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angelseraphines · 4 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ young and beautiful ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x wife!reader headcanons

¡!being cho sang-woo’s wife and the mother of his children would include¡!

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story is set in one in which sang-woo did not participate in the squid game!

╰┈➤ you met cho sang-woo shortly after moving to south korea for university, a change that felt both exciting and overwhelming as you navigated a new country, culture, and language. he was older by over two decades, and already well-established, but what stood out was his willingness to help when no one else would. he was the first person to offer help, whether it was explaining local customs, recommending places to visit, or simply showing you how to get around the bustling city. over time, you found yourself drawn to his intelligence and quiet charm, while he couldn’t help but admire your determination and work ethic. though feelings grew between you, he hesitated to pursue anything. his age, his position, and the way others might perceive it held him back, until one evening, seeing you laugh with one of his business associates stirred an unfamiliar jealousy. it was that day he decided he could no longer let his doubts keep him away from you. one tentative date became another, and soon he realized he couldn’t imagine life without you. when he proposed, it was grand and heartfelt, affectionate words filled with sincerity and a shimmering marquise diamond ring that left you breathless

╰┈➤ as a senior banker at joy investments, he was a man of considerable wealth, known for his meticulous taste and generosity. when you began planning the wedding, he insisted that no expense be spared, telling you to choose anything your heart desired, venues, dresses, flowers, all of it. yet, you surprised him by requesting something modest, intimate, and elegant, surrounded by your closest friends and family. it wasn’t the lavish wedding he had imagined, but he agreed immediately, because your happiness was his priority. the ceremony took place on a lovely winter day, a serene snow-covered backdrop that felt almost dreamlike. you wore a gown of delicate lace and flowing silk, understated but breathtaking. as you walked toward him, for one of the rare times in your life, you saw sang-woo, your composed, polished husband, unable to hold back his emotions, his eyes misting as he whispered how fortunate he was to say you were his wife.

╰┈➤ his mother’s disapproval was the only dark cloud over your union. she pictured her son marrying someone more mature, someone of wealth and prestige, a perfect complement to his status. you, young and from a different background, didn’t align with the future she had foretold for him. sang-woo deeply respected his mother, but for the first time, he went against her wishes, defending you against her cruel insults and snide remarks. although, the tension was palpable, and to keep the peace, he made the difficult decision to limit how often the two of you interacted. though it hurt him, he believed protecting you from her criticism was more important than maintaining appearances.

╰┈➤ your honeymoon in paris was something out of a storybook, a city you had dreamed of visiting for years. he spared no expense, booking a suite with a view of the eiffel tower and planning luxurious dinners at michelin-starred restaurants. each charming outing was magical, from strolling along the seine hand in hand to sipping coffee at quaint cafés. despite your lack of interest in designer brands, he couldn’t resist spoiling you, filling your wardrobe with elegant dresses, shoes, and jewelry from the most exclusive boutiques. he loved seeing you wear them, the way they highlighted your natural beauty, and though material things never mattered to you, his joy in giving made you happy to indulge him. it was during that trip that you realized how deeply he cherished you, not for how you looked or the labels you wore, but for who you were and how you made him feel.

╰┈➤ domestic life began shortly after your marriage, a chapter marked by sophistication and routine. sang-woo continued his demanding career at joy investments, managing high-profile clients, navigating the complexities of stocks and portfolios, and keeping the firm’s reputation impeccable. you, on the other hand, settled into the role of a housewife. though you had earned your degree in literature, your dream had always been to live a life of comfort, dreaming to create a warm home and eventually building a family. the estate sang-woo provided was grand yet cozy, a blend of modern luxury and understated grace, perfectly mirroring the life he anticipated for you both.

╰┈➤ despite his serious and composed demeanor in the office, sang-woo was tender and loving at home. mornings began with him pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving for work, a soft ritual that made you smile. evenings were punctuated by tender affection, his arms wrapping around you while you cooked, his chin resting on your shoulder as he asked about your day. you became his sanctuary, the one person who could ease his troubles after the stresses of work. in your presence, he shed the weight of his career, revealing a side of himself reserved only for you. to him, you weren’t just his wife, you were his heart, his home, and the person who gave meaning to his otherwise complicated and burdensome life.

╰┈➤ yet, nothing in life was perfect. sang-woo’s devotion to his career often consumed him. he was a workaholic to his core, and while you admired his ambition, it came at a cost. late nights at the office became common, and he’d frequently stay later than expected with little warning, leaving you waiting at home, dinner cold on the table. business trips overseas became routine, and there were mornings when you woke to find his side of the bed already empty, a brief note on the nightstand apologizing for having to leave. the loneliness crept in slowly, settling akin to an unwanted guest in your posh estate.

╰┈➤ whenever you voiced your feelings, the conversations often turned heated. you told him how much you missed him, how the empty spaces in your life couldn’t be filled with flowers or jewelry, no matter how extravagant. yet, despite the arguments, his apologies always came, his voice soft and regretful, his eyes filled with guilt. he’d arrive home with bouquets of your favorite flowers or delicate pieces of jewelry that sparkled like promises, as though material gestures could mend the strain in your marriage. while you appreciated the thought, it wasn’t enough to replace his presence, the comfort of having him by your side. still, you stayed, believing in the love you shared and hoping that, someday, he’d learn to balance the life you built together with the career that often stole him away.

╰┈➤ it wasn’t long after settling into married life that you discovered you were expecting your first child. the news brought a visible change in sang-woo’s attitude and priorities. once so deeply consumed by his career, he began to shift his focus to you and your growing family. he cut back on his grueling overtime shifts, started declining overseas business trips, and even made the effort to reduce his smoking, something you had been urging him to do for years. suddenly, attending every prenatal appointment with you and ensuring you were comfortable and cared for became his top priorities. while his care was thoughtful, it sometimes bordered on overbearing, his constant checking on you, his insistence on preparing every meal himself, and his planning for the baby’s arrival left little room for you to so much as breathe. but his concern came from a place of genuine love and devotion, which made it impossible for you to be upset with him. he personally oversaw the construction of the nursery, situated just across from the master bedroom, carefully selecting every detail. though he openly expressed his desire for a son, you reassured him that you’d be happy no matter what, and deep down, you knew he would be, too.

╰┈➤ pregnancy took a toll on you physically, leaving you exhausted and often unwell, which only added to sang-woo’s worry. as your due date approached and the strain on your body grew, he made the decision to take paid leave from work to stay home with you. it was a rare and unexpected move for someone so career-driven, but to him, nothing mattered more than your health and the safety of your baby. he doted on you endlessly, even when you protested that you were fine. he rarely left your side during that final, difficult trimester.

╰┈➤ after nine long months, you gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby girl. the day he saw her, sang-woo’s face lit up in a way you had never seen before. you had worried he might be disappointed not to have the son he had hoped for, but all those thoughts disappeared the second he saw you holding your daughter. the exhaustion in his eyes melted away as he gently cradled her in his arms, overwhelmed by the sheer joy of becoming a father. to him, she was perfect in every way, and he promised to be the best father he could be.

╰┈➤ as time passed, sang-woo returned to work, though he made a conscious effort to balance his career with fatherhood. he rearranged his schedule to ensure he could be home in the evenings, often taking over baby duties to give you some much-needed rest. he would rock your daughter to sleep, bottle-feed her in the middle of the night, despite his initial clumsiness. seeing him so involved only deepened your love for him.

╰┈➤ for the first time in years, you saw sang-woo’s mother again. after the tension she had caused in the past, he had kept her at a distance to protect your feelings and sanity. however, for the sake of your daughter, you allowed her into your home. while her attitude toward you remained cold and judgmental, her demeanor softened the moment she held her granddaughter. she doted on the baby in a way that made the visit bearable, and despite her lingering disapproval of you, she seemed determined to be part of the child’s life.

╰┈➤ there were instances when your insecurities crept in, especially as you adjusted to motherhood. sang-woo worked with many beautiful and graceful women, and their flirtatious comments or longing gazes at him often left you feeling inadequate. but sang-woo, perceptive as ever, always reassured you. he’d tell you, in his gentle, earnest way, that no woman in the world compared to you. “they’re nothing to me,” he’d say, the two of you laying in bed, your head resting on his chest. he told you of how he would ignore their salacious advances with indifference. “you’re the only woman i see, the only one i want.” his words, paired with the devotion in his eyes, reminded you just how deeply he loved you, silencing any doubts you had.

╰┈➤ sang-woo adored your daughter, showering her with gifts and affection from the moment she was born. nothing was too extravagant when it came to her happiness, he filled her room with every toy imaginable, dressed her in designer gowns that sparkled like a princess’s, and even had a custom-built playground constructed in the backyard. though his generosity was touching, you often worried that this endless indulgence might cause her to grow up materialistic or take such luxuries for granted. when you gently brought this up to him, he would smile kindly and say, “i only want her to have the best.” despite his protests, you encouraged him to invest in her future as well, suggesting academic tutors alongside the dollhouses and dresses. he quickly agreed, hiring the finest educators to foster her growing mind, proving once again that he wanted her to have not just material wealth but a strong foundation for success.

╰┈➤ just a year after your daughter was born, you gave birth to a son, the child sang-woo had initially hoped for. this second pregnancy was far easier on you than the first, and while he didn’t need to take as much time off work, sang-woo was just as attentive and loving as ever. every evening, he would return home from the office, setting aside his briefcase to embrace you, his hand instinctively resting on your growing belly as if to remind himself of the life you carried. “i can hardly believe you’re real at times,” he would whisper, kissing your forehead with adoration. when your son finally arrived, sang-woo’s pride and joy were unmatched. though he was thrilled to finally have the boy he had dreamed of, his love for both his children could not be described in mere words, they were the light of his life.

╰┈➤ as the years passed, your life became a comfortable and fulfilling routine. mornings were spent preparing breakfast together, the sound of your children’s laughter filling the house, while evenings were reserved for family dinners and quiet moments in the living room. your daughter was preparing to start school soon, and the thought left you with mixed emotions. as a mother, it saddened you to see her take her first steps into the wider world, while sang-woo, ever the protective father, was filled with worry. “she’s still so little,” he would mutter, clearly uneasy about letting her out of his sight. meanwhile, your son, still too young for school, remained at home, following his father around the house with wide, admiring eyes.

╰┈➤ professionally, sang-woo’s career flourished. over the years, he had received numerous promotions and had become a well-respected name in his industry. he began to consider starting his own investment firm, an ambition he had steadily nurtured since his younger days. he often sought your opinion on the matter, valuing your insight as much as your adoring support. no matter where life led, you knew your place would always be by his side, as a loving wife and mother to the family you had built together. together, you and sang-woo had created a life of love and stability, one that neither of you would trade for anything.

a/n: let me know your thoughts or if you have any requests! also i promise more cho sang-woo fanfictions are coming soon, i am prioritizing requests as i write these for you all!! 🤍

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monster-effer · 6 months ago

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Your Melody is My Favorite Tune – Sylus x reader

Summary: Who would have thought that a little white lie would lead to this? Content: Reader and Sylus are dating, fluff, a little bit of teasing, karaoke (1.1k wc) A/N: This was inspired by Sylus’ Melodic Weave Tender Moments. Also, this is my first fic so constructive criticism is welcome, but please be kind and enjoy <3!

It has been a few months since the disastrous night Sylus joined you and the UNICORNS for a team building outing of karaoke and pool. Sylus and you can now share a laugh over how one white lie about his identity did nothing but add fuel to the fire that was your coworker's interest in the mysterious “Mr. Skye.”

After enduring weeks of Tara and your other coworkers asking when “Mr. Skye” would join one of their nights out again, they have finally taken the hint to give up on that dream. You gave the excuse that he is busy with his multiple businesses, which is truer than not.

Since that faithful night it has become a tradition for you two to meet up at one of the various karaoke bars spread across Linkon City when both of your busy schedules happened to line up. And tonight was one of those nights. The stars themselves seemed align because the both of you were free on a Friday night. Which meant Sylus was already on his way to your apartment to pick you up.

Just as you finished getting dressed in a tight pair of black jeans and a deep v neck top, you hear your cell phone ringing from the other room. As you quickly pick it up, you see Sylus is calling.

“Are you here, karaoke partner?” you ask when you accept his call.

Sylus’ chuckle is heard over the line as he answers teasingly “Why don’t you come downstairs and find out Ms. Hunter?”

“I’ll be down soon,” you answer before hanging up, putting on your shoes, and heading down to the lobby of your apartment.

Once you exit the building you see Sylus leaning on a wall next to his parked motorcycle. As you approach him you notice he is holding your motorcycle helmet that is adorned with cat ears and the riding jacket he ordered for you.

Sylus smiles fondly as you approach him and takes in your outfit for the evening. “Well, aren’t you dressed up tonight kitten?”

He begins to hand over your riding gear. “Here, I brought your helmet and jacket with me. Someone left them at my place because they were in such a rush to leave for work.”

You wryly smile at him as you place the helmet on your head. Before you have a chance to, Sylus is fastening your helmet’s chin strap. Then he rubs your back affectionately before helping you put on and zip up your riding jacket.

Once he is satisfied that you are geared up correctly, he puts his helmet back on then climbs on his motorcycle. Then he turns to you and says “Hop on, I’m taking you to a new karaoke bar tonight.”

You instantly feel curious. In lieu of a response you nod your head because you can tell Sylus is in one of his mysterious moods where he won’t give you a straight answer. You climb on his motorcycle behind him and lean your body forward as you wind your arms around his waist.

