal stumbled into my realm, wearing this?”His fingers brushed the medallion, and you flinched at the sudden intensity in his gaze. He wasn’t just angry, he was shaken.“I don’t understand,” you whispered. “What does it mean to you?”San straightened, his expression unreadable. “This medallion,” he said slowly, “belonged to my queen.”His words struck you like a thunderclap. You stared at him, your mind reeling. “Your… queen?”San turned away, his posture rigid. “She is gone,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t place—pain, perhaps, or anger. “No one but her could have possessed this medallion.”

“I swear,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how I got it. I’ve had it since I was a child. My family said it’s always been mine.”He turned back to you, his expression unreadable. “You expect me to believe that this—this artifact—found its way to a mortal child by chance?”

“I don’t know!” you cried. “I’ve never understood what it was. It’s just… always been there.”His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he would lash out. Instead, he moved to the table beside his throne. With a sudden sweep of his arm, he sent everything on it crashing to the floor—scrolls, goblets, and maps scattering across the stone. The sound was deafening, echoing through the hall like a storm breaking.The guards shifted uncomfortably, but San ignored them. He leaned heavily on the table, his head bowed as though trying to gather his thoughts.When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained. “My queen,” he said, almost to himself, “was the only one who could wear this. It was bound to her.” You swallowed hard, unable to look away from him. “I don’t know why I have it,” you said softly. “I just… I’ve always had it.” San’s gaze snapped back to you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or even fear. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask he wore so well.“Take her back to the dungeons,” he ordered, his voice like ice. The guards moved to seize you, but you resisted, desperation bubbling to the surface. “Wait! Please, you have to believe me—”

“Enough!” San’s voice thundered, the power behind it shaking the very air. “Take her.” The guards dragged you away, your protests falling on deaf ears. As the doors to the great hall slammed shut behind you, you couldn’t shake the image of San’s face—the way he had looked at you, as though you were a ghost from his past.

A few years ago

The medallion had always been there, as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. From the moment you drew your first breath, it had hung around your neck—a delicate green leaf with a pearlescent glow, suspended from a fine silver chain. No one had ever told you where it came from. No stories, no whispered truths. Just silence.

Because the truth was, no one knew.

You had no parents. At least, not the ones who gave you life.

The family who raised you—the kind, hardworking couple who had taken you in—had always been honest about that. They told you how they’d found you on a stormy night, abandoned on the edge of a cliff overlooking the restless sea. You were swaddled in soft, unfamiliar fabrics, cradled in a small wicker basket that was damp from the rain. The medallion was clasped around your tiny neck, its glow faint but unyielding, as if it were alive. It had been your father, a woodsman by trade, who had spotted you. He was out hunting for game when he heard your cries, faint and fragile against the roar of the wind. At first, he thought it was the wail of some forest creature, perhaps an injured fawn or a lost bird. But as he approached the cliff’s edge, he saw the basket. His heart stopped. “What kind of monster would leave a child out here?” he had whispered, his voice shaking. The storm had been unforgiving that night. Rain lashed at the rocky cliffs, and the sea churned below, its waves crashing with a violence that seemed determined to swallow the earth whole. If he had arrived even moments later, the wind might have swept the basket into the abyss. Your mother had wept when he brought you home. “She’s so beautiful,” she had said, her voice thick with emotion as she gently cradled your tiny form. “Who could leave her out there like that?” You were a mystery to them. A miracle, perhaps, or a tragedy they would never understand. But one thing was certain—they couldn’t turn their backs on you. “We’ll keep her,” your mother had said firmly, wiping her tears. “She’s ours now.” And so, you grew up in a small, humble home at the edge of the village, surrounded by love and warmth. Your adoptive parents treated you as their own, raising you with care and devotion. They taught you how to tend the garden, mend clothes, and read stories by the firelight. They were simple people, but their love for you was boundless. But the medallion was another story. It hung around your neck every day, an unspoken part of your existence. No one in the village could make sense of it. The local blacksmith once examined it, running his calloused fingers over the smooth, pearly surface of the leaf. “It’s no metal I’ve ever seen,” he had muttered, his brow furrowed. “And this shimmer… it’s not natural. Almost looks alive.” The village elders, who prided themselves on their knowledge of lore and legend, had no answers either. They spoke of old magic, ancient forests, and forgotten kingdoms, but none could explain how such an artifact had come to be with a child like you.

Your parents had little interest in the medallion’s origins. To them, it was just another part of you—something they loved because it was yours. But to you, it was a question that lingered in the back of your mind. Who had left you on that cliff? Why had they given you this strange, beautiful thing? And why, no matter how far you wandered or how many years passed, did the medallion seem to hum faintly against your skin, as if it were alive?

As you grew older, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the medallion was more than it seemed. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the simple joys of village life. Helping your parents in the fields. Watching the sunset from the hills. Listening to the crackle of the fire as your mother sang soft lullabies. But the medallion was always there, a silent companion. Sometimes, when you were alone, you would take it in your hands and marvel at its intricate design. The leaf was perfectly formed, each vein etched with delicate precision. Its green surface shimmered with an otherworldly glow, shifting between shades of emerald and pearl. You never dared to take it off. It wasn’t just because of its beauty or its mystery—it was because, deep down, you felt that it belonged to you in a way that nothing else ever could. As though it were a part of your very being. The villagers sometimes whispered about you, though never within earshot. They didn’t mean to be cruel—it was simply human nature. The child with no past. The girl who wore a medallion of magic. The one who had survived against all odds. “She’s special,” some would say.“Or cursed,” others would mutter. Your parents shielded you from the worst of the gossip, reminding you daily that you were loved. But the whispers followed you, a quiet shadow you could never escape. And now, as you sat alone in the cold darkness of the dungeon, the weight of those whispers pressed down on you. The medallion, which had always been a source of comfort, now felt heavier than ever. San’s words echoed in your mind. “This medallion belonged to my queen.” How could that be possible? You had worn it for as long as you could remember. You had no memory of his queen, no connection to his world. And yet, the look in his eyes when he saw it… It was as though he had seen a ghost. Your fingers brushed the medallion’s smooth surface, the faint hum of its magic resonating against your skin. It was warm to the touch, a strange contrast to the chill of the dungeon air.

In the great hall, San stood by his throne, his fists clenched at his sides. The medallion haunted him. He could still see it gleaming in the faint light, just as it had all those years ago when his queen had worn it. His queen. The one he had loved beyond reason. The one he had failed to save. He turned toward the table, his mind swirling with questions he couldn’t answer. Who was this mortal girl? Why did she bear the queen’s medallion? And why… why did she feel so familiar?San’s fingers trembled as he brushed the edge of the throne. He had spent centuries burying the past, locking away his grief and guilt in the deepest corners of his soul. Yet, with one look at her—at that medallion—everything had come rushing back. The storm outside mirrored the one within him, lightning flashing across the forest as rain pounded the palace. He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “I will find the truth,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “No matter what it takes.”

The throne room was steeped in shadow, its once-grand walls shrouded in an oppressive gloom that mirrored the heavy silence within. The shimmering light that once filled the halls of the forest palace was absent, as if even the magic of Luthënar had withdrawn. The air itself seemed heavy, thick with a sorrow that no amount of time could dispel. Choi San sat on his throne, his posture regal yet tense, his fingers curled around the armrests as though they were the only thing anchoring him. His features—carved sharp as if by the hands of a master sculptor—were thrown into relief by the faint glow of a single enchanted lantern. The play of light and shadow etched every emotion onto his face, though his expression remained unreadable to all but himself. He was alone, as he had been for what felt like an eternity. The throne room was empty save for him, and his thoughts were loud enough to drown out even the faint whispers of the palace’s magic. His gaze wasn’t fixed on the doors, the floor, or even the medallion that lay on the table beside him, but somewhere far away—on a memory. Memories of her. In his mind, she was vivid. The soft curl of her smile, the warmth in her voice, the way her laughter could fill even the coldest corners of his heart. His queen. His beloved. She had been everything to him, a light in a life that had grown increasingly dark. He remembered the way she would stand beside him at this very throne, her presence a calming force even amidst the pressures of ruling. She had been wise, compassionate, and stubborn in the way only someone who truly cared could be. He had loved her strength, her kindness, her fire.

The sound of footsteps broke through his reverie, echoing softly in the vastness of the throne room. San didn’t look up; he didn’t need to. There was only one person who would dare to intrude on his solitude unannounced. “Wooyoung,” San said, his voice low but commanding. From the shadows stepped a figure, his presence lighter but no less commanding than San’s. Wooyoung was a king in his own right, ruling a distant realm that thrived on its trade and opulence. He was as charming as he was dangerous, his sharp smile often masking his sharper wit. His long, raven-black hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, and his deep crimson robes shimmered faintly as he moved. “You didn't move on, I see...,” his voice carrying a teasing lilt as he approached the throne. “It’s been centuries, San." Wooyoung continued, casually placing a hand on the edge of the table beside San. His gaze dropped to the medallion. He sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting across from San, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” he said. “The past is the past, my friend. You need to let her go. San’s hand twitched against the armrest, the first sign of movement since Wooyoung’s arrival. “Let her go?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of it filled the room. “You speak as though it’s a choice.” San’s gaze finally rose, meeting Wooyoung’s. His eyes were dark, haunted. “She was my life,” he said simply. “How do you let go of that?” Wooyoung leaned back, his expression softening for the first time. “You don’t,” he admitted. “Not completely. But you can’t keep drowning in it, either. It’s been centuries, San. Do you even know who you are without her?"San’s gaze shifted back to the medallion. Its faint glow was hypnotic, pulling him into memories he’d spent lifetimes trying to forget. But it wasn’t just the past that haunted him now—it was the girl.The mortal who had appeared in his realm wearing this.“She’s connected to her,” San said finally, his voice rough. “The girl. I don’t know how, but she is.” Wooyoung arched a brow. “The one you’re keeping in the dungeons?” He let out a low whistle. “I heard rumors, but I didn’t think they were true. What do you mean she’s connected?” San’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She wears the medallion.” Wooyoung’s casual demeanor faltered. He straightened in his seat, his playful smirk replaced by genuine curiosity. “The medallion? Her medallion?” He nodded. “She says she doesn’t know where it came from. That she’s had it since birth.”, “And you believe her?” Wooyoung asked, his tone skeptical. San didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the medallion. “She has the same look in her eyes,” he said quietly. “The same fire. I don’t know if it’s a trick of fate or something worse, but I can’t ignore it.” Wooyoung frowned, tapping his fingers against the table. “You’re playing with fire, San. You know that, don’t you? If she’s truly tied to your queen, then the answers you’re looking for might not be the ones you want.” San’s eyes darkened. “I don’t care what the answers are. I need to know.”

When Wooyoung left, the throne room fell silent once more. San remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the medallion. The memory of her face lingered in his mind, as vivid as it had been the day he lost her. And somewhere, in the cold darkness of the dungeons, you sat alone, the medallion around your neck glowing faintly against your skin. San leaned back in his throne, closing his eyes as the weight of everything settled over him. The medallion, the girl, the past—it all pointed the one truth.

The night was quiet, almost too quiet. You woke with a start, unsure what had disturbed your restless sleep. As you looked toward the heavy iron door of your cell, your heart stopped. It was open. The faint glow of magic that usually sealed it was gone. The air was still, but there was a strange feeling in your chest—a sense that this was your chance. You didn’t know why the door was open or how it had happened, but you weren’t going to waste it. Slowly, you crept toward the doorway, your bare feet silent against the cold stone floor. The corridor was dark, the flickering torches along the walls barely lighting the way. You hesitated for a moment, listening for any sign of guards, but the silence was complete. Taking a deep breath, you moved forward. The palace halls were a maze, and you had no idea where you were going. All you knew was that you needed to get out. The night air hit you as you stepped through the large wooden doors at the end of the hall. You were outside. Free.

The forest stretched out before you, endless and dark. The trees were massive, their twisted branches blocking out the moonlight. Shadows danced between the trunks, and the air was thick with damp earth and decay. Every step you took was a gamble—roots jutted out from the ground, and the uneven forest floor threatened to trip you. Your breath came in gasps as you ran, clutching the medallion at your neck. You didn’t know where you were going; you only knew you had to keep moving. Then, the sound you feared the most broke through the silence: a horn. The guards had discovered your escape. The sound echoed through the forest, a low, haunting note that made your chest tighten. You pushed yourself harder, your legs burning as you stumbled through the undergrowth. In the distance, a small, crooked cabin came into view. It looked abandoned, its roof sagging and the wooden walls blackened with age. But it was better than nothing. You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you as quietly as you could. The cabin was cold and smelled of mildew. Dust coated every surface, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. It was dark, the faint moonlight filtering in through cracks in the walls. You huddled in a corner, trying to catch your breath.

