#that was crazy and I loved it so much I don’t even know whether I can even put it into words | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vibelladonna · 3 months ago

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✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Ah, kinks—something all humans have, especially those who read fanfics. I mean, who doesn’t love them? Whether it’s the soft, the spicy, or the downright unhinged, there’s always something that hits just right.

Let’s be real: scrolling through AO3, Tumblr, or Wattpad at 3 AM, looking for that one specific trope that scratches the brain itch?

Yeah, we’ve all been there.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet.

Hope you enjoy reading!

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with the man himself—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. Though the details are still unclear, he exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy.

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…)

For Crowe preferences!!

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished.

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender.

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after.

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment.

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment.

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin.

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew.

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore.

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer.

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable.

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy.

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down.

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions.

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous.

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache.

You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you with his cock, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His fingers tease your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want, love. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing down lightly as if testing the waters.

A soft moan released from your lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His soft gin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory.

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears running down your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him.

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you.

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences.

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor.

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability.

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there.

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed.

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching.

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares.

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away.

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break.

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior.

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable.

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable.

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it.

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

✑ Somnophillia

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend.

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you.

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you.

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.

God, he was losing it.

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further.

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly.

Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it?

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry!

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything.

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special.

So sacred.

There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Even the shadowed obsession that came with it.

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back crowe #the kid at the back sol #solivan brugmansia #jericho ichabod #tkatb #tkatb crowe #tkatb sol #the kid at the back vn #crowe ichabod #crowe x reader #sol x reader #sol brugmansia #tkatb vn #tkatb smut #tkatb head canons #tkatb x reader

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kissitbttr · 1 year ago

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flashing simon your titties in the middle of an argument

it’s the fourth time this week and he’s pretty much getting sick of your attitude.

whether it’s about the messy drawers, forgotten keys, not getting your fresh strawberries from the market and now, it’s about the new female recruit that seems to be enjoying flirting with your boyfriend and him not doing anything about it. of course you’re pissed! you’re allowed to.

“sweetheart” simon huffs out a sigh of annoyance, rubbing his hands all over his tired face. “for the fifth time… i wasn’t flirting with her”

a scoff escape your mouth. cocking one eyebrow while your arms are crossed over your chest. “i didn’t say you were. i said that bitch had her hands all over you and you didn’t do anything! she was batting her fake ass lashes at you too. jesus, her ass should got beat for that”

the sight of you getting pretty heated almost turned him on. almost. sure, you’re hot when you’re angry and usually he’d fuck you dumb to get that out of your system but this time? he’s far too exhausted.

“fuckin’ hell” he shakes his head in disbelief. “you know that’s not what happened. we were just talking.”

“i know what i saw-“

“don’t give me that!” simon exclaims, pointing his finger at you as he watches you give him a look of ‘oh you did not just do that’. “we were basically just talking, she was the new recruit. asking me about pointers.. and it was at the gala! what did you expect me to do?!”

you shrug casually, leaning against the kitchen counter. “poke her eyes with a fork”

“my god-“ he has to cut himself off before releasing a heavy sigh. eyes shutting briefly, head tilts to the back as he silently prays to whoever up there to give him enough strength to deal with you. “that would be illegal.”

“for you, maybe. i’d do it if you weren’t in my way.”

“that’s crazy” he answers, earning a look from you. “i didn’t say you are crazy! christ, woman!”

rolling your eyes, you huff. maybe you are overreacting but the thing is? you don’t want him to win. because in your head, you’re always right.

“so, what? you’re just going to let other female recruits feel you up too, huh? grab your biceps, twirl their hair when they look at you or maybe hey! you’d let them grab your dick too.”

“you’re unbelievable”

“me?! you are—“

“no! okay, you know what?! doll, i love you... i do so please never doubt me, yeah? but you can’t keep doing this, alright?! it’s not healthy! and if you—w-wait, what are you doing? wha-“

you lift your shirt up to flash him your naked breasts so he can shut up. and it worked. obviously. now, his eyes aren’t even looking at you but at his second favorite thing—after you— your lips stretch into a smirk when you see him freeze. jaw hanging open slightly.

“a-and you c-can’t” he gulps, becoming a stuttering mess as he struggles to maintain an eye contact. “c-can’t—like—just—fuck! this is unfair! what was i saying?!”

oh yeah, now you’re taking the W

did this once with my ex and got fucked lol

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley

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okwonyo · 2 months ago

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SUGAR TALKING ꒪ ✿⠀ making doe eyes at them.

TESTI ────── 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖾, 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝗅𝖾𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 !

❪ 日语 ❫ & fem!rea 1OOO fluff established relationship non-idol au ❜ skinship kissing ◜‿◝ REBLOGS&CLICK

지아 ⠀⦂⠀ since it won the poll :O

HEESEUNG

usually, he isn’t the the type to talk too much during movie nights. his hand always in yours as he watches the movie enthusiastically, never missing one bit of it.

but today it seems different— you don’t really know if it’s either because he is very passionate about this specific actor or if it’s because you called the said actor ‘hot’. but he won’t stop talking.

“seriously!” he huffs after a few seconds of calm. he smiles and shakes his head in fake nonchalance, “i don’t understand what he has that i don’t. do you prefe—”

the rest of his sentence dies in his throat when his eyes meet yours. you look at him wide eyed, with a little pout that makes his heart skip.

“shut up please,” you ask with a honey coat voice— his eyes grow wide. he is soon giggling, leaning on you, as if what you just said wasn’t almost an insult.

at least he stops talking.

⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹙ᵕ ᵕ⠀look under the cut ! ♡

JAY

it is not a secret that you can get anything you want out of him. whether it’s his money or the entire world— you ask and you shall receive.

therefore, you don’t need to do anything else but ask for something that you want. because you know you got him wrapped around your finger. and that, if you wanted the moon, then you will have the moon.

sometimes, however, there is things that can’t be bought or that are hard to ask for. today, you want his attention.

you decided to not go bother him as you usually do. no, you choose to stare at him from across the room with the most bambi looking eyes you could manage. he should have noticed by now.

the long silence is what alarms him. he looks over you quickly, “are you—” then he looks again and his mouth falls agape. he sighs fondly, “c’mere, baby,”

JAKE

it’s not your fault. it really isn’t. he shouldn’t have been so easy to tease in the first place. getting a blush out of him is too easy and he is way too lovely for you to control yourself.

and ever since he confessed that he loved when you looked at him with those yes— you cannot stop looking at him with those eyes.

for a while, he is too occupied on his phone to even notice. but when his eyes shoots up to meet yours, he immediately smiles.

instinctively biting his lower lip, he stays silent for a while before throwing his head back and whining, “stop doing that!”

your eyes keep watching his growing blush as you laugh, “like what?” and he groans.

SUNGHON

he swears you do it all the time, but the truth is that you don’t even know what he is talking about. he mays affirm that you play dumb in purpose— you don’t, you really don’t.

the thing is that, he would say that you are trying to seduce him whenever you try to do anything. you run a hand through you hair? you want to make out. you grin? you want him to kiss you.

you just assumed he was that down bad.

“you are playing with me,” he smirks, looking down at you. your bodies moves along with the train you are standing in. you were already looking at him, but now there is confusion in your eyes. “don’t look at me like that.”