The ride to the karaoke bar felt like it was over in the blink of an eye. And soon, Sylus steered the motorcycle into a parking space.

Sylus stood up to extend the kickstand. Then you got off the motorcycle first followed by him. You waited for Sylus to unclip your chin strap then he gently removed your helmet from your head. This resulted in your hair being a hot mess. He did not try to hide his smile at your attempts to fix your helmet hair before seeing you huff in disappointment and accept your fate.

“You know, I could have met you at the karaoke bar. It would have saved you time and most importantly saved my poor hair.”

Sylus tilts his head to side and gazes at you with his carmine colored eyes, it feels as if you two are the only people out tonight. After a few moments he replies, “And deprive myself of this free entertainment? I don’t think so kitten.”

You roll your eyes as he grabs your hand and pulls you towards a nondescript looking building. Once you step inside the lobby’s décor exudes something dark and classy. Not what you would expect from a karaoke bar.

As soon as the greeter spots you two walk in you see their eyes widen for a split second before they warmly welcome you inside.

“Mr. Sylus, it’s lovely to see you! Please follow me to your private room.”

You turn towards your companion and raise an eyebrow at him in response to the enthusiastic service. But before you can get your question out, he hums then gestures for you to follow the greeter. You decide to keep your mouth shut, for now.

It’s not a usual occurrence for you to be impressed by a karaoke room, but you can’t help but admire the amenities in the room you’re led into. It has plush seating, a large flat screen TV, and microphones set in the middle of the room.

Before the employee can give you a rundown on how to order food and drinks to the room, Sylus raises his hand to dismiss them. Then he glances at you expectantly once you are alone.

“Well, what do you think?” he asks you.

“This is the nicest karaoke bar we’ve ever been in! How have I never heard of this place before?” you answer honestly.

Sylus has a pleased look on his face as he mentions “You haven’t heard of this place because it wasn’t open until this week.”

You feel your suspicion rising. “And how did you hear about this place?”

“Consider this venue a new business venture of mine.” He says lackadaisically.

You felt yourself do a double take “You OWN this karaoke bar?”

“I do, is there a problem?” Sylus asks with a small conspiratorial smile.

“No, I’m just surprised.”

“I am a man with complex and varied tastes sweetie.”

Considering the conversation over, he walks over to one of the tables in the room and grabs the TV remote. “I’ll let you choose the first song of the night. Then, we can sample the food and drink menu. How does that sound?”

You shake your head at his nonchalant nature and smile brightly. “First up, a pop song! I have a lot of energy to burn off.”

It amuses you to no end that Sylus always find ways to surprise you, even after months of dating. As the night unfolds you think of all the things you are thankful for. Tonight, your list includes Sylus’ unique singing, the delicious appetizers on the menu, and the time you get to spend together.

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nemo-writes · 9 days ago

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𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter twelve

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: jack's day off begins with memory and ritual, a quiet reckoning between breath and bone. but peace never lingers long—not in his world.

⤿ warning(s): graphic depictions of violence

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 2.3k

Jack’s day off is always thin ice—too much space for thoughts to echo—but he marks Veterans Day anyway, the way a believer keeps holy water near the door.

Morning, he rides the bus to the granite memorial by Point State Park, prosthetic ticking softly on the pavement. He traces eight letters on Panel 19—men who joked about Pittsburgh pierogis during chow, who died clearing a road Jack still sees in dreams. He presses his forehead to the cold stone and bargains, same as every year: I’m still here; I’ll make it count.

By noon he’s walking the river trail while herons lift off the water, but for once the sharp November air feels more like medicine than punishment. He times his breathing to the slap of sneakers behind him—old habit, mapping threats even in a city park—then forces himself to look up, catalog the living: a kid chasing leaves, a couple arguing about grocery lists. No IEDs, no snipers, just ordinary chaos. He reminds his heartbeat that it’s allowed to slow.

Late afternoon finds him at a hole-in-the-wall diner with Ahmad from the old unit, the only friend who doesn’t flinch when Jack jumps at slammed doors. They swap dad jokes, dissect the Steelers’ offensive line, but eventually the talk slides where it always does: how silence isn’t peace, just camouflage.

“Quiet stretches never last,” Ahmad says around a mouthful of pie. “Stay frosty, Doc.”

Jack laughs, but it sticks halfway down. He knows Ahmad is right; something in him is always measuring exits—even now, even home.

His day back, he strides back into the lobby expecting the usual routine end-of-shift bustle. Instead he walks straight into a wall of flashing reds and blues. Police radios hiss under the vaulted ceiling; security tape cords off the east service stairwell. A cluster of officers in ballistic vests crowds the information desk while hospital staff hover at the margins, faces blanched with dread.

His heart slams once, hard. Quiet stretches never last.

“Jack!” Dana’s voice slices through the clamor. She barrels toward him, Robby a half-step behind. Her icy blond hair is half out of its clip, cheeks blotched; Robby’s normally playful grin is gone, jaw set tight.

He takes one step, then another, heart punching up into his throat. The din narrows to a single question: Where is she?

“What the hell happened?!” he snaps out instead, voice already half-feral.

Dana intercepts him, fingers biting into his bicep. “It’s the stalker, they’re both on the roof,” she pants. “He’s a lab doc—pathology—has her pinned with a scalpel. SWAT’s staging now.”

The vowels barely register; the meaning detonates. Your rooftop—your shared sanctuary—has been turned into a kill ring. He lunges for the stairwell entrance, but Robby is suddenly there, forearm across Jack’s chest, muscles corded.

“Brother, stop.” Robby’s voice quavers—he never shakes. “Negotiator’s already up. Gloria’s locked down every route.”

Every instinct in Jack’s body screams breach, clear, extract—the algorithm seared into him overseas—but here he’s hemmed in by Kevlar and assault rifles, a medic with shaking, empty hands while the woman he loves is upstairs at knife-point.

Robby and Dana funnel him toward what used to be the reception bay, now a hive of armor and jargon. The Pitt— chronically understaffed on a calm day— was buckling under the strain. Orderlies hustle bewildered patients toward side exits for ambulance transfers; wheelchairs clog the corridor like abandoned shopping carts. A charge nurse argues with two uniformed cops who won’t let her retrieve a critical drug from Pyxis; an elderly visitor sobs into a cellphone, begging for updates on her husband still in radiology. Above the din, overhead pages stutter with diversion orders—all inbound trauma rerouted to Mercy, all code strokes diverted to Presby—clogging an already overloaded city grid.

The admissions desk is gone, buried beneath stacked monitors, tangle of ethernet cables, and a glowing tactical map where insurance forms once sat. Rifles sway inches from IV poles; the stench of gun oil mixes with disinfectant and sour adrenaline. Nurses hover at the perimeter, eyes round, shrinking from the foreign clink of magazine plates in a place built for scalpels.

At the center of it all stands Gloria, white blouse damp with sweat, headset skewed, radio pinned to her shoulder as if it’s grafted to bone. She barks orders like suppressing fire:

“Seal Imaging elevators. Trauma One hot; C-arm standing by. No one but ESU touches the roof hatch— copy that?”

As if on cue, an ESU lieutenant stomps over, ready to clear them out, and Jack is more than ready to square up to any attempt to have him removed. But instead, Gloria plants her palm on the desk and meets his eyes without blinking. “He’s my trauma doctor,” she snaps. “He stays until I say otherwise.”

The lieutenant’s jaw works—unused to hospital brass talking back—but he nods. Gloria rounds on Jack. Her pupils are pinpoints of battle focus. “Stay sharp, but stay here. When they need medical intel you’re their lifeline. We do this by the book.”

Jack’s fingernails bite crescents into his palms. The urge to charge the stairwell is a live current under his skin, but Gloria’s steel sinks into his spine: Hold the line, doctor.

He gulps air that tastes of ammonia and fear, forcing combat breaths—four in, four out—until the roar in his ears recedes enough to think. Around him, chaos snarls: a respiratory therapist yells for security clearance to reach NICU; a porter tries to wheel an intubated patient through a knot of shields; Dana pleads with a patrol sergeant for scraps of information but gets stonewalled. Everyone is starved for intel, and the cops are sealing it up tight.

Robby presses a lukewarm coffee into Jack’s fist—a flimsy anchor—and plants himself like a guard tower. Dana rubs rough circles between Jack’s shoulders, her own tears biting the corners of her eyes. Code tones ripple overhead—someone in Ortho crashing, another ward running out of ventilators—ordinary disasters threading through the extraordinary and present one.

Time stretches like piano wire ready to snap. Jack’s gaze nails the stairwell doors where helmeted officers flow in and out with reptilian precision. Every slight change in their posture dumps a fresh flood of adrenaline into his blood. He counts respirations, memorizes the tremor of the coffee lid, fights the terror that tells him any minute now could be the last minute for the woman he loves.

A fresh stir ripples the phalanx of shields: the ESU incident commander had arrived. Broad-shouldered in matte armor, visor up, he scans the overflowed lobby once, then motions Gloria away from her makeshift desk. She follows, radio muted, and the two disappear behind a bank of wheeled charts—privacy in a sea of chaos.

Jack can’t hear them, but he reads the body language as if it’s vital signs: the commander gesturing upward, two fingers stabbing roof-ward; Gloria folding her arms, shaking her head, jaw a hard slash. He leans in again, she slices the air with a flat palm—No. He answers with an open hand—Option?—then draws an invisible blade across his own throat. Jack’s stomach knots. Gloria’s shoulders sag; she rubs her temples, then finally nods, clipped and furious.

They re-emerge. The commander’s voice is low but carries across the hush of stalled stretchers. “Doctor Abbott,” he says, visor eyes meeting Jack’s. “Subject on the roof is naming you. Only you. He’s threatening to advance if anyone else breaches.”

A collective inhale shudders through nearby nurses. Gloria steps beside the commander, spine rigid. “You’ll go wired—live audio, vest cam,” she orders, not asks. “Hands visible. If the blade lifts, you step back. ESU owns the follow-through.”

Dana’s grip tightens on Jack’s sleeve; Robby’s jaw clenches so hard the muscle jumps. Jack answers before either can object.

“Copy. Get me a mic and a vest.”

An operator hustles forward with Kevlar and a throat mike. As Jack cinches straps, he catches the brief lift of the commander’s brow at the service tattoo on Jack’s bicep, the soft clack of the prosthetic knee. Respect, or recalibration—either way, the tech’s voice gentles while threading the comm line.

Gloria hovers for a single heartbeat, eyes burning. “Slow tone,” she warns. “Open palms. Bring her home.”

“I will,” Jack says, the promise flat as bedrock.

He turns to Dana and Robby—fear and faith sharing their faces—and nods once. Then the tactical wedge folds around him, shields raised, and they move in concert down the corridor toward the familiar stairwell that climbs into November dark, where a scalpel gleams beside the only heartbeat he cares about.

The rooftop is a slab of charcoal under a moonless sky, rimmed only by the faint orange wash of parking-lot lamps below. Jack steps through the access door in a slow, deliberate silhouette—palms open, fingers spread, nothing but night air between him and the man crouched beside the east parapet.

You’re half-folded in the stranger’s lap, knees and elbows scraped. He’s coiled around you like barbed wire—one arm cinched at your waist, the other gripping a scalpel so close to your throat Jack can see your pulse banging beneath the blade. Your tears have carved messy tracks over your cheeks; your chest jerks with soundless panic.

All the bright spirit that greeted sunrise twelve hours earlier is crushed into this trembling knot of terror.

Jack’s heart lurches hard enough to bruise, but his voice comes out steady—field-medic calm. “Dorian. Hands are up and empty, just like you asked.”

Dorian looks over at him, cheek is a blistered patch of red where something scalding had probably struck; sweat beads at his hairline, eyes glittering fever-bright. “I should’ve been first,” he hisses, tightening his grip until you flinch. “If only you hadn’t shown up in her life, she’d have seen me sooner.”

“It’s not a competition,” Jack answers, taking a measured step forward. Every inch he moves is a war against the urge to sprint, tackle, bleed. “No one’s against you here.”

“Liar.” Dorian’s voice cracks, half sob, half rage. “You barge in with your soldier heroics—she was perfect before you muddied it. My notes, my gifts—she understood order. Now look!” He shakes the scalpel in wild emphasis; the blade flashes, too near your skin. Your sob becomes a choking whimper.

Jack’s fingers curl, then flatten. Show no threat. “She’s exhausted, Dorian. Let her breathe. Then we can talk about what went wrong.”

“You went wrong!” he spits. He nestles the edge under your jaw; you freeze. Jack feels his own vision blaze white then narrow to a single target: that trembling wrist. He exhales, forces every molecule of fury down into his boots.

“We both care about her,” he says—voice dropping to that steady frequency meant to slow hemorrhages and heart rates. “And caring means easing her fear. You can do that—right now—by moving the blade away.” He nods at your tear-streaked face.

Dorian’s eyes flick to the knife, conflicted. Jack inches closer, keeping shoulders square, hands still high.

“She’s crying because I disappointed her,” Dorian whimpers, the certainty of his delusion buckling. “Tell him,” he orders you, shaking your shoulders. You sob harder, unable to speak.

Jack’s muscles bunch. The comm in his ear hisses: Seven feet. Clear head-shot. But he breathes, Not yet.

