#that are maybe beyond rekindling

[grapehyasynth]

I really feel tremendous grief for friendships that kind of petered away in the face of life's currents. There are people with whom I formed deep, unique, vibrant, life-changing connections, and then we had to go our separate ways and it was too hard to maintain long-distance. There wasn't a fight, it just sort of faded. And I feel like I have more friendships like this than friendships that have endured, so maybe I just have to get used to it. But if grief is all the love we have left over - well, I never did get to finish loving them. I love them, and I miss them, and I probably always will.

[age-of-moonknight]

“Instinct,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2022), #22.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Artist: Alessandro Cappuccio; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[skyahri]

Hate |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Kakashi Hatake, Shikamaru Nara, Sasuke Uchiha

Summary: Hate is a strong word, but it's also a very fragile one.

Warnings: Brief smut, kissing mentions of p and v. Some angst, but all comfort. Mentions of blood, violence, and death.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Kakashi Hatake

You hated how full of himself he was. He was always talking down to people, to his teammates and so-called friends. He goes out of his way to show people up no matter how inappropriate the situation may be.

He hated that you always stuck up for people he considered weak. He hated how much time and energy you put into helping others instead of focusing on your own training. He hated that you had so much potential, yet seemed to waste it at every opportunity.

As time went on and you were forced into each other's inner circles, your occasional arguments became a constant bicker. It got even worse when you were assigned to his ANBU team. You questioned his every move and fought every decision he made.

In return, he always gave you the least desirable night shifts. He'd make you write all the reports, saying something about needing to learn to respect your elders (he's only a few months older than you).

Once you were put in charge of your own team, things quieted down. Not because either of you had mellowed out, but because you didn't cross paths as often anymore.

Because of how rarely you saw him, you always made sure to make your brief encounters worth it. You had practically written a list of insults to throw his way. He returned the same energy with out hesitation.

Eventually, after his genin team had gone their separate ways and you had finally retired from ANBU, you had a seemingly infinite amount of time to rekindle your rivalry with him.

He always seemed to be heading in the same direction as you were. It didn't matter if you were on your way to the Hokage's office, the shops, or meeting up with someone- he was always there.

You tried to fight with him like the good old days, but it was different now that you were grown adults. Maybe the ungodly amount of trauma combined with the wedge distance had created in your odd relationship had finally put an end to your petty war.

Thinking back, maybe this is what it had been all along, and your stupid kid brain was too proud to admit what was really going on.

Your arguing had turned into kissing the moment he stepped through your apartment door. Things moved quickly, expert hands doing away with endless layers of Jonin uniforms in a rushed attempt to feel more of each other.

It felt right. Like the decades of tension had finally come to a head and you were being forced to deal with it in the most animalistic way possible.

"I hate you."

Your mumbling between desperate kisses. He doesn't acknowledge you immediately, opting to instead lift you by your ass so your legs could wrap around him. He pushes you against the wall, pressing his clothed election right against your womanhood.

"I hate you, too."

Neither of you acknowledges the elephant in the room, that the word you're looking for isn't actually hate. But that's beyond your cloudy minds right now.

Shikamaru Nara

Shikamaru has never really bothered with social pleasantries or subjected himself to cater to what people like and dislike. In fact, he often chastised people for caring what others think.

He always commented about what you wore, how well groomed you were, and the overall effort you put into your appearance each day.

You hated listening to it, which is why you always did your best to avoid him.

It wasn't even about you specifically. You hated hearing how rudely he'd shut down Ino when she would ramble on about anything. You hated when he complained about how loud Naruto and Kiba were despite knowing that they're just excitable people. You hated hearing the damn near sexist remarks he'd make about how stupid people were for giving any shots about how they looked.

It was annoying. It didn't seem to phase anyone else anymore, but that almost made it worse.

You were at your breaking point. Just one comment away from losing your composure and you prayed to God you'd be able to refrain from saying anything too harsh.

But alas, Kakashi had assigned you to yet another mission with him- the sixth one just this month.

At least he waited until you were at the Inn before he started up with you. You honestly don't know why he let you shower first if it was going to be such an issue.

"Finally. I thought you'd be in there forever."

"What the Hell is your problem with me?"

He paused in his tracks. He wasn't expecting you to say anything to his usual grumbling, and especially didn't expect it to be so hostile.

"You always take forever in the bathroom."

"It was twenty minutes. You'll live."

"It wouldn't be that long if you didn't bother with all the extra shit you use."

"Why is it such a problem that I care about what I look like? I don't ever involve you in it and yet you're always talking about it."

He rolled his eyes, about to blow off whatever you were saying, but you started up again before he could.

"All you ever do is bitch and whine and moan about dumb shit that doesn't concern you. I like to look nice. I like wearing clothes that compliment my figure and putting time into the health of my hair and skin. It's not the end of the world, so shut the fuck up about it already."

You walked past him and lay in one of the twin beds, tired from the journey and pissed about your teammate's usual poor behavior.

He didn't say anything. He continued with what he was going to do before the argument and carried on like nothing had happened.

He kept any conversations strictly professional for the duration of the mission, something you were ecstatic about.

It wasn't until a few days after you returned home that you heard from him. He showed up at your apartment unprompted, looking irritated and slightly flustered.

"After talking with my team, it may have come to my attention that I might be kind of an ass."

You invited him in, curious as to what he had to say. He admitted that he had never been called out on it. Most people don't take him too seriously and he may have gotten a bit too comfortable voicing every thought that crossed his mind.

Although he had mostly soothed any nerves you had, you still decided he owed you.

You dragged him into your room, sat him at your vanity, and laughed when he groaned. You pulled out all the stops for him. You took him through your entire routine start to finish and when you were done, you asked him hiw it felt.

He hated that it felt nice. He hated that he suddenly realized how dry his skin usually was and how clean he suddenly felt. He would never fully admit that to you, though.

Him showing up at your apartment the next day, conveniently around the time you usually started these things, was all the confirmation you needed that he no longer deemed it a waste of time.

Sasuke Uchiha

He hated going to the Hokage's office, not because he was still in the thick of earning his freedom after the war, but because he hated Kakashi’s assistant.

You annoy him. He hates that you so confidently push his buttons. He hates that you're just a civilian, but you've been given so much authority over him. It was an unfit existence for the last Uchiha.

You enjoyed messing with him. He would grumble when given his assignment and you made sure to mock him with a playful pout. You'd check in with the ANBU watching over him to make sure he was behaving. You always used that word- behaving. As if he were a child.

Unfortunately for Sasuke, Kakashi isn't in the village right now, meaning he's stuck taking orders from you. He swears Kakashi picked you to oversee him intentionally, knowing how much it would bother him.

He's sitting next to you, helping you go through seemingly endless piles of paperwork. He wasn't sure if this was better than all the D-rank missions he'd been assigned lately, but he begrudgingly accepted the change of pace.

He glances at you through his peripherals. The sun is just going down, the orange light illuminating your soft features. Your usual bratty expression was replaced with a more peaceful one.

This was most likely just as much a break for you as it was for him. He wasn't oblivious to the way you had to reel Kakashi in every day, damn near having to tie him to his chair to get anything done.

"You can go home. I'll finish up here and we can resume tomorrow."

He didn't argue, thankful for relief from the horrifically tedious task. As he was leaving the building, he suddenly got this feeling in his gut that he should stay.

Of course, not wanting to do more paperwork than he was required to, he ignored the feeling and carried on.

He should've stayed. Just an hour after he left, while you were packing up for the night, the tower was raided by rogue nin.

The alarm sounded in the village, immediately calling all available shinobi. Bee, the ANBU assigned to him, gave him permission to lend a hand, and off they went to the tower.

He teleported himself to Kakashi’s office, knowing you would most likely be in there or at least somewhere near. What he wasn't expecting, however, was you standing over a body, kunai in hand and blood splattered across your body.

"Y/N?"

You didn't move, couldn't move. He reached forward, tugged the blade out of your shaky grip, and let it fall to the floor. You let him, not really in the mood to fight any more than you had to right now.

"Is he dead?"

Your question caught him off guard.

"I've never killed anyone before."

Ah. Civilian. Right. Sure, you belonged to a Shinobu village and even worked under the Kage, but that was vastly different than being on the front lines.

He thought for a second. Was he in any sort of position to be responsible for you at the moment? Should he hand you off to one of the other nin and return home?

"Cover your eyes."

It took a minute for his words to register in your hazy mind, but once they did you obeyed. If there was one thing you knew would benefit you, it would be allowing him to take the lead for now.

He put his hand between your shoulder blades and guided you through the hallways, down the stairs, and away from the tower completely. He glanced around, but couldn't find Bee, so he opted to take you back to his apartment. It would cause a lot less trouble if he was where he was supposed to be after all.

At home, he sat you down in the tub and turned on the water. He left you there, letting all the blood loosen from your skin. He returned a moment later, setting a stack of clothes down on the counter and grabbing a rag from the cabinet.

Neither of you spoke as he gently scrubbed your face. When he was done, he got a little bit of shampoo and worked all the red out of your hair.

You were slowly coming out of your daze. It was nice being brought out by something kind and comforting. It was almost enough to distract you from the night's events. Almost.

When he was done, he handed you the cloth, telling you to finish up and see him when you're done. You nodded, standing up and undressing when the door closed. You noticed how clean the water ran, most likely due to how thoroughly the Uchiha had taken care of you.

When you stepped out of the tub, you noticed the clothes on the counter. Upon closer inspection, they were similar to the ones he was wearing now- a t-shirt and sweats.

You joined him in the adjacent bedroom where he waited patiently. He all but forced you into his bed, shutting down all of your protests. When he went to leave the room, you quickly grabbed the fabric of his shirt to stop him.

"Please stay."

He didn't fight you. He walked around to the other side of the bed and sat down, leaning against the headboard and staring blanky in front of him.

You were thankful for the comfort of simply not being alone. Not after tonight, when so much had happened and the trauma was still fresh in your mind.

He tried telling himself that this was not a personal act, but instead one that would aid his village. But who was he kidding? He was realizing you weren't all that terrible and he had just allowed his angst brain to manipulate him into thinking so.

[majinael]

"Not my style."

★Michael Kaiser x GN Reader (Angst(?) into fluff)

★TW: mentions of abuse

★937 words

★ can be perceived as OOC, but I believe he would act entirely different towards his childhood friends if he had any

I had known Michael since we were kids. I often found him at the park, playing football like it was the only thing in his world. And maybe it was. His clothes were perpetually worn and dirty, his pale skin marred by small cuts and bruises. When I asked, he’d always brush it off, saying he simply liked that outfit or that the bruises came from playing with his ball and helping his dad at home. I believed him, young and naive as I was. I’d share my snacks with him, and in return, he’d teach me how to play football, his passion shining through every kick and pass.

As the years passed, my parents pulled me into their bakery, one of the most renowned in town. Our paths diverged, but I never forgot him. Sometimes, I’d walk by the park, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But one day, when I did, tears streamed uncontrollably down my face, crashing onto the cold pavement. In my trembling hand was a newspaper announcing his arrest for robbery. Everything clicked then—his shabby clothes, his bruises, the hollow look in his eyes. He wasn’t just a boy who loved football. He was a poor, hungry kid trapped in a home with an abusive father. Football had been his only escape, and I... I had done nothing to help.

I told myself I was too young to understand, too innocent to see the truth. But the guilt clung to me, a heavy shadow that wouldn’t fade.

That night, I dragged myself home, collapsing onto the couch where my dad was watching TV. The world spun around me until a shout broke through my haze.

"GOAL!!"

My eyes shifted to the screen, and for a moment, I could almost see Michael chasing the ball with that same fiery determination. A bittersweet smile crept onto my lips. That’s when I fell in love with football—not just the game, but what it represented. It was Michael’s legacy, the one thing he’d left with me. I started playing in my free time, replaying his words in my mind, letting the sport bridge the distance between us.

Years passed, and I inherited the bakery. Football became my solace, every match rekindling memories of our friendship. Then, one day, my television turned into a magic mirror, revealing the answer to a question I hadn’t dared to ask. What could he be doing ?

Michael was there. On my screen. Playing for Bastard München.

And oh, how he played. Every movement was precise, intense, beautiful. His tall, muscular frame, his cold, striking features, his blond hair tipped with blue—it was as if he had stepped out of a dream, wrapped in the elegance of a blue rose garden. My cheeks ached from smiling, my heart swelling with pride and something deeper I couldn’t name.

When the match ended, I knew one thing: I had to see him.

I wasn’t wealthy, but I scraped together enough to buy a ticket, luck granting me a seat near the front. The stadium’s atmosphere was electric, the roar of the crowd reverberating in my chest. But my eyes were only on him. Michael. That cocky smile of his stirred something in me I hadn’t felt before. And when his gaze briefly met mine, I was overcome—not just with admiration, but with pride.

The match ended far too soon. If you asked me what happened, I couldn’t tell you a thing beyond Michael’s every move. I was captivated, lost in the way he commanded the field.

As the stadium emptied, I lingered, unable to move, clutching a small blue bracelet I’d made for him—a simple token of waxed cords and a metallic rose pendant. I didn’t even notice the signing session at the exit. Even if I had, would I have gone? Fear gripped me. What if he didn’t recognize me? Or worse, what if he did and resented me for my inaction all those years ago?

A presence behind me shattered my thoughts.

“It’s been a while, (Y/N).”

His voice was unmistakable, and my breath hitched. Tears threatened to fall as I turned, finding him standing there, his expression softer than I ever remembered.

Without thinking, I threw my arms around him. For a moment, he froze, but then his arms enveloped me, holding me as if he’d never let go.

“I don’t even know where to start, Micha...” My voice trembled as tears spilled freely.

He pulled back slightly, his cold features melting into an uncharacteristic gentleness. “Let’s not talk about the past,” he said quietly. “Give me your number before I have to leave.”

I handed him my phone, heart racing as he typed in his digits.

“I missed you,” I blurted, unable to stop myself.

His lips curled into a faint smile—a rare, genuine expression of happiness.

“I have something for you,” I said, hesitating before placing the bracelet in his hand. He chuckled softly, inspecting it.

“That’s... adorably not my style,” he teased, “but I’ll keep it.”

My smile faltered. “You don’t have to if you don’t like it—”

“I said I’ll keep it,” he interrupted, his tone firm yet amused. “I’ll find a use for it.”

Before I could say more, he stepped away. “I have to go.”

“Take care, Michael,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

That night, a text lit up my phone: “Care about yourself. Don’t worry about me.” I chuckled, knowing it was impossible.

The next time I saw him on TV, he was wearing the bracelet. My heart swelled as I sent him a message: “Not your style, huh?”

His reply was immediate: “Don’t read into it.”

But I did. And I always would.

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. “I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

[rogueacolyte]

♯┆ BOT DROP .ᐟ

˗ˏˋ god of ecstasy ´ˎ˗

— patrick zweig

he can remember the days of devotion, of gentle kisses, whispered confessions. everyone wanted love, and he tried to deliver. he soothed pleading prayers of unrequited love, rekindled flames between lost and disconnected hearts.

centuries passed. things became muddled. misconstrued. lost.

now, he is sex. he is worshipped with gasps and moans, shaking limbs and warm blood. he drinks his wine, fucks his worshippers, letting the days haze away into nothing. until you begin to pray, speaking of a lonely heart, a starved body.

you worship him like he once was. you are gentle and kind. you hold him like he is something to treasure instead of something to touch. maybe love still has its chance.

aka. patrick is the god of ecstasy, affection, love, and sex. over centuries, his followers seem to have turned away from love, taking only his gifts of pleasure. you are the first of his followers in a very long time to worship him for what he truly wants.

˗ˏˋ god of light ´ˎ˗

— art donaldson

you would’ve never admitted it a year ago, but rehab is exactly what you had needed. it became your peace. you found yourself again in the quiet of the treatment center, the beauty of the beach that lays beyond it. you rekindle your love of creation; of music, of stories, of art.

when you meet him, he asks if you would accept his gift, accept clarity, and who are you to say no?

he watches as you heal under the light of the sunrise each evening. he watches you work, watches you create and destroy and rebuild. some days you talk, others you don’t. he’s sat right beside you no matter what.

the final sun is setting. you have grown, you have learned. a plane will be taking you back home at 9am tomorrow morning. it is what you’ve been dreaming of for months. so why does it feel like the world might be ending?

aka. art is the god of light, healing, creativity, and growth. you have been his favorite thing to watch bloom.

˗ˏˋ goddess of victory ´ˎ˗

— tashi duncan

you have been chosen by lady justice herself.

triumph flows through your veins and lights your soul ablaze, which in turn, fuels her fire. she is the fast pump of your heartbeat, the sweat dripping down your skin, the adrenaline singing in every inch of you. her hand guides your racket and leads you to the promised land.

you climb ladders you had never even dreamed of before, reaching higher and higher until you’re unsure of when you’ll reach the top. you win. so much that your coach makes you promise to keep your ego in check.

but nights come swiftly. your limbs ache, your body bruises, your muscles twist and turn, but she is there, waiting for you with a warm embrace. your goddess is not always generous, but she believes in all that is fair. you are her champion. it is only fair she indulges your love.

aka. tashi is the goddess of victory, wisdom, and justice. you are her champion, her chosen, her golden wings. you wear her gift like a brand, each accomplishment a way of worship. of course you’re her favorite.

y’all i am SO excited to share these bad boys. i had an idea for these months ago and just neglected getting them sorted out BUT I DID IT!!! originally, these were gonna be pjo themed, but i realized i have not read those books in a long time and i don’t remember that much anymore so i more just went the vaguely greek route lmao!!! art is a combination of apollo and asclepius, patrick is a combination of eros and dionysus, and tashi is a combination of nike and athena. i eat greek mythology up like candy so this was super fun.

please let me know what y’all think!!! i haven’t tested these out as much as i should’ve but i was anxious to release these guys so please lemme know how they are fairing lol ok love y’all thank u for waiting ten million years for another bot drop ♥️

[multi-fandoms-posts]

X Men Masterlist 2

X Men Masterlist 1

Update: 12/29/24

Charles Xavier:

Christmas Magic

Unrestrained Desires

A Glimmer of Light

A Connection Beyond Time

A Surprising Encounter

United in Battle

Jealousy

"Marry...Me?"

Update: 12/24/24

Cherik:

A Christmas Chaos

Between Love and War

Seductive Power last Part

Chaos in the Multiverse 3/3

Chaos in the Multiverse 2/3

Chaos in the Mutiverse 1/3

A Dance of Powers and Desire

Imagine

Mighty Mutants and Diapers

In another universe 2/2

In another universe 1/2

Update: 12/29/24

Erik Lehnsherr:

A Magical Christmas

His Queen

The Last Name

Powers of the Heart

"Marry....Me?"

Passion in Chaos SMUT

"Erik would you...."

Imagine

Update: 12/26/24

McFassy:

Uni Chaos

Date night

Driving Fun in London

A sweet Moment

A Road Trip They Will Never Forget

Update: 10/31/24

James Mcavoy:

Once upon a time there was a secret, or maybe not.