“what?” you giggle. honestly, you didn’t even know you were looking at him. admiring him is natural as breathing to you, “are you crazy?”

“when you look at me like that,” he whispers as he leans in. your arms are hugging his waist, your head is all the way titled up and he is so handsome, “my heart beats with need.”

SUNOO

you know he doesn’t get mad often— even if he does act like he is. he is too much of a softie to even think of being annoyed with you.

more times than not, he gets sulky. lips puckered as he gives you the silent treatment. it is always for silly things, however, just because he loves when you ask him to talk to you.

“i love you,” you tell him, holding onto his arm. he doesn’t do anything, obviously hiding his smile—and failing. “look at me.”

he takes a deep breath before bringing his focus on your instead of the dishes in front of him. his eyes fall into yours, “stop,” he says. turning red.

he tries to keep his annoyed attitude as hard as possible. he starts to take care of the dishes in the sink again— as if, trying to distract himself.

he keeps peeking at you. unable to control himself, he ends up crumbling. he hides his face in the crook of your neck in embarrassment.

JUNWGON

“my love, i’ll have to go eventually,” his tone is soft, his chuckles makes it harder for you to even consider letting him leave the bed and let him leave you.

he is not even gone. he is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you. you hold his hand with both of yours— chasing after his warmth that you already miss.

you don’t really care where he is going, you want him here. you make the most adorable eyes you can put up, in a tiny voice you say, “can’t you stay a little longer?”

he seems a tad taken aback. on of his eyebrows shots up ever so slightly. pretty red lips forms a ‘o’ and his dimples smiles when he smiles.

gets back under the cover, close to you. he kisses you gently, “work can wait.”

RIKI

“leave me alone!” your boyfriend whines, faking annoyance. he is laying on your bed, next to your plushies, with his hands on your hips as you sit on

him. he acts like he wants to push you away but his grip is way too strong.

he gets up, rather abruptly, making you settle on his laps. he makes sure you are as comfortable as possible but holds your wrists when you try to reach his hair.

“just a few!” giggles makes your voice tremble. you try to get out of his handle but you can’t— he is much stronger that you, “please!”

he looks at the hello kitty hairpins in your hands with narrowed eyes. he doesn’t look against the idea at all, you know he just fights because of principle, “no!”

you tilt your head to the side slightly, the prettiest pout appearing on your lips. you look at him with a specific look— the one who made him choked on his drink the first time. “please, for me,”

you are already wearing a victorious grin as soon as he groans. he ends up with more than just a few hairpins in his hair.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

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solxamber · 6 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Villain System vs World - Riddle Rosehearts x reader

You have a guilty pleasure: trashy villainess stories. So when you die a frankly, humiliating death, and end up in one of the worst ones you've had the pleasure of reading, you're in denial. Then the villain system shows up. Well, there goes your second chance at life So what do you do now? Do villainous things and cause as much chaos as you can, of course. And maybe, just maybe, bag the male lead, Riddle Rosehearts while you're at it.

i had so much fun writing this, i hope you like it just as much!

Series Masterlist

You’ve had a week. Not just any week—a rough week. Work has been an absolute dumpster fire, deadlines have been chasing you like a pack of rabid wolves, and your responsibilities are piling up like a game of Jenga about to collapse. If someone were to ask how you’re doing, you’d just laugh maniacally and hope they’d back away slowly.

So, when you finally make it home, the first thing you do is collapse face-first onto your couch with all the grace of a dead fish. After a moment of just lying there, contemplating whether adulthood is some kind of elaborate prank, you do the one thing that always makes you feel better: grab your phone and open up your webnovel app.

You scroll through your favorites—ah yes, the classics. Trashy, absurd, villainess webnovels that are objectively terrible but subjectively amazing. You’re talking about the ones with titles like “I’m the Evil Duke’s Twisted Ex-Fiancée, But He Loves Me Now Because I Have Plot Armor!” or “My Death Flags Mean Nothing Because I Can Charm My Way Out of Everything (And Also, Dragons)”.

It’s like junk food for your brain. You know it’s not good for you. You know there are objectively better stories out there. But the drama, the ridiculous misunderstandings, the sheer stupidity of every character decision—it’s beautiful. It’s a hot mess, and you are the fly drawn to it.

Except this time, you somehow pick the worst one.

You don’t know if it’s because your standards are already on the floor and this one somehow dug under it, or if the exhaustion has finally gotten to you, but it’s bad.

The story is all over the place. The villainess is cartoonishly cruel, like she wakes up in the morning and thinks, “What heinous thing can I do today?” But sometimes, you swear she doesn’t even want to be that way. It’s like the author just decided, “Villainess = bad,” and put their brain to bed.

The plot? Oh, it’s a mess. The villainess and heroine are sisters—the real daughter of a Duke and the adopted, sweet angel who gets all the Duke’s affection. Naturally, they both fall for the same guy: Riddle Rosehearts, some prodigy with a complex about rules, order, and justice. Of course, the Duke arranges for his precious adopted daughter to marry Riddle, and the villainess? She flips out, does a bunch of cruel things (of course), and eventually gets herself killed in a totally overdramatic fashion.

Okay, typical villainess plot so far. Nothing new there.

But the worst part? The treatment of poor Riddle. It’s like he’s just a toy to be fought over. The sisters practically claim ownership of him like he’s a fancy handbag. Then, once the villainess is conveniently eliminated, the author gives Riddle this tragic backstory. Harsh childhood, crazy controlling mom—you know, the works. You brace yourself for the resolution, for him to rise above his traumaand find happiness.

Nope. His trauma is treated like a joke. Nothing gets resolved. He’s just stuck in this gilded cage, with the heroine taking over as the new warden. And somehow, that’s supposed to be the happy ending?

It’s horrible. It’s nonsensical. It’s everything you could want right now.

You should stop. You know you should stop. But the sheer absurdity of it has you in its grasp.

And you don't even want to think about the love decagon. Yes, decagon. There are 9 men dying over this heroine who has the personality of rusty spoon.

You snort, your laughter echoing through your empty apartment. It’s awful. It’s brain-rotting, cringe-inducing garbage.

You love it.

The plot is hanging on by a thread, and yet, there you are, fully committed. You don’t need quality writing, deep themes, or even consistent character motivations. What you need is to watch this trainwreck unfold until the bitter end, and you’ll be damned if you don’t see it through.

But that’s when the universe decides to kick you in the teeth. In a sequence of events so absurd you couldn’t make it up if you tried, you—oh, wait for it—die. And not in some grand, noble fashion, either. You slip on some residual shampoo on your bathroom floor, and fall face first onto a tap. Ouch.

Really?

Out of all the dramatic, swoon-worthy ways to die, like saving a kitten from a burning building or sacrificing yourself for someone you loved, you went out like a fool. A shower slip. One minute you’re standing, and the next, you’re faceplanting like some poorly executed slapstick scene.

And then, boom. Everything went black.

Which brings you to now. You feel odd. The texture of the sheets beneath you isn’t quite right. They’re silkier than the cheap cotton sheets you usually wrapped yourself in before bed. The air smells... different too. Not to mention, the bed feels way bigger, and you’re nestled in something way too plush to be your beat-up old mattress.

You bolt upright, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the room. You squint around and your eyes widen. This is… not your room. Gone are the band posters, the laundry in the corner, and your trusty alarm clock with the missing buttons. Instead, you’re surrounded by opulence: heavy velvet drapes, an intricately carved wooden dresser, and a huge vanity covered in jewels.