“This isn’t disappointment; it’s exhaustion,” Jack says, voice softening. “Fourteen hours on her feet, then a rooftop wind at night. She needs rest. We can give her that. Slide the blade to the ground, Dorian. Let me check her vitals.”

Dorian’s grip falters—a micro-tremor. He licks cracked lips, gaze darting between Jack’s calm stance and the dark slit of sky beyond the rail, as if weighing two horizons.

Jack takes another half step, almost within reach. Fury climbs his throat—your bruised arm, the tremor in your lower lip—but he buries it beneath the medic’s vow: first, do no harm.

“Dorian,” he murmurs, voice a thread anchoring three frantic heartbeats in the dark, “you’ve got control. Show me.”

The rooftop wind gusts, snapping stale hospital air into their faces. For one suspended moment, the blade wavers—hesitation shining like a crack in glass. And Jack readies every fiber of nerve to slip through that fracture and pull you back to daylight.

Dorian’s wrist trembles. Then—like a circuit finally sparking—he exhales and lets the scalpel slip from his fingers. It clicks against concrete, spins once, comes to rest.

“Good,” Jack murmurs, stepping closer. The night wind cuts between them, smelling of river ice and asphalt. He sees the decision glazing over Dorian’s eyes half a heartbeat too late.

“No one understands balance,” Dorian whispers, almost serene. “But maybe they’ll understand gravity.”

Before the words fully register, he surges upright, hauling you with him. His arm locks across your collarbones, iron-strong despite his wiry frame. Your ragged gasp rips the stillness apart.

Jack reacts—voice lost to roaring blood—but Dorian is already backing toward the parapet. ESU shouts behind him; boots thunder. The rooftop seems to tilt, time shearing into jagged frames: Dorian’s heel hitting the low ledge, your eyes huge with terror.

“Jack!” you scream—the single syllable shredding to panic.

And then he does the unthinkable: with a final, almost tender squeeze, he pitches himself backward, hauling you over the edge into black vacancy. Your cry knifes through the night just as Jack pushes, arms outstretched, heart detonating, every instinct pulverizing the distance between life and a twenty-story fall—

— and the world cuts to white noise and freefall.

divider credit

#fanfiction #fanfic #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt fanfic #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #nurse reader #female reader #small age gap

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occamstfs · 1 year ago

Text

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air.

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.”

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears.

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole.

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right?

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control.

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom.

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view.

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent.

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at.

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

#male tf #mental change #masculinization #muscle tf #jockification #reality change #musk tf

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saintsroww · 6 months ago

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TITLE. All I Have IN SHORT. clingy!jinx X reader "I Can't lose you too." | made with WLW in mind. CROSSOVER. Arcane: League of Legends X Cyberpunk 2077 WC. 1,555 CR. official art [ Arcane: League of Legends ] this is the outside of jinx's place that i tried my best to describe lmao TALKING. first ever fanfic. send any healthy criticism, i'd love that! at first it was ripperdoc!jinx but i had no idea where i was going with this tbh so i just went with clingy jinx lmao. and apparently jackie died differently in this teehee. might seem ooc, yikes. did I eat with this one yall? lmk :( PROJECT BEGUN. 11/30/2024 this took me awhile HAH! ACT. iii

Night City was bustling with people cheering and yelling, the disruptive revving of car engines speeding down the wide streets, the cool night air whispering past your skin, your hands comfortably resting in the pockets of your pants, your right hand holding onto your keys hidden inside the pocket, and your head slightly lowered as you stride past other people on the packed sidewalk. Your knuckles carry a faint throbbing ache that you're awfully familiar with. The night sky makes the ads displayed practically on every building look more vibrant than in the daytime. Your heart felt heavy, burdened by an overwhelming wave of sorrow and distress, while your composure dangled precariously, clinging on by the slightest thread.

You slip past multiple distracted spectators watching the race in Little China, occasionally bumping into others as you make your way through the other side of the crowd. Headlights whipping by, the smell of body sweat and alcohol invaded your nostrils. Your left-hand rises from your pocket to push a bystander to the side, finally making it out of the crowd to the other side, your main focus on reaching out to someone you held dear after a hot minute of your absence.

The street life drained you in ways you knew you'd be in if it meant you'd stay afloat in Night City. As the days went by including you sending little to no messages to Jinx, backstabbers were left sniffling the ground you walk after you're done with them, biz dealing with individuals where you can't always put your guard down, foolish gangoons pushing their luck with you. Being protective of what's rightfully yours, or taking from the more fortunate, getting to the top meant having every advantage you could get, and then you'll have a better chance to get far in this line of dangerous work.

After another minute of walking alone, the sounds of the people's voices faded as you made a right turn, chip bags, bottles, garbage bags, and papers lightly blown about, all this junk on the ground was a normal sighting in this inescapable city. As you walked further into a narrow alleyway, you stood in front of a gate that stopped you from moving forward, cyberpunk lighting coming from the street lamp behind it brought the otherwise dreary alleyway into.. something somewhat lively, and homey. You can give it that.

At the end of the alleyway were colorful chalk drawings of angry cartoonish monkeys and smack dab in the middle of the wall was a portrait of a little girl beautifully drawn by You and Jinx's hands on the brick wall. Pink wires as the background, and the two words "POW POW!" written above her head were drawn in a sprite shadow font. A soft smile touched your lips, the drawing carried a heavier purpose of memorabilia after little Isha's passing, and the relationship you three shared, you and Jinx cherished it. Pulling your right hand out from its pocket, multiple keys held together by a ring jingled from your hand movements, eyes scanning over all of them to land on a basic, silver key.

Holding it between your thumb and index finger, you insert the key into the slot and steadily turn it to unlock the gate. Shoving the keys back into your right pocket, you push it open with your forearm, stepping through the gate door, you close it behind you and quickly move toward the steps, the soles of your worn-out shoes softly thud against the concrete as you walk up the short set of stairs. You halt all your movement when you stand right in front of the entrance to Jinx's place. Rock music booming in the confines of the room's four walls was muffled by the metal door firmly standing in your way.

Letting out a barely audible breath, anticipating the argument you're going to walk yourself into. You swiftly repeat your actions by unlocking the door to her place. As you step through the threshold of the doorframe, slamming the door behind your back, your eyes are immediately met with a woman's slender figure in the middle of the room, aiming a gun your way that'd gradually lower to her left side as your recognizable appearance instantly brought her eyebrows to rest from its tight frown, her wide stare softened faintly. Her expression gradually faded into something resembling ease and a drip of irritation. The lightly worn-out leather chair behind her spun, showing the urgency and haste in her movement when met with anything that could quickly lead to life or death.

"Ah, Y/N." Drawing your name out with false unenthusiasm and unrestrained annoyance that had an underlying sense of harmlessness to it. "Popping in after ghosting me for three days?" Her voice was raspy, her upper lip subtly curling upwards. Violet-red eyes holding you in your place, her head tilting a little to the side, her jagged side bang obscuring her right eye, making her dark eyebags more notable because of the pink lighting in the room. She placed the gun in her left hand on the metal table beside her, turning down the rock music playing through the phone with the same hand without delay. Her hands clasped together behind her back as she sauntered over to you, stopping her movement when she was just a foot away from you, her head leaning in a tad bit, her right hand rising to roughly press her index finger against your chest.

"Why were you gone for so long? You know I don't like it when you're gone for that long." It was heavy, the unblinking stare and the want simmering in her heart urging her to close the gap between the both of you.

"Fixer hooked me up with a job that included insane amounts of eddies but- a lot went wrong. And I…" You held it together in the first half of your sentence but you couldn't hold it together forever. Every single second you were left alone with your thoughts the morning after the job was finished, losing Jackie that night, the man who earnestly stood by you since you started doing biz, a man you trusted, the gunfight following as soon as the brief, intense, and loud burst of noise of a pistol going off, the bullet hole left in his forehead, blood seeping from it. He was gone, in such a short time-frame. You'd spent time outside of work with him, fought together, and saved each other from sticky situations- This loss on top of Isha's was a pierce to your solid heart harder than you prepared for.

Just speaking on anything relating to losing someone important to you, first Isha, now Jackie.. You had to see Jinx, after going through that, you couldn't sit alone in your apartment that felt so void without anyone occupying it other than you, and being alone with your thoughts wasn't ideal. "Ahh… I just can't lose you too, Jinx. I'd rather it'd be me in harm's way, y'know?" Your eyes heat up. Darting, staring anywhere but at the woman standing right in front of you. Your bottom lip curls in for your upper teeth to bite down on it for a moment. Tears threaten to spill out.

She's all you have left.

A palm, warm to the touch, cups one side of your face, tenderly ushering you to look at her, tugging you out of the deep pit that is the fear consuming you. Her eyes meet yours head-on, a weak, close-lipped smile adorning her lips, her bottom lip vaguely trembling, her face expressing the same pain you held, understanding well how you feel at this very moment. Her thumb moves in smooth, circular motions upon your cheekbone. You gently grasp Jinx's upper arm, the arm using the same hand that tenderly strokes your cheek.

Neither of you could stall it any longer; both of you sought solace in the only person left willing to offer an hour of reprieve: each other. It was Jinx who moved first, ending the last shred of space left between you two to wrap her arms around you into a hug. Her nails digging into the back part of your shirt, Jinx's nostrils flare when she deeply inhales the scent of your vanilla fragrance with a hint of sweat, nestling her face further into your neck. "Just… Don't do that again, Y/N…" She spoke in a hushed tone, her lips slightly parted as the tension in her body melted from the comfort of your body heat.

"It was like.. I had no one when you were gone. You didn't even send me a message."

You couldn't bring yourself to respond, skeptical that your voice would shatter if you were to utter another word again. Your arms are wounded around her waist leaving Jinx's mind empty of anything negative leaving only tranquility you unknowingly bring to her already deteriorating soul. Choosing to gently nod your head as an alternative, your right hand slithering up to lay upon the shaved side of Jinx's head, your other hand moving up to plant itself on the small of her back. "Ha… 'msorry." Your voice was feeble, your breath tickling Jinx's nape.

"Heh, deep down, you're still a softie." A full smile graced her lips, her hold on you unyielding.

#saintsroww #arcane #jinx #jinx arcane #fanfic #fanfiction #league of legends #crossover #jinx my beloved #jinx fanfic #light angst #jinx x reader #jinx x you #jinx x y/n

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bobbedazzled · 9 days ago

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OUR BOUDOIR

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ pairing: sylus x reader

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ count. 1.9k

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ content: porn no plot, (home) office sex, cunnilingus, minor overstimulation(?), pnv, no protection, kitten count: 2

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ a/n: hiii, im changing my layout again hehe. Thank you all for your requests but I’ve been so unimpressed with my writing lately, I haven’t been able to finish anything :(( is this writers block? ughhh nothing seems good enough to post yet, but in the meantime enjoy this fun little short

The city beyond the glass glows softly, spilling light past the window sill. It blends with the warm tones of his office, softening the shadows that stretch across the room. From the corner, a record player is trembling its arm above a vinyl. Low, mellow jazz hums through the room. The stack of notes on his desk waits to be examined, lying beside a mug of coffee. The ceramic cools his fingertips as he lifts it to his lips, indifferent to how long it’s been sitting there.

His music echoes from within, curling around the edges of the door just as it begins to creak open with a hesitant whisper. He makes no immediate acknowledgment of the sound, eyes flicking subtly across the pages he holds as though you aren’t there. Though you suspect he’s well aware of your presence.

Carefully, you slip your foot through the narrow gap, your leg emerging like a risqué performer on stage, teasing the audience provocatively. A playful giggle escapes you, creeping past the doorframe and into the room, reeling his gaze upward.

You’ve turned his wardrobe into a theater, donning outfits like a lavish starlet. After the eternity spent rifling through and coordinating your favorite pieces-- each more ridiculous than the last-- you then parade around in them for your audience. His shirts hang on you like makeshift mini dresses. Suit jackets and coats engulf your frame. Watches and rings adorn your wrists and fingers, transformed into jewels worthy of your taste.

“Do you enjoy playing in my closet, kitten?” he purrs, his low voice thick with amusement. A chuckle slips from him, trailing after a sigh as your leg lifts theatrically at the entrance to his office. “Come in, let me see it.”

Your body slides through the doorway, slowly revealing the final ensemble: a dark, matte button-up. Its scarlet slashes streak across the torso and sleeves like claw marks. The shirt, once tailored to his broader frame, now drapes over yours. Buttons are left undone just enough to reveal the lack of clothing underneath. The door clicks shut behind you as you step forward, the low thud echoing in the dim room. His eyes follow the gentle sway of the hem brushing your thighs, the way the fabric moves with you, unveiling the shape beneath. A sharp click of his tongue cuts through the air.

“A bit dull compared to your earlier choices. Do I not have enough to choose from, or are you simply getting lazy?” His tone is mockingly critical. He may call your antics frivolous, but the warmth that lingers in his eyes saves him from being taken seriously.

“Not at all,” you reply, stepping forward to wedge yourself between him and the edge of his desk. His hands pause mid-turn of a page before he casually discards the packet of documents to the side. His gaze takes a slow journey upward-- skimming your legs, your hips, the fabric slipping and defining your waist.

“Is this your final piece?” he asks, voice quieter now.

“It’s a gift,” you say.

His brow flicks upward, “A party favor?”