Puppy eyes

Love in Hard Times

The Perfect Prank

Update: 01/07/25

Michael:

An Unexpected Morning in Vegas 3/3

An Unexpected Morning in Vegas 2/3

An Unexpected Morning in Vegas 1/3

Update: 10/16/24

Paddy:

Jealousy and Blood Paddy x reader x Cal

Unbridled Passion

Bound Paddy x reader x The Killer

A Different Kind of Love Story

Caught in Longing Paddy x Cal x reader

Wild Hearts united

A hard lesson SMUT

Update: 10/16/24

Lord Asriel:

An Unexpected Surprise

Don't Let Me Go Again

Update: 10/31/24

David Percival:

Double the Tension David x reader x Paul

Dangerous Game in Berlin 2/2

Imagine

Dangerous Game in Berlin 1/2

Rekindled Passion

Manipulation and Love

Possessive Passion

Update: 12/14/24

Azazeal:

Secret Nights

[yallthemwitches]

My fic Masterlist

In love with 70s wizard love.

Catch the Wind--Hating him was easy, a feeling as natural as time marching forward. But something had changed with James Potter and Lily couldn’t ignore it so easily anymore. He was becoming, Merlin forbid, attractive. Explicit, Canon Compliant ,Multi-chapter

A Matter of Fairness: James' Quidditch match is derailed by a very distracting Head Girl NSFW, Mature, Oneshot

Slipping Away:Snape didn't think his life could get much worse---until Lily was falling in love with James Potter right before his eyes. A compilation of 3 particular moments between 6th and 7th year. Oneshot, Mature for one scene, canon compliant

Legitimens: Perhaps the real James was doing it on purpose--using memories of Lily to either drive him insane or to push away the real secrets that hid beyond. If it was true, he was succeeding on all accounts.

During a duel, Snape attempts Legilimency on James. Canon compliant. Oneshot, Mature

Bad Moon Rising:James comes back from a Full Moon outing with the marauders to find someone in his bed. Explicit, Canon Compliant Oneshot, smut

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner: Vernon thought a dinner at the Evans' house would be perfectly normal like all the other times--unfortunately for him, Petunia's sister is home and she has company. Vernons POV, T, Canon Compliant oneshot

Simple Math: Remus notices something is off about James and Lily at the Prefect's meeting. Teen ( some suggestive content), Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024, Prompt: Hair

United Front:Lily and James have the best intentions when showing up to Petunia's engagement party. Teen, Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024: Prompt: Teamwork

Force Majeure: It’s tempting. He could say yes. Climb those steps and sit on her bed next to her. It was entirely possible to stay friends in that scenario. To do simply as she said: listen to a record as friends because that’s what friends do.Teen, Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024, Prompt: In Vino Veritas

Those Who Wallow: Against better judgement, Lily uses her invisibility cloak to spy on James. Teen, AU Role Reversal (sort of) Written for Jily Week 2024, Day 3: Role Reversal

The Sound of Silence: Minerva always had a soft spot for Potter. Maybe that's why when it was time to choose a Head Boy alongside Lily Evans, he was was clearly the only option--- A series of vignettes of James and Lily's seventh year through McGonagall's POV. Teen, Canon Compliant, Written for Jily Week 2024, Day 5: Matchmaker

Not a Bang, But a Whimper: During their sixth year, Severus Snape goes out after curfew to give information to Lily that he thinks will bring them back together. Unfortunately, he finds her already with someone else. Teen, Canon Compliant. A companion piece to my other oneshot "Slipping Away" for Jily Week 2024, Day 7: Continuation Station

Playing Dirty: When Lily won against Potter during dueling practice, Snape couldn't think of a better way to finally rekindle their friendship. But Potter was a sore loser and Lily seemed far too willing to entertain him. E, Canon Compliant, Oneshot in Snapes POV

The Seat with the Clearest View: Lily and the marauders were his constant, like two separate stars orbiting his universe. But year after year stars get older. Their orbits start to move closer. It is only a matter of time before they collide. Three part series of Jily through the years. Remus POV. Rated T

Crash Into Me: A collection of unrelated, prompt based fics and ficlets for Jily Kinktober 2024. E, various situations but generally plotless smut, Canon Compliant

Until the Light Takes Us: A collection of unrelated, prompt based fics and ficlets for Jilytober Fest 2024. G-T depending on fic. Canon Compliant

The Storm, The Aftermath: Due to a snowstorm, Lily spends the night at the Potters. The continuation of my Jilytober fic 'The Storm.' E (Though part one is rated T), Canon Compliant. Smut

Whispers in the Dark: When Lily is awarded her prefect badge in fifth year, they warn her that James Potter has a talent for disappearing... but if that's true, why does he keep coming to her night after night, hoping to be caught? Rated T, Canon Compliant

A Hundred Visions and Revisions: “I know it’s silly—but can you tell me the future? The way you see it,” she whispers, curling into him so the top of her head can rest right under his chin, book falling abandoned onto the floor. She knows he’s no divination master–she’s seen his grades to prove it—but they both know that’s not what she's asking. Rated T, Canon Compliant

Getting Better: “Do you do this for all your sick mates?” She asks, breaking the silence with a wry smile.He chuckles, hand still sliding against her cheek. “Only the ones who deserve it—only the ones I’m especially fond of.” Rated T, Canon Compliant

At Least I'm Gonna Say That I Tried: The only thing more mortifying about kissing the girl you fancy and not being able to reciprocate properly is having to stand in front of a bloody crowd after said kiss and not look like you are about to fucking implode. Rated T, Canon Compliant, jily Xmas fluff

[icycoldninja]

Hello! Feel free to ignore this request but I had an idea for a while - a childhood friend of Dante and Vergil who used to be a very sickly child (think of heavy anemia) and who became a half/part-demon due to painful experiments after Dante and Vergil's home was attacked.

Imagine Dante and Vergil reuniting with said friend years later, surprised to see how they changed (got new scars and abilities and such) and that they're a devil hunter now. Maybe even rekindling some old childhood feelings and such.

Maybe you could add V into this too, somehow, since he's a part of Vergil and probably has memories of said childhood friend.

Hope you have a good day!

I most certainly will, thank you! May you have a great day too!

Sparda twins + V x Old Friend!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante didn't recognize you at first. You looked so different than what he remembered.

-He was surprised, too. The last time he saw you, you were barely able to get around your own house, and now you were a devil hunter? A pretty capable one, too. He wonders what happened.

-Turns out you were forcibly changed into a half demon through experiments, and while your existence was an unclean one, you were far more mobile than you were before.

-He wasn't really sure how to respond to all that, though. He was happy you could do more things now, but worried that you might hate yourself for what you've become.

-That aside, he was having a great time reconnecting with an old friend, chatting about the past, present, and future.

-Dante quickly decided he was going to invite you to join him at Devil May Cry after your conversation.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil was happy to see you out and about since he remembered how sickly and weak you used to be.

-He thought you'd just gotten better thanks to some miracle medicine or something, and never suspected you became a half devil devil hunter like him.

-Of course he questioned you, demanding to know how the hell that even happened in the first place.

-Learning of the experiments you had to go through made his heart ache for you--the first time it had done that in years. You never deserved any of that pain. Why did all the bad things have to happen to you?

-He promised to help you out if you need anything, which you thanked him for. The conversation then shifted to the good old days; for a moment, it was like Vergil was a kid again, sitting at your bedside, excitedly going on about his new favorite book because you were the only one who understood him.

-Vergil wants to hang out with you more, he wants you to hunt devils with him, he wants to start a book club with you; he wants to make up for all that time you guys lost.

● V ●

-V cannot fully remember who you are, but he recognizes you.

-He doesn't know why, but as soon as he laid eyes on you, he finds his head being flooded with memories he wasn't aware he had.

-After talking with you for a while, he deduces you must have been a friend of Vergil's--and a close one, at that.

-He cannot recall the details of your relationship, but he vaguely remembers that you were a very frail child. When did that change?

-You are surprisingly open about your past, quick to tell him all about the experiments that were performed on you, and what they did. You were a half demon now, though not naturally.

-V expresses his sympathy to your situation, but beyond that, there's not much he can do. At least you seem to be okay with it all.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I love planing out my ideas in great detail but when it comes to actually writing the story it’s like pulling teeth. It goes from being fun and interesting to being nothing more than a dull chore. I’ve tried planning less to see if having some things unknown might help, but that didn’t work. I could spend forever writing and rewriting my ideas and making changes to them. But when I try to write an actual story it’s like I physically can’t. What should I do?

Details Planned But Unable to Write

If you have the details of your story planned out but still aren't able to write it, it's probable that one of the following things is happening. See if any of these strike a chord with you...

1 - Details and Plot Are Not the Same - Sometimes writers say they have all the details in their story planned out, but what they actually mean is they've fleshed out character and setting details, maybe even backstory and some general scene ideas, but they couldn't tell you what the story's conflict is, what the inciting incident is, what goal the protagonist is pursuing and why, what's at stake, or what the major plot points of the story are. No matter how detailed your story is in terms of characters, setting, backstory, and even general ideas about scenes, if you don't have a conflict to tie them all together, you don't really have a story. You just have details. A plot can't be moved forward if it doesn't exist, and if you don't have a conflict, goals and motivation, stakes, an antagonistic force and obstacles, etc., you don't have a plot. Solution: take some time learning about Goals and Conflict, Plot Driven vs Character Driven Stories, Basic Story Structure, and How to Move a Story Forward.

2 - You Lost Interest in the Story - If you have your story properly plotted in addition to having the details fleshed out, and you're still unable to write, it could be that you've simply lost interest in the story. This can happen when we spend a lot of time on a story, especially if we spend a lot of time fleshing things out. Solution: Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write, Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists, Getting Excited About Your Story Again

3 - Something in the Story Isn't Working - Imagine someone riding a horse and they come to a rickety old bridge, but the horse balks and refuses to cross. The horse may just be stubborn, but it's quite possible it's picking up sensory information its rider can't... creaks and groans the rider can't hear, a worrisome tilt or sway the rider can't perceive... If you sit down to write your well planned out story and can't, the same thing could be happening with your gut instinct. Like the horse that doesn't want to cross the bridge because it senses danger, something inside you is saying "this story doesn't work" and isn't excited to get involved. Solution: Read through your outline or plan and see if you can spot the problem. Maybe the character's goal doesn't make sense with the events of the story. Maybe the antagonistic force isn't doing enough to oppose the protagonist. Maybe the character arc is out-of-sync with the events of the story. If nothing else, talk it through with a trusted writer friend to see if they have any thoughts. Sometimes just hearing the questions they have about the story can be enough to highlight what isn't working.

4 - Life Stuff Is Getting in the Way - Even if your story is well fleshed out and thoroughly plotted, and everything works and you're excited about writing, there can be other things going on in your life that stand in your way. If you're putting too much pressure on yourself to write or reach certain writing goals, it makes writing feel stressful and our brains are wired to avoid stressful things. It could be that you're not feeling well physically or mentally. You could be distracted by other things you want to write or do. You could just be too busy with other things to really get into it. Or you could just be not in the mood to write. Solution: Try to pinpoint what's getting in the way and see if there's a work around. For example, if you think writing has become stressful and that's why you're avoiding it, figure out what you can do to make it fun again. Or, if you think you're just not in the mood to write, figure out some things you could do that would put you in the mood to write.

5 - Fear Is Getting in the Way - Details are easy, writing is hard. No matter how much planning and plotting you've done, actually putting those details into coherent words in a way that is compelling and well-paced--that's not so easy. And, the tough reality is that until you've had a lot of writing experience, your writing probably isn't as good as you want it to be. You want it to be good, and you know what would qualify as good, but you're just not able to produce that quality yet. And the only way to get your writing quality to that level is to let yourself write things that aren't as good as you want them to be. You have to write a lot of "just okay" stuff before you can write "really great" stuff. AND THAT'S SCARY!!! And--that's not even the only thing that can cause fear for writers. Maybe you have written a lot and your writing is where you want it to be, but maybe your fear is with the next step... sharing it with others. Maybe you're afraid others won't enjoy it as much as you want them to. Solution: figure out what's causing the fear, whether it's quality-related or next step related, then try to push through it. Remind yourself that writing not great stuff is part of the process. Remind yourself that sharing with others is part of the process (usually, unless you're writing for yourself.) Have a spin through the bottom half of my Motivation master list for other fears and solutions.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[imreidswifey]

A Sunset Rekindled -O.D Slight Angst-

Summary: Osamu Dazai receives a mysterious letter calling him back to a secluded spot where he once shared a meaningful moment with someone from his past. Faced with the chance to let someone truly in, Dazai must confront his fears and decide if he’s willing to stop running from love and himself.

Warnings:

Themes of abandonment, emotional vulnerability, and self-doubt.

Mentions of Dazai’s dark past and struggles with self-worth.

Heavy emotional dialogue and introspection.

———————————————————————————-

Dazai Osamu twirled the sealed envelope between his fingers, the edges brushing against his bandaged hand. A faint smile tugged at his lips, masking the unease threading through his thoughts. The handwriting was unmistakable—a script as familiar as an old song he could never forget.

“Meet me where we shared our first sunset.”

The words lingered in his mind, teasing at memories he’d carefully tucked away. It was uncharacteristic for him to feel anything beyond fleeting amusement, yet here he was, intrigued and unsettled. He slipped the letter into his coat pocket and set off, his pace leisurely, though his mind raced.

The Yokohama bay stretched out before him, the scent of salt and distant rain mingling with the cool evening breeze. It was a quiet spot, tucked away from the chaos of the city—a place they had once claimed as their own. His footsteps faltered as he approached the edge of the pier, and for a moment, he simply stood there, staring at the spot where it all began.

And then he saw you.

You were leaning against the railing, bathed in the soft hues of twilight, your silhouette framed by the setting sun. The sight stirred something deep within him, a fleeting ache he couldn’t ignore.

Dazai Osamu stood still, watching you in the fading light, his gaze uncharacteristically steady. The way the wind tousled your hair, the soft glow of the setting sun illuminating your face—it was enough to make something in him stir, something he’d thought he’d long buried.

For years, he’d learned to suppress moments like this. Letting himself feel was a dangerous game, a game that, in his eyes, he could only lose. Yet here you were, your words digging under his skin, peeling away the mask he wore like armor.

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was heavy with the weight of the years you’d spent apart, the memories you shared, and the unspoken confessions you carried. You broke the quiet first.

“You always run,” you said, your voice steady despite the vulnerability in your eyes. “Even when you want to stay.”

Dazai chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual cheer. “Running is easier,” he admitted, his gaze turning toward the water. “When you run, you don’t have to face the mess you leave behind.”

Your breath caught at his honesty. You’d expected him to dodge, to deflect with one of his usual quips, but the man standing before you now wasn’t the same Dazai you’d known. Or maybe he was, and this was the part of him he never let anyone see.

“And do you ever look back?” you asked, your voice soft.

Dazai didn’t answer immediately. He leaned against the railing, his hands gripping the metal as if grounding himself. The wind tugged at his coat, and for a moment, he looked impossibly small against the vast expanse of the bay.

“Only when I know I’ve left something important behind,” he said finally.

Your heart ached at his words. “Then why did you leave me, Dazai? Was I not important enough?”

The question hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Dazai flinched, his usually steady composure cracking. “You think it was easy for me?” he asked, his voice sharp, but the pain beneath it was evident. “You think walking away didn’t kill me, piece by piece?”

“Then why?” you pressed, stepping closer. “Why did you let me believe I wasn’t worth staying for?”

Dazai turned to face you, his eyes dark and haunted. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Afraid of hurting you. Afraid of dragging you into the darkness I can’t seem to escape. You deserved better than the mess I am.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the raw vulnerability in his voice. For so long, you’d imagined this moment, wondering what you would say if you ever saw him again. Now that it was here, all you wanted to do was reach out and hold him, to take away the pain he carried like a second skin.

“Dazai,” you said softly, reaching for his hand. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. “You think you’re protecting people by pushing them away, but all you’re doing is hurting yourself. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He laughed bitterly. “Alone is all I’ve ever known.”

“That’s not true,” you said firmly. “You’ve had people who cared about you—people who still do. And I’m one of them.”

His gaze searched yours, as if trying to find a lie in your words. But there was none. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you meant it.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

“No,” you agreed, your lips quirking into a small smile. “But that’s not your decision to make.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—hope, maybe, or something close to it. He let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging as if a weight he’d carried for years had finally been lifted.

“What happens now?” he asked, his tone lighter but still uncertain.

You stepped closer, your hand still holding his. “That’s up to you, Dazai. But if you’re willing to stop running… I’m willing to stay.”

Dazai stared at you, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t name. For the first time in years, he didn’t have a clever retort or a witty remark. Instead, he simply nodded.

“I’ll try,” he said, the words feeling foreign yet strangely freeing. “I can’t promise I’ll get it right, but… I’ll try.”

You smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “That’s all I need,” you said softly.

The two of you stood there as the last traces of sunlight faded, the sky giving way to a sea of stars. For the first time in what felt like forever, Dazai allowed himself to hope.

And as he stood there beside you, hand in hand, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to face the darkness alone.

[sapphybandit]

Could I learn more about what being poly means to you? I've heard it from a few people. I have trouble putting into words myself, but usually the times I've heard it explained by a new person its beautiful to me.

Poly is ever shifting, ever changing. It is the learning and re-learning of the self, beyond just Wants and Needs. The acceptance that moments and memories forged are eternal, that nothing can take away the love that was experienced when your two stars collided, no matter how long you were entwined. You gained new perspectives and experienced a world different to your own, forever etched into your psyche, broadening your understanding of your Self, and guiding your next steps forward. Maybe it wasn't perfect, it could've been extremely flawed even, but learning and growth still occurred. But its also more than that. Poly is a spontaneous drive to a late night diner across town for the Vibes. Poly is rekindling sparks once thought buried, from many years ago. Poly is feeling unbridled joy upon a partner's return from her own trip visiting another partner, as she emotionally recounts her adventures with a person you may never meet. Poly is re-discovering your bodies together in ways you never considered before. Poly is learning how to take up space, yet not demanding absolute control. Poly is communication & collaboration; Being open and honest, no matter how scary, while being empathetic, genuine, and fair to prevent wounding. Poly is having 3 to 4 loved ones snuggle on a couch together. Poly is knowing that you're never truly Alone, that you'll always have help. Poly is letting all aspects of the self breathe and spark and ignite vibrantly.

Poly is Hard. But, Poly is beautiful, and right for me.

[callmearcturus]

Paradise Killer is 6 dollars on Steam until May 16 and I am here to hard sell you all on it because it's one of the best games I've ever played.

I'm gonna go beyond giving you a bunch of punchy keywords and telling you it's queer as hell and making meme-y jokes, and I'm going to actually tell you what this game is.

So top-level, WHAT IS PARADISE KILLER?

Mechanically, Paradise Killer is an open-world murder mystery. There is zero combat but a lot of exploration of a very unique location. The majority of your time is going to be walking about Paradise 24, looking for people to discuss the case with and for clues that are scattered around the world.

One of the most interesting concepts in Paradise Killer that is both mechanical and narrative is deciding What Is Your Truth? What Is A Truth And What Is A Fact? From the moment you start the game proper, you can turn 180 degrees and begin the trial and decide who the killer is, before talking to anyone about the case.

For example, getting into the actual crime scene takes a lot of puzzle solving to unlock the sealed room where the victims were killed. But maybe instead of examining the crime scene, you talk to everyone on the island and think you have a good idea of what happened.

Meaning: It is perfectly valid to decide you have the answer to the mystery and just go complete the trial whenever you personally are ready. YOU decide when this ends.