Your heart drops.

Slowly, you lift your hands. They are... not your hands. These are dainty, perfectly manicured hands. No chewed-off nails. No pen smudges from your hours of work. Just smooth, perfect fingers, topped off with the exact kind of expensive manicure you'd normally cringe at paying for.

No. Fucking. Way.

Frantically, you throw the blankets off yourself and scramble to the nearest mirror. What you see staring back at you isn’t your own reflection.

“Oh. My. God.”

You’ve been isekai’d. Into a webnovel.

And not just any webnovel. No. The terrible one you’d been reading before your humiliating death. You’re in the body of the villainess, the character who was basically a walking disaster from beginning to end. Not to mention, she was set to die a very messy, very public death within a few weeks.

“Oh god. I’m screwed.” You pace around the room in a panic, wringing your hands together. “How am I supposed to survive this? I can’t be a villainess! I don’t even like drama!”

You glance around desperately for something, anything that will give you some semblance of control over the situation. This can’t be happening. Maybe this is all a weird dream? You pinch yourself. Hard.

“Ow.” Nope. Definitely not a dream. Just your reality. Fantastic.

Then, you spot it. A glowing screen, floating mid-air right next to your head.

The classic system menu, like the ones from every villainess isekai you’ve read.

Except, instead of comforting you, this one makes you want to scream. Because in glaring red letters, it says:

“Villainess System Activated! Complete your tasks or face severe consequences.”

You blink. “Consequences?”

A new notification pops up, smug as hell. “Severe punishment will be dealt if you fail your villainous duties."

Oh, great. You’re trapped in a parody of an isekai where you not only have to survive as the villainess, but also complete quests like some twisted game. Lovely.

You stare at the system menu. “This is going to be fine,” you mutter, trying to convince yourself. “I just have to do the opposite of whatever got this chick killed. Just... stop being a jerk, right?”

But no sooner do you say that when the system blinks and pops up your first quest:

“System: Ruin Lady Heron’s Garden Party. Reward: 50 Villain Points.”

Are you kidding me?

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Okay, but hear me out,” you say to the system like it’s a person you can negotiate with. “What if I ruin it... with a compliment? Like, I tell her that her flower arrangements are so beautiful that she faints from the shock?”

The system’s reply is immediate: “Invalid. Must complete task in line with villainess behavior.”

“Oh, come on!” You pace the room again, muttering under your breath. “Fine. You wanna play it like this? I can play.” You crack your knuckles. “We’ll see who outsmarts who.”

The next hour passes in a whirlwind of panicked planning. You’ve read enough villainess novels to know the basic rules: never do what you’re supposed to do, but always make it look like you are. It’s malicious compliance at its finest.

So, when you arrive at Lady Heron’s garden party, dressed to kill (because apparently that’s a thing villainesses do), you’ve already concocted your plan.

The system wants you to ruin the event? Fine. But you’ll do it your way. You compliment Lady Heron’s flowers with the fakest smile you can muster, pouring on the charm. You gush about her decorations until she’s practically glowing, all while subtly steering the conversation away from the usual petty gossip that gets the villainess in trouble.

Instead of sabotaging the food, you pretend to be horrified when the catering staff makes a small mistake, swooping in to save the day and looking like a hero in the process. And as for the “accidental” tripping of the host’s dress that was supposed to happen? You deftly catch her instead, earning surprised gasps from the crowd.

By the end of it, the system’s fuming, and you’re basking in the glory of having completed your “villainous task” without actually being villainous.

Malicious compliance for the win, you think smugly.

The system didn't like your attitude and it wants it to be known.

"System: Next quest: Defeat the chicken in the garden."

No problem, right? It wasn’t like you were going up against a raging dragon or anything. It was just a chicken. A harmless little chicken.

Wrong.

You found yourself standing in a dusty barn, staring down the most demonic creature you’d ever seen—a puffed-up, red-eyed chicken with an attitude problem. This thing wasn’t just any chicken; it looked like it had gone ten rounds with a tiger and won. Twice.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you muttered under your breath, rolling up your sleeves as the chicken fluffed its feathers like it was about to brawl. You eyed it warily. It eyed you back, and for a second, you swore you saw flames in its eyes.

"System: Quest update: —Defeat the Chicken of Doom!"

Chicken of Doom? You squinted at the thing. “You could’ve warned me, you know.”

"System: Where’s the fun in that?"

The chicken let out an ear-splitting squawk and lunged at you like a tiny, feathered fury. You dodged, barely, as it pecked the air where your face had been a moment earlier. This was no ordinary chicken. This thing had skills.

You scrambled out of the way, trying to think of a strategy that didn’t involve you getting pecked into oblivion. “System! Any tips here?”

"System: Aim for the legs. That’s where the power is."

The legs? You glanced down at the chicken’s scrawny legs. “I’m pretty sure it’s coming for my face, not my ankles!”

"System: Well, you could always just run. But that’s not very villainous, is it?"

“Oh, you are the worst,” you grumbled as the chicken made another wild leap for your head. You ducked, grabbed a nearby rake, and swung it around like a makeshift sword. “Alright, chicken. Let’s dance.”

What followed was an embarrassing display of you flailing around the barn, trying to fend off this demonic poultry with a rake while the system laughed at you from the sidelines.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of dodging and weaving, you managed to hook the rake around one of its legs, pulling it off balance. The chicken flopped onto its back, flailing wildly as it squawked in outrage. You quickly pinned it down with the back-end of the take, panting heavily.

"System: Congratulations! Quest complete. 50 Villain Points awarded."

You glared at the system’s message. “I better get more than 100 points for this. I deserve a medal.”

"System: How about the satisfaction of knowing you just defeated the Chicken of Doom?"

You groaned, wiping sweat from your forehead. “Next time you send me on a quest, can it be against something less likely to murder me? Like a butterfly?”

"System: No promises. But look on the bright side—you’re officially undefeated in chicken combat. And you now are +50 Villain points richer"

“Fantastic,” you deadpanned, finally letting the defeated chicken hobble away with its dignity intact. “Just what I always wanted to be known for.”

You walked out of that barn a little wiser, a little bruised, and a lot more wary of small farm animals. From that day forward, chickens were officially your sworn enemies.

Villain points: 100

You were still in denial that you were in that novel. But what's a better wakeup call than running into the main lead? The guy who the story revolves around, Riddle Rosehearts.

You had decided to take a stroll in the academy's gardens when a loud squeaking noise caught your attention.

Turning the corner, you stumbled upon a scene that confirmed your worst fears: Riddle Rosehearts, was hunched over a small enclosure, tending to a couple of prickly hedgehogs.

“What in the world…?” you muttered, leaning in closer. Riddle was meticulously checking their little habitats, his brow furrowed in concentration. You had to admit, he looked oddly cute.

As you watched, one of the hedgehogs—who seemed to have more ambition than sense—decided to attempt an escape. It made a daring leap right off the side of the table, and you could practically hear the collective gasp of the students around you. Time slowed as you saw the tiny creature plummet toward the ground.

No!

Without thinking, you launched yourself forward, arms outstretched, preparing to catch the little spiky ball of chaos. You almost made it, but instead of a graceful landing, you miscalculated and ended up face-first in a pile of fallen leaves, with a hedgehog landing right on your back.