You lean back, resting your foot beside his hips, boxing him in just enough to show your intentions. You let your gaze drop to his lips, then slowly drag it back up to meet his eyes. The scent of his cologne lingers in the collar you now wear. Warm, familiar, and mingling with the natural scent of him-- it’s intoxicating and your biggest influence in the moment. His grin widens as your darkening gaze settles on him. You gently knock him with your heel, “Aren’t you going to open it?”

He hums, head tilted as though considering, “Are you making it easy tonight?”

You let a slow grin tug at your lips, lifting your leg until your heel rests against his knee. You sit atop his desk, disregarding the papers rustling underneath your weight. There’s a sharpness in his gaze as he observes you, waiting for your answer.

“Of course not.” You tease.

He laughs, a warm rumble that stirs in his chest. He doesn’t believe you and you don’t blame him. Since when has stripping you bare been a challenge for him? His fingers skim lightly along the curve of your ankle, dancing up the length of your leg with unspoken intent. His eyes, dark and steady, never leave yours. The shirt shifts beneath his touch, warmth gathering in the space between you.

“Go ahead.” You speak.

“Hm?” He quirks an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

“Unbutton me.”

He hums, intrigued but disappointed by your lenience. “You can be bolder than that.”

“What else do you want me to say?” You scoff.

“Am I supposed to help you make this hard for me?”

You pause, eyes narrowing at his rebuttal. A tinge of warmth nips your cheeks, once again embarrassed by your eagerness to be touched by him. A desire you know you can’t hide but had hoped to mask with indifference. His name leaves your lips with an edge that erases his grin. You hold onto his attentive gaze, lifting your hand and undoing the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness.

“You know what I like.”

As if the display was instructional, a lesson solely for him, he watches silently. With every button undone, the fabric parts a little more, unveiling the figure underneath. Your fingers stop at the curve of your breast as your legs part.

“So do it.”

Your words widen the grin spreading across his face. As instructed, his chair drifts forward as he leans in. Callous fingers lightly trail up the curve of your calf, cupping the underside. He lifts your leg to his lips, pressing a kiss just below your knee. His lips hover over your skin, dragging upward and nipping the smooth inner side of your thigh. You lightly jerk your leg out of his grasp.

“No biting,” you command.

He looks over you silently, deepening his kisses as a quiet apology. His lips press against your skin, warmth building the longer he lingers as if he’s restraining the urge to devour you. His free hand slips up to press down on your sternum, lowering you down on your back. The warmth of his tongue blooms from between his lips, glossing up your thigh until his breath is inches away from the heat building between your legs.

He looks over your mound, guiding your legs past his shoulders. The heat of his closeness unravels your composure. Your desperation slips from you, a command that sounds almost like a plea. As instructed, he burrows his face in between your legs, drawing long stripes up your slit. His tongue dips between your folds, savoring the essence of your arousal. Your flushed skin meets the cold kiss of the desk, your body taut as the heat of his tongue stirs the tension in your stomach. The jazz looping in the corner does little to drown out your sighs, moaning breathlessly as he devours you.

His hand glides up from your hips to your chest, gifting you a breast a brief squeeze before wandering down to his lap. His fingers feather over the lump twitching in his pants. He can’t ignore the lewd noises his mouth is producing, accompanied by your whimpering, your taste, the softness of your skin-- he’s going mad. He huffs, choking on a moan as he presses his palm down on his clothes erection. He teases himself through the linen while helping you reach your release, flattening his tongue against your bud and lapping up your cunt. The hum of his moans inches you off the edge until something within you snaps.

His hand abandons his lap and returns to your hips as you quiver around him. His cock aches as he watches your release, begging for attention. He’s smothered by your thighs as you writhe under his hold, body aching for distance. Unmoved by your efforts, he maintains his grip on your hips, pinning you against the desk as he continues suckling the softness of your cunt. The friction of his tongue strums your nerves with every flit along your sensitive bud.

You grab the roots of his hair, detaching him with a slick pop and raising his head up. A soft grunt escapes him from the sudden tug, lips glistening as he’s held up by trembling hands. His crimson eyes are shadowed beneath the disheveled silver strands of his hair, voice soft as his thumb rubs circles into your side. “Too much?”

You nod, quietly echoing his question as a form of agreement. His hair slips between your fingers as he suddenly lifts himself up from his seat. His hands slide onto either side of you, caging you against his desk as he towers over you. Papers crumple beneath his palms and are quickly cast aside as he leans closer, the sound a subtle display of his unraveling restraint. His eyes, though clouded with lust, look over you gently.

“Any further instructions.”

“Do whatever you want.”

He kneads the flesh of your hips, quirking an eyebrow at your request. “Are you sure? We can stop if you’re tired.”

You shake your head, as weak as you are you’re unwilling to stop. He shifts you forward, riding a hand up your abdomen and uncoupling the remaining buttons on your makeshift dress. The fabric is tucked behind your waist as he traces your curves. His hand travels lower, dividing space between your bodies with his thumb as his palm presses into your lower abdomen. You twitch as his finger taps your swollen bud.

“Sensitive?”

Your knees knock against his waist as he continues to flick the mound. He dips his finger between your folds, coating his thumb with the remnants of your orgasm. The finger teases your entrance before slipping inside. Soft, breathy moans escape you as he plays with the tight hole, still throbbing from your release.

“Do what I want, you said?”

His voice is a low drone that lingers in your ears, words muddled as static coils in your stomach. A hand leaves your waist to work on his pants as you lay limp in front of him. Once undone, something warm, heavy but soft, rubs against you. His finger glides up, the skin rising with the pressure of his touch.

His eyes flicker between you and the scene unfolding between your legs. Mirroring your expression, his mouth lays agape as he slips past your narrowed entrance. You sit up, grabbing hold of his forearm as he fucks your weeping cunt. His untucked shirt rides up, gathering in your clenched fist as you gaze upon the perfect view of him disappearing into you. You take him so wonderfully. Your head is slow to tilt upward, meeting his gaze.

A low growl rises from his throat as his hips slow, rolling and sinking deeper inside. You look so pitiful, so cute he can’t take it anymore. Your gaze slips as your body goes limp, giving in to his rhythm. Your second orgasm is quick to come. Your legs tremble over his arms, body tensing as he picks up the pace, pounding his hips into yours.

He stills, watching breathlessly as you come undone once again.

The music playing breaks through the haze. Discarded papers littered the room. The wood of his desk, cluttered with crumpled paper and toppled deskware, frames the mischievous kitten that batted them aside. Belly up, you lazily drape an arm over your eyes to shield yourself from his wicked grin.

“Done already?”

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goldsainz · 1 year ago

Text

❝ SO LONG, MONACO ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . charles leclerc x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . use of y/n (once, i think), cursing, a whole load of angst, charles is an asshole, rushed ending, barely proofread.

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . you love monaco, but it has run its course just like your relationship has.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . i am obsessed with ttpd, i don’t care what anyone has to say, it was a masterpiece and i will not take criticism about it. this is based on so long, london i really recommend listening to this while reading, or just listening to it in general if you need a good cry. i have been writing this for months now, so i hope you guys like it and please dont mind the ending it was the best i could do 😔💙

[ word count: 3,4k ]

You walked through the streets of Monaco, mystified by how bright the city looked even in the night. The street lights were enchanting to witness, and the chatter of people made you appreciate the small country even more. So private, yet so lively, like a hidden spot you had loved so much you just had to make it your home.

The walk to Charles’ apartment is more calming than expected, you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ve been pulling at a thread that is almost undone. No matter how hard you tried, there was no use in pulling him tighter when he had already pulled out of the relationship.

You were, in all honesty, tired.

You swore your back almost hurt from all the efforts you made to keep him with you. It’s like you both had settled for conformity, for the monotony of not bothering to do anything. You were together for the sole sake of how harder it would be to separate, but not because of the love you had for the other, simply because of the aftermath of breaking up after 6 years of relationship. Moving out, telling your friends and family, the whole world scrutinizing what went down when really nothing had gone down. There was nothing that could go down, to begin with.

Your relationship had become more of a commodity, one that was draining you while your boyfriend continued his life like nothing was going on. Maybe that was your problem, you simply cared too much.

And so you stopped trying to make him laugh. Stopped making those small efforts that had amounted to hundreds of gestures that went unnoticed by him. Maybe you were selfish for that, for wanting his undivided attention to things that weren’t that great. After all, he had his own things to wallow over, things that were simply greater than you.

You tried to blame Ferrari. Ferrari that always was the topic of conversation. “Can you believe they made pit so late?” Yes, I can. “Do you think I’m putting to much faith in the team?” Yes, you are. You don’t tell Charles all the things you should, you share his sadness and give him a shoulder to cry on, just to receive that small amount of affection.

His sadness gives you the taste of what once was and now isn’t. You can’t find in yourself to blame him for becoming dependent on Ferrari, because haven’t you become the same way for him?

It isn’t long before your walk is over, and you have to face the moment you want to dread, but instead there is relief that surges in your heart. A feeling you resent but equally embrace.

You step into the elevator, pressing the button for his apartment that you wonder when you decided to let everything go on for as long as it did. That is something you incriminate Charles for. Did he really think you’d be willing to stand in the rain for him forever? Eternally condemned to wallow his sadness, were you supposed to be sad for as long as he was? And for a while you did, you shared his sadness but you didn’t have much more in you to give him. There was only so much pity you could feel, so much empathy you were willing to subject yourself to.

The elevator rings, a sign that you should get off and take whatever is yours and get away from Monaco.

You put the key in the keyhole, and enter what once was your home and now looks almost like a staged apartment, ready to be shown off and sold to the highest bidder. It feels eerie, what once was so familiar is now a distant memory you’re ready to get over.

Most of the boxes are all closed and ready to be sent away, with a few things left in shelves and drawers. You remember calling your family and asking if you could stay with them a few days, you felt ashamed at how you left everything behind just to come back to it so unexpectedly.

“Chérie, you don’t have to leave. I can stay with Joris until you find your own place.” no more ma chérie, just chérie. It seemed you’d both unconsciously already made the graves for your relationship.

“This is your place, Charles. I’m not going to kick you out of it.” you smoothly respond, trying to focus on taking whatever is left on the shelf by the TV.

Your hand brushes against an old photo of the two of you. His hands around your waist, you looking up at him with a huge smile on your face, with Monaco as the landscape behind you.

“This was our place, I don’t even—” he stops himself, like it pains him to say whatever is on his mind, resigned he sighs and changes his answer, “I might have to sell this, it’s too big for just me anyway.”

The implication of his words would have sent you down a spiral a few months ago, now you don’t even reminisce on the what-if.

“Either way, I’ve already arranged a place to stay. I really don’t want to inconvenience you, this is your home not mine.” you say, and you watch as his jaw clenches and his eyes dim, but it is too late now to go back. You’re both too far gone.

“Okay, then.” he sighs, and although you’ve made peace with the end of your relationship you want him to fight for you. It is his nonchalant way of going about life that makes you mad, and what sealed the fate of whatever remains of your relationship were left.

You’ve fought so hard and for so long, you want to make him feel what you felt. Retribution comes to you in his resignation, and yet it is simply not enough for your greedy, broken heart.

It pisses you off how so much of your youth he got to witness, how he got all the special moments of your life and now you cannot even recognise the girl you once were. All those dreams, all that naïveté, has long since died and is now buried in Monaco.

“It’s late and I’m really tired, so tomorrow morning I’ll have them pick up and ship off my things.”

“Where are you staying?” he tries to be casual, tries to hide the desperation in his voice, but fails to do so because you know him too well. He fears you know him better than anyone ever has.

“A hotel nearby,” you easily answer,

Don’t let me go.

A beat passes, he opens his mouth and closes it shortly after, like he’s not sure what to say or how to act.

Please, don’t let me go.

“Do you need me to take you there?”

“No, I’m okay, it’s a short walk from here.”

And so you put away the few things you were holding, brushing past him like he’s a stranger in the street. You’ve seemingly packed up your whole life in a few boxes, and you feel oddly calm about it. Hopeful about the future, all resentment you could have has turned into motivation.

You seal the last open box, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. There are no scores to settle, no need for revenge, this chapter of your life has been sealed and you are ready to continue with whatever the story of your life has prepared for you.

“Text me when you get to the hotel, yes?” you pause at his words, and a part of you wants to curse him out for being the way he is, because despite everything he is a kind man. You just wish he could've been as kind to the old you as he is to the current you. And you wonder why you're given all this kindness, when you have both your feet out the door and every single remainder of your love has been tucked away. It is not fair, but nothing really is when it comes to love.

“Sure,” you say as you nod, a small smile gracing your face, though you're sure it looks close to a grimace.

You walk out of the apartment, leaving your copy of the keys on the table next to the door. As it closes, you let out a sigh and go out the same you came in, calm and collected. With the broken, bloody pieces of your heart in his hands and you with the same blue heart of his you know so well.

You don’t text Charles when you make it to the hotel.

You twist and turn in your bedsheets, not being able to sleep once again. You can't remember the last time you had a good night's sleep. And so you do what you've been doing for months, you go over every step and stone of your relationship.

Although sleep doesn’t consume you, the memories do. Those unforgiving, wretched memories about the downfall of your relationship. As you lie awake, the weight of your thoughts presses down on you, each recollection sharper and more painful than the last.

You reminisce on the brighter days, filled with laughter and pure love, where every touch was like electricity on your skin and every word a promise of a future together. You recall all those moments you fought to make him laugh, to bring back the warmth that had once been effortless. But those bright memories are quickly overshadowed by the darker ones— the fights that grew more frequent, the silences that stretched longer, the love that slowly turned to resentment.