You were safe. For now.

The horn’s sound reached every corner of the palace, waking the guards and setting them into motion. They rushed through the halls, their armor clinking, until they reached the throne room. Choi San sat on his throne, his head bowed as he stared at the medallion in his hand. He had been holding it more and more often lately, unable to let it go. It was the last piece of her he had left. “My king,” a guard said, his voice shaking slightly. San didn’t look up. “What is it?”

“The girl,” the guard began nervously. “She’s escaped.” San froze, the medallion slipping from his fingers and landing on the floor with a soft clink. He lifted his head slowly, his sharp eyes fixing on the trembling guard. “What did you say?” His voice was quiet, but there was a deadly edge to it. “She’s gone, my lord,” the guard stammered. “We don’t know how. The dungeons were sealed, but she—”

“Enough,” San interrupted coldly, rising from his throne. Without another word, he strode toward the stables. The guards followed for a moment, unsure of what to do, until he raised a hand. “I will handle this myself,” he said firmly.

San’s horse was a massive black stallion, its coat gleaming like polished obsidian. The animal snorted, its breath clouding in the cool night air as its master approached. San mounted swiftly, his movements precise and controlled. He urged the horse forward, the forest swallowing them both. As the horse galloped through the dark woods, San’s mind was far from the present. His thoughts were filled with her—his queen. She had been his light, the one thing that made eternity bearable. Her laughter had warmed even the coldest corners of his heart, her touch grounding him in a way nothing else ever could. With her, the world had been full of color and life. Now, everything was dark. The palace, the forest, even his heart. He had tried to move on, to bury her memory deep, but it was impossible. The guilt, the loss, the weight of her absence—it consumed him. And now, this mortal girl, with her strange presence and the medallion, had brought it all back. “She’s connected to her,” he muttered to himself. San’s jaw tightened. He didn’t care about the risks. He needed answers.

The cabin was small and dimly lit, its wooden walls creaking softly as you leaned against them, trying to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell as you gasped for air, your legs trembling from the mad sprint through the forest. Outside, the sound of horns echoed faintly, the guards’ warning carrying through the trees. You had escaped—for now—but the fear still gripped your chest like a vice. You thought you were alone. But then, out of nowhere, a voice startled you. "Who are you, my dear?" It was soft but sharp, the kind of voice that made you freeze in place. Your heart skipped a beat, and your wide eyes scanned the room. A figure stepped forward from the shadows in the corner of the cabin. It was an elderly woman, hunched slightly with age but somehow commanding. Her silver hair was wild and long, framing a face lined with time. Her dark, piercing eyes locked onto you, making you feel as though she could see every secret you didn’t even know you had. Her clothes were patched and old, layers of earthy tones that seemed to blend with the forest outside. "I—I didn’t know anyone was here," you stammered, your hand gripping the door behind you as if preparing to run again. The old woman’s eyes dropped to your chest, and her breath hitched. "That medallion..." she whispered, her voice shaky. "How do you have that?" Your hand instinctively touched the necklace that hung from your neck, the one you had always worn. The smooth surface of the green, pearl-like pendant felt strangely cold beneath your fingers. "I—I’ve always had it. It’s mine," you replied. The woman stepped closer, her hands trembling slightly as though she wanted to touch it but stopped herself. Her face was pale, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—shock, disbelief, maybe even fear. "You look just like her," she murmured, almost too softly for you to hear. "Like... who?" you asked, your voice shaking. Something about her gaze made your stomach churn. She gestured to a chair by the fireplace. "Sit. There is much you don’t know." You hesitated but eventually sat, too tired and too confused to argue. The old woman lowered herself into a creaky chair across from you, her movements slow, as though the weight of her words was already too much. "That medallion," she began, "is no ordinary piece of jewelry. It was made long ago, in the heart of the Forest of Luthënar, from the bark of the Eldertree. The Eldertree is a sacred tree—older than memory itself. Its wood glimmers like moonlight, and its sap is said to hold the power of life and death. This medallion... it was crafted using that sap, along with the dust of rare stones found only on the darkest nights. It is unlike anything else in this world." Her voice was steady, but her words left you reeling. You glanced at the medallion in your hands, its soft glow catching the faint light of the fire. It had always been a part of you, but you’d never thought it was anything more than a family heirloom—or at least, that’s what you’d told yourself. She continued, her voice heavy with meaning. "The one who wears that medallion is bound to a powerful fate. It carries the blessing—and curse—of rebirth. Whoever wears it... their soul will return again and again, until their purpose is fulfilled."

"Rebirth?" you echoed, shaking your head. "That’s impossible. I’ve had this medallion since I was a baby. I was found with it."

Her sharp eyes bore into yours. "Yes. You were found. Left on the edge of a cliff, I’d wager. You were not abandoned by chance, my dear. That medallion belongs to a queen—a queen who lived long ago, a queen who ruled with strength and love. A queen who died... far too soon." You blinked at her, your mind struggling to process what she was saying. "A queen? No, that can’t be true. I’m not a queen. I’m just... me."

"You are her," the woman said firmly, her voice shaking slightly. "You are his queen. The medallion ensured your soul would return, though you may not remember. You may not know who you were, but the soul never forgets. It always remembers." You stared at her, your hands tightening around the medallion as if it might slip away. The words felt impossible, and yet... a strange uneasiness stirred within you. A faint flicker of something—like a memory just out of reach—tugged at the edge of your mind. "But... if that’s true, why don’t I remember?" you asked weakly. "Because memories fade with each new life," she explained, her voice soft now. "The mind forgets, but the soul holds on. That is why he could not destroy you, no matter how much anger he felt. Somewhere in his heart, he knows who you are, though he does not yet understand." You shook your head, leaning back in the chair as your world seemed to spin. This was too much. Too strange. Too... impossible. "You’re wrong. He doesn’t care about me. He threw me in the dungeons. He—he hates me." The old woman’s face softened, her eyes heavy with sorrow. "He does not hate you, my dear. He hates himself—for failing you. For not protecting you in your first life. His heart is broken, shattered by grief. And now, seeing you again... it terrifies him. He cannot face the past. But he cannot turn away from you, either. That is why he is searching for you now." Her words sent a chill through you. "Searching... for me?" you whispered. The woman nodded grimly. "He will not rest until he finds you. He cannot. His soul is as bound to yours as yours is to his." As if on cue, the distant sound of hooves reached your ears, faint but growing louder. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the door. The woman rose slowly, her gaze shifting to the window. "He’s here," she murmured. "You cannot run from him forever. The truth will follow you, no matter where you go."

The cabin door creaked as you stepped outside, the cold night air hitting your face like a warning. You didn’t dare look back. The old woman’s words still echoed in your mind, but you had no time to think about them. You ran, the medallion bouncing against your chest as your feet pounded against the forest floor. The woods were even darker now, the moon hidden behind thick clouds. The trees closed in around you, their twisted branches reaching out like claws. Sharp twigs scratched at your skin, and the uneven ground threatened to trip you with every step. You had no idea where you were going—only that you had to get away. And yet, no matter how fast you ran, you could feel it. Him. Choi San. His presence wasn’t just a shadow in your mind; it was something tangible, closing in like a storm. Then, the growl stopped you in your tracks. It came from somewhere in the darkness, low and guttural, sending a chill down your spine. Slowly, you turned toward the sound, your breath catching as your eyes adjusted to the gloom. A massive wolf stepped out of the shadows, but it wasn’t like any wolf you’d ever seen. Its fur was black, its body rippling with unnatural strength. But the most terrifying part was its three heads, each one snarling, each mouth lined with jagged, dripping teeth. Its glowing red eyes locked onto you, and all three heads tilted slightly, as though it were studying you. A low, menacing growl rumbled from its chest, vibrating through the ground beneath you. Your legs refused to move. Fear gripped you, freezing you in place as the creature came closer. The wolf growled louder, its heads snapping toward you in unison. Your heart raced, your mind screaming for you to run, but it was too late. The beast crouched, ready to pounce. Then, like a flash of lightning, something silver sliced through the air. A sword struck the wolf with deadly precision. In one clean motion, the blade severed all three heads from its body. The creature’s snarl turned into a wet, gurgling sound before it collapsed to the ground, lifeless. You stared, frozen in shock, as the three heads rolled away, their glowing red eyes dimming. The body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around it. For a moment, the world was still. Then, the sound of boots crunching through the leaves snapped you out of your daze.You turned, your wide eyes meeting his. Choi San stood there, his sword still dripping with the creature’s blood. He looked like something out of a legend, his sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of the moon. His black cloak shifted in the breeze, and his amber eyes burned as they met yours. He took a step closer, his gaze sweeping over you. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something intense, searching. "You..." he said softly, his voice rough but steady. "It’s you." You backed away instinctively, your pulse racing. "I-I don’t know what you mean." San sheathed his sword with a swift, practiced motion and took another step forward. "You don’t understand, do you?" he asked, his voice low. "But now... now I see it."

"See what?" you asked, your voice trembling.

San’s eyes flicked to the medallion around your neck. His expression shifted—confusion, pain, and something else you couldn’t name flashed across his face. "That medallion," he said, his tone almost accusing. "It belonged to her. To my queen." You instinctively clutched the medallion, shaking your head. "I’m not her," you said firmly, though your voice wavered. "I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not—"

"You are," he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He looked at you like you were a ghost, someone he thought he would never see again. "I didn’t want to see it before. I couldn’t. But it’s you. You’re her." You stared at him, your mind spinning. The old woman’s words echoed in your mind: You were his queen. Reborn. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "You’re wrong. I’m not—"

"I know what I see. You have her face, her soul. That medallion... It wouldn’t be with you unless-" He stopped, his hands curling into fists at his sides as if he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. Tears pricked your eyes. "I don’t know what you want from me," you said, your voice breaking. "I don’t know anything about a queen or a past life. I’m just me." San exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. He looked at you with a mix of frustration and anguish, like someone fighting a battle within himself. "You don’t remember," he said softly, almost to himself. "Of course you don’t." His words made your chest tighten. You wanted to argue, to deny everything, but deep down, something about his gaze, his voice, made you hesitate. San took one last step toward you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "Whether you remember or not," he said, his voice low, "you’re here. And you’re mine." The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you weren’t sure if it was fear, anger, or something else entirely. "I don’t belong to anyone," you managed to say, your voice trembling but defiant. San’s lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. "You always said that," he murmured, almost fondly. San moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking prey.

You instinctively backed away, your heart racing in your chest, but it was no use. The rough bark of a tree pressed into your back, halting your retreat. You were trapped. His imposing figure loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the faint light of the moon. The cool night air felt suffocating as his amber eyes locked onto yours, piercing through every layer of your resolve. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you thick and electric. San’s gaze flickered, his eyes traveling from yours to the medallion hanging around your neck. Then, slowly, they dropped lower, tracing the line of your jaw, lingering on your lips.He licked his lips, his hand moved upward, brushing against the medallion with a featherlight touch. The cool metal shifted against your skin, and his fingers followed, grazing your collarbone. "You still don’t understand, do you?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. "I..." You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. His presence was overwhelming, and your mind was a storm of confusion and unease. San leaned in, his face so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. His eyes searched yours, as though trying to find answers you couldn’t give him. His free hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing firmly but not harshly, grounding you to the moment. "Even if you don’t remember," he said, his voice softer now but no less intense, "your soul does. I can feel it." You stood frozen, your back pressed firmly against the tree. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your chest rising and falling with every labored inhale. His words left you shaken, but it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he looked at you, like you were something precious and fragile, yet completely untouchable. He leaned in further, the space between you vanishing until his body was almost flush against yours. His hand on your waist tightened slightly, and you felt the strength in his grip—not rough, but possessive, as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go. Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to break free, but your body refused to move. It wasn’t fear that rooted you in place; it was something far stranger. His presence, his touch, the raw intensity in his eyes—it all held you captive. "You’re afraid of me," San said quietly, his lips so close to your ear that the words sent a ripple of heat down your neck. "But you don’t have to be." Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, your thoughts a jumbled mess of defiance and confusion. "I’m not afraid," you whispered, though even you didn’t believe it. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Then why are you trembling?" You didn’t have an answer. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, but you couldn’t summon the strength to push him away. Instead, you looked up at him, your wide eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, the world around you seemed to fade. San's hand remained firm on your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your tunic, grounding you as the world seemed to tilt around you. His piercing gaze remained locked on yours, flickering with emotions you couldn’t name. It was as if he were searching for something—some hidden truth, some unspoken connection. His face was close now, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, steady and measured, yet carrying an intensity that made your heart race. Your back pressed harder against the rough bark of the tree as he leaned in, his presence overwhelming but strangely magnetic. "You don’t even realize it, do you?" he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "Realize what?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "That you’ve always been mine."