Riddle’s eyes widened in shock. “What are you doing?!”

With the hedgehog squirming atop you, you tried to push yourself up. “Just… saving this little guy,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. The hedgehog seemed to be enjoying the view from its leafy throne, completely unfazed by the near disaster.

“Are you okay?” Riddle asked, half-concerned, half-amused as he stepped closer. You could see a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, which was both infuriating and endearing.

“Yeah, just a minor case of heroism!” you replied, attempting to sound cool while still half-buried in leaves. “No big deal. Just saving lives one hedgehog at a time.”

The students around you started whispering, some trying to hold back laughter. Riddle, however, seemed genuinely impressed, his cheeks turning a shade of red that almost matched his hair. “Uh… thank you?” he said, fumbling for words. “That was… very quick thinking.”

As you finally managed to roll over, the hedgehog took that moment to scuttle off your back, plopping down on the ground with a little thud. You turned to Riddle, brushing leaves off your shirt. “Yeah, well, it’s what I do best. Hedgehog rescuer by day, unremarkable student by night.”

Riddle blinked, processing your words while his face continued to betray a mix of flustered admiration and confusion. “You… you look quite cool doing that,” he said, almost to himself, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You smirked, enjoying the moment. “Cool? Well, thank you.”

Riddle opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly flustered. “Right… um, thank you again. I usually prefer to do everything by the book, but you… you have a knack for chaos.”

“Just trying to shake things up a bit!” you replied, grinning. “Besides, what’s life without a little excitement?”

His face turned an even deeper shade of red, and for a moment, you thought he might actually explode. “Excitement is… not exactly my strong suit,” he admitted with a seriousness that almost made you laugh.

Just then, Cater called out, “Hey, Riddle, are you blushing over there?”

Riddle straightened up, all business once more. “I am not blushing!” he snapped, though it only made the others laugh harder.

You couldn’t help but chuckle yourself. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s very becoming.”

At this point, he was trying desperately to regain his composure, his usual dignified self crumbling under the unexpected twist of fate. “Right, well… um, thanks for your help,” he stammered, trying to pivot back to his hedgehogs as if that would restore some order to his day.

“Anytime!” you replied cheerfully, already plotting your next move in this wild webnovel world. After all, you might just have to become the chaotic force that turns Riddle’s world upside down.

As you left him there, you couldn’t help but think—yup, you were definitely in that webnovel. And you were not hating it.

"System: New quest: Sabotage the dinner. +100 points"

Oh this was a quest you were willing to do even if the system didn't ask you to. All you need to do was question your darling sister's yapping and you'll be set.

The dinner is going about as smoothly as you’d expect a social gathering could in this godforsaken story. Which is to say, not smooth at all.

You’re sitting at a long, polished table that looks like it’s seen better days—probably because it's held together by the sheer willpower of outdated noble customs. Your dear sister, the illustrious heroine of the world, is seated at the opposite end of the table, positively glowing in her usual self-absorbed way, surrounded by a gaggle of male leads that have somehow become entangled in her web of charm. Including, of course, the third male lead, a guy whose name you don’t even care to remember, but who keeps giving you condescending looks from across the table.

Your father, seated next to her, is smiling like he’s watching his favorite child perform in a school play. Every time the heroine opens her mouth, he’s doting on her with embarrassing enthusiasm, nodding along like she’s spewing pearls of wisdom when, in reality, it’s more like dribbling out some very glittery, very ignorant garbage.

“Oh, Father,” your sister begins, in that overly sweet, almost nauseating voice of hers. “Did you know that dandelions are actually a type of flower? Most people mistake them for weeds, but I just find them so fascinating.”

You internally groan. Seriously? Dandelions? That’s the big revelation she’s bringing to the table tonight?

Your father beams at her, his eyes twinkling as if she’s just solved world hunger. “My dear, you’re so clever. It’s amazing how much you know!”

Ace, seated next to you, nearly spits out his water. You glance at him and catch the barely-restrained laughter on his face, which only makes you want to snicker along with him.

You give him a look that says "brace yourself."

You lean forward slightly, your face the picture of politeness, and say with a small smile, “Well, technically, dandelions are considered invasive species in most gardens. I suppose calling them ‘fascinating’ is one way of putting it.”

Your sister blinks at you, clearly confused by the subtle jab, while Trey—who’s seated beside Riddle—hides his smirk behind a delicate sip of wine. You catch a glint of amusement in Riddle’s eyes as well. Even he seems to be enjoying this trainwreck.

The heroine, though, refuses to let her utter lack of botanical knowledge slow her down. “Oh, well, I was just trying to emphasize how misunderstood they are! Like, did you know dandelion tea is supposed to help with digestion?”

You can’t help yourself. “Is that why you’ve been so full of it lately?”

There’s a loud snort from Cater, who quickly covers it up with a cough, but not before giving you an encouraging grin. Deuce’s shoulders shake as he tries to hold back laughter, while Ace is full-on grinning at the chaos you’re creating. Trey is still playing it cool, but you know he’s on the verge of losing it too.

Your sister pouts at you, her lower lip trembling like she’s about to burst into tears. Oh, here we go. The waterworks. But honestly, you’re not about to feel guilty for calling her out when she practically walked into it.

“You always have to be so mean to me,” she whines, her voice wobbling dramatically. “I was just trying to have a nice conversation!”

Your father, predictably, jumps to her defense. “Now, now,” he says, giving you a stern look. “There’s no need to be so harsh with your sister.”

Harsh? Oh, please. If this is what he considers harsh, he clearly hasn’t spent much time around actual harsh people. Not that you’re about to say that aloud, of course.

“Apologies, Father,” you say, trying to keep your tone as neutral as possible while still dripping with passive-aggression. “I’ll be sure to keep my comments to myself next time.” You pause for a beat, and then add with a pointed look, “Unless, of course, they’re about real flowers.”

Cater and Ace lose it, full-on laughing at this point, and Deuce isn’t far behind. Even Trey is chuckling softly into his drink.

And then—oh, wait, is that a smile on Riddle’s face?

It is.

Holy crap.

For the first time since this disaster of a dinner started, you see a genuine smile tugging at Riddle Rosehearts’ lips. It’s small, but it’s there. And it’s directed at you.

Well, well, well, you think. Who knew I’d get the tiniest bit of amusement out of the stoic redhead tonight?

Riddle’s mother, who has been sitting quietly at the head of the table this whole time, seems to notice as well. She raises an eyebrow at you, and while she doesn’t say anything, the slight nod of approval she gives is as close to praise as you’re ever going to get from her.

Meanwhile, your sister has resorted to dabbing her eyes with a napkin, and the third male lead looks like he’s about ready to crawl under the table and disappear. Honestly, with the way his face is turning red, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just bolted for the door.

As the heroine sniffles dramatically, trying to regain her composure, Riddle’s mother clears her throat. “Perhaps it’s time we moved on to the next course.”

You sit back in your chair, feeling rather pleased with yourself. You’ve always known how to work a room, but this? This was practically a performance art piece. A subtle roast of the dinner party’s most insufferable members, all without breaking a sweat.

Trey gives you a subtle thumbs-up from across the table, Cater is still grinning like an idiot, and Ace is wiping tears from his eyes. Even Deuce looks like he’s enjoying himself more than usual.