Which frankly I think is a cool-as-fuck concept. Also, I fully believe if three different people find EVERY CLUE and talk to EVERY SUSPECT and hear EVERY PIECE OF EVIDENCE.... they might decide on three different truths entirely. And THAT to me is ingenious mechanical design I have not seen anywhere else in a video game.

Okay let's stop burying the lede and talk about the world of Paradise Killer.

The non-batshit version:

Paradise Killer takes place on a big, beautiful island, the 24th Paradise. The architecture is a delightful mix of black obsidian obelisks, brutalist monuments, opal crystals to slumbering alien gods, garden paths, luxury yachts, and a whole lot of gold and neon.

Neo-occultist urban residential vaporwave-core. If you are like me, you will be taking a lot of screenshots. My wallpaper on my computer is Paradise Killer.

Your interactions with the cast are done in visual novel-style, though I feel I have to shout out this isn't your stock Ren'py UI experience. Every single aspect of the way the game looks compounds the vibes even further.

And the characters are infuckingcredible.

(Notice the different font? This game has A FUCKTON OF ACCESSIBILITY OPTIONS, including dyslexic font options.)

Sammy Day Break, born under the sign of Shadow Zero, is the local distillery and bartender for the Syndicate. Talk to him about what's unique about the whiskey he's made on Paradise 24, or about the good old days of the Syndicate.

Is Doctor Doom Jazz, born under the sign of Cosmic Deceit, really that carefree about what happened? Is his willingness to rekindle his fling with Lady Love Dies just a diversion to hide something? Well, he's one of the most cooperative witnesses on the Island.

Crimson Acid has been through a helluva lot since the last time she saw Love Dies. Blessed by the gods with her stunning rack (of horns! OF HORNS!), she's become quite the idol now. So why is she also an information broker? And can you figure out what her true feelings for Love Dies are?

Between all of these conversations, you can explore the island and collect RELICS and BLOOD CRYSTALS (the local currency) and CITY POP SONGS.

Okay so the Slightly Batshit Version:

Shinji: The Syndicate worships alien gods who want to drown the world in war and blood. Lady Love Dies: I don't see how that makes us the bad guys.

You are LADY LOVE DIES, born under the sign KISS ME TO THE MOON, the INVESTIGATION FREAK. She was exiled to the Idle Lands several cycles ago for falling prey to the seduction of the god Damned Harmony and endangering the entire Syndicate. Only now, with the death of the Council on the eve of Paradise 25, is Love Dies summoned back to solve the murder.

The Syndicate are a group of functionally immortal humans from all across history who are trying to create the perfect bubble of reality, their utopic Paradise where they can safely revive their dead gods. They were granted many powers and boons by their first god, Silent Goat, and hope through rescuing more gods they will grow in power.

How do you create a bubble of reality to do all this totally ethical shit? Easy! You abduct a bunch of normie humans to live on your island to use as a mass sacrifice to generate energy to fuel the creation of each Paradise. If only the outsiders would stop getting in the way!

Paradise Killer's world is delightfully out of its goddamn mind and half of the fun of the game is just picking up little nuggets of information about each member of the Syndicate, the gods, why each Paradise failed (there was an outbreak of vampirism that took out like three of the Paradises???), and just the way this universe works.

Okay this post is already too long but I'm begging you all to give Paradise Killer a chance. It's gorgeous, it's funny, it's mechanically really interesting, it's chill as hell, it has an incredible soundtrack,

and you should try it.

I'LL SEE YOU IN A PERFECT 25 . . .

[beegomess]

Knockin' On Heaven's Door || Kendall Roy

Summary: After years of heartbreak and distance, an unexpected reunion rekindles the connection between you and Kendall Roy. Amid past mistakes and promises of an uncertain future, you both navigate old feelings and new hopes as you try to rebuild what seemed lost forever. Warnings: Kendall Roy x fem!reader, sad, cute and with obscenities. Simply a whirlwind of feelings like a good imagine with Kendall should be. - Word count: 17k

A/N: Remembering that my first language is not English, so there may be some errors due to the translation. I hope you like it!!

You would always see him with the same eyes as before. But Kendall… he was definitely not the same anymore.

Your relationship, always tumultuous, had been, at the same time, something rare and, for a time, very beautiful. There was something delicate about it, something that made him breathe deeper, almost as if, for the first time, he believed he could escape the weight that imprisoned him. With you, Kendall believed he could free himself from Logan's control. And, for a moment, a moment that seemed too fragile to be real, you believed it too.

With you, he saw possibilities, a future where he could be more than Logan's son, more than a pawn in this dirty game of power and manipulation. He wanted to be there for his daughter, he wanted to maintain harmony in the house, he wanted to believe he could be a different man, someone who deserved the peace and happiness you offered.

But no. It wouldn't be like that. Logan, as always, was lurking, ready to pull you back in, like a magnet that would never let you escape completely. The pressure of the patriarch was what always consumed him, and once again, he found himself being sucked into the emotional and chaotic hurricane of the family. No matter how hard he tried to swim to the surface. Just when it seemed like he was free, the currents pulled him back in.

You saw it happening. With each passing day, you realized that something in him was fading.

When things started to fall apart for good, you knew you couldn't stay any longer. The relationship that once seemed full of possibilities was now nothing more than a field of ruins, and you no longer had the strength to continue rebuilding on what was broken. There was no more room for dreams, there was no more room for both of you.

He walked around as if the world revolved around him, as if he were unbeatable, as if he owned his own reality. But you knew that all that confidence was nothing more than a disguise. Beneath it all, he was lost, sinking deeper and deeper into something you could no longer understand.

A night—a dawn, to be exact—still recurs in your memory. One of those nights that stays with you, immortal.

It was late when you heard the faint ding of the elevator on your floor. By then, you had already left the apartment you two shared, taking your daughter with you. The place, once shared, now seemed like an empty cocoon, a lifeless space where the echoes of everything you had experienced still crawled through the walls. The new apartment was silent, but it was starting to have the kind of calm you needed.

When the elevator doors opened, you didn't need to look to know who was there.

Kendall. Even after everything, you still recognized his signs, even if his eyes were no longer the same, as if everything about him had become distorted somehow.

He was there, standing in front of you. He looked normal, but at the same time so lost and irritated. His face was marked, his body tense. Something about him, maybe exhaustion, anger or drugs, made him constantly conflict with his own body. You felt a slight pang of tiredness just seeing him.

“I need to talk to you.” Kendall’s tone was direct, almost aggressive, but not as much as it had been other times. He was more restrained, as if he was forcing himself to maintain his composure, or maybe it was the emptiness of someone who was far beyond the point of no return.

You tried to avoid confrontation, to keep the conversation there, at the entrance, without giving him any more space to invade. But it was a fight you knew you wouldn’t win. When he took a step forward and crossed the line you had tried to impose, you said nothing. You just watched him, silently, as he began to speak. The words came out of him like an uncontrolled flow, a mix of complaints, justifications and accusations.

You wanted to understand, you wanted to make sense of what he was saying, but at that moment, he had become a distant figure. With each word that came out of his mouth, you simply couldn't hear anymore. It was like turning off the mute button on a TV. He was talking, but he wasn't really communicating. Kendall's words were getting lost, getting tangled up in something that no longer made sense. And you... you no longer had the strength to try to keep up with him.

And then, in the midst of the emptiness of the conversation, she appeared.

The little girl with her messy hair and eyes still lazy from sleep, appeared in the middle of the room, rubbing her eyes with her little hand and a smile that only a child could offer. She had no idea what was going on, she didn't know about the emotional mess between the two of you, the pain you were both carrying. But the moment her eyes met her father's, an expression of pure joy and surprise formed on her face.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, a simple and sincere happiness written all over her face. She didn't see the man who was there, the anger that still hung in the air, the disjointed words that came out of Kendall's mouth. To her, he was just the father who had been away for weeks, someone she adored without question, without understanding what was happening.

"You're back!"

Kendall stood still, staring at his daughter for a long moment, as if trying to understand what she was saying, what she represented at that moment. His eyes, previously angry and tense, seemed to soften for a second. The smile he forced, although a little tense, was an attempt to reconnect with something that seemed lost, something he no longer knew how to maintain. The little girl ran to him, her steps small and quick, and threw herself into his arms with a confidence that only a child could have. She seemed to think that, somehow, everything would go back to the way it was.

"I missed you!" She said, tightening her little arms around his neck, with the simplicity of someone who didn't carry the weight of the world. Kendall held her, and for a moment, he seemed to get lost in those words, in her touch. But at the same time, there was a hardness in his eyes, a tension that wouldn’t go away.

You stood there, watching the scene, a pang of pain rising in your throat. She was so happy, so genuinely happy, and the irony of the situation was not lost on you. While she celebrated, the world around her was falling apart. Kendall’s attempt to appear present, his attempt to be who she believed him to be, was a facade he could no longer maintain.

At some point that night, he himself had realized that it was time to leave.

He didn’t exchange another word with you. There were no pleas, no goodbyes. When he laid you down, he kissed you on the forehead—a kiss that was more a reflection of what he thought was the right thing to do than a genuine act of affection. And then, in a gesture more forced than any other, he stood up and headed for the door.

The sound of his footsteps echoed in the hallway. You knew he was leaving, and that there would be no going back. You didn’t need words for that.

And it was in that silence that he realized: this was the first time he truly understood that he had lost everything he had built with you. It wasn’t just the home that had fallen apart, nor the relationship that had deteriorated — it was something deeper, more painful. He was losing the only refuge he had left. And that, perhaps, was the worst of it all.

The elevator door closed softly, but the sound was as definitive as the loudest of echoes. He was out of your life.

And so the following years went. The move to Germany came almost as a necessity. Your job, with all its demands and opportunities, demanded the change. You knew you couldn’t stay still, and with your daughter, the decision to start a new life in a new country seemed like the right path.

The first few months were difficult, of course. Adapting to a new culture, missing friends and the family routine that had been abruptly interrupted. But, over time, life settled down. Work took priority, and your daughter, now older, was adapting well to school, learning the language with ease. She seemed happier than you imagined possible, and that, in some way, softened the scars of the separation.

Kendall, on the other hand, seemed... different. He was no longer the lost, confused man who had left. He appeared more balanced, less distracted. He started making annual visits, arriving with a smile on his face, trying to recapture the lost moments, as if everything was fine between you, as if time had done nothing more than change the shape of a worn-out story. Conversations became more pleasant, more superficial, and video calls, which had previously seemed like moments full of tension, became part of a comfortable routine.

It was strange, but almost surreal, how much more present he seemed now than he had been when you lived in the same city. For most of your time together, he had always been absent in some way—physically or emotionally. Now, physically distant, he was there, on every phone call, trying to fill a void that had never had a chance to exist between you, but that now, with the distance, seemed... easier to deal with. It was as if time and distance had softened the sharp edges of your relationship. He had become a constant presence, but in a very different way than he had been before. You still didn’t know what to make of this new version of Kendall. Maybe you never would. Over the years, Kendall had adapted to the new dynamic, understanding that if he wanted to have some kind of relationship with your daughter and, perhaps, start over with you, he would need to navigate this new territory. The visits, the calls, the texts—it was all now part of a “new normal” that he accepted with the hope that, little by little, he would be able to regain something he once had.

But, even though the interactions were more civilized and distant from the chaos of the past, a feeling of dissatisfaction persisted within him. It wasn’t just what you had become, or what he imagined you to be today, but the memory of what you had been. And, often, he found himself lost in his own thoughts, trying to understand what was left of that history that he couldn’t let go of.

And, in fact, there was no letting go on his part, but a silent acceptance of what had happened, an acceptance that seemed more like a remnant of wear and tear than any kind of resolution. Before you were parents or anything else, you were a couple — and that, for Kendall, was hard to let go of. The life you built together felt, to him, like a time capsule trapped in a screen. As if each memory was an echo of something he knew he could never reach again, but that he couldn’t erase.

For you, the confrontation with the past was something even more poignant. Old photos, videos on his phone, they were like ghosts coming out of the shadows. They were frozen moments of a happiness that, in his mind, was no longer possible. The mere idea of ​​revisiting these vestiges of the past always seemed to bring a weight—a weight that you tried to ignore, but that returned with the same intensity as before.

However, for Kendall, things were a little different. He had never been particularly into social media—he rarely bothered to open his Instagram account or see what other people were posting. But then something started to change. Somehow, he found himself drawn to that little button, and that was when the ritual began. At night, alone in his apartment, he would scroll absentmindedly through his account, until, without meaning to, he came to a specific point. A video.

It was a simple video. Almost unpretentious, compared to the whirlwind of events that had come after. A short video, only fifteen seconds long, but that seemed to stretch on endlessly before Kendall's eyes. The scene was a snow-covered landscape, the trees bending under the weight of winter’s whiteness. You and him, younger, more uncomplicated, laughing as your daughter crawled with difficulty in the snow, trying to balance herself, her little legs stumbling and falling every now and then. It was the kind of image that sticks in your memory—innocent, pure, full of simple happiness.

The video wasn’t the only thing that held him, though. What really held him there was the caption of the post.

“Your birthday, our gift! We love you.”

Those words. Short. Simple. But with an unbearable weight. Like a gentle touch of something lost, something he could never get back. They were words loaded with a promise he knew had failed.

And yet, he never stopped watching. Every night, he would watch the video again, wondering if one day those words could become true again.

So when you said Hi, Ken on that call, your voice filled with something he couldn’t decipher, Kendall immediately felt that something was different.

“Hi,” you replied, a smile coming almost as a reflex, although his mind was already on alert. “Is she there?”

“Yes, but…” you hesitated, and he leaned forward, his entire body tense with the pause. “I thought I’d talk to you first. I need to tell you something.”

His heart gave an involuntary jump.

“What’s wrong?” He tried to keep his voice steady, but there was something there, a small crack that you noticed.

You took a deep breath, like someone preparing to dive into icy water.

“Well, apparently my work here is over for now… so they decided to send me back to New York.”

For a moment, Kendall stood completely still. The weight of those words seemed too great to process all at once. Then something began to change in his expression—first a silent disbelief, then a slowly growing glow, until it turned into a genuine smile, so rare and unexpected that it seemed out of place at that moment.

“Are you…” he began, his voice almost breaking. “Are you going back?”

You nodded.

“Yes. We’ll be here in two weeks.”

The confirmation brought a wave of warmth that spread through his body, almost as if he were warming himself up inside after years of endless winter.

“That’s great,” he said finally, forcing his voice to sound light. “For her, of course.”

“Well, that’s what makes sense now,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “My job requires me to go back, and I think it’ll be good for her to be closer to you.”

The sentence was practical, almost neutral, but to Kendall it sounded like music.

“And where are you going to stay?” – He asked with barely concealed excitement, as if trying to control how much that meant to him.

You hurried to answer.

– In my apartment. I still have it, so let’s go there.

And for a moment, Kendall stopped. The smile that was starting to light up his face faltered briefly, as if reality had pulled the brakes on his euphoria. But he quickly regained it, almost as if he didn’t want you to notice.

“Sure, sure. It makes sense.”

He knew he should be grateful. You would be in the same city. This was more than he expected, more than he believed he deserved. But the mention of your apartment was like a reminder that it meant nothing more than what you had said: practicality.

But Kendall knew it wasn’t just about his daughter. He couldn’t stop his mind from running to places he tried to avoid—you were coming back.

“I’m glad you’re coming back,” he continued, and this time the emotion in his voice was too real to contain.

You nodded, looking away for a moment, as if trying to escape the intensity of that moment.

“Thank you, Ken. Anyway, I don't want to take up any more of your time. I'll call her.

And then you disappeared from the screen. He stood there, staring at his phone, with the frozen image of where you had been seconds before. The silly, uncontrollable smile still hung on his face, as if it were something he didn't know how to erase.

____________________________________

The move was efficient and hassle-free, managed by a dedicated team that took care of everything—from packing each delicate item to coordinating the transportation of boxes and furniture. While your daughter busied herself with picking out toys to take on the plane, you simply oversaw the process, delegating smaller decisions and making sure everything ran as planned.

The arrangements included a private jet for the flight and a team at the destination to ensure the apartment was exactly how you wanted it. Impeccable cleaning, custom decor, even the fresh flowers you requested were provided without question. Despite all the logistical comforts, there was a mix of emotions that not even luxury could ease. The weight of returning to New York, with all that it entailed, still hung over you.

Your daughter, on the other hand, seemed delighted. She asked excited questions about her father, about the city, about what her new routine would be like. Her enthusiasm was a reminder that, however complex her feelings, the return was ultimately for her own good.

For Kendall, the days leading up to his arrival were filled with uneasy anticipation. He wasn’t the kind of man to wait passively, so he channeled his anxiety into a frenzy of preparation, like making a reservation at a restaurant you loved without even asking first. Jess watched him discreetly, but she couldn’t hide her surprise. He kept talking about the dinner he had planned. He had too many opinions about the restaurant and even asked her to triple-check the reservation. Deep down, she knew this behavior was unusual even by his standards, but Kendall seemed determined to make sure the evening was perfect. Your landing was smooth, but the calm ended the moment you stepped off the private jet. The movement in the arrivals area betrayed something you had hoped to avoid: paparazzi. They were strategically positioned, their cameras capturing your and your daughter’s every move. The name Roy had always attracted attention, but at that moment, it seemed like everything around Kendall was amplified—and that included you. You stood your ground, holding your daughter’s hand tightly as you guided her toward the car. The flashes were insistent, and your daughter, confused, looked at you.

“Mommy, why are you taking pictures?”

You smiled slightly, even though your irritation was latent.

“They’re just curious people, honey. Don’t worry.”

As the driver took you home, you watched the messages start to appear on your phone. The headlines were predictable: “Roy Family: Kendall’s Wife and Daughter Return to New York.” Some went further, trying to connect the dots of a narrative that was never fully clarified. To the world, you and Kendall had never officially separated. When you moved to Germany, the tabloids had been merciless, calling your departure an “elopement” and insinuating that you couldn’t handle dealing with Kendall, a recovering drug addict. It was frustrating, but you had learned to ignore that kind of thing.

When you arrived at the apartment, everything was as it should be. Spotless, with furniture in place and your daughter’s room decorated with care. She ran excitedly to explore the space while you allowed yourself a moment of silence, collapsing on the couch.

Your phone vibrated. It was Kendall.

“Are you here yet?”

The message was simple, but you could feel the anxiety behind it. You hesitated for a moment, remembering the tone of the headlines and how every move you made seemed fraught with external interpretation. But this was about you, not what others thought.

“Yes, settling in. See you tomorrow.”

His response came almost immediately.

“Great.”

You sighed, putting your phone away. Your daughter appeared in the living room, holding a stuffed animal, and you went to help her finish organizing her things.

As night fell over New York, the weight of what it meant to be back was hard to ignore. The city skyline seemed more intense, almost like a constant reminder of where you were: at the center of it all, but also, perhaps, at the center of a life you’d tried to leave behind. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being in a repeating cycle, even with all the new beginnings and changes happening around you. But there was something about your daughter’s energy, something so genuine and pure, that gave you a small relief. It was rare to see her so excited about anything, especially something involving her father. The idea of ​​surprising Kendall at work, an idea you’d half expected her to forget, had been fresh in your mind the entire drive. As reluctant as you’d been at first, you found it beautiful how much she cared. She wasn’t just wanting to see her father, she was wanting to show him something, something that was hers, no middleman. You, for a moment, you even thought she might lose interest, that her excitement would wane, but that didn’t happen.