Every detail is vivid in your mind— he look in his eyes as he drifted away, the chill that settled in your bones each night he didn't fall asleep beside you. You replay the conversations, the accusations, the desperate attempts to salvage whatever was left. But despite your efforts, the spirit of the relationship was long gone, leaving behind a shell of what once was.

As the memories flood back, you feel the anger and sadness welling up inside you. You gave so much of yourself, your youth, your energy, only to be left with the empty shell of a broken dream. You think about how he swore that he loved you, yet the proof was never there.

You recall that last fight, by then the stitches of your relationship had come undone, the fabric of your shared experience torn beyond repair. There was nothing left to cling onto, nothing more than your delusion and the memories you held close to your heart.

“Mon amour, why did you stay awake? You know how long I take at the factory.” he whispers, almost cooing at you but also filled with exhaustion. Like you being awake is another burden you're placing on him, now that he has to deal with your awakened mind.

“Couldn’t fall asleep, I guess.” you answer, playing with the ends of your hair, not daring to look at him.

You watch as he places his stuff on the ground, taking off his shirt and entering the bathroom to wash his face and prepare for sleep. It is quite a shame you have no intentions of sleeping, or to let the misery you're living through go on.

“I’ll join you in just a moment,” he calls out from the bathroom, his voice muffled from the ajar door between you.

“Okay,” is all you come up with, all you can muster to respond.

The silence in the apartment grew heavy. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to echo through the room, each second stretching out into eternity.

As you listened to the sound of water running, you traced patterns on the bedsheets with trembling hands. You couldn’t shake the feeling of suffocation, of being trapped in a life that wasn’t quite yours. The dreams you once nurtured seemed distant, obscured by the everyday struggles and compromises.

When Charles emerged from the bathroom, the lines of fatigue etched deeper into his face. His eyes met yours briefly before he turned away, pulling a worn t-shirt and slipping under the covers beside her. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet you could see the coldness that he seemed to reserve especially for you. He made no effort to kiss you, to hold you, those miniscule actions were like finding gold nowadays.

It was now or never, you had decided. You had gained courage all day to finally speak your mind, the least he could do is listen and try to fight for you. For the remains of your love that hadn’t yet dusted away.

“You know,” you begin tentatively, your voice almost shaky with emotion, “it feels like we’re drifting apart. I miss us, Charles.”

He turned to you sharply, eyes flashing with something like shock and annoyance. “I’m tired, Y/N. Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”

“But we never talk about it!” you exclaimed, frustration boiling over. “Every day, it’s the same thing. You come home late, exhausted, and we pretend everything’s okay. But it's not okay! It hasn’t been for a long time, and I need more than this.”

He sighs heavily, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Sure you are,” you retort back, voice tinged with bitterness. You knew he would dismiss your feelings, but it still stung.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m always second, Charles.” you retort, “I stay awake each night wondering if you still care, if there is even some part of you that misses me like I miss you.”

“You always find something to complain about, don’t you?” he turns to you with his eyes narrowed, “You know how much I’m dealing with Ferrari, I thought you’d have some empathy for me, at least.”

“I’m not complaining, Charles. I’m trying to talk to you!” your frustration has now reached its peak, “I miss us. I miss the days when we actually talked, when you actually listened.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says, ignoring your words once more. “Do you think this lifestyle pays for itself? Because, news flash, it doesn’t. You signed up for this, don’t put this on me now.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” you ask, resigned to your situation and the emotions that have overtaken you, “You're never here, Charles. I feel like I’m living with a stranger instead of the man I fell in love with.”

“Well, maybe if you didn't make everything so difficult,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. He doesn't dare to look at you, he can't bear to see the expression on your face.

You feel tears stinging in your eyes, a mix of anger and hurt washing over you. “I’m not making things difficult. I’m asking for us to work on our relationship, to make time for each other.”

“I don’t have time,” Charles shot back, his voice cold and distant. “This is the life we have now. Deal with it.”

“Is this really what you want?” you demand, your voice rising. “A relationship where we just coexist, where we’re barely holding on?”

He turns away from you again, his silence cuts deeper than any words ever could. You feel the despair, the realizations sinking in that your relationship might be beyond repair.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking with emotion.

“Then what do you expect me to do?” he retorted, his frustration matching yours.

“I expect you to fight for us, Charles!” you exclaimed, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I expect you to care enough to try.”

He doesn’t respond, the silence a stark reminder of how far you had both drifted apart. You wiped your tears away, feeling the weight of your crumbling relationship pressing down on your chest.

“If you can’t even talk to me, then maybe we’re already done.” you say quietly, the finality of your words hanging in the air.

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t reach out to you. You turned away from him, curling up on your side of the bed, feeling the emptiness of your once vibrant love surrounding you. As you stared into the darkness, you wondered if you had reached the end, if this was all the closure you would get.

As you laid there, enveloped in the silence that now seemed thicker than ever, you realised that something inside you had shifted irreversibly. The pain of his indifference cut deep, but so did the clarity that you couldn’t continue living forever like this, forever under the blue of his days.

The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, you couldn’t bear it any longer. With a shaky breath, you gathered your resolve and spoke softly into the darkness, voice trembling with both sadness and determination.

“I think… I need some time,” you began, your words tentative yet resolute. “Time to figure out what I want and what’s best for me.”

He turned to you then, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and resignation. “What are you saying?”

You struggled to find the right words. “I’m saying… I’m saying that I’m done, Charles. I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. I deserve more than this.”

His expression hardened, a flicker of frustrations crossing his face. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

“I’m not giving up,” you shot back, “I’ve been fighting for us for so long, but you… you're not even here, I can’t keep begging for your attention, for your love.”

Charles doesn't respond immediately, his silence echoing loudly in the room. You felt a wave of sorrow wash over you as you realized that your love had turned into a battlefield of neglect and misunderstanding.

“I thought we could fix this,” he finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe we could have,” your heart breaks with every word you utter. “But it’s too late now, I’m exhausted, Charles. I’m exhausted from trying to pretend like you care and for trying to fix something beyond repair.”

He sits up at your words, finally looking at you, the weight of your failed relationship heavy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, mon ange. I never meant for it to end like this.”

“Neither did I,” you replied softly, “But I can’t keep living like this. I deserve happiness. We both do.” he reached out to touch your hand, but you gently pulled away, the gesture feeling hollow now.

You sat there in silence, you knew that walking away would be the hardest thing you had ever done, but you also knew it was the only way forward.

Without another word, you stood up from the bed. Looking at him, the man you loved with all your heart but who had drifted away from you.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” you tell Charles, and he doesn’t fight you, just wordlessly nods and longingly looks at you as you step away and into your living room.

You stood at the window of the hotel room, staring out at the city that had been your home for so long. The cobblestone streets, the azure waters, and the gentle hum of luxury. This place, once your sanctuary, now felt like a prison of memories that had soured with time. A reminder of a love that couldn't withstand the weight of reality.

Outside, the familiar sights and sounds of Monaco stirred memories that tugged at your heart— lazy afternoons by the beach, candlelit dinners overlooking the harbour, stolen kisses beneath the starlit sky.

But today, as the plane ticket lay on the table beside your suitcase, you knew it was time to leave Monaco behind. Despite the love you once felt for this place, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest, the realisation that your time here had run its course.

As you walked out of the hotel and down the winding cobblestone streets towards the waiting car you had called, you allowed a tear to trickle down your cheek because despite everything you really fucking loved Monaco. For so, so long.

But you’ll find somewhere new.

534 notes · View notes

justakaku · 6 months ago

Text

Confidentiality - Chapter 8. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

T/W: This story will include talk about mental health struggles such as body dysmorphia, paranoid thoughts and more. Possessive and obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, violence. Dark themes are to be expected. A brief situation of harassment (not by any of the members) in this chapter. A/N: Forgive me for the long wait! I hope the chapter won't be disappointing or incoherent... I like writing this story but my own judgmental thoughts honestly are a kill of joy. I'm happy to receive feedback, be it constructive criticism or positive words. I hope someone will enjoy this <3 Word count: 4 062 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once again, you held the phone to your ear. The sound of the phone ringing was quiet and stable but it did not lessen your anxiety at all. Eventually it stopped ringing, leaving you in heavy silence.

Jongho hadn’t answered this time either. You had tried to call him at least 20 times in a span of couple days, but it was like he had disappeared from the face of the Earth. Despite being upset at him, you were more worried than you wanted to admit. You also missed him, his stoic nature, and the unexpected moments of sweetness.

Frustrated, you tossed the phone away. Was Jongho so childish and stubborn that he hid from you on purpose after you had kicked him out of your home? Or could he be in danger? You couldn’t help but feel bad for banishing him. That was how he probably wanted you to feel, but there was nothing to do about the feeling.

Spring, the season of hope and new beginnings, was near so the weather was warming up. Still, it was already late in the evening. The nights at that time of the year were still cold, and you grabbed a warm jacket; one that did not attract attention. You feared the possibility that some creep would notice and follow you in the dimly lit streets of the little city you lived in.

Maybe in another life you would have liked walks outside. But this world was evil. If you already hated being outside even in the daylight, when the moon rose on the sky, your senses were heightened to a maximum.

The walk to Jongho’s place wasn’t practically that long despite it being on a completely different area of the city. He actually lived in a house instead of a crappy, crampy apartment like you did.

You were always astonished by his house. It was of an appropriate size but screamed how rich he was. A slightly annoyed huff fell from your lips as you thought about how he had said you couldn’t go ice skating for it being too expensive. Dude lived in the most prestigious area of the city but complained about the cost of ice skating. The memory made you smile nonetheless.

There was a gate separating his yard and house from the street. You rang the doorbell on it, wishing sincerely he’d let you in or at least talk to you.

The weather wasn’t windy but you still felt cold. Maybe Jongho would see you shivering and let you in out of pity. That is if he was even alive anymore.

The house stood dark and tall in front of you, and the only thing separating you from Jongho was the gate. Your heart clenched at the unbearable thought of having lost him forever. Losing his friendship felt even harder knowing that you had never had much friends in the first place.

After 10 minutes, you walked away from the house, steps heavy with disappointment. You had driven Jongho away with your anger. It was difficult to remember in that moment that your anger had been completely justified. You just wanted to see Jongho again.

As if the situation hadn’t been depressing enough already, small, cool drops of water fell on your skin. Even the sky was crying with you.

You kept walking, bravely telling yourself that you didn’t care about the rain turning into a downpour. But eventually, it started bothering you too much. It was cold, wet and dark, and you felt yourself getting frustrated.

You found a shelter next to a small grocery store that was nearing its closing hours. Sure, it would have been wiser to go inside the store to warm up for a moment, but you were just going to stay in the shelter for a moment for the rain to stop.

Some people walked past you out of the store occasionally but you were too deep in your thoughts to pay attention to it. Then a voice of a man clearly talking to you snapped you out of it.

“Waiting for the rain to stop, huh?”

“Yeah,” you glanced at the man quickly, not wanting to give him too much attention.

Noticing that the middle-aged man was dressed up in dirty clothes and reeked of alcohol made you already uneasy. But the look in his dazed eyes was more concerning; he eyed you up and down, and smiled at you. It was not a kind nor inviting smile. It was a predatory smile flashed at you with yellow teeth.

“I can wait with you so you won’t be lonely.”

You felt your heartrate speed up. There was no way that man had good intentions with the way he shifted closer to you.

“Thanks, but there’s no need to... Your groceries should be taken to your fridge quickly before they get bad.”

Your attempt to politely refuse his offer didn’t work.

“Oh, sweet girl. Don’t worry, I don’t have any purchases that need immediate care,” the man grinned and moved closer once again to show the contents of his plastic bag.

It didn’t surprise you to find the bag was filled with beer bottles. You had to come up with a new excuse.

“What about your wife? She’s surely waiting for you already.”

“Hm? You’re prettier than her. Not so wrinkly and not always nagging about my drinking.”

You felt disgusted on so many levels; the man had no right to talk that way about his wife when he looked like a malformed abomination of a rat that had escaped from the sewers. Hell, no man should talk about their own wife like that, no matter the looks.

“A pretty girl like you deserves a man like me. Young men nowadays are so feminine and sensitive,” the man smirked arrogantly, “A true man knows his own power and how to use it to his advantage.”

Your hand slipped inside your pocket. It was not for warmth but for reaching the pepper spray. Everyone used to laugh at you for carrying that because you’d probably never have to use it. But you’d have the last laugh.

“What are you hiding in your pockets?” the man’s eyes were directed at your hands, a deep frown settling on his face.

“J-Just warming up my hands.”

“Bullshit. Are you trying to call the police on me?”

If you were afraid before, now you were definitely terrified. How could you even use the pepper spray when your hands were trembling in fear?

“You stupid bitch. What did I even do? Women don’t appreciate compliments these days anymore!” the man shouted angrily, and instead of standing lazily like before, he turned his body wholly towards you.

You couldn’t freeze in that moment. No way in hell were you going to let that man touch you.

But as you were about to pull the pepper spray from your pocket, a familiar voice caught both your and the man’s attention.

“Step away from her.”

Your head snapped into the direction of the voice, and you noticed; Yunho stood there, firm and commanding. For the first time in your life, you saw him in a good light. The long coat he wore could have been a superhero cloak, that’s how grateful you were.

“Who are you to command me like that?” the drunkard scoffed at Yunho.