The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable, as if they carried the weight of lifetimes. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breath mingling with his as he drew even closer. His eyes lingered on your lips, and you felt the moment stretch, a taut thread about to snap. And then, it did. San’s lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. The touch was featherlight, sending a jolt of warmth through your entire body. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. But he didn’t stop there. The hesitation melted away as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. The kiss was slow yet filled with an intensity that made your knees weak, a mixture of longing and something deeper—something neither of you could name. You didn’t know why you didn’t push him away. Every rational thought told you to, but your body refused to obey. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, your hands instinctively gripping the front of his cloak for balance. When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his breathing was uneven, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. "Why don’t you stop me?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, your lips tingling from the kiss, your mind spinning. "I... I don’t know," you admitted, the words trembling as they left your mouth. San’s gaze softened, but his intensity didn’t waver. "You may not remember me," he said, his thumb brushing your cheek again, "but I’ll make you remember." His words sent another shiver through you, and you realized with a pang of confusion that you weren’t sure whether you wanted to run or let him consume you entirely.

San’s hand remained steady on your waist as his other brushed against your cheek, his amber eyes pulling you into their depths. His gaze softened, and for the first time, there was something almost tender in his expression, though it was tinged with hesitation. “Close your eyes,” he said quietly, his voice low but commanding. You hesitated, your breath catching in your chest. “Why?” He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Just trust me. Close your eyes.” Something about the way he said it left no room for argument. Slowly, you let your eyelids flutter shut, the tension in your shoulders still refusing to leave. You felt the faint warmth of his hand against your skin, grounding you, and the low hum of the medallion against your chest seemed to grow stronger.“Now open them,” he whispered, his voice brushing against your senses like a breeze. When you did, the world around you was transformed.

The dark, tangled woods were gone, replaced by a vibrant, sunlit forest. The trees stood tall and proud, their trunks wrapped in soft moss, and the air smelled of wildflowers and fresh rain. Birds chirped overhead, their songs mingling with the laughter of children. In the distance, you saw them—small, carefree figures running and playing among the trees, their joy infectious. The world here was alive in a way you had never seen before, every corner of it glowing with a warmth that made your chest ache. You turned to San, your eyes wide with awe. “What... what is this?”. “This,” he said, gesturing to the beauty around you, “is what it used to be. The forest before it was tainted by loss. Before... everything changed.” You couldn’t find the words to respond. It was breathtaking, magical, and yet there was a strange sense of familiarity in it all, like a distant memory stirring in the back of your mind. San reached for your hand, his touch firm but careful, and began leading you down a soft, well-worn path through the trees. You didn’t resist, too captivated by the scene unfolding before you. The laughter of children faded as you walked, replaced by a stillness that made your heart ache. The trees grew taller, their branches arching over the path like a natural cathedral. And then, through the gaps in the trees, you saw them.

There, standing in a sunlit clearing, was... you.

You gasped softly, your grip tightening on San’s hand as you took in the sight. The version of you from the past was radiant, dressed in a grand crimson gown that shimmered like liquid fire in the sunlight. The bodice hugged your form perfectly, while the skirt flared out in soft, sweeping folds, its intricate embroidery glinting faintly. Around your neck hung the medallion, its glow unmistakable even from a distance. You stood next to him—San. Or rather, the San of that time. He was dressed in dark armor, elegant yet strong, with intricate designs etched into the metal. His expression was softer than the San you knew now, his lips curved in a rare smile as he gazed at you. You both looked... perfect. A king and queen. Your throat tightened as you watched. “Is this...?”

"This is who we were", San said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. The memory played out before you like a dream. The two of you were speaking softly, though you couldn’t hear the words. San reached out, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from the past you’s face, his touch filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. But the peace didn’t last. The skies darkened, and the sound of distant horns broke the stillness. Shadows moved through the trees—soldiers, weapons drawn, marching toward the clearing. The air was heavy with the tension of an impending battle. You saw yourself arguing with San, your face set with determination, his with frustration. “You can’t fight,” the past San said sharply, his voice firm but desperate. “I won’t hide while my people suffer!” the past you shot back, her voice ringing with defiance. San grabbed your arm, his grip firm. “You are my queen. You’re meant to lead, not die on a battlefield!”

“And you’re my king,” you replied, your tone softer now but no less resolute. “If you’re fighting, then so am I.” The memory blurred as the battle began. Swords clashed, shouts filled the air, and the forest was soon alight with chaos. You could only watch as the scene unfolded, your past self moving through the battlefield with grace and courage, the medallion glowing faintly as if feeding off your resolve. Then, the focus shifted. You followed San as he was drawn away from the main battle, his opponents forcing him deeper into the forest. Their swords clashed, the sound sharp and violent, until he finally struck them down one by one. But you didn’t know that. The past you, frantic and desperate, ran after him, your gown torn and dirtied from the fight. You called his name, your voice trembling with worry, but the forest seemed to swallow the sound. When you finally stumbled into a small clearing, it was empty. Or so you thought. A figure stepped out of the shadows. You couldn’t make out their face, only the glint of the blade in their hand. You backed away, clutching at the medallion as if it could save you, but it was too late. The blade pierced your chest, cold and unyielding, and your breath left you in a ragged gasp. You fell to your knees, blood pooling beneath you, staining the earth red. You tried to speak, to cry out, but no sound came. And then, through the haze of pain, you saw him. San. His sword slipped from his hand as he stumbled forward, his face pale with horror. “No...” His voice broke, raw and filled with anguish. “What have I done?” You stared at him, confusion and betrayal etched into your features as you tried to understand. It was his blade. His hand. The person you trusted most had ended your life.The last thing you saw was his face—haunted, broken—as the world faded to black.

You gasped as your eyes flew open, your chest heaving as if the blade had struck you again. The forest of the past was gone, replaced by the cold, dark woods of the present. San stood before you, his face pale, his expression unreadable."You..." you choked out, your hand instinctively clutching the medallion. "You killed me." His jaw tightened, his eyes filled with something between guilt and desperation. "I didn’t mean to. You have to believe me—I never meant to hurt you." Tears burned in your eyes as you took a shaky step back. "How could you? I trusted you. I... I loved you."

"And I loved you," San said, his voice breaking. "More than anything. That’s why it destroyed me when I saw what I had done. Why I’ve spent centuries trying to atone for it. Why I couldn’t let you go." You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "You don’t get to decide my fate," you whispered. "Not then. Not now." San reached for you, his expression pleading. "Please, let me explain—" But you didn’t let him finish. You turned and ran, the forest swallowing you once again as the weight of the truth threatened to crush you. The forest seemed endless, its twisted shadows reaching for you like hands trying to drag you back. You didn’t care where your feet were taking you—you just needed to escape. His voice, his eyes, the memories of what he had done... it was all too much. Branches scratched at your arms, roots threatened to trip you, but you didn’t stop. Your legs burned, your chest ached, and yet you pushed forward. But then, out of nowhere, he was there. San stepped out of the shadows ahead of you, his tall frame bathed in faint moonlight. Your breath catching as you stared at him, frozen. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breathing ragged, and his dark hair fell loosely over his forehead, damp with sweat. His shirt hung open at the collar, revealing the faint sheen of his skin, the lines of his chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath. The way the moonlight hit his sharp features made him look impossibly beautiful, almost unreal, but the intensity in his amber eyes grounded you in the moment. “Don’t,” he said, his voice raw and desperate. “Don’t run from me.” Your throat tightened, and you instinctively took a step back, your body trembling. “How did you—” The words barely left your lips before they faltered. San didn’t answer, but his gaze burned into yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. His lips were slightly parted, his jaw clenched, and there was something in his expression—something between anguish and longing—that sent a shiver through you. You took another step back, then another, until your back hit the rough bark of a tree. The impact made you gasp, and you realized, too late, that there was nowhere left to go. San moved closer, his steps slow but deliberate, like he was giving you a chance to stop him—but you didn’t. You couldn’t. His broad shoulders seemed to block out the forest around you, his presence commanding every part of your attention. “I told you not to run,” he murmured, his voice strained, his eyes flicking down to the medallion around your neck before returning to your face. He lifted a hand, bracing it against the tree beside your head, trapping you without touching you. "Why can’t you just leave me alone?" you whispered, your voice trembling, though you didn’t know if it was from fear or something else entirely. San exhaled sharply, his free hand running through his messy hair, his frustration clear. “Because I can’t,” he said, his voice low and uneven. He leaned in slightly, the space between you growing smaller with every word. “Don’t you see? I can’t stop—I can’t stop being in love with you.” Your breath hitched, and your heart felt like it had stopped. His words hung in the air, heavy and raw, like they had been torn from the depths of his soul. “Even after all this time,” he continued, his voice soft but filled with a desperate edge, “even after everything I’ve done, I can’t stop. You’re in my blood, in my soul. You’re... you’re everything.” Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words crashed over you. “You don’t mean that,” you said weakly, your voice breaking. “You can’t mean that.” San’s hand moved, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently it sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was warm, grounding, but it only made your emotions swirl more chaotically. “You don’t believe me?” he asked, his eyes searching yours. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling just inches from you. “Then tell me to leave. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel it too. Tell me, and I’ll go.”

Your breath trembled as you stared at him, his amber eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to think straight. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his body inches from yours, yet he didn’t move any closer. He was giving you a choice. "You want to know what I want to tell you?" you whispered, your voice shaking as you fought the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. San didn’t speak, his lips parting slightly as he searched your face. His silence was answer enough. He was waiting, bracing himself for the words that might finally break him. Your heart thundered as you stepped forward, closing the small distance between you. His eyes widened slightly at your movement, his breath catching as your face came closer to his. “I want to tell you this,” you whispered. Before he could react, your hands reached up, gripping the edges of his cloak, and you pulled him down to you. Your lips crashed against his in a kiss so desperate, so consuming, that it left no room for hesitation. San froze for a heartbeat, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening, but then he melted into you. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss with a hunger that sent heat rushing through your entire body. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, clutching him as if you were afraid he might disappear. The world around you seemed to blur, the forest and its shadows fading into nothing as his warmth surrounded you. The kiss was fierce, filled with longing and pain and something else—something that felt like hope. San’s hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his lips moved against yours. He kissed you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered, like he was pouring centuries of heartbreak and love into this one moment. His breathing was still ragged, but now it was from the sheer intensity of it all. When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathless. His amber eyes searched yours, his expression torn between disbelief and something deeper—something that made your chest tighten. "You..." he started, his voice hoarse, his grip on your waist tightening as though he feared you might slip away. "Why—"

"Because I couldn’t lie to you," you interrupted, your voice still trembling. "No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you to go. I couldn’t stop myself. I can’t." San closed his eyes briefly, his hand tightening against your waist as his other stayed cradling your face. "You don’t know what you’re doing to me," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "Maybe I do," you replied softly, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

San’s breath was uneven as he held you close, his forehead still resting against yours. The space between you had vanished, replaced by something undeniable, something neither of you could fight anymore. Then, his lips brushed against your jaw. Your breath hitched, your fingers curling against the fabric of his cloak as warmth spread through your body. “San...” you whispered, unsure if it was meant to stop him or urge him on. He didn’t respond with words, only with actions. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your jaw before reaching the delicate skin of your neck. His lips fit there so perfectly, as if they had been meant for this. A shiver ran through you as he lingered, his hands tightening their hold on you as if anchoring himself. Each kiss was careful, like he was relearning something he had once known by heart. His nose brushed against your skin as he exhaled softly, the warmth of his breath sending a rush of sensation down your spine. “You taste the same,” he murmured against your throat, his voice low and laced with something dangerously close to need. You swallowed hard, tilting your head instinctively as his lips moved lower. Your mind was spinning, every nerve in your body awake under his touch. “San...” you tried again, your fingers gripping his shoulders. “We shouldn’t—” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his amber eyes dark and unreadable. "Then tell me to stop," he challenged softly. You opened your mouth, but the words never came. You couldn't say it. San's lips curled into a knowing smirk, his fingers reaching for the fabric draped around your shoulders—a soft, flowing cloak lined with delicate silver embroidery. With one slow, deliberate motion, he pushed it off, the fabric slipping from your body and pooling at your feet. The cool night air kissed your skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of him, of his hands sliding gently over your arms."You’re beautiful," he murmured, his gaze drinking you in as though committing the sight to memory. You shivered, though not from the cold. His lips found your neck again, this time pressing deeper, lingering longer. He kissed and nipped gently, his touch slow and teasing. Your breath came in soft gasps as he traveled lower, his lips brushing just above the lace of your bra, his fingers ghosting over your waist. Your hands found his hair, threading through the soft strands as you fought to stay silent. But when his lips pressed just above your collarbone, a quiet, shaky breath escaped you.