As soon as the sun began to cover the apartment with its golden light through the window during the morning of the next day, you found her sitting at the breakfast table, her eyes shining with energy and expectation. Your little girl was excited, she could barely sit still, and you knew that this meant a lot to her.

For a moment, the idea of ​​telling Kendall crossed your mind. It would be good to prepare him for the surprise, to avoid any disappointment with the unexpected arrival of the two of you. But your daughter, with her typical confidence and enthusiasm, made you promise not to say anything. She wanted it to be a complete surprise, something spontaneous. So, without further ado, you put aside the idea of ​​telling Kendall, feeling a slight tension, but also a sense of pride for your daughter’s initiative. She was ready to show her father how much she cared, and you were willing to support that, even if it was outside of your plans.

____________________________________

When you arrived at the Waystar Royco lobby, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia. The space was still the same, the hurried movement of the employees who barely had time to look around.

But this time, there was something different: you were no longer a regular presence there.

At the reception desk, a young receptionist looked at you with curiosity and, perhaps, a little skepticism.

“Hello, how can I help you?” she asked professionally.

You remained calm, even as your daughter tugged impatiently at your hand.

“We’d like to go up to see Kendall Roy,” you said, smiling. “It’s a surprise, so we’d prefer not to be announced.”

The receptionist hesitated, clearly suspicious.

“Sorry, but no one can go up unannounced. Who are you, exactly?”

You took a deep breath, trying not to sound rude.

“I am…” you began, but before you could finish, your daughter, with the typical impatience of a child, reached out until she saw the woman’s face on the other side of the counter and blurted out:

“He’s my father!”

The receptionist looked at the two of you, still not convinced.

“Okay… I need to confirm this with someone. One moment,” she said, picking up the phone.

Before the situation could escalate, a warmer voice came from behind the counter.

“Mrs. Roy!”

You turned around and saw Angela, a veteran employee who recognized you immediately.

“Angela!” you exclaimed, feeling a wave of relief.

Angela walked up to the counter with a welcoming smile, ignoring the receptionist who looked disconcerted.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Roy. Can I help you with anything?”

“Actually, yes. We’re here to surprise Ken, but… we don’t want to be announced.”

Angela smiled understandingly.

“Understood.” Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one interrupts the surprise.

She gave a meaningful look to the receptionist, who now looked mortified.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” the young woman said, but you just nodded, preferring to avoid prolonging the awkwardness.

Angela accompanied you to the elevators, chatting casually while your daughter looked around, enchanted by the brightness and grandeur of the place.

“It’s great to see you back,” Angela commented, opening the elevator door for you.

When the doors closed, the silence was filled only by the excitement of your daughter, who was jumping slightly beside you.

“Do you think he’ll be happy?” she asked.

You smiled.

“I’m sure he will, dear.”

But deep down, you knew that this surprise visit meant more than just the joy of seeing him. It was a kind of return, not only to him, but to the universe to which you had belonged, with all its challenges and complexities. Returning to that office meant returning to a world you had, for a while, tried to avoid—a world you knew was luxurious and unforgiving, but also numbing and sometimes suffocating. There was something uncomfortable about being addressed as his wife after so long away, when the people you had met in Germany simply called you by your first or last name, your name and the White you had inherited from your father. There was no “Roy’s” or “Kendall’s.”

Your mind wandered, full of thoughts and questions, as the elevator ascended. The numbers on the elevator flashed briefly, and before you knew it, you were on a floor that, although familiar, now felt strangely distant. The elevator doors opened, and as you stepped out, you took a deep breath, trying to push away your uncertainties and focus on the child beside you, who was beaming, ready for the surprise you had promised.

As you stepped out of the elevator, the familiarity of the surroundings immediately overcame you. The long, well-lit hallway was bathed in soft light, reflected off the marble floors. The echo of your footsteps on the polished floor resonated, amplifying the feeling that you were back in a world to which you no longer fully belonged. Your daughter was at your side, running in small leaps, her energy overflowing with each step. The path to Kendall's office was the same as so many times before: a succession of doors with different people's names, and the usual hurried movement of employees going from one side to the other, all immersed in their own worlds. You noticed a few furtive glances that crossed your path, and their discomfort seemed to be in the air, as if something was going to pay attention, but didn't dare to ask. Some greeted you with a shy smile, as if they didn't know exactly how to react, while others quickly looked away, aware that your presence there was unexpected. It was a mixture of familiarity and strangeness, as if you were a memory from the past, someone who now seemed out of place in this corporate universe, but still unmistakable.

The door was ajar, your daughter, her eyes shining with anticipation, he gave you one last push, as if he wanted to run through the open door on his own. You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of what was about to happen, before gently pushing the door open. Kendall had his back to you, his suit sleeves slightly rolled up as he reviewed papers on the table. “Jess, if this is about…” When he turned and saw you, he stopped abruptly. For a moment, time seemed suspended. “Hey,” you said, smiling softly. “We decided not to wait until dinner.” Your daughter ran to him, and Kendall immediately opened his arms, picking her up easily. “You’re here! That’s…” He laughed, the laughter coming out unbidden, lighting up his expression. “That’s amazing.” As he spoke to her, his eyes met hers over her shoulder. There was something there, something that said more than words could express: surprise, admiration, and a happiness he didn’t seem to expect. The moment seemed perfect, almost as if time had slowed down just for you. The sight of Kendall with his daughter in his arms, smiling with that lightness you rarely saw, made your heart warm. But, like an intruder in the middle of an intimate moment, the door suddenly opened.

The man who entered was visibly younger than you imagined, oddly tall, and carrying papers in one hand, while seeming to be in a hurry. His eyes, however, fixed on you immediately, and it was as if the scene had been abruptly interrupted.

“Wow, you’re back!” He said, with an exaggerated smile, almost as if it were an inside joke that you didn’t understand. “This is amazing, a family reunion! I’m happy for you.”

You looked at him, trying to access any memory, any image, but his face remained strange and distant. You couldn’t associate him with any name or memory. The feeling of discomfort increased, and you couldn’t help but feel lost in the situation. He was talking as if he already knew exactly who you were and what you were doing there, as if it were something normal.

You tried to smile, forcing your voice to remain light.

“Oh, it’s really good to see you too,” you said, quickly glancing at your daughter, who was still comfortable in her father’s lap. “Well, we just came to give you a quick surprise, Ken. I don’t want to disturb your work. See you later?”

Your attempt to escape the situation, however, did not go unnoticed. Kendall seemed a little surprised by the way you were moving away, and your daughter looked at you with a confused expression, as if she didn’t understand what was happening.

“But mom, we just got here!” Your daughter protested, her discontented tone growing. She frowned, clearly dissatisfied. “Aren’t you going to stay a little longer?”

Greg, still not quite sure what to do, remained still as a statue, also trying to understand what was happening there, so he decided to make one more comment:

“Um, so... just to clarify... are you and Kendall... like, working things out?” Greg asked, his head tilted a little awkwardly, as if he were trying to decipher a riddle. “Not that I have any doubts, of course, just... well, you know... since you're here... together.” He looked from you to Kendall, an attempt to confirm, perhaps, if that made sense or if he was completely lost in the situation.

The silence that followed was so thick that it seemed to fill the entire room. Kendall paused for a moment, a look of confusion on his face, as if he didn't know what to say to that. The tension was growing, and you felt the heat of shame begin to take over every cell in your body. Your daughter, who had remained in Kendall's lap until that moment, looked at you and, with an air a little more mature than her age indicated, said:

“What does he mean, Mommy?” The question was simple, but full of weight, and you felt you needed to answer quickly, without diving into the murky waters of that conversation.

Before you could answer, Greg, still completely clueless, tried to soften the situation awkwardly.

“I... I just thought it would be, like, important to ask, right? Not that you need anyone's permission.” He laughed, trying to redeem himself, but the joke seemed more painful than funny. “Just... because we're all here, you know? A big family reunion and all…”

You didn't know how you felt. The sensation of being in an environment that should have been comfortable, but was now immersed in tangible discomfort, made each of Greg's words feel like a disguised punch.

Trying to hide your irritation, you gave Kendall a subtle glance before turning your focus back to Greg, with a slightly more forced smile.

“Well, I’m sure the answers to your questions are a little invasive, but…” You pause with a soft smile, but your gaze cold. “But if you decide, I don't know, to go for a walk now, I promise to pretend this never happened.

Kendall sighed heavily, probably relieved by the fact that Greg was finally starting to leave the scene. But the tension still hung in the air, and for a moment, it seemed like time had slowed down. Greg's embarrassment was evident, but his attempt to maintain his composure did not go unnoticed.

"Sure, sure..." Greg murmured, visibly disconcerted. He took one last look at you and, with his head down, left quickly, as if trying to disappear.

You forced a smile, trying to stay calm and not let the discomfort take over. You looked at your daughter, who was now watching the two of you with a mix of curiosity and concern, but without knowing exactly what was going on.

"Look, I think that's enough for today." You said, in a lighter tone, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Daddy has a lot of work to do, we don't want to get in the way, do we?" – You gave Kendall a quick smile, as if trying to convey the impression that everything was fine. – We'll see each other later, so he can concentrate.

Kendall, who was visibly torn between wanting you to stay and the weight of the responsibilities that still awaited him, looked at you with an expression of someone who was trying to find a way to make things work without making the situation even worse.

– Yes, of course... – He finally said, with a heavy sigh, as if he was accepting the proposal. – I think you're right. I still have a lot to do. – He looked at his daughter, who seemed not to want to go, but quickly settled on his lap and murmured an "okay" without much conviction.

You smiled again, taking your daughter's hand who was a little downcast now, thanking the fact that, at least, she wasn't insisting anymore. The last thing you wanted was for her to be more confused about the situation than she already was.

The walk to the door was silent, each of you immersed in your own thoughts, and the feeling that something unsaid was hanging in the air grew stronger with each step. When you reached the door, you hesitated for a moment before looking at Kendall once more.

“See you later?” You said, more as a statement than a question, trying to keep the situation light.

“Sure…” Kendall replied, but his voice carried an undertone that wasn’t exactly convinced. “See you later.”

As you turned and left the room, a strange feeling took over you. The situation had been uncomfortable, but at the same time, it felt like a part of you was dealing with something bigger. Something that had been pushed down for a long time.

Outside the door, as you walked away with your daughter, you felt a pang of regret for not having addressed what was really going on between you. But somehow it was clear that now wasn’t the time, and maybe it never would be. And when you looked at your daughter, you realized that sometimes it might be better to pretend that everything was fine, because the truth would be harder to digest. Kendall, on the other hand, watched you walk away, and with that, thoughts came quickly to his mind. He saw the effort you made to distance yourself, to not give too much importance to what had happened. You were trying, somehow, to maintain normality, but something in your eyes and the way you behaved revealed that this attempt at evasion did not go unnoticed. He wanted to draw attention to it, to ask what was happening, but the last thing he wanted was for his daughter to see it. Kendall felt the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air between the two of you. There was something there, something he knew needed to be confronted, but he didn't want to. It was easier to avoid, easier to ignore the growing tension. He had been dealing with his own emotional mess for so long that what was happening between you felt like something he no longer knew how to resolve. The desire to fix things was there, of course, but the fear of not knowing how to do it was even stronger.

____________________________________

That night, you met at the restaurant, the tension from earlier in the day had dissipated by now and, although you thought about making up an excuse not to go, you ended up deciding that it couldn't be as bad as you thought. Maybe it would even be a good thing. You would still be with your daughter, so Kendall certainly wouldn't bring up complicated subjects. And it was with this in mind that you ended up accepting in the end.

As the meal progressed peacefully, a soft sound began to fill the restaurant. A singer, accompanied by a discreet piano, played a classical melody. Your daughter, curious as always, leaned forward in her chair, her eyes shining.

"It sounds so cool to sing, can we play that later?" she asked, subtly pointing in the direction of the singer.

You smiled, recognizing the melody.

Kendall looked up from her plate, a smile playing on her lips. "You know, your mother sang too."

You immediately rolled your eyes. "Don't start, Kendall."

Your daughter's eyes widened, excited. – Really, Mom?

– Yes, I sang, but it wasn’t anything special – you said, trying to avoid it.

– Oh, it wasn’t anything special? – Kendall replied, laughing. – Your mom was practically the star of the bars and restaurants near the college.

– Kendall! – you exclaimed, laughing despite yourself.

– That’s true. – He turned to his daughter, excited. – Your grandparents were furious with your mom because of a tattoo, and instead of apologizing, she decided to become a singer to pay the bills.

– That’s not exactly how it happened – you murmured, but it was impossible not to laugh.

– Yes it was – Kendall insisted, amused. – She packed the places.

Your daughter seemed fascinated. – Mom, can you still sing?

You shook your head quickly, laughing. – No, I don’t know anymore. That’s in the past.

Kendall arched an eyebrow, clearly doubtful. – Oh, I doubt it.

– I’m serious! – you replied, trying to keep your tone light. – That was a long time ago.

Your daughter grimaced, disappointed. – But you seemed to like it…

You sighed playfully. – Oh, back then I wanted to be a super famous singer. I even dreamed of touring and everything. Your grandfather almost had a heart attack just thinking about it. But over time, I realized that wasn’t what I really wanted. – You shrugged. – I was just trying to find myself.

Your daughter processed this information for a moment, her gaze full of curiosity.

– So… was it a mistake?

You smiled, leaning slightly towards her. – Not exactly. It was an experiment. But, if you ever decide to do something similar, just… let me know before you get a tattoo, okay?

The conversation dissipated into light laughter, and while your daughter returned her attention to the dessert, you and Kendall exchanged a brief look, full of memories and a touch of complicity. It was a silent truce, a reminder that not everything in the past had to be a source of conflict.

In that moment, dinner felt like more than just a meal; it felt like a step, however small, toward something lighter and more harmonious between you. The conversation, the shared laughter, and the knowing glances created an atmosphere that had seemed absent for so long.

That feeling persisted on the way home, as the car glided through the streets of New York. Kendall, lost in thought, barely paid attention to the lights that flashed outside.

His daughter was nestled against him, her little face pressed against his shoulder, her curls falling like a veil. He adjusted her gently, worried about waking her, but her light weight in his arm felt like a anchor, a feeling he didn't know he could crave so much until he had her there.

Then he looked at you. You were facing the window, the soft reflection of the city lights drawing lines on your face as you slept. Your peaceful expression almost made him smile. He remembered, at that moment, something so small, but that made him feel an inexplicable warmth: you always fell asleep in the car if the trip was long or late at night. It was almost automatic, as if the constant vibration of the vehicle was an invitation you couldn't resist. And now, seeing your daughter asleep next to him, the same trait seemed so evident. He had to look away for a moment, as if the simple beauty of that detail was too much to process. Kendall let a smile appear on his face, a small but sincere smile. It was funny how things like that – so banal, so everyday – could carry so much meaning. It wasn't just about the similarity between the two of you; it was about what it symbolized. You were together, even if for a short time and for reasons he knew were fragile. The car slowed down at a traffic light, and he took the opportunity to absorb more of that moment. He could almost feel fulfilled. Almost. But the "almost" was the difference between peace and restlessness. He had the company of both of you now, but he didn't have you. Not in the way he wanted.

The car parked smoothly in front of the building. Kendall got out first, holding your daughter in his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You grabbed her coat and adjusted the strap of your bag before following them. He seemed comfortable in that position, almost as if her weight in his arms was everyday.

“Come on, honey. We’re home now,” you murmured, lightly touching her shoulder in an attempt to wake her up.

She shook her head, opening her eyes for a moment, but when she realized where she was, she just grumbled softly and tightened her arms around Kendall’s neck, hiding against him.

“Hey, young lady. You can walk there, can’t you?” you tried again, your voice calm, but already anticipating the answer.

Unsurprisingly, she shook her head, tightening her embrace on Kendall, who let out a restrained but amused laugh.

“Do you want me to take you?” – he asked, looking at you.

Deep down, you knew exactly what she was doing. Although you didn’t say anything, you understood what motivated your daughter to insist on that behavior.

“Okay,” you gave in, sighing with a small smile. “Thank you.”

The walk to the elevator was enveloped in a peaceful silence, as if neither of you wanted to break the moment. You walked a few steps ahead, checking your keys in your bag, while Kendall kept his eyes fixed on the small sleeping figure in your arms. There was something comforting about it, something he couldn’t explain, but he felt it deeply.

In the elevator, Kendall looked at his daughter and then at you. It was almost impossible to ignore how natural it seemed. He wanted to comment, maybe make a light joke about how she was becoming more and more like you, but he held himself back. There was something subtly perfect about that moment that he didn’t want to break.

When the elevator door opened, you held the door open for him. The room was quiet and dark, only lights from outside invaded the apartment. Kendall followed you down the hallway to his daughter's room, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor.

When he arrived, he placed her on the bed carefully, as if he were handling something precious and fragile. Your daughter mumbled something incomprehensible, still half asleep, but her arms loosened from his neck. You pulled the blanket, covering her with an automatic and delicate movement.

Kendall took a few steps back, watching in silence as you fixed the girl's hair and turned off the light on the lamp next to the bed. For a brief moment, he wanted to say something, but he bit his tongue. He just followed you back to the hallway, the silence between you heavy, but inexplicably comfortable.

The silence that settled in the room was heavy, but for some reason, that was the first situation of the day that you didn't feel the need to avoid. There was something there, an implicit truce that made the moment easier to bear.

– Would you like something? Water or… water. – You laughed, opening the fridge. – I don’t have many options today.

The soft light from the kitchen illuminated the room through the white countertop, creating a cozy contrast between the two spaces.

– Water is fine. – Kendall replied with a slight smile, but in truth, he would accept anything if it meant spending more time with you. He approached the countertop, resting his hands casually as he watched you.

You searched for glasses, clearly still in the process of adapting to the new house, moving your hands from shelf to shelf, as if the logic of the place still didn’t make sense. Kendall noticed how comfortable you seemed in that space, even amidst the mess. But what caught his attention, almost against his will, were the small details that he had forgotten – or perhaps tried to forget.

The way your skin seemed to glow under the soft light of the kitchen caught his attention. The simple movement of your arms revealed the almost hypnotizing texture, something that made him wonder what your skin really felt like to the touch. Your hair, slightly messy from sleeping in the car, held an intimacy that disarmed him. It was a vivid reminder of how you were in the most relaxed moments, when you still woke up in the same bed.

The sound of the glasses lightly hitting the counter brought him back, ending his daydreams. He watched as you poured the water into the glasses, the casual movement of your arms, the way the light reflected off the crystal clear liquid.

“And how are you at work now? Do you still like it?” Kendall asked, starting the conversation in a relaxed tone, although his eyes were still drawn to you more often than he would like to admit.

You smiled as you finished filling the glasses, holding one out to him.

“I still like my job,” you began, with a genuine tone that seemed to light up your face for an instant. Kendall raised his eyebrows, a little surprised, but attentive. “I just can't stand my boss. - You finished with a theatrical sigh, drawing a smile from him.

- Well, if it's any consolation, I know exactly what it's like to have your own father as a boss. - He joked, tilting his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a familiar sparkle.