And Riddle? He’s still smiling.

All in all, you’d call this a successful dinner.

"System: +100 points"

Villain Points: 200

You reached a compromise with the system during a mind numbingly boring tea party. You were doing your best to sit there with a polite smile plastered on your face while your sister droned on about her latest dress, but all you could think about was the fact that there were probably better uses of your time—like, say, literally anything else. Maybe you could fake a sudden illness and make a run for it? Or trip over a conveniently placed teacup and disappear into the shrubbery?

And that’s when you heard it.

"System: New Quest—Make it through this tea party without falling asleep. Reward: Not looking like a complete fool."

You almost snorted out loud, but quickly caught yourself. Great, the system is back at it again with these stellar rewards.

Gee, thanks, system. Truly motivating stuff.

"System: Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want something better? How about I throw in 50 Villain Points?"

Your eyes widened. Wait, 50 Villain Points just for not dozing off during this boring nonsense?

"System: Well, technically, you just have to stay awake. I never said you couldn’t look bored out of your mind."

You grinned slightly, trying to hide your amusement behind your teacup. You’re starting to grow on me, you know that?

"System: Likewise. I must say, I didn’t expect someone like you to actually stick with me this long. Most people would’ve either ignored me or gotten themselves killed by now. But you? You’ve got potential."

Aw, stop, you’re gonna make me blush.

"System: I’m serious! You’ve got guts. You think outside the box. You’re not afraid to bend the rules a little. And that’s why I’ve got a proposition for you."

You leaned back in your chair, intrigued. Oh? Go on, I’m listening.

"System: Here’s the deal—I’ll start giving you quests that aren’t designed to get you killed or humiliated beyond repair. In exchange, you have to promise to actually follow through on them. And I don’t mean half-heartedly—I want 100% commitment. Deal?"

Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying you’ve been giving me death traps this whole time?

System: Well… not death traps, per se. More like… character-building exercises.

I swear to God, system, if you ever make me fight a rabid chicken again—

"System: That chicken was a necessary evil! Character development! But fine, fine. No more chickens. Only reasonable, non-lethal missions from now on. What do you say? Partners in villainy?"

You tapped your chin, pretending to mull it over. Hmmm… sounds tempting. But what’s in it for me besides the joy of your sparkling company?

"System: Oh, you know, the usual—power, influence, fame, and fortune. Plus, I’ll throw in some juicy blackmail material for when your sister inevitably gets on your nerves again."

Your grin widened. Now that is the kind of offer I can’t refuse.

"System: That’s the spirit! Now, first mission as my official partner: Sabotage your sister’s next grand entrance. Nothing too catastrophic—just a little stumble, maybe some ruffled feathers. Keep it classy."

And just like that, you and the system were officially besties. It was weirdly comforting knowing you had a sarcastic AI watching your back—and occasionally messing with your enemies. Sure, it might’ve been the weirdest friendship ever forged in the history of villainy, but hey, you’d take it. You’d never be bored again with this delightful chaos agent in your corner.

As you left the tea party with your head held high, the system chimed in one last time.

"System: By the way, next time your sister brags about her shoes? “Accidentally” mention that those went out of fashion last season."

You smirked. Oh, system, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

+50 points, + 1 extremely powerful ally.

Villain points: 250

It was supposed to be a peaceful afternoon. You had gone into the library looking for a quiet place to relax after a long day of trying to stay out of family drama. But of course, there was Riddle, hunched over a mountain of books with his hands gripping his hair like it had personally wronged him. Not to mention, your sister was sitting nearby, yammering on about… something. Something that was definitely not helping Riddle’s clear state of panic.

As soon as you walked in, your eyes locked with his, and in that instant, you could practically hear his brain screaming for help. It was a silent plea, one you couldn’t ignore.

With a sigh and a bit of a smirk, you sauntered over, interrupting your sister’s endless tirade about her latest frivolous pursuit. “Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” you said brightly, grabbing Riddle by the arm and pulling him up from his chair before he could protest.

Your sister blinked at you, clearly thrown off by your sudden intrusion. “Excuse me, we were in the middle of an important conversation—”

“Were you though?” You raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure Riddle needs a break. He’s been studying for hours, right?” You didn’t wait for an answer, instead giving Riddle a quick nudge. “Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”

To your relief (and amusement), Riddle offered no resistance, letting you whisk him away from the library and your sister’s insufferable voice.

Once you were safely in one of the quieter gardens, Riddle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know how much more of that I could’ve handled. Thank you.”

“No problem. Honestly, I did it for my own sanity too,” you chuckled, leading him to a bench under a shady tree. “But seriously, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Riddle’s face flushed a bit as he glanced away. “I’ve been… focused. There’s a lot to cover.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you replied dryly, nudging him to sit down. “But if you don’t rest, you’re going to burn out. Even someone like you can’t run on fumes forever.”

He hesitated for a moment but eventually sat down, clearly too tired to argue. “I suppose you’re right…”

Riddle leaned back against the bench, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. You thought he’d sit there for a few minutes, maybe catch his breath, and that’d be it.

Except he didn’t just catch his breath.

Nope.

Instead, Riddle Rosehearts, the pristine, perfectly poised model student… fell asleep on your shoulder.

And you? You froze.

Oh no.

Oh God.

What do I do?!

Your mind spiraled as you sat there, staring at the top of his bright red head resting comfortably against you. You were acutely aware of the warmth of his body pressed against your side, his quiet, steady breathing, the softness of his hair—

Wait. Why is his hair so soft? It’s like spun silk.

Does he use some kind of magic conditioner? Should I ask him for hair care tips?

No, focus! Focus!

You peeked down at him again, and he looked so peaceful, his usual stern expression completely relaxed. You could feel your heart racing, and the logical part of your brain screamed at you to keep it together, but the other half—the half that was currently hyper-aware of Riddle’s head resting on your shoulder—was completely losing it.

Is this what bliss feels like? Is this how people write poems? “Oh Riddle, how thou art like the setting sun, warm and brilliant yet—WAIT, what am I thinking?! I am losing my mind! THIS IS BAD!

But also… very, very good?

You glanced around nervously, wondering if someone might see this. Would this look weird to people? Am I weird for not moving? I can’t move. He’s asleep. If I move, he’ll wake up and think I’m a weirdo for staying so still and letting him nap on me like this. Oh God, what if he thinks I’m weird?!

But even as your brain launched into a full-blown existential crisis, you couldn’t deny how nice this felt. Riddle looked so soft—so vulnerable—and for once, he wasn’t burdened by the weight of expectations or responsibilities. He was just… Riddle. And that made something inside you feel oddly tender.

Your gaze softened as you looked at him. Maybe this isn't so bad. Maybe I could get used to this. Maybe—

Then, without warning, Riddle stirred, shifting slightly before blinking his eyes open. He looked groggy for a second, but as soon as he realized where he was—where you were—his entire face turned scarlet.

“Ah!” he gasped, jerking upright. “I—! I didn’t mean to—! I—!”

You blinked at him, trying very hard to pretend that you hadn’t just gone through a whole mental rollercoaster while he was napping. “Uh… it’s fine. You were tired. Happens to the best of us.”

He quickly straightened his uniform, flustered beyond belief. “That was… highly inappropriate. I apologize. You must think I’m terribly uncouth.”