But as Yunho walked closer, the man seemingly realized how much taller Yunho was, how much at disadvantage the man was.

“I’m telling you one last time to step away and leave immediately.”

“Pfft. What are you? A policeman?” the man attempted to assert dominance and show off his fragile masculinity.

“In fact, I am. Although I’m off-duty, I have a couple weapons with me,” Yunho said, clearly not intimidated at all, “I won’t shoot you but I can guarantee that getting tazed doesn’t feel pleasant either.”

To emphasize his words, Yunho pulled out a taser and swung it in his hands. The other man’s defiant expression morphed into a pathetic look of fear.

“Sorry, man. I’ll go,” the man rushed away like there was a tail between his legs.

You looked at Yunho with admiration. Even the guilt for doubting his intentions and nature before didn’t shake your mind at that moment; you just needed desperately to show your appreciation for him.

Still, the best you could do was look at Yunho with wide eyes and utter a few words.

“Thank you.”

Yunho smiled, looking almost giddy when you talked to him, “I just did my duty.”

“Your duty as a policeman?”

“Yes, but mostly my duty as your personal protector.”

A little giggle left your lips at Yunho’s comment. There was a warm feeling of gratitude in your chest. Yunho had never been a bad man after all although acting quite weirdly occasionally.

“I’m more than just grateful. You saved me from a dangerous situation.”

Yunho’s cheeks flushed and an adorable, sheepish smile spread on his lips. Having been always suspicious of him, you hadn’t realized before how sweet he looked every time you talked to him.

“Let me walk you home. You must be scared after meeting that creep,” Yunho extended his hand out for you. In his other hand he held an umbrella which had a Spiderman print.

What was the worst thing that could happen if you took his hand in yours?

You felt like the company of a man who had proven his good intentions would bring you safety on your way home. You grabbed Yunho’s large hand in yours, feeling comforted yet a little nervous.

“So, you like Spiderman?”

Yunho chuckled at your question. He seemed overjoyed to walk hand-in-hand with you even though it was raining cats and dogs.

“He’s what I want to become. A hero.”

You smiled softly and couldn’t resist the temptation to say something corny, “You’re already my hero.”

Yunho laughed heartily and glanced at you. His eyes were twinkling, replacing the stars that couldn’t be seen that night due to the clouded sky.

“What are you doing out this late anyways?” he inquired.

The air felt a little colder again as your thoughts wandered to Jongho.

“Jongho has disappeared. I’ve tried to contact him but there’s no answer,” you revealed, “I went to his house tonight in hopes of finding him there, but it’s like he’s avoiding me.”

Something flickered in Yunho’s eyes for a split second before a thoughtful look set on his face. He squeezed your hand a little.

“That must be rough. He’s your boyfriend after all.”

“Well, not anymore. There was an incident that led to me breaking up with him,” you muttered.

The man next to you nodded and spoke again, “I can help you find him. I’m a policeman, you know? We may not have enough reason to report him as missing, but I have my knowledge of finding missing people as my offer.”

Yunho’s hand may have been warm but the smile on his face was even warmer; it comforted you.

When the two of you eventually stood at your doorstep, Yunho’s reluctance to let go of your hand was clear. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay? The man must have scared you badly.”

You let go of Yunho’s hand to pull the pepper spray out of your pocket.

“You’re my favorite hero but this one will come in handy sometimes too,” you chuckled.

Yunho smiled, “Just call me whenever you need help with anything. And I mean anything.”

You offered your phone for Yunho to type in his number. Suddenly, he frowned.

“Why is your home screen wallpaper a picture of you and Yeosang?” he asked, voice a few degrees colder than before.

It was strange to see that sweet man get so worked up over a simple picture.

“Yeosang is practically my only friend. I like to have a reminder of that now I have someone to rely on.”

The embarrassment in your voice was clear as you were forced to explain your sad situation of friendships. At least Yunho’s expression softened.

“I’ll be your friend from now on. Make sure to spend time with me... and change that wallpaper,” Yunho spoke.

The next week Jongho wasn’t at the group therapy meeting. Just like the week before, he was gone, leaving you worried. But at least now you had someone who would be able to help search for him.

The room felt so empty without him but no-one else seemed to care.

Charlotte didn’t even question Jongho’s absence that time, just moving straight to the activities of the day.

“Find yourself a pair,” Charlotte guided with a mysterious smile, “I won’t tell you what the activity is yet.”

Wooyoung and San paired up immediately, and Seonghwa and Hongjoong glanced at each other in agreement. They had found their cliques, the person who they got along with the best. It was beyond your understanding though how someone as sweet as Seonghwa could like Hongjoong.

You didn’t even have time to get up from your seat when Yunho had appeared in front of you like out of thin air. You felt a little intimidated and small while he stood over you, but the fear you used to feel around him was gone. He was just a gentle giant, the hero who had saved you from a situation that could have escalated.

“Be my pair,” Yunho requested.

His request was tempting but there was someone else standing a little farther away, looking at you longingly; it was Yeosang.

“I think Yeosang wants-”

“Please,” Yunho said, voice soft and almost vulnerable.

You didn’t want to betray Yeosang but Yunho’s sad look tugged at your heartstrings. It didn’t take too long for you to give an apologetic look to Yeosang and a nod for Yunho.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Yeosang walk over to Mingi and pair up with him. You’d apologize to Yeosang later.

Yunho sat down next to you, his long legs brushing against yours briefly. Now that he was sitting next to you just like the first time you met, he seemed satisfied.

“The topic of today is relationships to other people. Discuss with your partner about the person who has the most meaning in your life right at this moment,” Charlotte revealed the task.

That was the hardest topic for you so far. There had never been much people to start with who would have cared about you as you cared about them. It was a curse to love but to be unable to be loved. Sometimes you wished upon the stars that you could stop caring about people. However, no matter how much you cried after lost friends, the universe just brought more people to lose into your life.

Maybe that’s why Jongho’s disappearance bothered you so much. Losing another friend was expected but the way he had completely vanished was slowly breaking you apart. You couldn’t help but blame yourself. It had been completely justified to kick him out of your apartment that day he threw the plate on Yeosang’s face; you shouldn’t feel ashamed.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

Yunho’s voice brought you back on Earth, saving you from your drowning thoughts.

You might have lost Jongho’s friendship but you gained Yunho’s. It was just the matter of time when you’d mess up that situation as well.

“I’m okay. I was just thinking what to talk about in this topic,” your smile was weak yet reassuring enough.

“If it helps you, I can go first,” Yunho suggested.

At your nod, Yunho began to talk about the person who meant the most to him. His eyes practically shined like he was passionate about the chance to finally tell you about the love of his life.

“There’s a woman who stole my heart a couple years ago. I haven’t been able to think about anyone else after she caught my attention.”

It was honestly adorable to hear Yunho ramble about the woman. A hint of jealousy gnawed at your insides; for someone to love you like Yunho loved the woman was a dream.

“The way she walked out of the police station, the way she talked to the other officers, scared and needing help... It made me realize the meaning of my life isn’t to protect all the people. It’s to protect her.”

Yunho was clearly devoted. His words were sweet at first. The way he talked about her was a clear indication of how much she had affected his life. But suddenly his words took a slightly darker turn.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy in my arms. It doesn’t matter if I have to burn her house or the whole world as long as she runs to me for safety,” Yunho spoke, his voice loving, the complete opposite of his words.

“Wow, she’s one lucky girl,” you chuckled nervously.

Surely Yunho must have meant it as a joke. He was a man of justice, not an arsonist.

“She’s my lucky girl,” Yunho smiled softly at you, “So, who is the person you hold dear to your heart?”

You still hadn’t come up with a good answer. The only friends you had in that moment were Yeosang and Yunho, but you knew neither of them well enough. Jongho had grown quite close with you, at least you liked to think so, but he was gone now.

“I don’t really have people who are close to me,” you admitted reluctantly, feeling unsure if you should tell these kinds of things.

“Just say anyone.”

“Well, I think Yeosang is the closest to me right now.”

Yunho’s encouraging smile turned into a frown. It baffled you; there was always a chance that you could be the woman Yunho loved, but he had mentioned having met her a couple years ago already.

“Yeosang? Why him?”

“I think he’s kind to me, and we’ve hung out a lot.”

Your murmured explanation didn’t satisfy Yunho. It was obvious how hard he tried to control his facial expressions, to hide how upset he was.

“Haven’t I been kind to you?” Yunho inquired.

“Yes, you have but-”

“Did you change your wallpaper yet?”

“I-I forgot,” as soon as you answered, Yunho grabbed your purse and started going through the contents of it.

Your eyes widened as he took the matter of changing your wallpaper into his own hands. He was rummaging through your little bag, and you couldn’t let that happen. A woman’s purse was a private thing, especially when that woman was slightly paranoid at the excuse of valued safety.

“Hey! Give it back,” you reached for your purse.

Yunho didn’t care and kept taking things out of it, letting them fall to the floor. Some makeup, a hairbrush and wallet were already in everyone’s sight.

“Yunho, give Y/N her bag back, please,” Charlotte finally tried to stop the situation but her spineless words meant nothing to Yunho.

You tried desperately to gather your things before anything too personal would be revealed, but Yunho just kept throwing things out.

“What is this?” Wooyoung grabbed an object from the floor, inspecting it in his hand.

Your face heated up at the sight of Wooyoung holding something private. Gazing at him angrily from the floor, you were about to demand him to give it back.

“That’s a woman diaper!” Mingi exclaimed, shocked at the unbelievable, astonishing, mind-blowing sight of a menstrual pad.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. All your stuff on the floor for everyone to see and judge, and now Wooyoung and Mingi had humiliated you with their discovery.

“No, Mingi. That is called a menstrual pad,” Charlotte spoke softly like talking to a child.

You wished Jongho was there to knock some sense into everyone. Most likely, he wouldn’t have even done that, but you liked to believe he would have defended your honor. The honor that went down the drain like your appreciation and respect for Yunho.

San snatched the pad from Wooyoung’s hands, clearly frustrated. With no hesitation he walked to you and kneeled down on your level.

“Let me help you,” he said quietly and gave you the pad.

It was just a mere hygiene product, but to you, it felt like he was giving the prettiest flower bouquet ever. In your moment of helplessness, he had wanted to help you.

San started gathering the objects from the floor to their rightful place, your purse. His lips were pressed tightly together like he was feeling annoyed.

“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to,” you spoke quietly, feeling exhausted because of the emotional rollercoaster.

“I want to help,” he looked up a little to give you a gentle smile, “What kind of a person would I be if I didn’t?”

“Apparently the kind everyone else is.”

San chuckled at your bitter mumble. You could see he was holding back his own irritation to calm you down.

Soon, Yeosang joined in to help you and San. You were grateful for those two; the only people in the room you respected. Seonghwa had the potential to be one of those as well, but his friendship with Hongjoong made you mentally avoid him.

Once all your belongings were back in the purse, you turned to Yunho. It was hard to be angry at people whether you knew them well or not; if you knew someone well, you were afraid they’d leave you and if you didn’t know them well, you were afraid they’d be violent. That’s why expressing your feelings of hurt felt dangerous.

You snatched your phone away from Yunho. Surprisingly, the wallpaper hadn’t been changed.

“Why is the wallpaper still the same?” you were gritting your teeth as you spoke.

“I couldn’t unlock your phone,” Yunho’s expression turned guilty, “Look, I’m sorry-”

“Save it. I’m going home.”

You had gone through that terrible moment just for Yunho to not even change your wallpaper. Sure, you should have been glad he couldn’t unlock your phone, but it felt somehow so futile.

As you rid the bus home, you couldn’t help but think; the group therapy didn’t feel helpful or healing at all. You had found Yeosang and Jongho through it, but at what cost? One of the members was a stalker for God’s sake.

Speaking of which, you hadn’t noticed much signs of the stalker in the near days. Would it have been naive to think that fake dating Jongho could have scared him away? Probably yes.

You got off the bus and started making your way back to home. Usually, it was darker at that time of the day, but the seasons were changing. You wished you could change too. You wished you could put an end to your sickness and struggles, to live a normal life, so you wouldn’t have to deal with the sickos at the group therapy.

Maybe it was time to stop going to the therapy. You’d rather live without the social assistance of the government than step inside the nightmarish room of armchairs and supposedly therapeutic talk again.

As you arrived at your door, you reached into your purse like you did every day. A twinge of panic twitched inside your chest as you couldn’t find your keys. They were most likely just deeper inside the purse, and you’d have to look again.

But no matter how much you searched, the keys weren’t there in your purse, jingling like they always did. There was no sight of them even when you emptied the whole purse.

You were positive you, Yeosang, and San had picked up all the objects from the floor. All your other belongings were with you but the keys were gone. It would have been more pleasant if the damn pad had been left behind, but now you were denied the access to your own apartment.

It was possible that someone took your keys when they were still on the floor.