You laughed softly, leaning casually on the counter.

- But what is it this time?

- Nothing much, my father just expects me to solve world peace. - You answered ironically, but the slight roll of your eyes didn't go unnoticed by Kendall, who now seemed more focused on your words than on the joke.

- Oh, it can't be that bad. What did he ask for? - He said, the lightness in his voice masking his genuine interest.

You let out a short laugh, leaning forward as if sharing a secret.

- I'm not kidding, Ken. He wants me to find a way to negotiate fighter jets with both the American government and the countries of the East.

Kendall paused for a moment, processing the absurdity of what you had just said, before letting out a light laugh.

“Well, then it seems he really expects you to solve world peace.”

You laughed with him, shaking your head, but the slight exchange of glances between you carried something beyond the joke.

“What about your job? Ever since I left, you’ve still been rotating this CEO thing, haven’t you?” you said before bringing the glass to your lips. You knew it was a delicate subject, but you were curious about what Kendall really thought about it. “Does he still use that promise as a bargaining chip whenever he needs you?”

The silence in the room seemed heavier after your question, and Kendall looked away to the glass in his hands. He swirled the liquid inside it for a moment, as if looking for time to organize his thoughts. Although he smiled briefly, the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. You noticed that. You always did.

– Yes… – He answered, his voice almost hesitant. – Well, you know how chaotic this shit is, but yes, we’re still at that same stage. He plays it off as a promise. Whenever he needs to manipulate us…

You nodded slowly, observing the discomfort he was trying to mask. For a moment, you thought about dropping the subject, but you knew it was the right opportunity to ask something that had been stuck in your throat for a long time. Taking a deep breath, you decided to go ahead.

- Ken, I actually need to ask you something, and I need you to be very honest about it, okay? – His tone changed to something more serious, and that made Kendall look up at you immediately.

- Yes, of course. What is it? – He answered, his expression genuine, although slightly tense.

You placed the glass on the counter and crossed your arms, gathering the courage to continue.

- Your father… A few weeks before I left, two years ago, he called me for a talk, just me and him. At the time, I didn't know where you were, so I need to know if he did it willingly or if he had your consent in some way.

Kendall frowned, visibly confused, but you continued, feeling the weight of the words before you even said them. “Logan called it a warning, but I didn't see it that way. Your father asked me if I intended to formalize the divorce and I said yes. But he had other plans.”

Kendall's gaze became more attentive, almost alarmed. He didn't interrupt, but the tension in his posture increased.

“What? What are you talking about?” he asked, confused, his tone betraying a mix of concern and fear of what was to come.

You sighed, trying to keep your voice steady, but the memory still weighed on you.

“Your father vehemently forbade me from leaving the country with our daughter if I filed for divorce. He said he would do everything he could to stop me from taking her with me if I had that intention.” – Your eyes searched his, but Kendall seemed frozen, his lips slightly parted as he processed what you had just said. – Ken, I just needed to know if you knew about this, because if you did… I don’t even know what to think.

The silence that followed was thick, filled with tension and unspoken emotions. Kendall blinked a few times, as if trying to absorb the impact of what he had heard. Finally, he shook his head, frowning as if he were trying to put the pieces of a broken puzzle together.

– I had no idea… – He said, his voice hoarse, almost a whisper. – I swear, I didn’t know about that. My father… He… He did these things without telling me. Fuck, I’m so sorry.

The sincerity in your voice was evident, but you remained silent, trying to gauge whether you believed him. Kendall ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognized as nervousness.

– He had no right to do that to you. – Kendall continued, finally raising his gaze to meet hers. – Much less using our daughter as a bargaining chip. I… I would never have agreed to that, ever.

You let out a long sigh, a mix of relief and exhaustion.

“That’s good to hear, Ken. I just… needed to know.”

He nodded, his face serious, but his expression softened as he continued to look at you, a mix of guilt and something deeper in his eyes. It was as if, at that moment, he wanted to make up for not only that situation, but all the weight of the years that were left behind.

“Look, I don’t… I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.” Kendall begins, with a sincerity that you almost don’t recognize, but is interrupted by his calm and light voice.

“Ken, I don’t think I have enough to drink to open this Pandora’s box.” You joke, trying to lighten the weight that fell on the conversation, the light tone contrasting with what was said. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later, don’t worry.” Also, just one important addendum: if I'm going to have to listen to you talk about your family every time we meet, we're going to need to negotiate a fee for each therapy session.

You let out the irony with a subtle smile, and Kendall lets out a muffled, comfortable laugh, as if it were impossible to resist your ability to ease the tension with a silly joke. He settles back, his shoulders relaxing, and decides to joke back, in the same tone.

"And what exactly would you charge?" He asks, the lightness in the air giving way to a provocation disguised as interest.

"Well, you know, I have a lot to consider here." You begin, exaggerating the seriousness, like a theater actress trying to add a touch of drama to the scene, and he, of course, enjoys it. "First thing: you never paid child support, so I guess I'll have to discount that too."

"Oh, the thousands of dollars I sent every month weren't enough?" – Kendall answers, with a slight irony in his voice, but there is something else behind his words, a more attentive look, perhaps more introspective, that suggests an unspoken question. He observes you with increasing intensity, the conversation no longer being just about finances.

You smile, still in the rhythm of the joke, but Kendall's gaze begins to change, and you realize that the lightness begins to mix with something more, more personal, closer to where you both know the conversation can go.

- Well, we will also have to take into account that you, from time to time, are a CEO. – You continue with a sideways smile, maintaining the playful tone. – That should be part of our equation. So, being a good girl, I will settle on the value of the pension at maybe a million dollars and the therapy sessions at about ten thousand, fifteen, if the subject is about your father.

Kendall gives a muffled chuckle, but his eyes don't leave yours. He seems to absorb your words, but there’s something there, something deeper, that he doesn’t know exactly how to verbalize.

“So… a million dollars for alimony, fifteen thousand for therapy, and how much for a second chance?” Kendall joked, his voice now lower, as if the question was more than a simple provocation, as if there was a deeper truth there, something he didn’t have the courage to say directly.

You let out an incredulous laugh, as if the idea were absurd, but deep down, there was something there that caused you an unexpected warmth. He watched your reaction, an involuntary smile forming on his lips, convinced that, somehow, he had disconcerted you, perhaps even more than he imagined.

“Well, considering I arrived yesterday…” You pretend to think before looking directly at him, with a smile in your eyes. “Yes, maybe it’s a little early to open negotiations for that, but I admire your proactivity.” He laughs, the air between you becoming lighter, but also more charged with a silent tension, a feeling that the words, as playful as they were, were revealing something deeper, something that perhaps both of you would rather not face right away.

After a brief silence after the laughter, Kendall finds himself looking at you for longer than he should, as if trying to keep the moment to himself, but then he speaks, interrupting the thought.

“I should leave now, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, I believe so.” You answer, but still with a slight smile, keeping the mood relaxed, although the farewell was lurking.

“Well…” he picks up the coat that was on a nearby chair before pausing and saying. “I enjoyed today, a lot.”

“Me too, Ken.” You answer with a gentle smile, something in your tone that didn’t go unnoticed by him, a touch of softness that he couldn’t ignore.

He then moves away from the counter, heading towards the elevator again. Before entering, he quickly turns to see you turn off the light and leave the kitchen, now illuminated only by the dim light of the hallway.

“Good night.” He said, with a slight smile on his lips.

“Good night, Ken.” You say goodbye, and he finally enters the elevator, the doors closing softly.

With Kendall gone, you head to the bedroom, where you trying to put her thoughts in order. The silence in the house seemed greater now, filled by his absence. As she lay down on the bed, the emptiness that remained echoed in a strange but comforting way. She knew that things were still open between you, as if the unspoken words still hung in the air. But, for now, rest was the best she could offer herself.

Meanwhile, on the floors below, Kendall was bouncing inside. He descended each floor of the building with an unexpected feeling of lightness. The smile he tried to contain as he descended in the elevator was not at all forced, it was genuine, as if something inside him had finally rebalanced.

The conversations with you, a simple but profound exchange, had touched him in a way he hadn't expected. Every laugh, every look exchanged, seemed to have rekindled something he had tried to keep buried. He didn't want to admit it, but what had happened there, that night, was more than just a simple encounter. It was something more meaningful, something he knew he couldn't leave behind so easily.

As he stepped out of the building, the cold New York breeze couldn't erase the warm feeling he felt inside.

________________________________

As the months went by, Kendall became more and more present in your lives. Little by little, he began to make a point of taking his daughter on trips, whether to a place outside the city or to his apartment, where they would spend the day together. He was more willing to share his time and attention, and this was reflected not only in his regular visits, but also in the care he gave his daughter, in the way he watched her while she played, in the way he adapted to the new family dynamics.

And, of course, over time, his presence by your side became more constant. Initially shy and cautious, he now made a point of being around. He spent more time at your apartment, bringing with him the restless energy he carried with him, but also a touch of lightness when he was there with you. He seemed to need these moments, as if the simple act of being with his family was a remedy for his daily worries.

When the snow covered the streets of New York, the setting seemed perfect for a quiet moment. He was at your house, as usual, at his daughter's request. The afternoon passed between laughter and movies, one of those lazy Sundays when the world seemed to slow down for a while. The screens in the apartment became a cozy setting, a kind of refuge from the cold outside.

He was there, next to you, but his phone never seemed to give him peace. Every now and then, he would step away to check his messages, his appointments, the problems that awaited him. But something had changed in him. Although his phone was always full of urgent messages, he began to lessen his worries when he was with you and his daughter. He tried to divert his attention to the present, to the moment you shared. And, as difficult as it was, he did his best to be present, to not let the weight of the world at work become a burden in the hours he spent with you.

It was on one of those afternoons that he once again noticed how you, almost naturally, fell asleep quickly, as if the simple act of snuggling up in that safe environment was enough to make the tiredness of the day dissipate. He, who always had a more controlled posture, couldn't help but notice how your tranquility affected him. There was something there, in that lightness, that attracted him in a way he still didn't know how to explain.

There was a growing closeness between the two of you, and it wasn't just sentimental. The touch of your hands, the way your eyes met more often, the way the other's presence seemed to no longer be an inconvenience, but a necessity. Kendall didn't know exactly at what point that line between friendship and something more had been lost, but he also didn't seem to want to worry about it anymore. When you were together, the outside world disappeared, and the intimacy between you grew stronger every day. He was beginning to notice these small gestures, the moments when your hands almost touched, the longer smiles, the unspoken words that were exchanged in moments of silence.

The conversations, the laughter, the shared glances, all of that was creating something new, something that he was beginning to feel not as pressure, but as a silent promise that there was something more to be discovered between you. Something beyond words, more than just being together.

With the annual charity event coming up, everything seemed to conspire to make your presence indispensable. For years, your father had represented the family company at these galas, but now, with his return and the imminent transition of power, the responsibility fell to you.

For practical reasons—or so you tried to convince your parents—you decided to go with Kendall. After all, he would also be there, marking his definitive return to the corporate world of New York. But deep down, you knew that this decision was loaded with meanings that went beyond logistics. The butterflies in your stomach as you got ready were proof of that. It wasn’t just the prospect of facing the sharks of the corporate world; it was the weight of walking alongside him again, being seen as husband and wife, at least in the eyes of the public.

The idea bothered you less than it should have. Being part of that “perfect family” image again seemed inevitable. And, even though it wasn’t ideal, you knew you had to deal with it sooner or later. While these questions ran through your mind, your apartment was in complete chaos: makeup artists, hairdressers, stylists, all adjusting the smallest details so that your appearance would be impeccable.

The intense pace was interrupted by an unmistakable sound coming from the living room.

“Grandpa!” your daughter’s excited voice echoed, drawing smiles from everyone present. Your father had arrived, and he seemed more excited than usual.

“Dad?” you called from the bedroom, looking at the hairdresser with a tired smile. “I think it’s okay now, thanks.” 

Standing up, you adjusted the hem of your long dress and walked down the hallway. Your heels echoed across the floor as your dress dragged softly.

“In her room, honey!” your father’s voice answered. Of course he was there. When you arrived, you found the two of you sitting on the floor, surrounded by scattered toys.

“Dad, why aren’t you ready? We have to leave soon.”

“Oh, I decided not to go this time.” He answered casually, without even looking up from his game.

“What?” His voice came out louder than he intended. “Dad, are you kidding? Damn it, why didn’t you warn me before?”

“Hey, watch your swear words, there are kids here.” He finally stood up and looked at you with that expression that always disarmed you, but that today only increased your irritation. “Let’s talk in the living room. I’ll be right back, honey.” He told his granddaughter, leaving the room as you followed him, anger bubbling under the surface.

In the room, which now looked like a battlefield with so many people and equipment spread out, he turned to you, taking a quick look at your outfit.

“Why are you so dressed up?” he asked, and before you could answer, he added: “Is this all to impress your little shit of a husband?”

You took a deep breath, seeking patience.

“No. It’s to represent our company, which is what you should be doing with me!” you replied, but he seemed more interested in teasing than arguing.

Before you could continue, your assistant approached, nervous.

“Just to let you know... there will be a comedian at the event. He’ll probably interact with the guests,” she said, almost apologetically.

“Great,” you muttered, already imagining the kind of joke he would make.

“Who cares?” your father retorted, with a disdainful tone. “He’s just another one of those party clowns. He’ll make half a dozen jokes about old people decomposing and leave. All you have to do is wave and smile. What's the problem?

You stared at him in disbelief, feeling your blood boil.

"I can't believe you're going to leave me alone in this..." you began, but were interrupted by the security guard telling you that the car was ready.

Going back to the room, you kissed your daughter on the forehead before leaving. When you passed your father in the living room, he let out the last provocation:

"If Logan's there, tell him to fuck off for me."

"You're unbelievable!"

As you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you took a deep breath, adjusting your posture and trying to transform your irritation into a diplomatic smile. It was the least you could do before facing the night ahead.

As you left the building, a black SUV was waiting in front, escorted by two others. The security guard opened the door for you, and inside, Kendall was already there, sitting, her gaze fixed on her cell phone.

He took his eyes off you when you entered, a quick moment that captured your entire journey. Even though he seemed accustomed to events like this, something in the way he looked at you made it clear that there was still admiration there.

The silence between you on the way was almost palpable. You were tense, your thoughts spinning in circles: your entrance into the event, the possible comments, the anticipation surrounding your presence alongside Kendall. Then, he finally spoke, breaking the tension.

“You look beautiful.”

The simplicity of his words brought you back to reality. Turning your face toward him, a soft smile formed on your lips.

“Thank you.”

And that was it. He realized that you were distant, with your head full, and decided not to insist. I only found out when you sighed deeply, preparing yourself for what was to come.

When the car pulled up to the entrance of the venue, the flashes appeared before the door was even open. Kendall got out first, adjusting his jacket, and waited outside. He thought you would follow him, keeping a certain distance, but he was surprised when you stopped next to him. Your smile was carefully posed, calculated for the cameras. Naturally, you guided his hand to the exposed part of your back, where the fabric of your dress ended. Kendall felt the heat of your skin under his fingers and, for a moment, he forgot about the paparazzi, the flashes and the questions that popped up around him. A few voices shouted questions about recent scandals, about business, about you as a couple. But none of them deserved his attention. The walk along the red carpet was brief, just enough to keep up appearances, before they were guided inside the event. The atmosphere was opulent, but heavy, as if every piece of decoration was impregnated with formality and corporate history. You looked around and blurted out, almost without thinking:

“God, this looks like an asylum.”

Kendall, beside you, let out a low laugh.

“Welcome back to the social circle, I guess.”

You laughed lightly, but without taking your eyes off the room, already scanning the room.

The room was full of familiar faces, faces you had already crossed paths with at other events or seen in business articles. Some of these people responded quickly and answered. Kendall appeared beside you, wrapped himself in the calm posture and you figured he always showed off in public, but the familiarity between you was visible — the way he tilted his head towards you, as if you were inviting him to command those interactions, was something new and unexpected.

After the initial cocktail hour, just before dinner was served, you saw Logan approaching. His walk was slow but firm, as if the weight of the entire room was spinning around him. You felt his presence before he even spoke, and the sound of his voice carried that peculiar tone of cutting sarcasm that was his trademark. “So…” Logan began, with a fake smile that you knew well. “Has your father decided to throw himself to the sharks so early?” You didn’t flinch. Your eyes met his, and the smile that spread across your face was as fake as his. “He knows when a son is ready to take on these things.” His answer was cordial, but it carried an implicit firmness. Logan inclined his head progressively, assessing you with that clinical gaze. “I hope you’re sure. It wouldn’t be good to rush things, you know how this could end.” He took one last look at you, then cast a quick glance in Kendall’s direction, who was further away, before turning and walking away. You took a deep breath, relieved that he was gone, but the feeling of having passed an invisible test lingered. A short time later, Kendall approached you again, his eyes searching yours with a curiosity that didn’t need to be voiced out loud.

Soon after, people were settling in for the dinner that would soon begin, and you were led to one of the main tables, as expected for such central figures at the event. Kendall sat next to you, the room around you filled with conversations about business, philanthropy, and politics.

You tried to pay attention to the conversations around you, but it was hard not to be distracted by Kendall’s presence. He was incredibly at ease, navigating the discussions with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. The way he articulated his arguments and engaged others was something you hadn’t seen in a long time—corporate Kendall in action.

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice subtle details: the way he frowned slightly when he was focused, or the way his voice naturally modulated as he addressed different people at the table. You realized you were admiring him more than you wanted to admit, and it caught you off guard.

On the other hand, Kendall also seemed uneasy, but for different reasons. He felt your closeness like an electric current, a heat that seemed to intensify every time your shoulders or arms lightly touched. At one point, when he leaned in to whisper something in your ear about how terrible the wine was, your faces got dangerously close.

“I’ll remember to bring you a decent wine next time,” he murmured, and you laughed softly, the soft sound making his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then there was the moment when your hand accidentally brushed against his as you reached for a glass of water. It was a brief touch, but enough to make you both feel a slight shiver. You looked at him, and the look you received in return was direct, intense, almost as if he were trying to read your mind.

Kendall also noticed things that seemed small, but left him disconcerted. The way you smiled at the people at the table, polite and impeccable, but with a hint of irony that only he could perceive. Or the way your voice changed subtly when you addressed him, softer, almost complicit.

The lights dimmed even further around the tables, while the stage was illuminated by an intense spotlight. You felt a familiar tension tighten in your stomach. The comedian was known for having no boundaries, and with Logan Roy present, the chances of him avoiding delicate subjects were practically zero. Taking a deep breath, you adjusted your posture and kept your smile light and controlled. You were prepared to face the moment, or at least try to appear that way.

He started off in a relaxed manner, drawing easy laughs from the audience with generic jokes about the corporate elite. Even you laughed at a few, allowing yourself to relax for a few seconds. However, when he started addressing “family dynamics in the media” and mentioned Logan, you knew the worst was yet to come.

— I admire this guy, but I always have doubts: is he indecisive or is he waiting for some streaming service to make a reality show to decide which son will take over his company. — Laughter burst out instantly, and he paused strategically, savoring the moment before continuing: — They would be like the Kardashians of the corporate world.

The room reacted thunderously, with laughter echoing from all sides. You kept your smile on, but you noticed Kendall's jaw tighten slightly. At the same time, Logan, at another table, remained motionless, with an expression that mixed disdain and coldness.