San's mouth paused, his lips still touching your skin, as he waited for your reaction. The sound of your shaky breath was like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fire within him. His hands, already warm on your skin, seemed to burn with an inner heat as he slid them up your back, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of your bra. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you felt your nipples harden in response, straining against the fabric that confined them. His lips, still pressed against your collarbone, curved into a gentle smile, as if he knew the effect he was having on you. And then, with a slowness that was almost torturous, he began to kiss his way down, his mouth tracing the curve of your breast, his tongue darting out to tease the lace that covered your nipple. Your hands, still threaded through his hair, tightened, pulling him closer as you arched your back, offering yourself to him. The night air was cool around you, but you felt only heat, only the burning desire that seemed to emanate from San's very pores. His fingers found the clasp of your bra, and with a deft touch, he released it, the lace sliding away from your skin like a whispered promise. Your breasts, freed from their confinement, seemed to swell, the nipples hardening further as San's mouth closed around one, his tongue swirling in a maddening rhythm. You felt your breath catch, your body arching further, as he sucked, his lips pulling gently, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. And when he finally released you, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with a fierce inner fire, his voice low and husky as he whispered, "I've missed this, missed you, missed the way you respond to me" As San's eyes held yours, his hands began to move, the fingers that had so deftly undone your bra now working to release the buttons of his pants. The sound of the zipper lowering was like a promise, a hint of the pleasure that was to come. His eyes never left yours, his gaze burning with an intensity that seemed to sear itself into your very soul. The pants, once undone, slid down his hips, revealing the hard, muscular thighs that had been hidden beneath. And then, his hands moved to his underwear, the last barrier between you and the desire that had been building for so long. The fabric slid down, and San's erection sprang free, hard and proud, the head glistening with precum that seemed to bring you closer. Your breath caught, your heart racing with anticipation, as San's hands moved to your hips, the fabric was pushed up, bunched around your waist, and then his hands were on your thighs, his fingers tracing the curve of your legs before moving to the lace of your panties. The touch was like a spark, igniting a fire that seemed to burn away all reason, all thought, leaving only the desire that had been building between you for so long. "I want you," San whispered, his voice low and husky, his eyes burning with a fierce inner fire. "I want to be inside you, to feel you around me, to make you mine."

His hands grasp your hips, his erection pressing against your inner thighs. You feel the tip of his cock teasing your entrance, sending a rush of anticipation through your body. With a gentle thrust, he slides inside you, filling you completely. The sensation is almost overwhelming, his length stretching you to your limits. Your muscles clench around him, holding him tight as he begins to move, his strokes slow and deliberate at first, then growing faster and more intense. The friction builds, a burning heat that spreads through your core, threatening to consume you. His breath is hot against your skin, his lips tracing the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. One hand remains on your hip, holding you in place, while the other reaches down to find your clit. His thumb brushes against the sensitive nub, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. He begins to rub your clit in slow, gentle circles, the pressure building as he continues to move inside you. The combination of his cock sliding in and out of you and his thumb teasing your clit is almost too much to bear. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel yourself being pushed closer to the edge. His thumb moves faster, the circles tightening as he senses your impending climax. The sensation is intense, your body coiling tighter and tighter until you're not sure how much more you can take. 

The forest was quiet now, the air thick with the scent of earth and the lingering warmth of your bodies. The only sounds were your soft, uneven breaths, still tangled together in the aftermath of what had just happened. San held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as if afraid you might disappear. His skin was warm against yours, his chest rising and falling in time with your own. The rough bark of the tree pressed against your back, but you hardly noticed. The only thing you could focus on was him—his touch, his presence, the way his fingers traced gentle patterns along your spine.He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His amber gaze was softer now, no longer filled with the tension and desperation from before. Instead, there was something deeper—something that made your breath catch. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing delicately over your cheek. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles before he leaned in, kissing you again—slow, unhurried, savoring the moment. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I love you, my queen.” The words settled over you like a warm embrace, wrapping around your heart and holding it tight. You smiled, your fingers threading through his dark hair as you whispered back, “And I love you, my king.”

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

Play With Fire - Johnny Storm x fem!Reader

Authors Note: Well, since we have officially been introduced to MCU Johnny Storm, here's a little one shot I wrote a month ago because I am absolutely feral for Johnny Storm. We don't know much about how he's going to be portrayed so, I used my imagination. I hope you enjoy!

PS: Smut is not my forte so I hope it's...satisfactory.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, contains adult content, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT 18+, smut, lots of fire puns (I'm not sorry or maybe I am), lots of yapping

Pairings: Johnny Storm x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k+

The glimmering lights of the charity gala bathed the New York skyline in golden hues, casting long shadows on the sleek, chrome surfaces decorating the event. The décor was a striking blend of mid-century modern aesthetics—smooth, flowing lines, geometric shapes, and vibrant colors—reminiscent of a time when the future was just a few glamorous steps away and held a more optimistic approach. 

You didn’t want to be here but there you were, trapped in a sea of tuxedos and satin gowns, your father’s arm draped possessively over your shoulder like a shield. It had been his idea to bring you along, of course, a desperate attempt to put up a "family-first" front after the affair rumor hit the front pages of The New York Post a week ago.

You hated galas. You hated the small talk, the polite smiles, and the thinly veiled gossip that filled the air. You hated the way your father’s overbearing presence had turned the night into a performance, with you as the unwilling starlet.

“I’ll only be a minute,” your father whispered to you, his fingers tightening around your arm in that way that said, don’t move. “Keep a smile on your face. This is important. Our family needs this.”

You barely suppressed a groan, nodding stiffly before he was off, mingling with the city's elite. His eyes, always sharp, locked onto the wealthy faces around him, like a predator hunting for its next meal.

You took a deep breath, turning away from the throng of people, hoping for a moment of solitude. The jazz band played in the background, their smooth melodies swirling in the air. You found yourself in the back corner, near a large glass window overlooking the city.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped into the room, a confident swagger to his stride. Johnny Storm, better known to the world as the Human Torch, was hard to miss. His sharp blue eyes gleamed, his blonde hair tousled just enough to look casually effortless. He was, of course, dressed to the nines—a sleek black suit that hugged his athletic frame and a white shirt that gleamed in the ambient evening lights.

You knew who he was. Everyone did. His exploits were plastered across every major newspaper and the tabloids couldn’t get enough of his charisma and charm. He was a man of fire, literally and figuratively, the kind of person who seemed born for attention.

There was something different about him tonight. No flames. No flashy heroics. Just Johnny, looking slightly out of place amidst the formality of the gala.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when he caught sight of you and flashed a grin, as if he’d spotted an old friend. “Well, well,” he said with a teasing smirk, his voice warm with amusement. “What’s a beautiful woman like you hiding in the corner all by herself? You look like you could use some company.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Not really,” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned against the glass. “I’d rather be anywhere but here, to be honest.”

Johnny’s grin faltered for a split second, then he chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. These things can be a pain. All the smiles and the handshakes and small talk.” He leaned against the wall next to you, hands in his pockets. “You’re not here for the free drinks, then?”

You shook your head. “My father dragged me here. He thinks it’ll fix... everything.” You waved vaguely toward the sea of tuxedos and gowns. “But you know how it is—people with money can’t stand to be seen as anything less than perfect.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his tone thoughtful, as he glanced around. “I get the pressure. I mean, being a public figure comes with a lot of... expectations.” He flashed a grin, a little wry. “You’d be surprised how many charity galas I’ve attended for reasons that had nothing to do with actual charity.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You? I would’ve guessed you'd be more of a ‘save the day, destroy the bad guys’ type.”

Johnny laughed, his expression softening as he pushed off the wall and stepped a little closer. “That’s mostly me, but tonight… tonight I’m just Johnny. No fire. No superpowers. Just a guy who’s probably as uncomfortable as you are.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You know, I was thinking about ditching this whole thing and heading to a dive bar. Could be more fun. You in?”

Your lips twitched upward. “I’m supposed to be here for my father. This whole thing’s a mess.”

Johnny shrugged. “Tell you what then. When your father’s done playing the ‘perfect family’ game, I’ll swing by and whisk you away for some real fun. In the meantime, if you ever need a distraction, just holler for me, doll. I’m pretty good at getting people out of awkward situations.”

You met his gaze, amused and a little skeptical, but something about his laid-back confidence and easy charm made the idea tempting. "I'll keep that in mind," you said, your voice softer now.

Johnny’s eyes flickered over to the crowd for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re probably sick of being the center of attention,” he said quietly. “I get it. Sometimes you just need a break from all the... stuff.”

You gave a short, quiet laugh. “If only it were that easy.”

Johnny’s grin returned, this time a little softer, more genuine. “Well, if you need a superhero to make your night a little less superficial, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, he turned with a wink, slipping back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of well-dressed faces.

You stayed where you were for a while longer, the sound of the gala and the distant jazz playing in the background. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, was one of the last people you’d ever expect to feel any kind of kinship with, but for a few moments, he’d made you feel a little less trapped in the fake world your father had built around you.

And in a night full of forced smiles and shallow conversation, that small bit of genuine connection felt like a flicker of light in a sea of cold steel and polished chrome.

The gala was starting to wind down. The last glasses of champagne had been sipped, the tables cleared, and the final whispers of forced pleasantries echoed through the room. Yet, despite the event nearing its end, the energy hadn’t quite shifted. The jazz band had given way to a recorded track—a gritty, energetic tune that you instantly recognized.

"Play With Fire" by The Rolling Stones.

The heavy, seductive beat reverberated through the room, slinking through the air with a raw, untamed edge. It was unexpected. Unusual for a place that so carefully curated its atmosphere with smiles and good intentions. But there it was—one of the most rebellious songs of the time, now lacing the air, intoxicating and dangerous.

Somehow, as if it were fate, amidst the sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns, Johnny Storm appeared again, walking toward you like he had some kind of magnetic pull.

He flashed you a smile, his eyes gleaming under the cool, metallic lighting, his posture still effortless and relaxed despite the formality of the event. “Didn’t think they’d play this here,” he said, nodding toward the speakers, his voice amused. “I mean, talk about ruining the mood.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the deep growl of the guitar riff matching the beat of your heart. "Definitely not the kind of song you'd expect at a gala like this."

Johnny tilted his head slightly, the mischievous grin never leaving his face. “You know what? I’ve got an idea.” Without waiting for your response, he extended a hand toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Dance with me.”

Your first instinct was to refuse. You weren’t in the mood for any more attention, and honestly, you didn’t dance. However, something about Johnny's easy confidence and charms, the casual way he dared you to step out of the perfectly controlled lines of this polished world, made you hesitate.

He wasn’t asking for anything extravagant, not some perfect ballroom spin or rehearsed routine. He was just... offering a moment.

For a heartbeat, you just stared at him. And then, as the chorus of “Play With Fire” blasted louder, you shrugged and took his hand. "Alright, Mr. Storm. Let’s see what you’ve got."

His grin spread even wider as he gently pulled you toward the center of the floor. The room seemed to narrow around you. Those who had been murmuring and sipping champagne suddenly halted as they took in the scene. 

But you didn’t care. Not now.

Johnny’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other still holding yours as the two of you moved together. The pulse of the song matched your quickening heartbeat, and, for once, you didn’t mind the eyes on you.

The music seemed to speak to both of you, something unrestrained and reckless—something wild that had been suppressed by all the proper rules of society. Johnny’s movements were smooth, fluid, and effortless. He had the confidence of a man who knew exactly how to make the world bend to his will, and yet, somehow, his presence didn’t feel as overwhelming as you would assume.

You stepped in time with him, your own body moving with a freedom you hadn’t expected. The lyrics about temptation and fire seemed to mirror the electrifying pull between you. There was something present that was dangerous but exhilarating. Forbidden but impossible to resist.

You looked up at him, half in surprise, half in something else you couldn’t quite name. His eyes flickered back to you, almost searching, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable. No, it was more like he was giving you the space to decide just how far you'd go, how far you'd let this wild, reckless moment carry you.