“Nah,” you said with a grin, waving him off. “You’re a hard worker. Even someone like you deserves a break.”

Riddle looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. “Still, I shouldn’t have—"

You laughed and patted his shoulder. “Relax. It was kinda cute, honestly.”

He looked at you with wide eyes, his blush deepening. “C-cute?”

Realizing what you just said, your face turned bright red. “Uh, yeah, like… in a respectable, admirable way, obviously! Because, you know, falling asleep is… healthy… and stuff.”

From behind you, you heard Ace’s familiar snicker, and you turned to see him and Deuce standing there, both of them with identical grins.

“You’re totally simping,” Ace teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my God, go away.”

Riddle coughed, straightening his back and trying very hard to regain his composure. “Ahem. I think I’ll… return to my studies. Thank you again for helping me earlier.”

He stood up, still looking mildly mortified, but as he walked away, you caught the faintest smile on his lips.

Ace elbowed you with a grin. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, your face still burning as you watched Riddle leave.

But deep down, you couldn’t stop smiling either.

You sit at the breakfast table, staring at the notification hovering just above your coffee.

"System: New Quest: Get your sister to humiliate herself in front of the Empress. Reward: 100 Villain Points."

Your sister, ever the radiant queen of smugness, lounges at the other end, flipping her hair like she’s about to step onto a runway. Her latest self-important monologue about being 'practically irreplaceable' in the Empress’s inner circle grates at your nerves.

“What’s with the face?” Ace flops into the seat next to you, raising an eyebrow at your sudden, murderous glare.

Deuce, ever the responsible one, follows, setting down his tray with a clink. “You alright? You’ve been quiet.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “I got stuck with… a task.”

Ace snickers. “What, the world’s worst chore or something?”

You glance at your sister, now preening at her reflection in a spoon, and mutter, “Worse. I need to make her humiliate herself in front of the Empress.”

Both Ace and Deuce freeze, staring at you in disbelief.

Ace nearly snorts his drink. “You—wait, what? You have to do that?” His eyes practically light up. “That’s hilarious.”

Deuce, always the voice of reason, frowns. “Why do you need to do that? That sounds kinda… extreme.”

You sigh, trying to keep it vague. “Let’s just say... it’s a long story. But trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

Ace leans back, grinning like he’s just been given front-row tickets to the chaos. “Oh, I am so in. We have to take down the drama queen? Say no more.”

Deuce hesitates, but after a glance at your sister—who’s loudly bragging about her upcoming meeting with the Empress—he sighs. “I guess if it’s for a good cause... she could use a little humility.”

“Perfect.” You clap your hands together, a plan already forming. “But it has to look natural. No obvious sabotage.”

Ace smirks. “You say that like I’m not an expert in ‘subtle.’”

The banquet is set in a lavish garden, with your sister already dressed in the most elaborate gown she could find. She looks like she’s ready to steal the spotlight—and she fully intends to. But you’re three steps ahead. As you, Ace, and Deuce trail behind her, you start whispering the plan. “She always does that thing where she stands up to give a toast in front of everyone, right?”

Deuce nods. “Yeah, she loves being the center of attention.”

You glance at Ace. “Think you can handle making sure her ‘center of attention’ moment doesn’t go as planned?”

Ace grins wickedly. “Leave it to me.”

Your sister, in all her glittering glory, steps up to the platform. The Empress and her courtiers watch on, curious, while your sister clears her throat, preparing to launch into one of her legendary speeches.

Ace winks at you, positioning himself near the platform’s support. With the lightest nudge, it shifts, just enough to unbalance your sister. As she stands, her heel catches on the uneven surface.

Her eyes widen. “Wha—?”

And down she goes, arms flailing dramatically as she tumbles straight into a nearby fountain.

There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, and the Empress looks mildly surprised as water splashes everywhere. Your sister, soaked and sputtering, looks utterly mortified.

Ace bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Oops.”

Deuce winces but nods. “Well... that worked.”

You can’t help the satisfied smirk tugging at your lips as your system pings again.

"System: Quest Complete. Reward: 100 Villain Points."

“Perfect,” you murmur under your breath, already thinking about the next quest.

As your sister sputters her way out of the fountain, dripping wet and desperately trying to regain her composure, the crowd falls into an awkward silence. You can practically hear her brain scrambling to salvage the moment.

She forces a bright smile, pushing wet hair out of her face. “Well, that was… unexpected,” she says, laughing nervously. “I suppose even the most poised among us can have a moment of... gracelessness”

The Empress raises a perfectly arched brow, but remains silent, watching with a cool, unreadable expression.

Your sister, in her panic, decides to fill the silence with her usual brand of arrogance. “I’m sure someone will fix that platform,” she says, waving a hand dismissively at the servants. “Honestly, who would set up something so poorly constructed? I could’ve been seriously hurt!” She glances at the Empress and adds, in a misguided attempt to flatter, “But of course, I suppose even the Empress’s court isn’t immune to such… minor mistakes.”

Ace and Deuce both freeze. Your stomach drops.

The Empress’s lips tighten just slightly, a subtle but dangerous shift. “Minor mistakes?” she repeats, her voice icy and sharp.

Your sister, utterly clueless, laughs again, louder this time, still trying to brush it off. “Oh, of course, not your fault, Your Majesty. I’m sure your staff just… overlooked something. It happens, right?”

The crowd’s collective inhale is deafening. Even Deuce slaps a hand to his forehead, muttering, “Oh no…”

Ace looks like he’s about to choke trying to hold back his laughter. “She’s done,” he whispers gleefully.

The Empress finally stands, her gaze narrowing on your sister. “I assure you,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “such oversights are very rare in my court.”

Your sister opens her mouth to respond, but there’s no coming back from this. The Empress has already turned away, addressing one of her advisors with a wave of dismissal. Your sister is left standing there, soaked and utterly humiliated, in front of everyone.

As the system pings again in your head— "System: Bonus Quest Complete: Cause a Major Faux Pas. Reward: 50 Villain Points"—you can’t help but smirk.

"Well," Ace leans in, whispering, "mission accomplished."

As you watch your sister fumble through an awkward curtsy, trying to salvage what little dignity she has left, the familiar ping of the system goes off in your head again—but this time, it sounds... different.

"Villain System: Achievement Unlocked—Total Disaster;

Reward: 50 Villain Points + Bonus Perk!"

Before you can fully register the notification, the system continues, breaking its usual monotone, deadpan style.

"System: Honestly..." there's a brief pause, like it's trying to hold back a laugh. "I have to hand it to you. This... this was beautiful. I mean, wow, top-tier humiliation. The look on her face? Priceless. I didn’t think you had it in you to pull off such magnificent chaos so effortlessly. Not to mention the insult to the Empress."

Another chuckle—this time, you can feel it reveling in the scene.

"System: You're really becoming quite the villain, huh? I’m almost impressed. Well, because you've reached a new level of villainy—and honestly, you’ve earned it—here’s a special perk. You hit 1,000 points, and I’ll give you an out. You can get rid of me. Completely. No more schemes, no more quests. Freedom from this system."

For a moment, you can barely believe it. The system’s offering you a way out?

"System: Oh, but until then, I’m not going anywhere. And really, wouldn’t it be a shame to stop now? You’re on such a roll."

You shake your head, but even you can't deny the chaos was a little satisfying. Your sister, now the talk of the court, dripping with embarrassment, is living proof of that.