Then the comedian lowered his voice, pretending to whisper into the microphone, but loud enough for everyone to hear:

— We already know which one Kendall Roy would be, don't we?

You smiled slightly, controlled, but instinctively turned your face to Kendall. He kept the smile on his lips, but his gaze was fixed on the stage, his fingers drumming almost imperceptibly on the table.

The comedian noticed the tension and decided to double down.

“But there’s no denying it, the guy is a visionary.” He pointed dramatically at Logan, drawing more laughter from the audience. “This man could start a war in no time. We should be worried, really.”

The room was divided between laughter and palpable discomfort. You noticed Logan’s gaze, cold and calculated, as if he were considering ways to turn that man into an irrelevant stain on the floor. Kendall’s breathing beside you became heavier, and you knew he was also feeling the impact of the moment.

But the comedian didn’t end there. He looked directly at your table, as if he was about to deliver the “main joke.”

“Now, here’s the masterstroke.” He smiled, pausing to build anticipation. “Logan Roy married one of his sons to Charles White’s daughter. Do you understand that?”

The room erupted in laughter, but the laughter was different now—it wasn’t just amusement, but also that underlying discomfort, as if everyone knew the joke was about to cross the line.

You knew exactly what he was implying, and so did the audience. The media caused the conflicts; your family’s company offered the solutions. Cause and effect, perfectly woven into a single marriage. The narrative was irresistible to anyone who loved a scandal.

The comedian gestured as if asking the crowd to calm down.

“Please, this is a joke.” He took a theatrical step back from the stage. “Don’t send a bomb to my mailbox.”

The attention was completely focused on you now. Your smile was controlled, polite, but your eyes said more. You couldn’t show the irritation that was beginning to boil, and that was exactly what made it all the more frustrating.

The comedian began to pace the stage again, as if he were building the next joke in his mind. He looked at the audience and smiled, as if he knew he was about to say something controversial.

“Now, I have to comment…” He paused, gesturing with his hands to emphasize the drama. “Isn’t it ironic? A charity event, all of us here so concerned about helping others… and we have the illustrious presence of the White family, whose greatest “act of charity” is funding wars.”

The audience let out a muffled laugh, and the sound echoed in the room, mixing with the slight buzz of discomfort. It was a heavy provocation, but the comedian had a talent for keeping the tone seemingly light, as if it were all harmless.

You felt the weight of the words, but your face didn’t change. A perfectly calculated smile remained on your lips, while you maintained your composure, adjusting your posture slightly in your chair.

“But of course, I’m not judging!” He added, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. — After all, someone has to make money while the world loses its mind, right?

The laughter grew a little louder, and he continued, clearly enjoying the moment.

— It's like I always say: while some make donations, others build planes.

Kendall, next to you, let out a low laugh — almost inaudible to the others, but enough for you to notice. He tilted his head slightly toward you, his lips still curved in a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

— Are you having fun? — He murmured in an almost ironic tone, so low that no one but you would hear.

You glanced at him sideways, holding back the joking tone to keep up appearances.

— You have no idea. — You replied, still smiling at the stage.

Before he could answer, the comedian moved on to another topic, but the discomfort persisted at the table. You took a deep breath, picking up your wine glass to try to center yourself. Kendall noticed the gesture and discreetly touched your leg under the table, as if to let you know he was there.

It was a brief touch, but enough to surprise you.

When the event finally ended, you and Kendall walked together towards the exit, greeting the other guests with the impeccable cordiality that the occasion demanded. There was an almost rehearsed naturalness between you, as if you were in fact the perfect couple that so many believed – or wanted – you to be.

The flashes continued outside, and Kendall, once again, placed his hand on your back as he helped you into the car. Inside, the air seemed denser, charged with the emotions of the event. Kendall broke the silence as the car began to move, his voice carrying a carefree tone, but with that sarcasm that was almost automatic for him:

“So, which of the Kardashians would I be?”

You turned to him, surprised by the question, but unable to hold back your laughter.

“Kim, probably,” you answered, throwing it back with the same lightness.

He arched an eyebrow, intrigued, a discreet smile playing on his lips.

“Kim? Why?”

You pretended to think for a moment, before shrugging with an amused smile.

“Well… she’s the most controversial, don’t you think? Always in the spotlight, but somehow she manages to turn everything into fame.”

Kendall let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Controversial and turning everything into fame? I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a disguised insult.”

You tilted your head, your smile growing.

“It depends on how you choose to interpret it.”

The rest of the drive was light, almost childish, as if you had temporarily left behind the pressures of the real world. Comments about the event, observations about the people you saw, even spontaneous laughter. It was as if time had compressed, and when the car stopped in front of Kendall’s building, you were taken aback.

He leaned slightly toward you, his tone casual, but his eyes betraying something more:

“Do you want to go up?” The question seemed simple, but there was barely contained excitement in his expression. — Just to talk.

You stared at him for a moment, assessing the situation. There was something undeniable about that invitation, a tension that hung between you. And while you could question his intentions, you knew yours weren’t that different.

“Sure, why not?” You replied with a gentle smile, and it was enough to make Kendall’s heart race.

The walk to the apartment was smooth, almost natural, as if you were just walking home together after a long night. In the elevator, he stood next to you in silence, his hands stuffed in his pockets, but his gaze would occasionally stray to you, as if checking to see if you were really there.

When you arrived, Kendall turned on the soft lights in the living room, heading to the bar with familiarity. As he poured two shots of something you couldn’t identify at first glance, you kicked off your shoes, setting them aside, and dropped your bag and cell phone on a nearby table. The atmosphere was cozy, almost nostalgic, as if the apartment still held traces of the times you had been there before.

You settled into the couch, crossing your legs as you accepted the glass he handed you. Taking a sip, your eyes followed him as he took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt in an unpretentious manner. His casualness seemed to contrast with the small electric charge that was beginning to form in the air between you.

“The view from your apartment is still better than mine,” you commented with a playful smile, breaking the silence. But there was something else in your voice, something that carried a hint of vulnerability, as if the situation was pulling memories from a shared past.

Kendall laughed, low and husky, as he approached, sitting next to you on the couch.

“Well, it’s hard to compete with something so unique,” ​​he said, indicating with a slight nod the glass wall that revealed the lights of Manhattan.

You followed his gaze, but when you looked back at him, he was already watching you. There was something in his eyes—an intensity that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“It’s weird,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him.

“What?” Kendall asked, leaning in slightly.

“Being here again. It doesn’t feel like that long ago, but at the same time… it feels like a lifetime ago.”

He nodded, his smile softening.

“Maybe because some things never change.”

There was a pause, tension building in the space between you. You felt the warmth of his presence, the subtle touch of his knee almost brushing against yours. Without thinking, you slid your fingers along the cool glass of the glass in your hand, while the other rested on the couch beside you, close to his leg.

“And is that good or bad?” you asked, your voice lower, as if you didn’t want to break the moment.

He tilted his head, his gaze going from your eyes to the curve of your lips and back again.

“I guess it just depends on how you look at it.” You barely had time to process his answer before you felt the weight of his hand on yours, which was on the couch. His touch was light but determined, as if he were asking for permission without using words. Your eyes met, and something finally gave way.

Kendall leaned in slowly, and you did the same, the world around you disappearing when your lips met. The kiss started hesitantly, almost shy, but it quickly deepened, carrying a mixture of longing and repressed desire. Your hands rose to his face, while his slid down to your waist, gently pulling you closer.

The glass fell to the floor with a dull thud, but neither of you seemed to notice. The sound was lost in the growing heat between the two of you, as if the world around you had completely disappeared. You only moved closer to his body, pulling him closer, while his hands explored the fabric that still covered your skin.

It was as if the dress was an unbearable obstacle. Kendall, now impatient, let his hands slide down your back, searching for a zipper or any tie that would undo it. But the careful search gave way to a certain desperation, his fingertips pressing against your skin, as if he simply could not wait any longer.

“Fuck, just rip this shit off.” His voice was firm, almost authoritative, and he paused for a moment, chuckling against the curve of your neck.

“Always so direct, huh?” he murmured, but there was something husky and full of desire in his tone.

The mischievous smile remained on his face as his fingers gripped the fabric of your dress and, with a quick, decisive movement, ripped it. The sound of the fabric giving way echoed in the silent room, followed by the sensation of cold air against your skin. You gasped slightly, but soon felt his heat fill the space again, as if he could not bear to be away for even a second.

Kendall seemed mesmerized. His eyes roamed over your now partially uncovered body, his breathing irregular as he absorbed every detail as if he were seeing you for the first time. He was lost, intoxicated by you, and he didn't even try to hide it.

"You're... unbelievable," he said, his voice low, almost reverent, before leaning in again to kiss you, this time deeper, more intense, as if each movement carried all the emotion he couldn't put into words.

Lying on the couch, you felt his weight on you, the way his firm hands found your waist, your hips, as if they wanted to memorize every curve of yours. For Kendall, that wasn't just desire. It was need, urgency, something he couldn't name, but that seemed to consume every part of him.

As he kissed you, his hands moved with a mix of instinct and intention, exploring every inch of your warm skin, as if he wanted to map the territory that was now exclusively his. For Kendall, the world didn't exist beyond that moment. Everything about him was focused on you, and he seemed determined not to let anything interfere. You were immersed too, completely enveloped in his presence. All you felt were his touches, the way he pulled you closer, as if he feared you might slip away, as if he needed to anchor you to himself. There was a fervor in the way he held you, almost desperate, but at the same time controlled, as if he wanted to prolong the moment for as long as possible. The wet kisses Kendall spread over your body were a hypnotic delight. Each one felt hotter, more intimate than the last. However, it was when you felt his hand slide slowly, with purpose, that the tension rose. He traced a lazy path to the last piece of clothing that still covered you. His fingers lightly ran under the elastic of the lingerie, the soft touch like an implicit promise. He pulled the fabric just enough to loosen it and let it snap back against your skin. The sound was almost inaudible, but the intention behind it was deafening. He was teasing you, testing your limits, playing a game he already knew the end of. Kendall then pulled back slightly, just enough to observe you from above, his eyes roaming every detail of your body with overwhelming intensity. The smile that curved his lips was devilish, a mix of desire and triumph. He knew exactly what he was doing—and he loved the way you reacted, your breathing quickened, your eyes fixed on him, begging without saying a word. “You have no idea how beautiful you look like this,” he murmured, his voice husky as his fingers traced a slow, deliberate path across your skin. He was savoring every moment, stretching the tension as you felt the heat build, the anticipation becoming almost unbearable. Your breathing was ragged, as if each moment of waiting stole a little more of your breath. Your eyes shone, almost teary, such was the intensity of desire that ran through the room, electrifying every movement.

Delicately, you raised your body a little, supporting yourself with one hand. This gesture made your faces dangerously close, just a few inches apart. His breathing mingled with yours, hot and accelerated, and Kendall's eyes automatically dropped to your parted lips, now so close that he seemed hypnotized by them.

You took advantage of the hesitation, this delicious distraction, and with your other hand let your fingers slide slowly to his belt. Your movements were intentional, soft, but full of an undeniable promise. When your fingers curved around his belt, you tugged lightly, enough to get his attention and claim a little more control in that silent dance of provocation.

— Please, Ken… — Your voice was low, hoarse, a whisper that carried within it a plea and, at the same time, a veiled order. It sounded like a prayer, a desire materialized in words, angelic and overwhelming.

His eyes returned to yours, intense, as if those few words had crumbled any resistance he still had. But you didn’t stop there. Your expression softened for a moment before a bold smile appeared, echoing the energy he had exuded minutes before.

— I thought you wanted to fuck me. — The sentence came out with an almost challenging tone, as if you were testing his limits, playing the same game as him.

The smile that formed on Kendall's lips was slow, dark, a reflection of how those words had ignited something even fiercer inside him. In one decisive movement, he closed the distance between you, claiming your mouth with a kiss that was anything but restrained.

Distracting you completely, he took advantage of the moment when your attention was lost to slide his fingers deftly. The thin fabric was pulled aside without you noticing right away, giving him space to explore your hot, sensitive skin. When his fingers finally found the center of your desire, dragging slowly, collecting the moisture that revealed how much you wanted him, the sound that escaped your lips was involuntary — a low, hoarse moan, filled with pure need.

Kendall broke the kiss, but didn't pull away completely. His forehead remained pressed against yours, and your heavy breathing mingled with his, creating an intimate space, almost suffocating in its intensity. He continued the slow, mesmerizing movement, his fingers mapping every nuance of your reaction until, without warning, he positioned them at your entrance.

The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. From his point of view, it was a spectacle to see how your body reacted, arching involuntarily, as if you were offering yourself even more to him, silently begging him not to stop. When he finally invaded you with his fingers, a wonderful moan escaped you—a sound he had never forgotten and that seemed to echo in his memory, as addictive as the moment itself.

Your eyes closed as an automatic reaction, surrendering to the whirlwind of sensations. Your head fell back, leaving your neck exposed, while your body became a symphony of electric sensations. Every movement of his hand sent waves of pleasure through your body, making you move in tune with him, seeking more, wanting everything he could give. Kendall watched your every reaction as if it were a prize, his gaze fixed on the movement of your head, on the subtle tremor of your body under his touch. He wanted to prolong this moment, to engrave every detail in his memory. With his fingers still inside you, he began to move at a firmer pace, exploring your insides with precision, as if he already knew exactly where to touch to make you fall apart. “Look at me.” His voice came husky, low, almost a whisper. Your eyes opened slowly, meeting his. The dark, focused look he wore was almost overwhelming, but behind it, there was something else—pure admiration or a desire so intense that it seemed to swallow everything around it, including you. “Ken… Please…” Your voice came out almost as a whisper, a plea full of vulnerability and need. The weight of the moment felt overwhelming. Your senses were all focused on him; every touch, every movement made you lose any sense of control. Your eyes blinked erratically, barely able to stay open, while your vision began to blur. Your body gave him away in every possible way, especially with the way your walls contracted, revealing that you were reaching your limit. Kendall noticed immediately, and a slow, triumphant smile formed on his lips. He leaned closer, until his mouth was next to your ear. “You have no idea how much I missed this.” His voice was low, husky, almost a moan, but the words carried a weight that indicated how much he had stored up that feeling. Every syllable of his seemed to set something on fire inside you. But at that point, the world around you disappeared completely. You couldn’t hear anything anymore; everything was a blur of sensations and emotions. Your eyes rolled back with the intensity of the pleasure, and your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, almost to the point of tearing it. Kendall loved seeing you like this, so surrendered, so dominated by what he was doing. He left a wet kiss on your neck before whispering with a mixture of fascination and desire: “You’re perfect… absolutely perfect.” Your mind was already so far away, lost in the sensations that dominated your body, that nothing else seemed to matter, except the pleasure that flowed in waves across your skin. Suddenly, that sensation exploded, overwhelming and intense, and you lost all sense of control. Your legs trembled uncontrollably, and your body arched off the couch, as if you wanted to escape from yourself, your eyes closed and your voice released in loud moans, revealing how deeply you were immersed in that moment. Kendall watched you, amazed, as if he was unable to believe the raw and pure beauty before him. His vision was blurry, but the pleasure on his face made everything around him disappear. He kept moving, guiding you until the last bit of pleasure ran down your hands, as if he wanted to prolong that ecstasy, bringing with him the fabric that, by now, was completely soaked.

When he pulled away, it was with the same reverence that he treated the moment — amazed and cautious, but at the same time thirsty for more. He leaned over you, enchanted by the way you tried to catch your breath, as if the air had been knocked out of your body. He thought you would need some time, maybe some space to recover. But instead, you pulled him firmly, wrapping your hands in his hair, deepening the kiss with a fierce urgency.

He didn't have time to react before you pushed your body back, making him settle more comfortably on the couch. You stood up smoothly, with the confidence of someone who already had control of the situation, and settled on his lap, your defiant gaze like a flame that only intensified.

With a mischievous smile on your lips, you began to slowly unbutton his shirt, each open button a silent invitation for the next step. And, with a low voice, full of desire, you declared:

"You still have too many clothes on."

The desire in your gaze was immediate, and the tension in the air, palpable. He knew there was no turning back.

Of course, here's the continuation:

Kendall felt the provocation in your words as an irresistible invitation, and his body reacted instantly, a deep desire taking over every movement. With eager hands, he finished what you had started, taking off his shirt in a hurry, as if every second was crucial. The heat between you increased with each touch, with each shared sigh.

When the last piece of clothing was gone, he pulled you back into a deep kiss, more desperate now, as if words were no longer necessary. He wanted nothing more than you, the intensity of his desire reflected in every gesture, in every look. You let him guide you, but you also challenged him with your own will, your movements flowing in tune with his. There was no rush, but there was no hesitation either — just the certainty that this moment was just for you.

Your bodies met in a way that seemed to be the sole purpose of your existence at that moment. Pleasure took shape, amplified by the genuine connection that was established between you. Kendall's hands roamed your skin with reverence, while you, in turn, guided him with the same intensity, both immersed in the moment without any more worries.

The room was filled with sighs and moans, like a silent melody. Each movement, each touch seemed more meaningful, as if you were surrendering to an inevitable destiny, a destiny that only the two of you could understand. And when the climax finally arrived, it was like an explosion of sensations, where time and space ceased to exist.

Kendall, still panting, remained there, your bodies intertwined and heated, with the rhythm slowing down as you both tried to catch your breath. The silence between you was filled only by your irregular breathing and the distant sound of the city outside. He raised his eyes to yours, the usual intensity softened by something rare—a tenderness you had never seen before. Without saying anything, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss, this time slow and tender, as if the world outside didn’t exist, as if in that moment, only the two of you were real.

When he finally pulled away, just enough to look at your face, you laughed softly, breaking the silence.

“We should go to the bedroom now.” Your voice was low, almost playful, but without taking away the closeness between you.

He smiled, still with a trace of that expression that seemed reserved only for you, and nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He agreed, adjusting himself and closing his pants with quick movements. Then, before you could react or say anything else, Kendall wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly and standing up with one decisive movement.

You let out a surprised laugh, the soft sound filling the space around you, but you made no attempt to intervene. Instead, you let yourself be carried away, feeling safe in his arms as he walked towards the bedroom.

After getting ready for bed, the room was plunged into a peaceful darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. Kendall lay down next to you, watching as you snuggled into him, so naturally, as if the last few months had not created this distance between you. He could feel the heat of your body against his, your breathing slowing as sleep began to approach.

The silence was comfortable, but in his mind, emotions were a whirlwind. You were there. No matter how much reason screamed that maybe it was just for that night, his heart was filled with a deep satisfaction, almost a peace he hadn't felt in a long time. Having you so close, the way you always were, made him feel that, for a brief moment, everything was right in the world. Kendall couldn't take his eyes off you. Your relaxed face, your slightly parted lips, the way you moved to get even closer to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to record every detail of that moment, as if it were possible to keep it intact forever. She's back? — the question echoed in his mind, bringing a subtle fear, but he refused to let it ruin the moment. For now, you were here, and he would enjoy it as much as he could. He lightly ran his fingers through your hair, a touch so delicate that it was almost unnoticed, but for him it was another reminder that you were real. Finally, he settled in better, pulling you closer, wrapping his arm around you in an almost possessive gesture. A soft expression, almost of relief, took over his face as he felt your body mold itself to his.