“You know,” Johnny said as he guided you through a slow turn, his voice low, “they say if you play with fire, you’re bound to get burned.”

You raised an eyebrow, the edges of your lips curling upward. "You know what they say about fire, right?" you teased, spinning under his arm. "It can warm you up just as easily as it can scorch you."

He gave you a roguish wink, pulling you close again as the song picked up speed. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The world around you seemed to fade away as the music built in intensity. The room, the gala, the whispers—everything was irrelevant in that moment. All that existed was the two of you moving in sync to the rhythm, bodies close, the heat of his touch igniting a spark in you that you hadn’t expected.

The song surged toward its climax, the pounding drums pushing the beat faster, wilder. Johnny’s hand slipped lower to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, and the space between you vanished entirely. You could feel the heat of him. His body was a living furnace against yours, the friction of his energy igniting something within you, something that had always been held in check by the carefully constructed life you’d been forced to live.

You danced like you were both on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the line between control and surrender. Johnny’s laugh was infectious as he spun you one last time, a wild, unrestrained sound that made you realize how much you’d been holding back all night. He twirled you back into his arms, the song roaring in your ears as you laughed. 

The moment lingered there, suspended in time. A brief but intense escape from the world you’d known.

When the final notes of "Play With Fire" echoed through the room, you stood there, breathless and laughing softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Well,” Johnny said, grinning down at you like a devil. “I think we’re both burned.”

You caught your breath, a little dizzy from the rush but you didn’t mind. “Yeah. Maybe. But it was worth it.”

He gave you a knowing look, eyes full of something that was both playful and... something more. He was the Human Torch, but in that moment, he wasn’t just fire. He was a spark that could have burned everything or lit a whole new path. 

And maybe, for the first time all night, you felt like you were standing on the edge of something that wasn’t entirely out of your control.

Johnny winked, lowering his head so his lips were resting at the crest of your ear, his voice just above a whisper. “Sometimes, the best part about playing with fire is the burn.”

You smiled, feeling the heat of it in every fiber of your being. You hadn’t expected to find anything real tonight, but then again, you hadn’t expected to dance with a superhero to this song either. It was dangerous. Reckless.

It felt like freedom. That was the best part of it all. 

The last notes of "Play With Fire" still echoed in your ears, even though the beat had long since faded, replaced by the hum of a million voices, all of them too eager to return to the business of looking perfect.

You had somehow ended up on the edge of the dance floor, your breath still uneven, your pulse racing from more than just the rhythm of the music. Johnny stood beside you, his smile more subdued now, a knowing glint in his eyes as if he understood that something in you had shifted—something you hadn’t expected to feel tonight. The dance had been reckless, free, but the moment you’d stepped back, the world around you had tried to pull you back into place.

His presence, however, still felt like a spark. An electricity you didn’t want to let go of. Not yet. 

“Well,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, the earlier mischievous tone replaced with something a little softer. “That was fun.”

You shot him a look, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Fun? You could say that again.” Your laugh was a little more breathless than you intended, but you didn’t care. It felt good to be this... unfolded for once.

“You know,” he continued, stepping just a little closer, the heat of his body still too tempting, “the night doesn’t have to end here. There’s a spot… a little hidden place I go to when I need a break from all this.” He gestured toward the glittering ballroom, the clinking of glasses and forced chatter drifting in the background. “It’s up on the rooftop. Private. Quiet. I think you’d like it.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your stomach. Of course, Johnny Storm had a “private spot” for everything. He was, after all, the Human Torch—effortless, smooth, always in control. However, there was something about the way he said it, about the quiet invitation in his voice that made it hard to ignore. Maybe you did want to escape the fake smiles and phony pleasantries.

You glanced toward the entrance of the ballroom, where your father was still busy shaking hands with some benefactor from the event, lost in his world of polished deals. You hadn’t been looking forward to more of that tonight.

A part of you, the part that had spent so long just trying to keep things together, felt that pull. You needed to break free, even if just for a moment. And another part of you? The part that had danced with Johnny, felt his heat like an actual flare against your skin? That part wanted to see where this could go.

“Fuck it,” you said, your voice quieter than you expected. “Lead the way..”

Johnny’s grin returned, the familiar flash of confidence lighting up his face. Without another word, he took your hand, guiding you through the crowd with a smoothness that barely made anyone notice. His fingers curled gently around yours, warm, sure, the touch casual yet intentional. It was like he knew exactly how to move in this world—his world—while making it feel like it was all about you in that moment.

You followed him through a door to the back of the venue, into a dimly lit corridor that led to a discreet elevator. Johnny pressed the button without a word, his eyes briefly meeting yours. There was something unspoken between you two, something that felt like it had been building without either of you realizing it.

The elevator ride was quick, almost too quick, and when the doors slid open, you stepped out onto the rooftop.

The air hit you first, the cool night breeze sweeping through the garden, carrying the scent of the city mixed with something sweet and floral. It was a sharp contrast to the glossy, manufactured world of the gala below. Here, on the private rooftop, everything felt different. The towering buildings of Manhattan stretched in all directions, but above, it was quieter. More intimate.

Johnny led you through the garden, where lush greenery contrasted against the stark steel and glass of the city around you. The lights here were soft, golden, hidden beneath the plants, casting just enough light to make the space feel almost like a dream. The far-off hum of the city was muted here, and the distant skyline stretched like a canvas of muted lights.

“This is… nice,” you murmured, taking it all in. The silence, the peace, the fact that for a moment, you weren’t anywhere but right here with Johnny. No cameras, no whispers, no obligations.

“I come up here when I need a break from the chaos,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, matching the serenity of the space. He stopped beside a stone bench, and you both stood for a moment, taking in the view together. “Sometimes it’s good to just… get away. I don’t know about you, but tonight felt like I needed to breathe.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of that. The gala had been suffocating in its own way. Full of too many expectations, too many eyes watching. Too much of your father’s mask.

Johnny leaned against the edge of a low wall, hands in his pockets, his body slightly turned toward you. His eyes, usually so full of energy and fire, seemed softer in the dim light of the rooftop garden. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come up here,” he admitted with a small smile. “Most people aren’t exactly keen on leaving the spotlight. But I like that you did.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the rush from the dance still lingered, making it hard to keep your calm exterior. “What can I say? I needed a change of scenery. I guess you could say you have a way of making people want to step out of their comfort zone. Besides, the spotlight isn’t my thing. Never was.”

He chuckled, and there was a genuine warmth to it. “I don’t know if it’s me, or just that sometimes you need someone who isn’t afraid to break the rules.”

You met his eyes again and for a moment, it felt like the world around you had gone still. The wind was the only thing moving, brushing through your hair and ruffling Johnny’s shirt just slightly. And yet, there was an electricity between you two, quiet but undeniable.

“You’re a rule breaker, huh?” you asked, your voice low and teasing.

Johnny’s smile turned a little more wicked, that familiar mischief lighting up his face again. “Maybe,” he said, pushing off from the wall and stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe it’s just that… sometimes the rules are there to be bent.”

He was close now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the same heat that had burned so bright on the dance floor. His presence was magnetic, inescapable, and you had to fight the urge to step closer to him.

“Well, I think you’ve already set my night on fire,” you said, voice a little breathless.

Johnny didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he took another step closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. His touch was electric, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

You could feel the tension building between you—every heartbeat, every breath. The city below, the skyline, and the quiet garden was all just background noise now.

“Maybe we should just let the night burn then,” Johnny said softly, his voice deep and seductive, like he was speaking just for you. 

You didn’t know what you were stepping into, but right then, under the stars with Johnny Storm, you didn’t need to. You let go of the last of your reservations.

And for the first time tonight, you let the fire take you.

Johnny was close, closer than you’d expected. His presence, that electric heat that never quite seemed to dissipate, was undeniable. His eyes were on you, dark and steady, but there was something different in them now. There was now something softer, more deliberate than the playful energy that had defined their banter earlier in the night.

You stood beside him, heart racing, mind whirling. The dance had been the first spark, the moment when something unexpected flickered between you. But now? The air felt thick with unspoken words, each one hanging in the space between you like a slow-burning fuse.

“You know,” Johnny said, his voice low and surprisingly serious, “I don’t come up here often with anyone. It’s usually just me and the stars, you know? The chaos gets too loud sometimes. But tonight… Tonight it feels different.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t talking about the view or the quiet of the rooftop anymore. He was talking about you. Something about his tone, about the way his words wrapped around you, sent a shiver down your spine. The fire in him had shifted. The flippant hero, always surrounded by chaos and light, was now speaking softly, his words like an invitation, a promise.

“I get that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is nice. Peaceful. I could see why you wouldn’t want to share it.”

Johnny took a half-step closer, the space between you narrowing until his breath was warm on your face. His blue eyes—those beautiful stormy, electric eyes—searched yours like he was looking for permission, or maybe waiting for you to make the first move. The gravity between you was palpable, magnetic. Everything else faded into the background. All that mattered was the two of you standing there, in the heart of the rooftop garden, this space between chaos and quiet.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his lips curving into a slow, unsteady smile. “I’ve been thinking... maybe I’m the kind of guy who can burn things down and fly, but I also know when it’s time to stop and just... feel. Not many people know that about me.”

His words wrapped around you like a firestorm, the heat of them sinking deep into your chest. It was too much and yet it was everything you’d been craving all night. No pretense. No walls. Just the raw pull of the moment, the intensity that was flaring between you two like a flame in the dark.

With no more hesitation, Johnny’s hand lifted, slow but sure, as though he was asking for permission even now. His fingers brushed against your cheek, warm and light, his touch like a spark against your skin. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, the touch so intimate that it made your breath hitch.

“You don’t have to worry,” he murmured, his voice low, just for you. “I won’t burn you.”

You swallowed, your own breath a little shaky. Something wild had taken hold of you, some primal urge that told you not to hold back. You stepped into him, closing the last of the distance between you.

“I’m not afraid of getting burned,” you said, your voice a little hoarse. 

Johnny’s eyes flickered with something hot, something unrestrained. And then, without another word, he pulled you toward him, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that matched the fire he carried inside. The kiss was everything you’d imagined and more urgent, intense, full of heat, yet strangely soft. His lips were warm, the taste of him a mixture of whiskey and something electric, something undeniably him.

His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the warmth of him. His body. His energy. It surged through you like a live wire. You kissed him back, your own hands rising to tangle in his hair, feeling the wild heat of his touch consume you, like he was setting a fire inside you that you didn’t know how to extinguish.

For a moment, there was nothing but the heat of the kiss, the steady rhythm of your heartbeats echoing through your chest. The world had fallen away. There were no rumors, no expectations, no father or gala or fake smiles. There was only the two of you, locked in this perfect, intoxicating moment, a kiss that felt like it could burn down the whole city and leave nothing but the ashes.

When you pulled back, just for a breath, Johnny’s eyes were darker than before, smoldering with something that went deeper than the fire he controlled. His chest rose and fell with each breath, but he didn’t step away. Instead, his forehead leaned against yours, and he whispered your name, like it was a secret he’d been dying to share.

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your chest pressed against his. There was a quiet calm in you now, something that had been absent the entire night. Something that told you, even with all the fire and heat, maybe this was just the beginning.

“Maybe you’re more than just fire, Johnny Storm,” you whispered back. “Maybe you’re something a little softer. Less dangerous than you put on. Fire can be beautiful too. It’s not always destructive.”

Johnny’s laugh was low, his lips brushing against yours in a quick, gentle kiss before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Maybe,” he said, voice teasing but tender, “but I still have a few flames left to share.”

As the night stretched on, with the soft breeze swirling around you and the city still pulsing below, you knew one thing for certain: there was no going back. Not after this. Not after the fire had burned so bright between you.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to go back.

The city lights below flickered like a sea of stars, but up there on the rooftop, the night felt different. The soft hum of the wind moving through the plants, all of it was a contrast to the tension crackling between you and Johnny. The kiss you’d shared earlier hadn’t been enough—it was only the beginning of something more. Something you couldn’t quite control.

You needed more. 

Johnny stood close to you. Too close. But you didn’t want him to step back. His scent lingered in the air around you, a mix of the fresh outdoors and something smoky, something undeniably him. His eyes, dark and electric, never left yours, and every beat of your heart seemed to echo between you. His lips were slightly parted, his breath shallow, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” Johnny says breathlessly. “You’re playing with fire.”

You felt a thrill run through you at the words. Everything about him. From his cocky grin, the edge of danger in his voice, the way his body practically hummed with heat… He was irresistible. You tilted your head slightly, daring him with a soft smile.