But now the most important thing was to find a place you could sleep at. You didn’t trust your neighbors and you couldn’t afford a hotel room. After some thinking you realized your only option was to beg Yeosang to let you sleep in his apartment. Such a splendid idea to have a sleepover with a man you met in a therapy group for mentally ill. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <- Chapter 7. Chapter 9. -> Masterlist ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taglist: @devilzliaison @lover-with-dolar-sign-is-a-loser @passerbyforfun @gigikubolong29 @peqchplvto

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bucketbueckers · 6 months ago

Text

I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER SEVEN

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur @thelightknight21 wc: 5.5k notes: she master on my list til i chapter seven (im sorry i dont know what this is anymore) ummm im apologizing in advance for this chapter, it's pretty crucial but the first half is kinda buns and also i wish tess kennedy was real because she'd would stream the fuck out of crybaby by sza like thats her song. last chapter of angst but next chapter is tournaments and march madness and shit and we all know what happened so idk if its angst ? i just work here man. merry christmas eve btw, expect something later tonight to make up for this chapter 🎅 as always i hope we enjoy 🫶

‘Home for the Holidays’

November and December are hailed as the happiest times of the year. In November, families from all over reunite for Thanksgiving and toast to good times. December is home to Christmas and New Year’s Eve, where families bond over gift-giving and their shared hope for a successful year ahead. These two months are the most festive times of the year, but basketball fans are celebrating the holidays with new reasons to be thankful and joyous – Tess Kennedy and Paige Bueckers.

If you have been following us for a while, you may remember their long-awaited hard launch in June of 2023. They had a quiet few months between July and November, although those were incredibly busy times for the student athletes. Between summer practices, traveling, the start of the fall semester, and the start of the new basketball season, social media candids were far and between, although Bueckers and Kennedy certainly spoiled us during Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s.

Per their social medias, Kennedy spent Thanksgiving with the extended Bueckers family in Minnesota. She was only there for a few days, but the content was limitless – Bueckers’s sister, Lauren Fuller, shared a photo of Bueckers and Kennedy cuddled up in an armchair on Thanksgiving Day; similarly, Bueckers herself shared a family photo (which included Kennedy) where the entire family wore traditional, festive sweaters. Her caption was simple, only reading “Thankful 🙏”.

Throughout December, fans speculated if Bueckers and Kennedy would spend Christmas together. While it appears they spent Christmas Day separately with their families, Bueckers flew out to New York to spend the last three days of the year with Kennedy. They shared photos of their gifts – a sentimental bracelet charm for Kennedy and a rose thumb ring for Bueckers – then spent New Year’s Eve in New York City to watch the Times Square Ball Drop. A fan who was present in Times Square at the moment wrote to us and shared that Bueckers and Kennedy were each other’s New Year’s Kiss, although they disappeared shortly after midnight.

As the Gamecocks gear up to host the Huskies in early February, fans are eagerly awaiting the clash of the dynasties. Kennedy has not yet been cleared for play, but many supporters feel as though this matchup is a house divided. Critics question how Bueckers and Kennedy will be able to handle the pressure of competing against one another now that they are together, though a greater majority argue that they are mature enough to not let their relationship interfere with the game. Marriage politics aside, we are eagerly awaiting this thrilling match up between South Carolina and Connecticut, and cannot wait to see what February 11th has in store for us.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

FEBRUARY 2024

To no one’s surprise at all, Tess and Paige don’t talk about New Year’s.

Tess knows how she feels about Paige. She’s not concerned about her feelings suddenly changing for Paige overnight, not after how nice New York was in general. It was the first time they’d truly spent romantic, alone time out in public without regard for the press. New York was crowded – they walked down the streets late at night and many didn’t care to bother them. They had sat in a secluded spot during dinner where they flirted all night, toeing the line between pretend and for real. When they watched the ball drop, they were in a pretty secluded place, too, and most of the crowd was full of a bunch of inebriated party-goers. Tess had an amazing time in New York, and if anything, her feelings for Paige only got worse and harder to hide.

The issue is Paige doesn’t mention anything. At all. It’s like it didn’t even happen. If Tess didn’t spend almost every minute of every day thinking about it, thinking about how Paige kissed her fucking scar and said she was beautiful, then she’d worry that she just imagined it all. It’s agonizing because she knows where she stands but she just can’t figure out how to ask Paige about it. She can’t just call her up and say something like, hey, remember how you fucked me within an inch of my life on New Year’s? Did that mean anything to you? That was not happening. So, here they are – back at square one.

Things are fine the first week of January. They text where they can. Coach Staley is slowly working Tess back into practice. Her past few months of PT have been full of insurmountable growth and Tess feels better than she has in ages. She’s so close to getting back on the court, and when she’s not stressing about her situation with Paige (which she stresses about pretty often), all she can think about is how quickly March is approaching and how soon she’ll be back playing. A new basketball redshirting rule had been finalized – an athlete would be able to play up to five games after suffering an early injury (whether it be offseason, preseason, or early in the regular season) that forces them to miss most of the season and still hold on to an extra year of eligibility if they healed completely before the end of the season. It seemed situational on paper, but Tess passed the board consideration with ease after she demonstrated that she was in good health and her doctor confirmed that she’d be fully healed and safe to play by March.

So with Tess getting busier, and knowing that Paige is incredibly busy, too, she doesn’t think too much of it when they text once or twice a day. A good morning here, a how’s practice? there. Things aren’t bad. They’re just…okay, which is strange. It’s like they don’t know how to act around each other. Tess is sure she knows why. She shouldn’t have been so sure that her relationship with Paige would stay the same after they had sex, because why would it? They could argue they were blurring the lines when they’d nap together and kiss, but now, the line isn’t even there and everything is just so confusing.

Tess microdoses a crash out the entirety of January. She can tell that something is wrong but nothing is wrong at the same time. Paige pretends like nothing has changed. Maybe it hasn’t. Maybe this is what happens when you let yourself fall in love with someone you’re supposed to be in a fake relationship with. This is what happens when you agree to casual and then you can’t keep it casual. She let her feelings for Paige get out of hand and now she’s facing the repercussions of that. The worst part is that the only person Tess can actually be mad at is herself. It’s not Paige’s fault that she’s funny and kind and charming and beautiful and sarcastic and gentle and intense and magnetic and literally everything Tess didn’t even know she wanted in a partner until she allowed herself to yearn for something more. Bree and Kamilla warned her – they told her she needed to focus on recovery, not Paige; they told her she couldn’t get caught up in her, and against her better judgement, she did. Now, everything is messy, and the only person at fault is Tess.

Then February comes around. South Carolina was set to host Connecticut on the 11th. Maybe she and Paige would be able to talk after the game and finally get their minds straight.

Or so Tess hoped.

FEBRUARY 11, 2024

Tess spends the entirety of warm-ups nervous as hell. Her shot is off, her handles weak. She’s thankful she’s not playing in this game because at the rate she’s bricking, she’d lose the game for South Carolina by the second quarter. Eventually, she gives up on shooting and decides to rebound for Raven and Bree. That doesn’t go well either. Standing under the basket puts Paige directly in her line of vision, and tearing her eyes off of her is a task easier said than done. The last time they saw each other in person was at the airport on New Year’s Day. Tess knows she’s standing only a court away from the same Paige who’d carried her into the bathroom when her legs didn’t work, though part of her wonders what happened in the month they were gone that would make her doubt that. Her hair is up in the same game day style that Tess knows so well by now, her face impassive, the gleam of sweat shining under the arena lights. Tess can’t look away. Part of her wants Paige to look at her, to give her something to work with, but Raven draws her out of her thoughts with an impatient ball to the ass.

“Ouch!” Tess exclaims, rubbing her cheek, although it didn’t really hurt. She watches Raven bend down to grab the ball with a smirk on her face.

“I know you ain’t playing, but some of us are, and we’d appreciate it if you stopped making bedroom eyes at your girl,” Raven sasses. She shoots the ball from the free throw line and it swishes in seamlessly. Tess catches it as it falls and passes it back her way.

“I am not making bedroom eyes,” Tess grumbles. Raven huffs out something akin to laughter, backing up to shoot the ball from the top of the key. It clangs off the rim and Tess smiles at her. “Karma,” she says as she passes it back. “That’s why we be nice to Tess Kennedy.”

“Tess Kennedy needs to be nice to us and lock the fuck in,” Raven states, shooting again. It goes in and Tess passes it back. “Y’all been together, what – eight months now, nine? This long and y’all actin’ like a middle school couple?”

Tess rolls her eyes, blushing, but she doesn’t entertain the conversation anymore. “I’m not playing. I don’t need to lock in. You need to worry about getting the ball through the net and not my love life.”

“Damn,” Raven says, kissing her teeth. “I get it now. You need to get laid.”

“Do you want a rebounder or not?”

Raven, blessedly, shuts up, but Tess casts one last glance across the court. Paige is sitting on the Huskies’ bench, her pant leg rolled up while a shorter woman kneels in front of her and prods at her knee. Tess almost thinks nothing of it until she watches a smile spread across Paige’s face, the way the woman’s hand lingers on her leg as she looks up, a beaming expression of her own on her face. Oh, Tess thinks. Okay.

Bree has been right about every single thing she’s ever said to Tess and Tess was stupid enough to sit there and think that Bree was overreacting. The humiliation burns low in her gut, but combined with anger, a deep sadness, and a thick terror, Tess feels like she’s going to be sick.

She barely pays attention to the game once it starts. She locks in for the first few possessions – South Carolina wins the tip-off, Te-Hina scores, then Paige scores, then Te-Hina with a three-pointer. South Carolina ends the first quarter in the lead, 19-11. It should make her happy, it’s her team, but the sudden tension between her and Paige makes her queasy. By halftime, South Carolina still holds a healthy lead, 44-30. Tess follows her team and her coach into the locker room, glancing once more at Paige as she regroups with her team, and she can’t help but feel like something’s wrong.

Tess doesn’t listen to anything Coach says while they’re in the locker room, lost in nervous thought. Halftime passes, then she’s back on the bench for the third quarter, her knee bouncing up and down. The quarter passes. 69-44 South Carolina. The fourth quarter starts. It ends. 83-65 South Carolina. When the final buzzer and her team celebrates, Tess can’t find it in herself to be happy about it. Bree and Raven jostle her, cheering, but her eyes are firmly locked on Paige, who stands from the bench to receive her teammates.

They line up for handshakes. When Tess and Paige reach each other, Paige doesn’t even glance at her, half-heartedly saying, “Good game,” and Tess scoffs loudly. That finally gathers Paige’s attention, whose head snaps back to look at Tess indignantly, but Tess is over it. She moves on, annoyance and fear simmering beneath her skin. If that’s the game that Paige wants to play, then Tess will play.

She gathers her belongings from the locker room in record time, telling Bree to not wait up for her as she walks through the halls briskly. Her phone has been blowing up ever since the pressers ended. Knowing that the countless text messages and missed calls are from Paige, she pays it no mind as she silences her phone so she can return to her apartment in peace. Paige had a month to suddenly remember she cared about her. She had the entirety of the afternoon – yes, they were opponents, and Tess would be content to leave it at that if she knew there wasn’t something else going on. She wasn’t born yesterday despite the fact that Paige seems to think so.

When Tess finally makes it back to her apartment, she leaves her duffle bag in her room as she makes her way into the kitchen to make some coffee. The caffeine will undoubtedly make sleep difficult, but Tess can’t find it within herself to care. She’s nearly shaking from rage because what the fuck is even going on? Things were weird – she made her peace with that, but this cold shoulder bullshit is getting old, fast, and Tess doesn’t even know where they went wrong.

The coffee trickles out of the Keurig and Tess stares at it numbly. It finishes, then she dumps sugar and creamer inside and stirs. It burns her tongue when she drinks it, but Paige has her so pissed off she barely registers it. She needs food, or a hot shower, or maybe a couple episodes of TV to get her mind off of the last few weeks of bullshit. Before she can sit down, there’s a few impatient knocks at the front door.

Tess sighs, thinking Bree had forgotten her keys, but when she opens it, she wishes she’d checked the peephole first. Paige stands outside with an obviously annoyed expression, and Tess is honestly tempted to shut the door on her. Paige beats her to the chase. “Let me in,” she says, her tone not indicative of a request. “I’m not havin’ this conversation out here.”

Tess laughs again, mostly in disbelief, but lets Paige inside and shuts the door. “Didn’t seem like you wanted to do a whole lot of talking earlier,” she points out.

Paige rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “Is that really what you’re pissed about? I didn’t talk to you before the game?”

“Okay, this is what we’re doing?” Tess demands. “Don’t act so fucking naive. You sat there and pretended like I didn’t exist. The media is going to eat that shit up, Paige. They’re going to say that we’re fighting, or breaking up, or–”

“The media’s gonna eat it up anyway, Tess, that’s what they do!” Paige exclaims, exasperated. “They’re vultures. If I showed up and acted like I was in love with you or some shit, the media’s gonna say I’m too worried about you and not worried enough about my game. They’re going to say that I’m throwing the game to make you feel better about not playing. They’re already saying we’re not mature enough to compete against each other!”

“Are we?” Tess asks. “You act weird for a month, like I don’t even fucking matter to you, and you barge into my apartment like you suddenly care about me again?”

“I wasn’t acting weird,” Paige defends, though her entire demeanor shifts.

Tess scoffs. “You weren’t? God, Paige, I know you were busy, but you changed. Something changed, we changed, and you’re pretending like nothing happened. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I know something is wrong with us and you’re not giving me anything to work with! And then, you can’t even fucking look at me, but you can smile at that woman and you let her touch you?”

Paige blinks once before her gaze hardens. “You mean the trainer? If you have sum’ to say, then say it with your chest, Tess.”