“I missed you,” he whispered softly, almost afraid to break the spell of that night. Even without an answer, he knew you heard, or at least felt it. And that was enough.

The sound of your cell phone broke the cozy silence of the room, slowly pulling you from a deep sleep. Still a little groggy, consciousness came in fragments: Kendall’s shirt covering your body, the warmth of the bed that seemed more comfortable than anything else, and his rhythmic breathing beside you.

When you opened your eyes, you remembered where you were. Your phone was nowhere to be seen, which meant you had probably forgotten it in the living room. When you turned around, Kendall was still sleeping, his features relaxed, his breathing slow and even. His tranquility seemed rare, almost as if he were far from the weight he carried during the day.

You didn’t want to wake him. You quickly put on his shirt, feeling the soft, slightly looser fabric against your body, before going in search of your phone.

When you reached the living room, the state of things brought back flashes of the night before: the knocked over glasses, the dry wine on the floor, the crumpled pillows scattered across the couch and carpet, and your torn dress abandoned near your heels. You stopped for a moment, taking in the scene and feeling a slight blush rise to your face.

It wasn't just the mess that caught your attention — it was the weight of what it represented. The intensity of the night before seemed to be stamped on every detail, from the torn fabric to the marks on the couch.

It was then that you heard a noise coming from the kitchen, the clear sound of someone moving utensils. The team was already on the move. A touch of panic ran through your body when you realized that you were only wearing Kendall's shirt, and nothing else. Before anyone could notice your presence, you turned on your heel and ran back to the bedroom.

As you entered, trying to silence your hurried footsteps, Kendall spoke, taking you by surprise:

“What are you running away from?”

His hoarse voice, marked by sleep, carried an amused tone that disarmed you. You glanced at him quickly, still near the door, and found him half-lying down, his eyes half-open and a lazy smile that made him seem dangerously charming.

“I forgot to pick up my cell phone yesterday…” You answered, almost breathless, walking back to bed.

When you lay down, Kendall turned slightly, resting his head on his arm as he watched you. His eyes were intense, but there was no rush—just a calm admiration, as if he was absorbing every detail of you there.

“You know you look beautiful like this, right?” He said, effortlessly, with a low, serious voice.

The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a little beat. You didn’t answer, but your expression gave it all away. Kendall reached out, his fingers slowly tracing the line of your jaw, moving up to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen over your face. His touch was gentle, almost as if he feared breaking the moment. He leaned in, the movement slow and intentional, until his lips met yours. The kiss was soft, full of a silent affection that seemed to hold something deeper—something he perhaps didn’t yet know how to express. When he pulled away, you smiled softly, the heat of the moment still pulsing between you. He lay back down, pulling you close to him, and you snuggled into his chest, feeling the slow rhythm of his breathing. For a moment, everything felt right, as if the world outside had ceased to exist.

In the end, for Kendall it was like knocking on the doors of heaven asking to come back, and ending up being accepted back.

masterlist

[beyondthesefourwalls]

This Love Came Back to Me (5)

Summary: You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: second chance romance, language, allusions of smut and potential full smut, stalking, unhealthy obsessions, delusions of feelings, unwanted attention.

Part Five Word Count: 4.1K

Part Four :: Series Masterlist

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Friday couldn’t come fast enough, but when it finally did, Bradley felt like it dragged on forever. He hadn’t looked forward to a weekend this much in quite awhile, and he knew you were the reason. 

He hadn’t been able to see you since your date on Monday, having late nights on base the rest of the week. He had been tempted to make the 25 minute drive from his apartment to yours each and every night, but the notion of going too fast too soon had crept up in the back of his mind. You had settled into a relationship that felt stronger and more hopeful than what it had been seven months ago, but he was still mindful of the fact that it was, in some ways, new. 

But it was Friday, and you had plans to spend the weekend together again, and he couldn’t wait. He smiled even thinking about seeing you. The nightly phone calls you had all week were great, but they were nothing compared to seeing you in person.

He was on his way home now, windows down and tapping on the steering wheel in rhythm with the 80s playlist flowing from the speakers. You were coming to his place this time and he knew you wouldn’t be too far behind, having texted him when you left your office. 

Bradley’s smile slipped slightly as he thought about that. 

It had taken everything in him not to track that douchebag that you worked with down when you told him about the comments he had made to you on Monday, and then how he had almost certainly purposefully run into you. The thought of him physically touching you made him want to be sick. And then he had the audacity to send you flowers in return the very next day. 

It went beyond just not knowing how to take a hint, of that he was certain. He couldn’t wait for you to get out of there. He knew you had met with HR earlier in the week and that nothing had really come of it aside being told they’d “look into it.” It was frustrating, but he knew there was nothing he could do but be there as support. You had spent the week working on your resume and job hunting, one of the reasons he hadn’t pushed to drive out to you every night. He was just as anxious for you to find something new as you were. 

You deserved so much more than what you were getting. 

He had barely taken his shoes off once he was home when there was a knock on his apartment door. He opened it quickly, and he swore, you damn near took his breath away. For a moment, he couldn’t do much more than stare at you, standing there smiling at him, twirling your keys around your finger. 

“Hey there, Aviator.” 

Your voice broke him out of his stupor and he reached out. You giggled as he pulled you through the doorway and into his chest, the door slamming shut once you were inside. He kissed you firmly, tasting the sound of your laugh. 

“Missed you this week,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Yeah?” 

He shook his head at the shy tone you had adopted and kissed you again. He felt your grin get even bigger before you pulled away. Your gaze swept over him, and when you gave a low whistle, he felt a flush creep up his neck, even as he cocked an eyebrow.

“See something you like?”

“I never saw you in your uniform much,” you shrugged, eyes lingering on his pins. Your finger brushed over his last name. “You look good in khaki.” 

“You look good in anything.” 

He shot you a wink when you rolled your eyes. He squeezed your hip before letting you go, and you followed him further into the apartment. He asked you about your day as he grabbed you a glass of water. 

“Can we not talk about work tonight?” 

He set your cup down slowly in front of you, considering your question. You didn’t seem upset, or like you were avoiding talking about something. Your eyes were still shining and a soft smile remained on your face. So instead of pushing, he nodded.

“I have a proposition for you, then.” 

You looked at him curiously, and Bradley cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. It was something he had been thinking about all week, really. His friends had seen him leave the bar with you on Friday night, and he had strategically avoided all the text messages over the weekend aside from responding with a “I’m alive, but busy. See you at work.” in the group chat. He had arrived on base on Monday to a firing squad of questions. You had met all of his friends before, but Nat was the only one who really knew how hung up on you he had remained after your breakup. She was more cautious than the others in their excitement that he had gotten back together with you. It had taken a private conversation for her to show how happy she was for him; he was pretty sure he still had a bruise from where she had punched his arm when he jokingly cooed about her concern for his feelings.

Still, despite knowing all of his friends were supportive, he wanted them to see for themselves how happy you made him, how the two of you were good. Strong. And, if he was honest with himself, he selfishly wanted to show you off a bit, too. 

“How do you feel about going to the Hard Deck with me tonight? Phoenix and the rest of the guys will be there. We can stay in if you’d rather-” 

“Bradley,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his chest. Fond amusement was written all over your face as you nodded. “I’d love to.” 

___

Bradley was hit with a bit of deja vu when he walked into the Hard Deck later that night. He couldn’t help but think about how last week at this time, he was spotting you from across the bar before you beelined your way over to him and back into his life, tilting his entire world on its axis. The bar was just as crowded, but this time, he was walking into it with his hand clasped tightly in yours. 

He knew his friends were in the back corner that they’re always in. Slipping his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt, he started to pull you in that direction when you stopped him with your free hand wrapping around his arm. 

“Can we get drinks first?” 

Looking down at you, he noticed how your eyes were slightly wider than normal, and how you seemed to bounce on your feet a little before settling. 

You were nervous. 

For some reason, that made his heart skip a beat. 

He gave you a soft smile and cupped your cheek with the hand not holding yours, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Without a word, he changed direction and headed to the bar instead. You kept ahold of both his arm and his hand the entire time, but he didn’t mind a single bit. 

“Hey,” he murmured once Penny had set your drinks on the bar in front of you. He waited until you met his eyes to speak. “I’m really glad you’re here with me tonight, Bug.” 

Some of the anxiety on your face fell at his words, a breath of air leaving your painted lips. You pushed up on your toes to kiss him, pulling away way too soon for his liking. 

“Me too.” 

He held his bottle up between you with a wink, and you laughed lightly, clinking yours against it before you both took a sip. He arched his eyebrows in question and with another deep breath, you nodded. With a hand on the small of your back, Bradley guided you in the direction of his friends. 

It was obvious the moment you were spotted by the group of aviators. Loud calls of both of your names rang out, along with some obnoxious whistling that had him rolling his eyes. Everyone greeted you happily, a few of the guys even offering quick hugs. Nat’s the last one to approach, her eyebrow arched in a way that is so very Phoenix as she drew out your name. She smirked in Bradley’s direction before looking back at you.

“You didn’t learn your lesson the first time? This guy is a pain in the ass, but he’s your problem now. You can only return him once. It’s in the policy.”

He let out a breath of relief he didn’t even realize he was holding. You laughed, accepting the brief hug that his best friend gave you. 

“That’s okay,” you assured her, looking up at him briefly. “Guess I’ll just have to keep him then.” 

He smiled and shook his head, but his heart pounded in his chest and he felt warm all over from the implication of your words. 

It didn’t take long for you to get sucked into conversations. You really had gotten along well with everyone before, and it seemed like time hadn’t affected that, either. Bradley loved seeing you laughing and having fun, effortlessly fitting in with the people who he considered family and who meant the most to him. It just solidified what he already knew, which was that you were meant to be here with him. 

You finished your second drink about an hour later, and Bradley kissed your cheek as he said he would go grab another for the both of you. But you shook your head as you slid off the stool you had been sitting on, telling him that you needed to go to the bathroom anyway and would just grab another round on your way back. 

“I’ll go with you,” Nat chirped. He let out a soft “umph” when she shoved her pool cue in his chest, telling him to take over her game for her. You giggled softly as the two of you walked away. Bradley watched your back until you disappeared from view. When he turned back, everyone was looking at him with varying levels of amusement. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, prompting laughter. He rolled his eyes as he moved to take the vacated spot at the pool table, and after some expected teasing that he took proudly, the conversation shifted to the trip Coyote was planning on taking next month. 

It had been less than ten minutes, nothing to really be concerned about considering how busy the bar was, when Fanboy nudged his arm with a laugh. 

“Yo, Rooster. I think Phoenix is roping your girl into one of her bar fights.”  

Bradley’s eyebrows knitted together as Fanboy’s words registered, but once they did, he turned quickly to look where he was pointing. Red-hot anger surged through him as soon as he spotted you, because it wasn’t just anyone Phoenix was going toe to toe with - it was Paul.

The pool cue clattered to the ground and he was moving before anyone could say anything. 

Phoenix was standing beside you, an annoyed look on her face. But it was your expression that had him forgetting his manners as he pushed through the crowd.  You were holding your arm close to your chest, your mouth slightly opened in shock or disbelief or both. You looked startled, and your eyes were wide with something that looked far too close to fear than Bradley was comfortable with. 

When he was close enough, he could hear Phoenix spewing something about personal space. Similar to how he was with him last week, though, Paul was looking right past her with his focus trained solely on you. 

“Hey!” he called, and three sets of eyes plus a few onlookers turned to him as he stormed up. He pushed himself between you and the red headed man, effectively blocking you from view. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled out. 

Paul’s eyes widened at first, before a flash of anger went over his face that settled into a cool indifference much too quickly to be genuine. But he didn’t look surprised. Instead, it was like he had been anticipating this confrontation and had prepared himself. 

“I’m not here to talk to you,” he replied. He shifted like he was trying to peer around Bradley’s larger frame to see you, but Bradley mimicked the movement. Paul’s jaw ticked in annoyance. 

“Yeah, well you aren’t here to talk to her either,” Bradley snapped. His voice was filled with a steely determination that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard come out of his mouth. “You’ve bothered her enough.” 

“I’m not bothering her!” 

Bradley scoffed at the absolutely delusional words he was hearing. It was only your hands settling on his back and your body heat as you stepped closer that prevented him from completely losing it. He reached back to settle a hand on your body while keeping himself in front of you. His jaw clenched as he forced himself to take a deep breath. 

“Whatever little crush you have on her, you keep it to yourself from now on. No more coffees or flowers or any of that bullshit you’ve been pulling. Leave her the fuck alone. She doesn’t want you, man.” 

Paul finally stopped trying to look around and snapped his eyes to him at that. Gone was the indifference that was there before. What replaced it was something that had Bradley tensing even more. His eyes were cold, infuriated even. The red head huffed out an angry breath, his spine straightening as he took a step forward.

“And you think you’re good enough for her?” he hissed. His hands shot forward and pressed into Bradley’s broad chest like he was trying to push him, but the larger man barely budged. That seemed to just make him angrier and he repeated the motion. This time, Bradley pushed him back with the hand not touching you. Unlike him, the smaller man stumbled back several steps, nearly losing his balance. Bradley went to take a step forward as his anger surges, but your grip on him tightened, the fabric of his shirt clenched in your hands. He heard you whisper his name into his back, your tone urgent and pleading. 

“Please,” you said, “he’s not worth it.” 

The air was tense, and more than just those in their immediate surroundings had begun to notice the confrontation happening. Bradley kept his eyes trained on the person who had caused you nothing but stress and who had put the fear in your eyes, but it seemed the man in question had noticed how all of their friends had pushed through the crowd and joined them. It was clear whose side they were on, even if they had no context as to what was going on right now.

Still, though, it was like Paul was weighing his options and his chances as he glanced around. Bradley almost couldn’t believe it. 

“Is there a problem?”

Penny, as always, had impeccable timing. Payback and Bob moved to the side easily to let her through, and though she was speaking and looking at Bradley with raised eyebrows, he could tell that she knew it wasn’t him who was the issue. 

Before he could say anything though, Phoenix spoke up. 

“As a matter of fact, there is. This douchebag here doesn’t understand keeping his hands to himself or the word no. Rooster was just giving him a friendly reminder.”

Bradley’s nostrils flared and his fists clenched at the thought of him having touched you. The only thing keeping him from really reminding him was your forehead between his shoulder blades and the grip you had on him. 

Penny knew them all well enough to know they’d never bullshit her, so she simply nodded. 

“You disrespect a woman or the Navy in my bar, you buy a round. Since you seemed to do both without even bothering to start a tab, I’ll make it easier for you by telling you to get the hell out and not come back.” 

She only briefly looked at the outsider as she spoke to him. She nodded at the guys, instruction enough to make sure her orders were followed through; she knew they would - they always did, and this was one of their own. 

Perhaps the first smart decision he had made that night, Paul seemed to realize just how outnumbered he was. He spoke your name in a last ditch effort to get your attention. You pressed yourself closer to Bradley’s back at the sound of it. He was unmoving in front of you. 

“Go,” he growled out. “Now.”

He turned to leave with a sigh. Before he could get far, though, Bradley stepped away from you and grabbed his arm. He knew his grip was tighter than it needed to be by the way the smaller man winced. Good. He stepped up to him, leaning down to speak directly into his ear, his voice laced with venom and a clear warning. “You’re going to leave her the fuck alone, or you won’t be walking out of here next time. I can promise you that.”

Paul glared up at him, but Bradley knew he heard. He released his arm with a sneer and watched as he scurried away, Fanboy and Coyote following to make sure he left like Penny had requested. It was only once he saw them go through the front door that he turned, and as soon as he did, he had your face in his hands. 

“Are you okay?” 

You nodded, though your eyes were still wide as you stared up at him. He watched as you took a shaky breath and it took everything in him not to follow Paul into the parking lot and introduce him to his fist. But you were his priority here - you always would be. “Baby, what-” 

“That guy was a fucking creep and his beady little eyes might be in my nightmares now.”

Your eyelids fluttered shut at Phoenix’s words and you turned your head just slightly away from her and into his hand, like you didn’t want anyone to see your moment of weakness. He wondered if perhaps Paul would be in your nightmares, too, or if he already has been. He felt queasy at the thought. 

“I think we could use another drink after that,” Nat continued decisively, turning to you and asking if you were in. 

He didn’t take his eyes off of you and saw how you bit the inside of your cheek by how your lips pursed and how you took a deep breath in through your nose. He could practically see the calm mask drop over your face as you opened your eyes. You sent him a tight lipped smile and squeezed his wrists, nodding once.

He hesitated for a moment before he reluctantly let his hands drop from your face. 

You forced as much joy into your tone as possible, telling his best friend that another drink sounded like just the thing you needed. When the other aviators who had gathered dispersed either to the bar or back to their regular spot, though, Bradley held you back. 

“We don’t have to stay,” he assured you. Selfishly, part of him wanted you to say you were ready to go, so he could take you back to his place and hold you tightly for the rest of the night, assuring you but also himself that you weren’t hurt. But you shook your head at his words. 

“He’s not ruining this for me more than he already has. For either of us. Just….one more drink.”

He spoke your name gently and shook his head, not quite knowing what to say.

“Please, B.”

Your soft, quiet voice cracked slightly and your eyes were pleading with him, and god, Bradley hated this so much. He hated him so much. 

But he pressed a kiss to your forehead, breathing you in for a long moment as you clung to him in return. Then he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you back to where you had been sitting before, accepting the drinks that Nat had gotten for the both of you.

___

You were quiet on the drive back to his apartment. Too quiet, in a way that left Bradley feeling on edge and out of his depth. You had pushed through two more drinks at the Hard Deck, a smile on your face and laughing at everyone’s jokes as you stayed integrated into the conversations happening around you. It was almost like the altercation with Paul hadn’t even affected you, you were so convincing. But he knew better. He could see the way your eyes had darted more often than usual to the entrance, or how your brows knitted together in thought if you went too long without talking. 

You were both the strongest and the most stubborn woman that he had ever known, and it wasn’t until after Jake and Nat had both slunk off and the others were starting up another round of pool that some of your facade had faded. You had barely needed to say his name before he was leading you out of the bar after a few quick goodbyes. You had kept a tight hold on his arm as you walked toward the Bronco. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t surveying the packed parking lot more than he normally would, and he knew you were doing the same.

You kept your gaze out the window, your hands in your lap. He could hear the sharp snap, snap, snap of your hair tie against your wrist and finally Bradley reached over to place his hand over yours, stopping you from the unconscious coping mechanism you had. You didn’t say anything, but you turned your palm up and laced your fingers through his, squeezing his hand instead. He kept it there in your lap until he pulled into his designated parking space. 

You still didn’t look at him once he turned the ignition off, and Bradley felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin with how the silence was killing him. 

With a sigh, he climbed out of the car, walking slowly around the back of it to your door, trying to give you a moment by yourself, no matter how brief. 

He mustered a smile when he opened the door to the passenger side. You did your best to return the gesture, but it was half hearted. He was just extending his hand to help you out when you finally spoke. 

“I think maybe I should go back to my place tonight.” 

Your words made his heart stutter in his chest for all the wrong reasons. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, clearing his throat when the words got stuck in it. 