“I think you’re the one who started the fire, Johnny,” you said, your voice low, teasing. It wasn’t a challenge, not exactly, but it felt like one all the same. Something between the two of you had shifted and now there was no going back.

Johnny took a step closer, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. You could feel the air between you thickening, crackling with an energy you hadn’t known you craved until now. His hand reached for you, slow and deliberate, but he didn’t touch you just yet. Instead, his fingers hovered near your waist, the slightest of touches, making you ache for more.

“You sure you can handle it?” Johnny murmured, his voice almost playful, but there was an underlying intensity in his words.

You swallowed, your pulse racing. “You’re the one who’s burning up,” you whispered, taking a small step forward, closing the last bit of distance between you.

Your pulse quickens at Johnny's bold words, your  breath catching in her throat. You look up at him through hooded lashes, your heart racing in anticipation. 

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you ask, you voice barely above a whisper. With a sudden burst of courage, you wrap your arms around Johnny's neck, pulling him flush against your body. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the cool night air. 

“Because either way, I'm willing to take the risk,” you confess, your lips hovering tantalizingly close to his. You close the final distance, pressing your  mouth to Johnny's in a searing kiss. Your tongue darts out, teasing the seam of his lips before delving inside to tangle with his.

Johnny groans into the kiss, his arms snaking around your waist to pull her tighter against him. He returns your passion with equal fervor, his tongue dancing with yours in a sensual duel. The taste of you is intoxicating, and he drinks it greedily, lost in the heady rush of desire. Breaking the kiss, Johnny trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he presses your back against the cold stone wall. The hard planes of his body molded perfectly against your body. Johnny grinds his hips into yours, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal.

“Tell me you want this,” Johnny said breathlessly, his intense gaze on you.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pins you against the wall. The rough texture of the stone contrasts sharply with the heat of Johnny's body, making you acutely aware of every point of contact.

“Yes, God yes,” you moan, your hips bucking against his in a desperate bid for friction. “I want this. Burn me alive, Mr. Storm.”

Your words are punctuated by a series of urgent kisses, your mouth seeking out Johnny's with a hunger that borders on desperation. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his suit. You want to tear the fabric away, to expose the man beneath and claim him as your own.

“That's the spirit,” Johnny praises, his voice thick with lust. He captures your lips again, devouring you with a primal intensity that leaves you breathless and wanting more. His hands roam freely over your curves, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. Johnny slips a hand beneath your skirt, his fingers tracing the lace of your panties before pushing them aside to delve into your slick heat. Johnny groans, his thumb finding your clit and starts rubbing it in slow, tortuous circles. “You're so wet for me already. I can't wait to taste you.” 

With a swift motion, Johnny rips open your dress, the fabric ripping with ease. He palms your bare breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they pebble under his touch. 

“You're perfect,” he rasps, leaning in to capture a pert bud between his teeth.

You cry out, you back arching as Johnny teases your sensitive nipples. The sensation of his hot mouth on your skin sends jolts of pleasure straight to your core, making you throb around his invading fingers. “Oh fuck, Johnny!” you gasp, your hips grinding wildly against his hand. “Don't stop, please…” 

Lost in the haze of desire, you fumble with the fastenings of Johnny's trousers, desperate to free his straining erection. You need to feel him. All of him. As if reading your mind, Johnny relieves you of the task, swiftly shedding his pants and underwear. His cock springs free, thick and pulsing with need. You wrap your hand around it, stroking the velvety length with reverence.

A hoarse cry tears from your throat as Johnny thrusts inside you completely, stretching your inner walls to their limit. The sudden intrusion triggers a wave of intense pleasure that courses through your veins, leaving you trembling and breathless.

“Johnny... oh god, yes!” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to his size. You start to roll your hips, experimenting with the delicious friction as Johnny remains still inside you. The sensation of his hot, hard length nestled deep within your core is almost overwhelming, stoking the flames of your desire to new heights. Impatient to move, you clench your inner muscles around Johnny's cock, urging him to start thrusting. “Please, Johnny,” you beg, your voice husky with need.

Johnny's restraint snaps at your pleading and he begins to move, setting a relentless pace that has you crying out in ecstasy. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air. 

“You're so damn tight,” Johnny growls, his eyes locked on your face as he watches you come undone beneath him. “I can feel every inch of you milking my cock. It’s driving me crazy.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you with increasing ferocity. The rooftop garden blurs around them, replaced by a world consisting solely of heat, hunger, and the primal urge to claim and be claimed. Johnny breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin. 

“Come for me, baby,” Johnny mutters into your neck, panting as he kept up with his relenting pace. “Come for me.”

The combination of his rough treatment and the unrelenting rhythm of his thrusts pushes you closer to the edge. Your inner walls begin to flutter and clench, signaling your impending climax. You wrap your legs tightly around Johnny's waist, locking your ankles behind his back to draw him impossibly deeper. 

“Johnny, I'm gonna—!” you scream as the first waves of an orgasm crash over you, your pussy spasming wildly around his pistoning cock. The intense pleasure is almost too much to bear, sending you hurtling into a maelstrom of bliss. Through the haze of your release, you feel Johnny's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing shorter and more urgent.

Johnny's grip on you tightens as he feels your pussy convulsing around him, milking his cock for all it's worth. The sensation of your clenching walls and the sound of your ragged breathing spur him on, driving him to new heights of pleasure.

“That's it, baby, squeeze my cock,”  Johnny grunts, his hips snapping forward in short, brutal strokes. “You're mine, all mine.” 

With a final, guttural roar, Johnny buries himself to the hilt and erupts, painting your insides with his hot seed. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he loses himself in the sheer ecstasy of the moment. As the aftershocks subside, Johnny collapses against you, his weight pinning you against the wall.

Breathless and sated, you cradle Johnny's face in your hands, gazing up at him with adoring eyes. 

“That was... incredible,” you whisper, your voice trembling with residual pleasure. You run your fingers through his hair, marveling at the way his heated skin seems to glow in the moonlight. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the lingering effects of their passion, leaves you feeling vulnerable yet deeply connected to Johnny. “I've never felt anything like that before,” you confess, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and wonder.

Johnny's chest rises and falls heavily as he tries to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. He's still buried inside you, their bodies intimately entwined. The sensation of your warmth wrapped around him is almost too much to bear.

“You're something else,” Johnny murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were trouble, but fuck, I wouldn't trade this for anything.” 

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, and sees the same awe and vulnerability reflected back at him. It's a moment of raw honesty, stripped of pretenses and societal expectations. Johnny brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle compared to the fierce passion they just shared.

Your heart swells at Johnny's words, your soul feeling as if it's been set ablaze by the intensity of their connection. You reach up to frame his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones as you search his gaze. 

“It was a good reprieve from all the formalities,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers trace the contours of his jawline, marveling at both the strength and unexplored tenderness etched into his features.

Johnny nods, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. 

“Yeah, definitely a nice distraction from all the pomp and circumstance,” he leans in, capturing your mouth in a tender, exploratory kiss. It's a stark contrast to the passionate frenzy that preceded it, but no less potent in its own way. When Johnny finally breaks apart, he rests his forehead against yours once more, his breath mingling with yours. “I should probably get you back downstairs before anyone misses you.”  

Despite the practicality of the situation, neither you nor Johnny make a move to disengage. The moment stretches on, heavy with unspoken promises and the knowledge that their lives will soon return to their usual trajectories.

You sigh softly, the sound caught between your  lips as you reluctantly pull away from Johnny's embrace. The sudden chill of the night air against your overheated skin is a jarring reminder of the world beyond this hidden alcove.

“Yes, we should…” Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow across his face. There's a bittersweet quality to the moment, a sense of longing for something that may never come to be. “But what if I don’t want to?” 

Johnny's eyes flash with a hint of mischief at your words, a devilish grin spreading across his face. 

“Then we stay up here all night and let the world keep spinning without us.”

[semisasseater]

BUT I SEE HER IN THE BACK OF MY MIND ALL THE TIME ─ se-mi

⤷ Like a fever, like I’m burning alive, like a sign

│pairing : gf!se-mi x dead fem!reader │ genre : angst, tragedy, psychological horror │tw : graphic violence, murder, blood, self-harm, suicide, hallucinations, grief, trauma do NOT read if you don’t like this│summary : after losing you in the brutal chaos of the night, Se-mi is consumed by grief, guilt, and an unrelenting thirst for revenge. She knows exactly who killed you—Nam Gyu—and she won’t let him get away with it. │wc : 1k │authors note : uh i don’t have anything to really say expect i love my gf and again don’t read if your sensitive to these topics ;-; not proofread. part 1

if you enjoyed likes or reblogs would be amazing! feedback is appreciated also requests are open!!

The floor was cold beneath her. She had been sitting here for hours, unmoving, staring at the dark stain on the ground—the only thing left of you.

They had taken your body away, sealed you in one of those black and pink coffins, stuffed you into a furnace like you were nothing. Like you never mattered.

But you did.

You were everything.

Se-mi dug her nails into her palms, jaw clenched so tight she thought her teeth might crack. She could still hear your voice. That final, broken whisper.

“Get out of here… for me… okay?”

But how could she?

How could she leave when the last place you existed was right here?

Her mind was fraying at the edges, unraveling thread by thread, a gnawing, maddening rage eating away at her insides. And beneath it all, a thought burned like fire—

“This is my fault.”

If she hadn’t left. If she had just stayed. Maybe she could’ve taken the hit instead. Maybe she could have stopped it from happening.

But she didn’t.

And now you were gone.

Se-mi exhaled a shaky breath, dragging her fingers through her tangled hair. Her eyes were hollow, ringed with exhaustion and something feral.

She knew who did it.

Nam Gyu.

That smug bastard had always had it out for both of you, spitting insults, pushing buttons, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And he had taken his chance the second the lights went out, leaving your body crumpled and bleeding on the floor.

He left you there to die because he killed you.

Se-mi’s fingers twitched.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew nothing would bring you back.

But she could make sure he never walked away from this either.

The announcement rang through the room.

“Player 381 eliminated.”

Y/n was dead. Another body burned. Another pile of money added to the piggy bank.

Everyone moved on.

Se-mi didn’t.

She watched her die. Watched the number disappear.

And then she knew.

Tonight, it was over for Nam gyu.

The others had gone to sleep, exhaustion keeping them in their beds despite the horrors of the last few days. But Se-mi was wide awake.

She stood over his bed, her gaze sharp and empty, her fingers curling around the metal fork she had swiped earlier. Her breathing was slow, steady.

This was it.

She moved with eerie silence, lowering herself onto his bed, hovering above him.

Then—

BOOM.

The pillow pressed over his face before he could even make a sound. His body jerked beneath her, limbs flailing, trying to shove her off. But she was ready.

The first stab went into his stomach.

The second into his chest.

The third—his hand.

Every wound a reflection of what he did to you.

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop when his blood splattered across her face.

Didn’t stop when his body convulsed beneath her.

Didn’t stop when his muffled screams turned into choked gasps, then silence.

Even when she knew he was gone, she kept going, blade plunging into him again, again, again.

Until there was nothing left.

Nothing but a corpse.

Nothing but the suffocating, crushing weight in her chest.

Blood dripped from her hands, soaked into her clothes.

She should’ve felt something.

Relief. Satisfaction.

But all she felt was empty.

Her hands trembled as she backed away from the bed, heart hammering, breath ragged.

And then—

“Do it Se-mi.”

She froze.

That voice.

Her head snapped up, eyes darting across the room.

And there you were.

Standing in the shadows, your silhouette cast against the wall.

“Do it. Kill yourself.”

Se-mi’s breath hitched. Her vision blurred, her chest tightening.

“We can finally be together if you do it. You can’t live without me can you?”

Tears welled in her eyes.

No.

No, she couldn’t.

You were everything.

She took a step forward, reaching out taking your hand, taking her to where you died.

“Pick it up Se-mi.”

Her gaze fell to the ground.

The glass shard.

The same one Nam Gyu had driven into your body.

Her fingers curled around it, lifting it, the weight of it familiar, cold.

Her whole body shook as she brought it to her chest, right above her heart.

Her breathing steadied.

She closed her eyes.

“We can finally be together Y/N.”

And then—

…

The glass plunged into her heart.

A sharp, piercing pain spread through her chest, but she barely registered it. Her body swayed, blood dripping from her lips.

She smiled.

She could almost see you now.

Waiting for her.

The room spun.

Her knees buckled.

She collapsed onto the cold, bloodstained floor.