"What's up?" Ace asks, glancing at you. "You look like you just won something."

"Yeah," you mutter under your breath, smirking. "Something like that."

Villain Points: 500. 500 points to freedom.

The test results had come out earlier today and Riddle had topped it, as usual. But he was not allowed to come celebrate with the rest of you, which has led here.

It’s late at night, and the manor is quiet—eerily quiet, except for the soft rustling of leaves outside Riddle's window. You stand beneath the window with a strawberry tart in your hands, feeling very much like a strange version of a fairy-tale hero. Except, instead of rescuing a damsel in distress, you're here to sneak contraband dessert to an overworked boy whose mother monitors his sugar intake like a hawk.

"Riddle!" you whisper-shout up to the second floor. "Let down your hair—uh, I mean, your bedsheets!"

There’s a pause before Riddle’s head pops out of the window, confused but intrigued. "What are you doing out there? It’s late."

"Shhh!" You gesture for him to keep it down, holding up the tart like it’s some sort of forbidden treasure. "I brought you a strawberry tart. Your mom might have banned it, but we live dangerously in this house."

Riddle’s eyes widen, and for a moment, you think he might actually tear up. "You... You risked sneaking a tart past Mother... for me?" He looks genuinely touched, and you can see the internal battle raging between his desire to stay obedient and his deep, insatiable love for strawberry tarts.

"Yes, I am willing to defy the Tart Tyrant for you," you say, nodding solemnly. "Now hurry up and lower the bedsheets before she finds out and decides to have me beheaded for dessert-related treason."

Riddle hesitates for just a second, but the lure of the forbidden pastry is too strong. After a moment, he vanishes from the window, only to return with a neatly tied set of bedsheets. He throws them down like some kind of serious, rule-abiding Rapunzel.

You take a second to appreciate the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, then quickly tie the tart to the end of the sheet rope. “Alright, here comes the goods!” You give the bedsheets a tug to let him know the package is secured.

With a little effort, Riddle pulls up the tart with the same solemnity you’d expect if he were receiving an ancient royal artifact instead of sugar-laden contraband. He gingerly unties the tart and holds it in his hands, staring at it like it's the most precious thing he's ever seen.

You then somehow use the bedsheets to get up there too. Wow maybe you are truly a fairy-tale hero.

"You truly are remarkable," Riddle says, his voice soft with gratitude. He turns his gaze toward you with such an earnest expression that you suddenly feel self-conscious.

You wave him off, trying to play it cool. "Eh, it's nothing. Just saving you from a tartless existence."

But instead of saying anything, Riddle leans down and, with the utmost care and sincerity, presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, like some sort of old-fashioned gentleman. "Thank you," he murmurs.

And that’s when it happens.

Your brain shuts down. Completely. Like someone pulled the plug on your thoughts and left you staring blankly into space. The only thing running through your head is static. You don't even register the tart anymore. Did he just—? Did Riddle Rosehearts just—?

You short-circuit so hard that your mouth moves, but nothing coherent comes out. “Guh... buh... uh...” Great. So much for playing it cool.

Riddle, ever the gentleman, doesn’t seem to notice your malfunction, as he’s too busy taking the tiniest, most delicate bite of the tart, savoring it like he’s trying to make it last forever. "Delicious," he whispers, clearly over the moon.

Meanwhile, you’re still stuck on the whole hand kiss thing. Did that actually just happen? Did you fall into an alternate reality? Is this still the same planet?

Ace is going to have a field day with this.

"Uh, well... goodnight!" You finally manage to blurt out before spinning on your heel and power-walking away, almost jumping off the balcony instead of climbing down, mentally screaming at yourself for turning into a malfunctioning robot over a simple gesture. You hear Riddle chuckle softly behind you, a sound that somehow makes your heart do a weird little flip, and then his window quietly closes.

The whole way back to your room, you're fighting off the most embarrassing grin. Maybe this little night mission was worth it after all—short circuits and all.

The next morning, you wake up to a new notification from your ever-so-charming system.

"Villain System: New Quest—Make the heroine cry and win the baking competition. Reward: 100 Villain Points"

You stare at the message, blinking. Make the heroine cry? That’s one thing, but… win the baking competition? You don’t even bake.

"System: Oh, did I forget to mention? The heroine has won every year because it’s women-only, and the original villainess didn’t care about trivial things like baking. Now she’s got a free pass to victory—unless, of course, you do something about it."

You roll your eyes. Right, of course. But then, an idea hits you. Trey. Who needs to bake when you know the one person who could win with his eyes closed?

In this kingdom’s prestigious baking competition, there's one important loophole: while only women are allowed to officially compete, each contestant is permitted a single helper. Of course, most participants choose their helpers from other women to maintain the spirit of the tradition. However, there’s nothing in therules that says it has to be a woman.

The heroine, ever the strategic darling, has chosen none other than the Sixth Male Lead as her helper—an aspiring nobleman known for his meticulous manners and refined taste. His calm demeanor and careful attention to detail make him a safe bet, and you overhear the heroine boasting that, with his assistance, her victory is all but guaranteed.

Yeah, not this year.

Instead of following tradition, you’ve asked Trey to be your helper. Trey Clover—renowned for his skill in the kitchen, and quite possibly the one person who could bake the heroine’s smug little plans into pie. The original villainess never cared enough to bother with this competition, which gave the heroine free rein. But now? Now she has to face you, and by extension, Trey.

And Trey Clover doesn’t play for second place when it comes to sweets.

Later that day, you find Trey in the gardens, tending to some herbs. He looks up, giving you that calm, friendly smile. "Need something?"

"Yeah, actually. There’s a baking competition coming up," you say nonchalantly, "and I need to win."

Trey raises an eyebrow. "I thought it was women-only?"

You shrug. "It is, but I thought you could, you know, help me win."

He chuckles, brushing some dirt off his hands. "What kind of help are we talking?"

"Let's just say," you grin, "we’ll be making a dessert so good that even the Empress and Emperor will swoon. And if sister dearest happens to cry... well, that's just a bonus."

Trey looks amused but intrigued. "Alright, I’m in. Let’s see what we can whip up."

The day of the competition arrives, and as expected, the heroine is floating around the kitchen like she owns the place. You catch a glimpse of her smug smile as she arranges her ingredients, clearly confident that victory is hers.

Little does she know.

You and Trey work quietly, making an intricate dessert that smells so good even the judges start peeking over your shoulder. It’s a delicate mille-feuille with layers of crisp pastry, rich cream, and fresh fruit, and the entire hall is already filled with its tantalizing aroma.

"Are you sure you want to go this hard?" Trey asks, smirking as he plates the dessert. "This might be overkill."

You laugh. "Overkill is the goal."

As the competition moves forward, you notice the heroine starting to fidget. Her confidence wavers when she sees your masterpiece, and by the time judging begins, she’s outright glaring at you.

The Empress and Emperor sit at the head of the table, and when your dessert is placed in front of them, you watch as they take a bite. First, there’s silence. Then, the Empress closes her eyes, a look of pure bliss on her face.

The Emperor leans back, sighing deeply. "This... this is incredible."

Even the Prince, sitting beside them, takes a bite and pauses. He leans in toward you with a subtle smile. "Such talent... A skillful partner would be quite the asset to the royal family."