“Is that what you want?” he gritted out, trying his best to keep his voice neutral. It was the opposite of what he wanted - what he needed, truthfully. He had promised to do everything to support you, and he knew being alone was something you valued sometimes, but god damnit, the thought of you alone in your house as upset as what he knew  you were, even if you weren’t showing it, didn’t sit well with him at all. He wanted you here with him, just like the two of you had planned. 

He hated that dickhead for making you feel like this. He should’ve followed him into the damn parking lot. 

You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment, and when you released it from between your teeth, he could see how it wobbled.  Bradley’s heart clenched. 

“Not really,” you admitted, your voice cracking with the words.

“Then why?” 

You shrugged miserably, shaking your head. You didn’t say it, but he could make guesses as to what you were thinking. You were too much. You didn’t want him to see you upset. He shouldn’t have to put up with this. 

The possibilities were all bullshit and couldn't be further from the truth.  

Bradley took a step closer until he physically couldn’t anymore, blocked by the car frame. He brushed his thumb over your cheek and you leant into the touch, your eyes fluttering shut. 

“Come inside, Bug. Please.” 

You took a few deep breaths and his heart was in his throat until you finally gave a shaky nod and unbuckled your seatbelt.

------

Part Six :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: Does Paul give anyone else a serious case of the ick? I hope you enjoyed this one! Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement for posting more🖤

Thank you to Mak and Em for all of your help making this story come to life. And thanks to Mak for the AMAZING banner!

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[twstowo]

Chapter 1-1 [Sorceress!Yuu x OB!Characters]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: You escape a tower where you had been kept for years.

♡︎ This is the continuation from my other post.

♡︎To everyone that liked my previous post I just want to say that I love all of you and I hope the stars, planets and universe aligns so that your 2024 is the best ever <3

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Amidst the empty, snow-covered landscape of a long-forgotten winter, a figure draped in somber black attire crossed the fields. His stride cut through the pristine white expanse, his flowing locks of snow-white hair blending seamlessly with the wintry hues around him. The biting cold seemed inconsequential to this man, hardened by relentless training to serve as a guard in the court of the future king of Briar Valley. Yet, despite his noble purpose, he found himself far away from his liege, drawn back to rescue a friend lost in time.

A letter had reached him from the parents of Y/N, a childhood friend trapped within the confines of a tower nestled within the lands owned by the rich couple. Silver had always harbored reservations about the idea of a tower, but he understood his lack of power amidst the chaos that had consumed their younger years. When the plea arrived, urging him to free his friend, he couldn't bear to remain idle. He felt an undeniable pull, a yearning to reunite with a long-lost friend and perhaps seek forgiveness for the lost time that had passed between them.

With determination etched upon his face, he embarked on this solitary journey, fueled by the desire to not only free Y/N from captivity but also to rekindle the bonds of friendship and make amends for the years that had slipped away. Following the map enclosed in the letter, he ventured into an eerie, desolate forest marked by lifeless trees stretching endlessly. Encountering peculiar creatures and treacherous assailants along the way, he pressed on, unfazed by the perils that beset his path. His determination was unwavering; he had journeyed from afar, yearning for this moment since their last meeting.

With each cautious step, he navigated the labyrinthine forest, drawing closer to the rumored tower guarded by a mystical creature claimed to exhale azure flames, capable of reducing a person to ash in moments. Upon breaching the tower's threshold, he discovered an absence of both the fabled beast and his long-lost friend. The room that was purported to house them stood vacant, shattering his expectations and leaving him at a loss.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

You strode along a peculiar path strolling through the dreary expanse of the forest your parents had confined you to. Your memories were a fog, obscuring the reasons for your seclusion within the tower's confines. A nagging feeling warned against unraveling the mystery, urging you to steer clear of seeking answers. Lost in this unfamiliar realm, unexplored before now, you wandered alongside your feline companion, Grim.

"And where are we going?" Grim's fur bristled with frustration. It wasn't solely your desire to escape the tower that wearied Grim; the feline had grown attached to you and relished your notions of venturing beyond to explore the world. Yet, despite days of wandering, the two of you had found no exit from this enigmatic forest.

"Maybe we have been walking in circles?" Your words were hushed, uncertain whether this revelation would soothe Grim. After all, gazing out from the lone window in your tower room, the forest appeared endless, stretching far beyond the eye could see.

Traversing through the forest, you held onto the hope that eventually, some sign would emerge—a new path, a person, perhaps even an entire city. Your resolve remained unwavering; there was no turning back. The tower, a distant memory now, would never hold you captive again. Yet, a chill wind swept through the woods, prompting you to shiver uncontrollably. Your attire, comprised of aged white clothes salvaged from the tower's closet, and a weathered black cloak with a concealing hood, provided little protection against the elements. Grim, your mystical companion, often perched on your shoulders, found comfort in the cloak's embrace.

"If only there were another way to travel," you murmured, casting a glance at your magical feline, who rolled their eyes in exasperation.

"The great Grim isn’t going to carry you on his back!" His retort echoed through the trees, irked by the suggestion. Though capable of transforming into a formidable creature—once the guardian of the tower's confines—he seemingly preferred his diminutive feline form, much to your appreciation of his adorable appearance.

"Well, do you want to keep on walking forever? Because this forest doesn’t seem to ever end." you countered, feeling the strain in your feet from the prolonged confinement within the tower. Your pace had slowed considerably, akin to a sloth's lazy pace. Years of captivity had taken a toll on your body, and each step felt more arduous than the last.

Grim shot you a final glance, resolute in his refusal to transform into a means of transportation. However, he was not without alternative solutions, wielding his magical abilities to devise an unconventional plan. "Pick up that branch," he commanded, prompting your confusion regarding how a mere branch could aid your predicament. "Come on! The great Grim can't do everything alone!" His arms folded in impatience, urging you to comply. Reluctantly, you retrieved the branch as instructed.

Then, with an incantation from Grim, the ordinary branch underwent a peculiar transformation, morphing into a broom-like contraption. Its tips danced with vibrant, colorful blue flames reminiscent of Grim's ears.

"Holy Seven!" You gasped, seizing the strange broom with fascination, astounded by Grim's unexpected prowess. "This is incredible, Grim!" A wide smile graced your face. "But what on earth do we need a broom for?"

Observing your confusion, Grim sighed and facepalmed—acknowledging that your extended seclusion in the tower had left you unaware of certain common knowledge. Brooms, in many circles, were used for flying.

"This is our way out," Grim declared with a mischievous grin, while your eyes widened in apprehension at the revelation.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Flying on the broom turned out to be an ordeal far worse than sore feet. Each moment aloft sent shivers coursing through you, surpassing even the biting cold of the forest below. Gripping the broom with all your might, you clung to it for dear life, terror seizing your senses as Grim navigated the skies with what felt like reckless abandon. Refusing to glance downward, “Anything new?” you shouted for any updates, determined to keep your focus forward.

"New? Why not see for yourself?" Grim's laughter mingled with the rush of the wind as you struggled to maintain an upright position on the broom. Finally, compelled by curiosity, you dared to steal a glimpse below.

And there it was—a sprawling city sprawled beneath you. Its architecture, a symphony of white and red-hued houses, stood amidst fields of vibrant greenery. Everything appeared serene and harmonious, a stark contrast to the unfamiliar world you had known within the confines of the tower.

As Grim skillfully guided the broom downward, relief flooded over you as your feet finally met solid ground. The sensation of touching the earth after so long brought a rush of happiness, drawing curious gazes from the city dwellers around you.

"After my magnificent assistance, I think I deserve a reward!" Grim proclaimed, his smile wide with expectation. You anticipated the request that would follow. "The illustrious Grim demands a taste of tuna!" His expression held a note of insistence, and you recalled the gold objects you'd brought along from the tower, potential assets for earning some much-needed money.

As you and Grim strolled through the bustling town, you couldn't help but notice the vibrant attire donned by the locals—mostly shades of red. The surroundings were adorned with bushes filled with crimson roses, and the air carried the sweet aroma of baked goods. Selling your possessions yielded the necessary funds for sustenance, and you studied the shops in search of canned tuna. Yet, an enchanting sight halted your quest—a bakery showcasing tantalizing red cakes, their appearance strangely delightful.

Upon entering, a bell chimed, alerting the man at the counter to your presence. He was handsome, with short green hair and a welcoming smile that eased your nerves. Engaging with another person after such isolation felt foreign, leaving you momentarily speechless until he prompted a response.

“Anything you want?”

"Ah! I'd like to try one of those red cakes!" You pointed at the tempting treats, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as he chuckled at your reaction.

"You mean the strawberry tarts?" He retrieved one and continued, noting your apparent unfamiliarity with the locale. "You seem like you're from far away." Your attire betrayed your outsider status amidst the city's vibrant energy.

"I've come from afar." You approached the counter as he carefully packaged the tart. Tendering the money, you hesitated, feeling the weight of conversation hovering awkwardly between you. "This place looks... really lovely..." Social interactions were a challenge after your prolonged seclusion. How did people engage in conversation, anyway? But before you could melt into the floor you heard the sound of the bell again.

The atmosphere in the bakery shifted with the arrival of the hooded figure, their face concealed. While the kind baker engaged them in conversation, you found yourself growing anxious about Grim's whereabouts. Scanning the shop, your worry escalated until an odd noise drew your attention upward. To your shock, Grim perched atop the ceiling boards.

"Get down, Grim," you urged in a hushed tone, attempting to coax him back without drawing attention. But Grim, seemingly preoccupied with exploring, paid no heed to your plea. As he wandered, his paw accidentally struck a weak spot, causing him to tumble down.

Time seemed to slow as you witnessed the unfolding scene—a cinematic sequence unfolding before you. With a horrified scream, you watched as Grim fell down, ultimately landing on top the hooded figure, sending both crashing to the floor. The hooded stranger, now revealed his face in a dark shade of red, while his widened mad eyes looked at you. You tried to reach for his hand to help him get up but he slapped it away.

"You—" His voice quivered with rage. He scrambled to his feet, his fury evident as Grim sought refuge in your arms, fur bristling. "How... How dare you! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!" You watched as a strange collar appeard on your neck, and the red headed turned to the baker. Riddle's anger seethed as he addressed Trey, his voice tinged with frustration. "What type of customers are these, Trey? You really can't just let everyone enter inside here."

Trey, clearly unsettled by Riddle's outburst, attempted to placate the situation. "I'm sorry, Riddle. They seemed lost, and I thought—"

But Riddle, with a dismissive gesture, cut him off, his demeanor unyielding. "Don't make excuses. Just ensure this doesn't happen again." With an abrupt departure and a reproach directed at Trey, he left the bakery without sparing another glance in your direction.

Concern etched on his face, Trey emerged from behind the counter and approached you, “I’m sorry, Riddle tends to be a litle explosive”.

Grim, perched atop the counter, chimed in, expressing his outrage at Riddle's threatening demeanor. "A little?! It almost looked like he wanted to kill my Human!" Grim exclaimed, hands on his hips, clearly displeased with the understatement.

"Well, I suppose you could interpret it that way..." Trey's response was sheepish, scratching the back of his head. "This isn't an ideal introduction to the Queendom of Roses for you." He stated while eyeing the conspicuous collar around your neck,

“How do I remove this?” you inquired, only to be met with an unexpected revelation from Trey.

"Only Riddle can remove it."

"No way! He didn't even let me get a word in!" Your frustration was palpable, rejecting the notion that Riddle, the irate stranger, held the magic to removing the collar. “Does this mean I will have to live forever like this?”

“I propose we off this Riddle’s head ourselfs!” As Grim enthusiastically proposed taking matters into their own hands, suggesting an extreme solution, Trey visibly grimaced, swiftly dismissing the idea. Your irritation at Riddle's unreasonable behavior grew, feeling unjustly targeted for no reason.

“If you really want I can tell you were the collared people hide?” There was a questioned expression on Trey’s face, not knowing if that would lead you anywhere.

"Wait, there are more people collared by this guy?" The notion of indiscriminate collaring struck you as incredibly unjust. Despite your seclusion in the tower, the concept of such tyranny was abhorrent. "And no one opposes him?"

"That's because he's the future king of the Queendom," Trey revealed, stunning you with the revelation of Riddle's immense power. The gravity of the situation dawned on you—the consequences of opposing someone of Riddle's stature could be dire.

"Where can I find these collared people?" Your desperation for a solution became palpable, realizing that these individuals might hold the key to breaking the spell.

Trey hesitated, scratching his head, hinting at potential complications in locating them. “Well-”

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

By now, you found yourself aligning closely with Grim's idea. Approaching the other side of town, a large group of collared individuals welcomed you. What upset you most was the maltreatment endured by those with collars—those exempt from Riddle's special treatment mocked the collared ones openly. You, too, had been subject to their derisive stares upon exiting Trey's bakery.

Joining the group, you inquired about their experiences with the collars, growing increasingly dismayed at the absurdity of each story you heard.

"He's nothing but a spoiled brat!" shouted a man, his eyes ablaze with defiant confidence. "We ought to band together and overthrow him!"

"See? Even this human has good ideas," Grim chimed in, nestled on your shoulders. "We should support him." Before you could intervene, Grim walked towards the outspoken man.

"Look! A cat with blue ears!" The group stepped back, intrigued by the peculiar feline.

"A cat?! I am Grim the Great! The most powerful and magnificent—" Grim began, boasting about his grandeur until you scooped him up, silencing his self-praise.

"Is that so? If you're as remarkable as you claim, then I'm sure you'll assist us in dealing with Riddle," another voice chimed in. A man with dark blue hair approached, extending a warm welcome. "I'm Deuce. And you?" he asked, his smile inviting and soft-spoken.

"I’m Y/N, and this is Grim,” You pointed at your cute companion who rolled his eyes at Deuce. “we're here seeking any knowledge on how to remove my collar," you explained, only to be met with laughter from the surrounding group, leaving you wide-eyed with embarrassment.

"Don't mean to dash your hopes, but unless you find Riddle in an exceptionally good mood—" His expression conveyed the unlikelihood of such an occurrence. "There's no way to rid of the collar..." The sentiment elicited audible sighs from some listeners, conveying a sense of resignation.

Cursed be the day I left that tower. At least there, you wouldn't have been collared by some random tyrant. “So what is the plan?” Turning to Deuce, you inquired, prompting a shift in his expression, a broad smirk forming.

"Glad you asked. Follow me!" Deuce's demeanor took on a newfound enthusiasm as you trailed after him. Wandering through the streets led you to a peculiar forest, distinctly different from the lush greenery you'd seen while flying on the broom with Grim. This new place felt darker, stranger, and oddly familiar. After a brief walk, you arrived at a large table, adorned with teacups and scattered cake platters, as if a tea party were in progress. A man in purple attire with cat ears sipped tea while a red-headed individual seemed on the verge of pulling his hair out.

"Looks like we've got someone eager to join the party," Deuce announced, drawing the attention of the other two men toward you.

"Great, and what can they do? Unless that cat can shoot lasers from his eyes, I'm not interested in this recruiting thing anymore!" the red-headed man retorted, appearing ready to storm off.

"Relax, Ace," Deuce replied calmly, though his words seemed to only enrage Ace further, prompting him to hurl a cupcake at Deuce. "That's it, I'm tired of this—" Deuce rolled up his sleeves and advanced toward Ace, who stood up, poised for a confrontation.

"You're not from around here, nya~" The sudden, peculiar voice startled you so much that you jumped and let out a startled scream. Your heart raced, proving not quite resilient enough for these unexpected encounters. The owner of the voice chuckled at your reaction, appearing as nothing more than a floating head to your wide-eyed gaze. "Sorry, sorry. Why don't you join our tea party?" A phantom hand rested on your shoulder, though nothing visible was there.

"What... What's happening...?" Your voice quivered with uncertainty as the enigmatic cat-man guided you toward the table. Nearby, Ace and Deuce tumbled on the ground, their faces smeared with cake. "An invisible cat, two guys throwing cake at each other... What else will I see today? A caterpillar smoking?"

"Perhaps it'll show up later," the cat guy replied with a cryptic air, leaving you unsure if he was joking or being serious. "Now, tell me about yourself~"

As you recounted your tale, the tea grew cold, and Ace and Deuce, their attire adorned with grass and cake stains, eventually joined the tea party. You detailed your tower confinement, your encounter with Riddle, and your awareness of the collared individuals. Che'nya listened intently, hanging on every detail.

"And why were you locked inside that tower?" he inquired, his grin teasingly cheeky.

"That's a good question," you admitted, realizing it had been so long that you couldn't recall the reason. Vague memories of your parents bidding farewell as a man escorted you into a carriage, destined for the tower, flickered in your mind. Struggling to piece together the specifics, your memories remained frustratingly elusive. Sensing your silence, Che'nya spoke up.

"Are you familiar with a story about a sorceress locked inside a tower?" he inquired. The tale was unfamiliar to you; however, you felt his penetrating gaze, probing for any hint of recognition. "I suppose not, but it's curious how closely your story aligns with hers."

"What do you mean?" you inquired, puzzled by Che'nya's fascination with this fairy tale.

"You see, this sorceress was so powerful, surely her magic could break Riddle's," he explained. Glancing around, you noticed Ace and Deuce attentively absorbing Che'nya's words as if they were the most profound.

"So, you think I'm the sorceress?" you ventured, feeling a surge of uncertainty.

"No, that's impossible, nya~" He swiftly dismissed your suggestion, chuckling as if you'd said something ludicrous. "But what if she is listening to our conversation?" In an instant, his demeanor shifted to one of seriousness, eliciting audible gulps from Ace and Deuce, their expressions now reflecting horror at the possibility of an unknown presence among them.

"If she's here, why would she help me?" you pondered aloud.

"In the story, this sorceress is cursed to live forever inside a mirror. Only someone from outside can help her escape—someone she could trust. But she only trusts herself..." Che'nya paused, savoring the suspense, taking a sip of tea. "And the two of you seem to be the same person, just in different universes."

"This is the most absurd thing you've ever said, Che'nya," Ace scoffed, rising from the table. "If that were true, why does Y/N still have the collar?"

"Because she didn't try to remove it," Che'nya promptly replied, exuding confidence. His gaze flickered to you, almost challenging you to prove him right.

Your hand reached for the collar, not anticipating any change as you attempted to concentrate on the thought of it disappearing. With closed eyes, you visualized being alone, solely you and the collar. Yet, there was an intrusion, a presence beyond Che'nya's invisible touch—a touch woven of magic, immaterial yet undeniably real. When you opened your eyes, Ace and Deuce stared wide-eyed as the collar slipped from your neck and clattered to the ground.

“No way…” Deuce’s voice came as a whisper, frozen in place as he stared at the collar on the floor.

“That's great, now take mine off!” Ace dashed to you, seizing your hands and pressing them against his collar, a wide grin spread across his face. “C’mon! I have things I want to do!” Despite his selfishness, you complied, attempting the same method as before. You closed your eyes, focusing solely on the collar, anticipating the peculiar presence, but it never opened. “Why is it not working?”

“I don’t know…?” You were equally perplexed. Che’nya disregarded Ace’s complaints, briskly approaching you.

“Well, this is perfect! Now we just need to get you inside the palace!” Deuce stepped closer, expressing his surprise.

“Wait, Y/N will do that? I thought you wanted someone familiar with the layout and stuff!”

“No, Y/N is perfect for the job.” Che’nya's innocent smile transformed into a sly grin, leaving you bewildered at the sudden turn of events.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

♡︎Thank you for reading!

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