Her vision dimmed.

And then—

Darkness.

The morning announcement rang loud and clear.

“Player 380 and Played 124 has been eliminated.”

The guards moved efficiently, lifting her lifeless body and placing it into a pink coffin.

Another two numbers gone.

Another pile of money added.

And the games continued.

As if nothing ever happened.

As if you, Se-mi, and Nam gyu never existed at all.

@semisasseater

[writingangst]

Friendly Fire

Summary: The aftermath of Simon Riley's paranoia has left the reader with an inner battle of holding onto her anger or making room for forgiveness.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and torture, angst, cursing, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 1.3K

Part One

I wasn't planning on posting on this account except for that one off, but since a lot of people liked it, I'm down to give you guys more angst. So, enjoy. (Also, if you want to request anything be sure to message me.)

Whispers and lingering stares were a part of your day to day since you and Ghost got back from the extraction mission. The barracks were filled with theories, the team making assumptions to make sense of the bruising you wore like a collar around your neck. As if you were some damn dog, beaten into submission. You hated every second of being on display and serving as a symbol of what they thought had to have been insubordination.

She must’ve mouthed off to the Lieutenant.

Poor girl was probably put in her place. 

Because Simon Ghost Riley couldn’t do any wrong. Surely the woman must’ve misbehaved to deserve being put in a life-or-death situation by someone she trusted. You couldn’t calm the anger that stubbornly sat in your chest. You wanted to scream. You wanted him in the same position you were in. You wanted the fucking bruising to go away so everyone could stop talking about it, reducing you into a fucking victim.

You were a Goddamn soldier.

Ghost on the other hand had been quiet. Even more so than usual. You would catch his eyes roaming the patches of dark purple and blue he painted on your skin from time to time, turning away when he noticed you looking back at him, your expression stoic. You could sense the tension. The regret. The nasty gut feeling assumed to be guilt swallowing him whole. 

He’d never felt that way before.

It wasn’t a part of your lives. You got jobs done that would make any normal person weep for years. Trauma so consuming, veteran suicide rates were in increase and violent crimes committed by them going up as well. You had no room for guilt or regret. You were machines. It was in the job description, under the fine print. There wasn’t an option to dwell on things, it was either keep pushing or people could die in your line of work. 

Yet Ghost was stuck on that feeling.

And it was becoming harder to ignore. You saw the way his fingers twitched when you flinched from any sudden movement. The quietness that overtook the space when you stepped into any room he was in, like everything suddenly became too heavy to bear. You wanted to laugh from the bitterness of it all. This was the same man that had threatened your life. And for once, it seemed like the monster that made him who he was couldn’t hide behind the skull mask.

You couldn't decide which one was worse though. The silence or the moments you caught him struggling with himself and what he did. But the worst part. The thing that kept you up at night, tossing and turning in a bed that felt more like a grave… Was that you had started feeling sorry for him. For the way his dark eyes would catch yours when you least expected it, as if they were silently begging for forgiveness you didn’t know if you could offer him.

Maybe that was the worst part. There being a chance to be able to forgive, but never forget. Missing his touch and dreading it all the same. The way he tainted something both of you needed. Severing a conection both physical and emotional. Needing him and hating him. It was the same fight within yourself and it made you angry, until you began yearning again. Your own personal hell, a cage he viciously hand crafted to fit you.

I hate you, Ghost. 

It was a mantra. Maybe soon you would start to believe it.

But as night fell on the fourth night, the repetition wouldn’t preserve your sanity. The common area was eerily quiet, devoid of any operative in your wing. The faint hum of the overhead light was the only sound as you sat on the worn couch, eyes scanning the documents in your hands. They were sending you out again. A covert operation. Then, the bitter taste of reality hit you again as you saw his name typed out on the call sheet under personnel.

I hate you.

“I’m sorry.”

You jumped instictivley at the sound of his voice, your head jerking in his direction, slightly to your left, standing within the door frame. His words were clumsy, raw, but there was hesitation in his tone. Like he was scared. Scared of what he did, scared of what you thought of him now. The silence between you both stretched like a taut wire, brittle and poised to snap.

For a fleeting moment, something in your chest softened—a crack in the icy wall you’d built between the both of you. But it was brief. So brief. The softness evaporated almost as quickly as it came, replaced by the old familiar coil of tension in your gut. You straightened, pulling your walls back up.

“So, he speaks.”

“I didn’t want to push you,” he said, his gruff accent thick with something unspoken—uncertainty, regret? You weren’t sure anymore.

You laughed bitterly. “But choking me out is fine.”

Your words were sharp and unforgiving. A hard accusation that was meant to hit him in the chest. The tension was unbearable now, like the moment might snap any second. He didn’t move though, didn’t back down. But you saw it—his jaw tightening, his fists clenching at his sides, the way his eyes flickered to the ground. The frustration was there, the guilt too, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He was struggling, you could see it.

He hesitated. “I fucked up.”

Raw. Unpolished.

But you weren’t so forgiving.

“You think?” You spat back, your voice filled with sarcasm, every word laced with the bitterness you couldn’t shake.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to excuse any of it. I was a paranoid motherfucker and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

His words landed heavier than you expected. You almost wanted to let you anger slip. To take the edge off, to relax into the moment, maybe even believe him. But you couldn’t. You’d betrayed yourself by awarding him with your forgiveness. Your nostrils flared at the turmoil you felt in your chest, your fingers digging into the documents in your hands with a fierce grip as you attempted to counterfocus the tightness.

“I don’t know what to do to make this right,” he confessed, knowing his words weren’t right. And they never could be. They didn’t carry the weight of what he had done. “I rarely ever apologize. If ever.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “So that should make me feel special?”

“Hardly,” he stated, wincing at your sarcasm, the impact of your words sinking into him like a punch. “I’ve made an even bigger mess of this. I can’t fix it. I know I can’t. I just—” 

—miss you.

You could almost hear it in the rawness of his voice, in the way he faltered. The silence was heavier with the words he didn’t dare utter hanging there. And that just made the anger swell in your chest. The more he held back, the more it stung, the more it fed your fury. The air felt thick around you. Heavy. Your breath shallow, your chest tight, and every beat of your pulse was a reminder of everything he had done. Everything he hadn’t done.

“Yeah?” You locked your gaze with him, the intensity in your eyes unflinching, your voice colder than you thought you could manage. It was steady, but laced with an undeniable edge. “Well, I fucking hate you, Ghost.”

The words slipped out, more venomous than you intended, but they felt good to say. They felt earned. You could see it in his eyes—the flicker of hurt, the way his shoulders slumped a fraction, as though your words physically struck him. But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to defend himself. He couldn’t. Not anymore.

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable, but it was better than what had come before. At least now there was nothing left to say.

Nothing left to break.

[chrissturnsfav]

chris and italian reader get caught mid make out

you're leaning against the bar at a buzzing club in milan, the bass of the music thumping through your chest.

the lights flash in chaotic patterns, reflecting off the glossy floors and designer shoes of people who probably have more money than you’ll ever see in your life. you swirl your drink casually, eyes scanning the dance floor when you notice him.

he has messy brown hair that looks effortlessly styled, his blue prada sweatshirt gleams under the lights, and even in the chaos, he stands out. there’s a confidence about him—the kind that says he’s used to attention.

then you realize, it's chris fucking sturniolo.

you’ve seen him on tiktok, maybe caught a few of his chaotic youtube videos with his brothers. funny, confident, a little cocky.

you didn’t expect to see him here, though. not in milan, not at this club.

his smirk widens when your eyes meet, like he caught you staring at him. you lift a brow, daring him to come over. and of course, he does.

"hey," he says, leaning close so you can hear him over the music. his voice is rough, confident. "you gonna keep starin' or say somethin'?"

"hm, cocky," you shoot back, your italian accent thick but sharp.

he grins. "yeah, well, it usually works for me."

you laugh, shaking your head. "fucking americans."

"fucking italians," he fires back playfully, and you can’t help but grin.

before you know it, you’re dancing with him, his hand on your waist behind you as the music pounds around you.

he’s smooth, sure of himself but not pushy. you match his energy, enjoying the way he watches you like you’re the sexiest thing in the room.

"wanna get outta here?" he asks suddenly, leaning close enough that his breath tickles your ear.

"where?" you giggle sensually.

"i dunno, somewhere quieter," he says with a smirk. "unless you’re scared."

"boy, i'm not scared," you scoff, grabbing his hand.

he laughs, letting you lead him toward a dark corner near the back exit. the music fades into the background, and before you can say anything, his lips are on yours—hot, confident, and unapologetic.

you don’t hold back, kissing him like you mean it. his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, his tongue sliding into your mouth without asking, tangling with yours as a hand slide down to your ass, your own hands in his hair.

"bro seriously, chris?" a voice cuts through you, your eyes shooting open.

you break apart, breathless, to see two guys standing a few feet away. identical to chris, but with expressions that scream what the fuck?

"what the hell are you doing?" one asks—nick, probably. or maybe matt.

"uh, making out?" chris huffs in annoyance, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "the fuck does it look like?"

"we’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes," the other brother says, exasperated. "the car's waiting."

"yeah, yeah," chris mutters, clearly unbothered. "i was busy."

you smirk, crossing your arms. "this a usual occurrence for you?"

he grins, unapologetic. "you got no idea."

his brothers are already walking back toward the exit, grumbling something about always being late because of chris.

he turns back to you, that cocky spark still in his eyes. "guess i gotta go."

"looks like it," you nod, pursing your lips that glisten in his and your saliva.

"you got a phone?" he asks, pulling his out without waiting for an answer.

"maybe," you snicker cheekily, taking his phone as he hands it to you, brushing your fingers against his in the process.

he chuckles. "sassy. i like it."

you type your number in, biting back a grin. "call me next time you're in italy," you say teasingly.

"yeah, i will," he says back with a smirk.

you nod, smirking right back at him as you turn on your heel to head back into the chaos, still looking at him over your shoulder.

and with one last grin, he jogs off after his brothers, leaving you breathless and a bit dizzy.

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101

@chrissturnsfav ™

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

----------

The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing. 

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then. 

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier. 

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility. 

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words. 

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat. 

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in– hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it. 

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours. 

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

When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat. 

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away. 

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry. 

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–" 

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine." 

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry. 

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting. 

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam. 

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

-----------

[vixensdungeon]

Hello, my little woodland critters. Today just for fun I'm going to walk you through the process of generating a character for the original 1974 edition of Dungeons & Dragons. I'm just going to use Men & Magic for this one but might do another one later with the supplements!

First, we get some dice. Three six-sided ones to be exact. I'm actually going to grab some with pips rather than numbers because that feels more authentic. Then, we roll and record their sum, repeating five more times, generating six ability scores. Here we go!

Strength 9 Intelligence 17 Wisdom 12 Constitution 16 Dexterity 13 Charisma 13

Yippee! As a witch these make me very happy indeed.

Next, we'll pick a class to play. Based on the abilities I rolled I'm of course going to pick the magic-user (the witch class didn't exist yet, alas). And as a magic-user, I'm actually allowed to futz with the numbers a bit, removing two points from Wisdom to gain an extra point in Intelligence. This gives us our finalised array, and we can now know the effects of each ability on the character.

Strength 9: no effect Intelligence 18: +10% to earned experience, eight extra languages Wisdom 10: no effect Constitution 16: +1 to each hit die, 100% chance to survive certain spells Dexterity 13: +1 to missile fire Charisma 13: maximum of 5 hirelings with +1 loyalty

Okay, languages. The character speaks the common tongue of the continent she lives in, along with an alignment language. I'm going to pick Neutral as my alignment so that's the language I speak. I also speak eight creature languages, which I'm going to pick later.

For equipment, we're going to grab our trusty 3d6 again, roll them, and mulitply by ten to find out how many gold pieces we have. I rolled 10, so I have 100 GP. I'm going to buy a dagger, the only weapon a magic-user is allowed. In addition I will buy 50' of rope, a large sack (for treasure), a leather back pack, a water skin, six torches, a flask of oil, a small silver mirror, a bunch of wolvesbane (in case of werewolves), a bunch of belladonna, and a bug of garlic (in case of vampires, or pizza). Not sure what the belladonna is useful for but you can never be too sure. This leaves me with 48 gold pieces that I will use to buy rations when I'm heading on an expedition of some sort. To calculate my encumbrance, I add my dagger's weight in gold pieces (20) to that of my miscaellanoues equipment (always 80, though a referee is allowed to make sure this stays within reason), for 100 GP of weight. I'm well within the limit for light foot movement, which will likely mean I'll have the responsibility of hauling loot out of the dungeon. Maybe I should invest in a second sack…

As a magic-user of the 1st level, I am titled a Medium, and will require 2,500 experience points to reach 2nd level (Seer). I roll 1 die (six-sided), adding +1 for my Constitution getting a total of 2… Tha'ts how many hits my magic-user can take before death. Let's hope she rolls better on the next level, assuming she survives. She fights with the strength of one man!