Tess doesn’t even realize she’s crying until the tears burn her cheeks on the way down. She gestures wildly with her hands as she explains. “The only reason why your manager placed you with me was because you slept around and people started noticing.” Paige recoils, as if struck, like she immediately understands where Tess is going with this. “So what am I supposed to think? Fuck, you barely talk to me, you can’t even look at me, and another girl’s touching on you like that? When I told Bree about us, she said it looked like I was just your new flavor. She told me I’d end up being just another notch on your bedpost. She was right. I spent months defending you and looking like a fucking idiot because you told me it wasn’t true, and I believed you?” Tess hiccups, her chest constricting. “When you said you could do casual, I didn’t know that included cruel, too.”

Paige is silent for a moment before huffing. “You caught feelings, didn’t you?” she asks, suddenly looking terrified, and Tess feels her blood run cold.

“What?”

“You caught feelings,” Paige says, like it all makes sense. Her eyes are wide and panicked as they water. “You caught feelings and, what, you thought that changed things?” Paige’s voice cracks. Tess flinches. “We agreed we couldn’t let this get out of hand. You agreed. You couldn’t separate your feelings from the job we had to do and you’re pissed at me about that?”

Tess is breathing heavily by the time Paige finishes. Her nails are likely drawing blood from how hard they’re digging into her palms. She doesn’t care. She’s sure she could deny, deny, deny, but what good could it do either of them? Tess is fucking over it. Her reputation wasn’t worth it. She would give up all of her brand deals and her public image if only it’d hurt less.

“You know what?” Tess cries. “I did catch feelings for you! I’m in love with you, you asshole, is that what you wanted to hear? Yes, I broke our rules, but you broke them first when you kissed me in that fucking hotel room and told me that I didn’t have to be scared with you. Did that mean anything to you? Did it mean anything to you when you told me that we ‘didn’t have to label it’ and we could ‘just be us?’ You told me I didn’t have to be scared and I gave you everything, Paige, literally every-fucking-thing. I gave you my heart, my first kiss, my fucking virginity on New Year’s, and you just pretended like none of that happened. You pretended like you didn’t even care about me or what we did. And maybe I was just stupid enough to think that would have mattered to you.”

The apartment is agonizingly silent for a moment as Paige stares in near disbelief, looking as though Tess just pulled the rug out from under her. She looks shell-shocked, like she wasn’t expecting Tess to admit that she was in love with her, like she wasn’t expecting Tess to blame her for all of this. Then, in a weak voice, she says, “I was your first?”

The laugh that rips from Tess’s throat is watery, surprised despite herself. “That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“Tess–”

She raises her hands, backing away, her fingers shaking with rage. “No, you know what? I shouldn’t even be surprised.” Paige takes a cautionary step towards her, but Tess takes two more away from her, her gaze disappointed and somber. “God, you are such an asshole.” She opens the door, stepping out, but meets Paige’s eyes. “Lock my fucking door before you leave,” she says, then slams it shut behind her. Paige doesn’t chase after her. She’s not sure if that relieves her or distresses her.

Tess doesn’t even know where she’s going, but her legs do. She buries her hands in her hoodie pocket, the chill of the weather freezing the tears to her face. She doesn’t bother wiping them as she makes her way down the sidewalk, down to Senate street, and before she knows it, she’s walking into the Tin Roof, the bar she used to haunt before sobriety.

She knows she should leave. She’s surrounded by people of varying levels of drunkenness, and the stench of alcohol makes her nose wrinkle. She’s ten months sober – that’s a lot of progress down the drain, but she’s hardly thinking as she slides into a seat at the bar.

“Rough day?” the bartender asks kindly, wiping the inside of a glass.

Tess snorts, finally wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie. “You have no idea,” she jokes, and the bartender’s laugh makes her feel a little better about herself.

“What’ll it be?”

Tess pauses for a while, taking a deep breath. What is she doing? She doesn’t know the answer to that, but she just doesn’t want to hurt. Her knee, her mind, Paige. But she knows it’ll just hurt even more if she goes down that path again, so she says, “Can I just get a sprite, please? And like, a small cup of cherries, if that’s possible? I’ll pay.”

The bartender nods, already reaching for a clean glass and using the soda gun to fill it with sprite. “No worries, okay? On the house.” Tess opens her mouth to argue, but she figures she’s had enough of arguing today, so she just quietly thanks the bartender as she fills a small serving bowl with maraschino cherries. She slides both the drink and the cherries her way with a smile. Then she’s off to help someone at the other end of the bar.

Tess pops a cherry in her mouth, feeling a little more regulated, and takes a sip of her sprite. The TV in front of her is playing the Stanford-Washington State game. Cameron Brink is an incredible player. Tess might like to play with her someday.

They go into a media timeout when Tess feels someone slide into the stool next to her. She doesn’t have to look up from her sprite to know it’s Paige, the scent of her perfume filling her nose. Neither of them say anything for a while as Tess eats her cherries and drinks her sprite, but Paige finally breaks the silence when she says simply, “I’m sorry.”

Tess hardly reacts. “How’d you know I was here?”

“You still share your location with me,” Paige admits. “I’m sorry.”

Tess laughs humorlessly. “Yeah. I heard you the first time.”

“I mean it.”

Tess finally glances at Paige. She’s drawn into herself, her lips pursed, eyes guilty. Tess knows her well enough by now. She truly does mean it, and maybe that’s the worst part. She knew Paige better than she knew herself and still didn’t expect Paige to break her heart like this.

“I’m sorry for what I said. For ignorin’ you at the game today, for actin’ indifferent after New Year’s.” Paige swallows thickly. “I’m sorry for making you doubt how much I care about you. I’m sorry about the trainer situation – that did look weird as hell.” That makes Tess laugh quietly. “I’m sorry for accusing you of catching feelings. I was a dick.”

“Wasn’t an accusation,” Tess says. “It was the truth.”

“It was an accusation ‘cause I acted like I was blameless,” Paige clarifies, which confuses Tess. She’s silent for a beat, drumming her fingers on the bar. “Do you regret New Year’s?”

“No,” Tess answers without hesitation. That makes Paige smile a little bit. “I don’t think I ever could. Not when it was with you.”

“Why did you never tell me it was your first?” Paige asks quietly.

“Would you have done it if you’d known?”

Paige smiles somberly at her. “I woulda done it nicer. More romantic and shit. I defiled you and then you went home to your parents. I should send them an apology card.” Tess can’t help her burst of laughter. She buries her head in her hands, shaking her head, knowing that her response was so wholly Paige that it was kind of sickening.

“It was…intimidating,” Tess says slowly, lifting her head. “I’m not experienced. At all. You were my first in so many ways and none of it was even real. That’s embarrassing to admit because you’re the complete opposite of that.”

Paige scratches the back of her neck. “Not really.”

“No?” Tess inquiries.

Paige inhales deeply. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I never…slept around. I slept with one girl before you and she was my first. We were together. Didn’t end well. I dated around for a bit and she spread the rumor that I was sleeping with them. Couldn’t really address the rumors, my brands were freaking the fuck out, my manager suggested a PR relationship… Rest is history.”

Tess suddenly feels like a complete idiot. She lays her head down on the bar as she groans, completely embarrassed. “You sat there and let me call you a whore?” she demands, her voice a silent hiss. “Oh my God. I’m literally such a jerk. Why did you never say anything?”

“Was embarrassing,” Paige says, shrugging a shoulder.

Tess huffs, quirking a smile. “Touche.”

“When did you realize?” Paige asks. “That you were in love with me.”

“In New York, when we were walking to Times Square,” Tess admits. Paige exhales sharply. “I’m sure I felt it for a while. I just couldn’t name it. But…we were walking, and you looked so pretty in the city lights, and I was thinking about when we first met, in Gampel. I wanted to get to know you then. Playing against you was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. But I missed my shot and it’s just…insane to think about the fact that almost three years after that, we’d be in New York together. And then you smiled at me and squeezed my hand and you were my New Year’s kiss. It was inevitable.”

Paige glances at her. “I realized I was in love with you after dinner, the day before.”

Tess can hear her heartbeat in her ears. She turns to stare at Paige, almost waiting for Paige to admit that it was just some sick joke, but the blonde is gazing at her fondly. “You what?”

“I realized I was in love with you after–”

“No, I heard you,” Tess says, laughing in disbelief. “There’s just no way you mean it. Not after you said ‘you caught feelings and thought that changed things.’”

Paige sinks into herself, looking guilty again. “I didn’t mean that,” she says. “I was scared. I know, stupid excuse, but it scares me, Tess. I’ve never loved anything or anyone like I love you. I’ve never really had anything permanent. My parents divorced when I was three. When I was old enough to realize what that meant, I felt like, I’on know, I wasn’t enough for them to stay together. I love my step-parents but… it was so easy for them to love someone else. It’s stupid–”

“It’s not stupid, Paige,” Tess interrupts, her heart hurting, suddenly understanding.

Paige’s smile is somber. “I dated around to find something that would last, but it never worked. It’s lonely being me. Nobody gets it – the pressure, the expectations, the sacrifice. I felt like I was searchin’ for something I couldn’t find until I got to know you and realized I was looking for someone like you. ...For you specifically.” Tess has no words for that, her pulse thrumming in her chest. Paige sighs. “When I said what I said to you, I thought I was protectin’ you. I’m not someone who lasts. I’ve never been good at long-term, but, fuck, Tess, I want long-term with you. I didn’t wanna hurt you. I was scared that I would, so I said all that ‘cause I thought you’d maybe move on from me and find someone you deserved. And I ended up hurting you, anyway.

“I realized I was in love with you after dinner,” Paige says again, undeterred. “You were wearin’ my sweater and you looked so fuckin’ beautiful. Then you fell asleep with me and I called Aubrey. I told her I thought I was in love with you – and you were layin’ there, jus’ soft, and happy, and I thought, ‘I can’t hurt her.’ But I’m selfish. I wanted to keep you. I meant it when I said you don’t gotta be afraid with me. And I only said we didn’t have to label anything ‘cause I didn’t want to lose you. I never thought we’d be here – never thought you’d love me, too, so I just wanted to enjoy it while nothin’ was wrong. It all mattered to me, Tess, everything mattered to me; every time you called me, when you trusted me, when you first held my hand, when you first kissed me, when you let me show you how much I loved you even though we didn’t have the words for it yet. It all mattered to me and I’m so fuckin’ sorry I acted like it didn’t.”

The two of them sit in contemplative silence for a while. Tess can hear – and feel – each and every one of her heartbeats. For a long time, this is all she’s wanted to hear from Paige, the apology, the explanation for the private parts of her she couldn’t ask about, the I’m in love with you, too. Now that she has it, she doesn’t want to fuck it up, but all of this is so scary. It was easy to deal with the emotions when they were in New York and nothing was wrong, when it was easy to pretend that they could have all of the love without the ugly parts. Now, they’re forced to see all of each other. They have so much more to lose now.

Tess has historically made a bad habit out of getting in her own way. She overthinks constantly. It’s Murphy’s Law – if it can go wrong, it will go wrong. She scares herself out of opportunities. But when she just stops thinking and lets things happen, she builds rickety foundations in her relationships. All of the times she thought she was saving herself heartache by avoiding the difficult conversations just so she can keep Paige have backfired on her. It led to their argument on Thanksgiving, to their argument now. Had she been a little more honest to Paige, to herself, about how she felt, then perhaps she could have saved the both of them months of anguish.

So, Tess meets Paige’s hopeful eyes, and she says carefully, “We can’t keep hurting each other like this.”

Paige exhales, not expecting that response, but she nods. “I know,” she agrees. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it – just… fuck, I don’t wanna get on that bus tonight and not be yours. For real. You’re all I want, Tess. I can’t let you slip away from me again.” Paige searches Tess’s expression, her eyes wide and yearning and pleading. Tess can’t help but soften. Haven’t they been through enough? Wondering what was real and what wasn’t, suffering through arguments when they could have easily fixed their problems with a conversation. Tess doesn’t want to go to sleep tonight and not be Paige’s, either. It’s all she’s wanted since June.

But Tess knows that they can’t pick up where they left off. They both have to heal, understand their relationship and its boundaries a little better, and for the love of God, get rid of those fucking rules (although the communicate one had some credence).

“I want to take this slow,” Tess says after a while. “We need to do this right.”

Paige relaxes, relief on her face as she nods in earnest. “I can do slow,” she promises. “Just want you.”

Tess cocks a smile, her gaze warm, and Paige’s expression is so full of love that it’s almost disarming. “Maybe we can start slow later?” she suggests, watching the gears turn in Paige brain.

Once it clicks, Paige doesn’t waste any time. She leans forward, one hand cupping Tess’s cheek, her kiss softer than anything Tess has ever felt before. She tastes like a promise, like the vow that they’re going to do right by each other from now on. The knowledge that this is real, that there’s no catch or stipulation or some stupid fucking rule, makes their collide sweeter. They were inevitable, tied together by one strand of fate; it’s taken them a while to get here, but Tess is Paige’s and Paige’s is hers, and that’s all Tess can ask for right now.

They eventually have to break away – Paige can’t stop smiling, which makes it difficult to do much of anything. Tess shoves her back with a hand to her chest, grinning softly. “You’re so fucking annoying,” Tess says, hopelessly endeared.

Paige just smirks proudly. “Not annoying. Just in love.”

Tess rolls her eyes fondly, drawing Paige in to murmur against her lips, “Same difference,” and in the same bar Tess almost threw her life away in, she kisses the woman she’s in love with, the woman who reminded her of its importance, and she knows everything is exactly as it should be.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #uconn #uconn wbb #ncaa wbb

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