I can memorise one 1st level spell for my journey. Not knowing what I might face in the dungeon, I pick something witchy that I think can really save the group's butts: Sleep. All level 1 spells are in my spellbook so I don't need to worry about which ones I can memorise.

And that's pretty much it! Now we just give the character an imaginative name… How about Naiviv?

Onwards to adventure and glory, Naiviv the Medium!

[kryllia]

A Kingdom of Ash and Cold

Yandere north prince x princess reader

Art from pinterest

The inspiration for this story was a character from character.ai but before I finished writing this story I managed to lose the chat and now I can't find who created the character.

You had once been a princess of the South, heir to a kingdom known for its wealth, beauty, and diplomacy. Unlike the North, which thrived on war and conquest, your people valued peace. Your father, the king, had always believed that treaties and alliances were stronger than swords. But he had been wrong.

Felix, the war prince of the North, had proven that with fire and blood.

He attacked without warning. Rumors had spread that your kingdom held untold riches, that its lands were fertile and untouched by war. But more than anything, it was said that the South was weak. And Felix despised weakness.

He marched his armies through your lands like a storm, tearing through defenses with terrifying precision. Your knights fought bravely, but against Felix—who had spent his entire life mastering the art of war—they stood no chance.

Within weeks, your kingdom fell. Your father was slain in battle, your people either killed or enslaved. The grand palace that had once been filled with music and laughter now stood in ruins, a silent graveyard of the past.

And you—once a beloved princess—were now nothing more than a prisoner in the heart of the enemy’s castle.

Three days had passed since your capture.

The cold stone walls of your cell were suffocating. You had been stripped of your royal gowns, left in a simple dress meant for prisoners. The only light came from a small barred window, just enough to remind you that the world outside still existed.

Then, the heavy doors creaked open.

A man stepped inside, his very presence commanding the space. Even without his armor, he looked every bit the war prince the world feared. His golden hair gleamed in the dim torchlight, his sharp blue eyes holding an unsettling intensity.

Felix.

Your body tensed as he walked closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he enjoyed watching you squirm.

Then, he smirked. "You look cute in this cell, princess."

You didn’t respond.

Felix tilted his head, amused by your silence. "I expected you to beg for mercy by now. Most do."

You clenched your fists. You would never give him that satisfaction.

He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "I like that fire in your eyes. It makes this more fun."

Then, his smirk faded, replaced by something darker. "I’ve decided." He stepped even closer, so close you could feel his warmth. "You will be my wife. The Queen of the North."

The words struck you like a blade.

Marriage?

You had expected execution, imprisonment—anything but this.

Felix watched your reaction closely, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "I won’t force you to love me," he said, almost mockingly. "But you will be mine. One way or another."

And just like that, he turned and left, locking the door behind him.

That was when the whisper came.

"Pst... Princess."

Your head snapped up.

A guard stood near your cell. Not a Northern soldier—but a knight of the South. One of the few survivors.

"Tonight, you will run."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Run, before it’s too late."

It's midnight the time of escape. The plan was simple: slip through the castle's hidden passageways and escape into the night. You knew Felix wouldn’t let you go easily, but if there was even a chance of freedom, you had to take it.

Night fell, and the soldier returned. With a silent nod, he unlocked your cell, gesturing for you to follow.

Every step was agonizingly slow. The castle was a maze of stone and shadows, but the soldier knew the way.

You were close. The exit was just ahead. Freedom—

"Where do you think you’re going?"

Your body froze.

Felix stood at the top of the staircase, his piercing blue eyes filled with cold fury.

The soldier drew his sword, stepping protectively in front of you. "Run, Princess!"

But you couldn’t move.

Felix moved first.

With terrifying speed, he descended the stairs, his blade flashing in the moonlight. The soldier swung, but Felix was faster.

The sound of steel meeting flesh filled the air. The soldier staggered back, blood spilling from his wound.

"No—" you gasped.

The knight collapsed. His body hit the floor, lifeless.

Felix stood over him, his sword dripping red. He turned to you, breathing heavily, his expression unreadable.

"You tried to leave me." His voice was eerily calm.

You took a step back, but it was useless. He was on you in an instant, his fingers gripping your wrist like a vice.

"I was being patient," he murmured. "I wanted you to want me. But now..." His grip tightened. "Now, you’ve forced my hand."

His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. His touch was almost gentle—almost.

"You are mine, Princess. And I do not let go of what is mine."

Two days after death of solider the North Kingdom gathered in celebration.

Felix had won the war. And now, he had claimed his prize.

You stood at the grand altar, dressed in the most exquisite Northern wedding gown. Gold and silver embroidery adorned the fabric, delicate jewels woven into every thread. But none of it felt real.

Felix stood beside you, his regal presence impossible to ignore. His golden hair framed his sharp, aristocratic features, and his blue eyes never left you—not even for a second.

You were his obsession.

Among the crowd were the last survivors of the South. They watched in silence, their faces etched with sorrow. They had lost everything, and now, they were forced to witness their princess being bound to the man who had destroyed them.

The priest spoke, but you barely heard his words.

Your mind drifted back to the soldier. The man who had died for you. The man who had given you a chance at freedom.

And then, the final words cut through your thoughts.

"The groom may kiss the bride."

Your breath caught in your throat.

Felix turned to you, his expression filled with an unsettling mix of triumph and desire.

He cupped your face, his fingers possessive against your skin. And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was desperate. Hungry. Filled with a madness that made your blood run cold.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heart pounding.

Felix pulled away, his smirk returning. His eyes locked onto yours, victorious.

"Now, my love," he whispered, "you will never escape me again."

And in that moment, as the weight of your new reality settled over you, you knew—

He was right.

You were his.

Forever.

[monstacheol]

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

Though I am working on my 400-follower celebration (we're actually 40%), and I also have some messages that I can’t see. 😭. If you are the person who messaged me. I’m so sorry I can’t see it. But I had this idea about Hongjoong and if you haven't seen my master list, I will be doing Ateez too (hopefully soon...)

I love Fashion Designer! Hongjoong in my head and here is why. (FYI: This is my favorite HJ headcanon and might be a Full-length fic and this is not edited or proofread. Also, I may or may not have gone a little bit more in-depth with this one being my first and all. It's 1K words. But enjoy. Like, comment, and reblog for support and improvement.)

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who is known in the fashion industry for his avant-garde design because he likes to blend edgy streetwear with high fashion.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who attended one of his spring shows that he had been preparing for months.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who look out in the audience one night at one of his shows and sees you sitting there.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who couldn't stop looking at you during the show and after the show.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who leaned over his best friend Seonghwa, who was standing nearby, and said, "Who is that?"

"Oh, that's Y/N; she's one of the fashion journalists from Aurora. She just started about a year ago. Cute little thing, isn't she?"

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who couldn't answer as he looked at you as you wrote in that notebook of yours, wearing that outfit that looked thrifted but is highly fashionably inspired. The way your hair was nicely done. The jewelry complements your look perfectly. How your curves fit the dress you were wearing like it was made just for you.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who learned that you were filling in for another journalist who had fallen ill.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who was conversing with another fellow designer, was soon interrupted by a sweet voice. "Excuse me," he heard from behind, just to find you behind him.

"Pardon me. Mr. Kim. If you don't mind, I would like to have a word with you and discuss about your recent collection."

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 whose sharp eyes soften as you look at you. He excuses the designer and turns to speak to you with a smile. He can't help but admire you as you clear your throat, holding your notebook and pen.

"So, Mr. Kim, your latest collection, titled Hala Hala, is quite impressive. Each of the designs seems to have a lot of emotional depth and unique creativity. Would you mind sharing a bit of inspiration behind the collection," you asked so sweetly.

"Of course," Hongjoong answered with a smile. "My inspiration behind Hala Hala is finding the strength within the chaos. It's about the fire in us, the motivation to keep moving forward even when things around feel like they are crumbling. This collection embodies the idea of resilience and determination in the face of adversity, showcasing the beauty that can emerge from challenging circumstances. It's a message saying to be the light of change in a world of darkness," Hongjoong explained passionately.

"So it's about embracing the fire within you. It is almost as if you're showing the rawness of struggle but yet also the beauty of evolution," you said, adding your own perspective to his explanation.

Hongjoong gave a small smile as he muttered, "Exactly." He was really impressed by your insight; you explain it so…. Eloquently. It was exactly how he envisioned the message of the artwork being conveyed. You understood the meaning behind the piece in a way that resonated deeply with him. "Your work is really incredible. The way you transform these emotions into something so…wearable. You're not just making fashion. You're almost telling a story," you mention. Hongjoong gives a smile and replies, "Some stories are meant to be told."

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who after weeks of the Hala Hala fashion show, can't get you out of his mind, especially after reading your article title

𝐔𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐚 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐚: 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who manages to find the company card you gave him and called but he didn't think it would be this difficult to get to you.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who asks to talk directly to you. After the third ring, he heard the most angelic voice answer the phone, making his heart skip a beat. "Aurora Fashion Journalism Team, this is Y/N. What can I do for you?"

"Wow. I didn't think it would be this hard in get contact with you. You're a hard one to track down," he chuckles as he finally hears your voice. You were taken back by the sudden voice. "I apologize for the difficulty, Mr. Kim. I didn't realize you were trying to reach me," you respond warmly, eager to assist him with whatever he needs. "No worries. I'm just glad that I finally got a hold of you," Hongjoong says with a relieved tone.

Hongjoong didn't know what to say. He hasn't been this nervous since the first collection he made; he was so lost in thought about what he wanted to say, he misheard you saying 'Hello' a few times and snapped out of it. "Is there anything you wanted, Mr. Kim?" you said so smoothly.

"Yes, actually," Hongjoong responds, his voice more confident now. "I read your article, by the way. Very insightful. Very well-written. Your writing is very captivating and informative. You really caught the meaning behind my story," he says, genuinely impressed. "I wanted to thank you for taking the time to understand my work and share it with others," Hongjoong adds, feeling a sense of validation and appreciation.

"Thank you. I-It means a lot coming from someone as talented as you are. Like I said, your work is really incredible," you spoke. Hearing you say that makes his heart swell with gratitude. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," Hongjoong replies with a smile, feeling encouraged by your words of praise.

"Now is there anything else, Mr. Kim, before I—" "There is one more," Hongjoong added. "I would like to offer a small proposal." Hongjoong bit his lip in nervousness. "A proposal?" you question.

"Yes. Though it is up to you whether you would accept it or not," Hongjoong explained, trying to keep his nerves at bay. He heard a small 'Okay' and his clammy hands; he took a deep breath and proceeded.

"I would like…I was wondering if… You want to go out for dinner with me sometimes," Hongjoong proposes, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "I would really enjoy getting to know you better outside of work," he admits shyly. Hongjoong sits there nervously but at the sudden gasp in your voice, he can tell that you were stunned. Shock ever.

"You…The Kim Hongjoong. Want to take me out to dinner?"

Silence fills the void within the phone call. Hongjoong's heart pounded in his chest as he waited for your response, hoping for a positive answer. After what felt like an eternity, you finally spoke, "I would love to go out to dinner with you, Mr. Kim." His face broke into a wide smile as relief washed over him, grateful for your acceptance. "Great."

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who invited you to a great restaurant and got to know each other well.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who quickly turns into Boyfriend! Hongjoong in an instant after months of constant dates.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! & 𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who will spoil you with romantic surprises and gifts.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! & 𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who will call and FaceTime you when he is away, showing all the places he visits. Taking pictures of all of the scenery and the tourist spot to send them to you. Adding little messages, wishing you were there with him.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! & 𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who found an apartment not far from your job and you two move together after a year of constant dating.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! & 𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who has an in-home design studio with all of his design sketches, tools, materials, and a sewing machine all inside.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! & 𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who after sketching and on call and you working all day, editing. You two cook dinner and you talk about how things were going at work and he happily listens as you share your day with him and as he tells you his.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! & 𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who looks at you with adoration and love in his eyes as you both lay there on the couch watching a movie and you slept peacefully in his arm. He moves your hair out of your face and smiles.

𝓕𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓻! & 𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭! 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰 who has an idea for his next collection.