You raise an eyebrow but smile politely.

"While I appreciate the compliment, Your Highness, I’m not interested in marriage at the moment. My hands are quite full with other matters."

The Prince looks mildly disappointed, but the Empress shoots him a warning glance, and he wisely backs off. You can feel the heroine seething from across the room.

Then, Riddle, who’s been observing the competition from the side, steps up to taste your creation. He takes a small, cautious bite—and his entire face lights up. His normally stern expression softens, and he looks so genuinely pleased that you can’t help but feel a little flustered yourself. Who knew Riddle could be this cute?

"This is... delightful," he says quietly, and for a moment, you forget about the competition entirely.

"Glad you like it," you say, your voice a little softer than you intended.

Ace nudges you from the side, wiggling his eyebrows. "You blushing? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Shut up," you hiss back, feeling your face heat up even more.

Meanwhile, the heroine, who has been watching the whole scene, looks on the verge of tears. As the judges declare you the winner, she loses her composure entirely and storms out of the hall, sniffling dramatically.

Ace bursts into laughter. "Wow, you really made her cry, huh? I’m loving this!"

Deuce, more concerned, pats you on the back. "Well... at least you won the competition?"

You smirk, satisfied. "Yeah, I’d say that went pretty well."

As you leave the competition hall, your system chimes in again.

"Villain System: Quest complete! 100 Villain Points awarded."

"System: I’ll be honest. I wasn’t expecting you to fluster Riddle like that, but hey, bonus points for making the Prince back off too. Well played. +25 points"

Villain Points: 625. 375 points left till freedom.

You had to do something about the funny little flips your heart did when you even dared to glance at Riddle and so here you were, dramatically declaring a “Strategy Meeting” with Trey, Cater, Ace, and Deuce. You had even assigned roles—like some kind of overly elaborate battle plan—because, in your mind, this was war. And the enemy? Your increasingly uncontrollable feelings for a certain redheaded, rule-abiding, perfectionist nobleman.

You stood at the head of the table like a general ready to command the troops, but instead of warriors, you had your collection of questionable allies. Trey and Cater were lounging comfortably, while Ace and Deuce seemed entirely too excited about the prospect of scheming.

“Alright,” you began, pacing in front of the group. “Here’s the deal. I think I like Riddle.”

You were met with silence at first. Then, Ace broke into the most ridiculous grin. “Pfft, of course you do. You’ve been mooning over him for weeks now. Congratulations on finally catching up to reality!”

Deuce elbowed him. “Hey, don’t make fun of them! It’s... uh... commendable that you’re so serious about it.” He gave you a sympathetic smile, like you were some kind of lovesick puppy.

Cater, who had been leaning back casually in his chair, gave you a teasing wink. “Aww, our little villain is going soft. I guess all that sneaking tarts and saving him from certain doom finally got to you, huh?”

Trey, ever the calm and rational one, simply folded his arms and gave you a small smile. “Well, it makes sense. You two have spent a lot of time together. He’s... a good guy. A bit high-strung, but good.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is not helpful. I need a plan, people! Riddle’s mom already thinks I’m a conniving little troublemaker—how am I supposed to make a good impression while also, you know... not being painfully awkward around him?”

Ace raised his hand dramatically like you were in the middle of a classroom. “Simple solution: you don’t. Just be yourself. He’s already used to your brand of chaos. Besides, you already saved him from his mom’s sugar ban, so I’d say you’re ahead of the game.”

Deuce nodded, adding, “Yeah! Plus, you’re like, really smart and cool, so... you’ve got this!”

“Okay, so,” Cater piped in, “in terms of strategy, you could always stage some grand gesture. I mean, Riddle’s all about tradition and propriety, right? What if you—”

Suddenly, a voice interrupted from behind you. “What are you all plotting now?”

You froze, spinning around to see none other than your mother, the Duchess, standing in the doorway with an amused look on her face. She had an uncanny talent for sneaking up on people.

“M-Mother! I, uh... it’s nothing serious. We’re just—”

She raised an eyebrow, cutting off your fumbling explanation with a wave of her hand. “If you’re scheming about Riddle Rosehearts, dear, you could use a bit more refinement. Fortunately for you, I’ve decided to assist.”

“Wait, what?” You blinked at her, feeling like the ground had just shifted beneath you. “You’re... helping me?”

She gave you a knowing smile. “Well, it’s about time someone showed that other daughter of mine what true charm looks like. You’ve always been the more intelligent one.”

“Uh... thanks?” You weren’t quite sure how to respond to that.

Without another word, your mother turned to the butler who had been standing in the hallway. “Make sure everything is in place for dinner tonight. And do make certain the maids are aware of our... little plans.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler replied with a subtle bow before whisking away.

You stared after him, feeling both flustered and slightly panicked. “Mother... what are you planning?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “It’s nothing too drastic. Just a little adjustment to how tonight’s dinner will go.”

That evening, you found yourself at the weekly gathering/dinner, sitting at the long, ornate table alongside your parents, Riddle, his mother, and—unfortunately—your sister, who was already droning on about some utterly mundane topic that only she could make sound self-important.

And then, the plan began.

The maids moved around the table, loudly discussing their work. "Oh, our youngest lady is always so kind to us, isn't she? Such a breath of fresh air!"

"Yes, yes," another maid replied with an exaggerated nod. "And always so intelligent! Did you hear how she handled that situation at the garden party? Simply remarkable!"

Riddle’s mother perked up at the praise, her sharp gaze cutting from the maids to you, her expression intrigued. Your sister, on the other hand, looked like she was about to burst a blood vessel.

The butler, who had been refilling glasses, suddenly spoke up as well. "Ah, I must say, our young miss has shown extraordinary grace and poise recently. A true future lady of the house, if I may be so bold."

You were mortified. Your face felt like it was on fire, and you desperately tried to shrink into your seat. This was not what you had planned. You could feel Riddle’s eyes on you, and you were certain you were about to pass out from sheer embarrassment.

Your sister, however, could not stay silent. “Excuse me?” she snapped. “I don’t know what all this nonsense is about, but—”

But the maids and butler kept going, seemingly oblivious to her anger. "Indeed, I can’t think of anyone more suited to such a role!" one of the maids declared.

Riddle’s mother hummed thoughtfully, clearly impressed by the blatant—and likely orchestrated—praise. “It is quite rare to find such well-rounded young women these days,” she mused, looking at you with a glint of approval in her eyes. “Perhaps I should consider the advantages of such a match after all.”

You nearly choked on your drink. Riddle, across from you, was staring at his plate like he was trying to become one with it. He looked both horrified and... pleased? Maybe?

And just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, Ace—because of course, it had to be Ace—leaned over and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Hey, at least you know Riddle's mom doesn’t hate you anymore. Progress!”

You shot him a glare, but the damage was done. Everyone at the table had heard, and Riddle’s mother raised a curious eyebrow at you both. You could practically feel Riddle sinking further into his seat.

The dinner continued with more awkward small talk, with your mother throwing in subtle digs at your sister’s lack of... everything, while you tried your hardest not to combust from sheer humiliation.

But hey—if nothing else, at least Riddle wasn’t the only one who felt like he needed to escape to the nearest corner. Small victories, right?

"System: Quest: Make Riddle Say Something Mean to Your Sister. Reward: 100 Points"

The system pings you with the next quest, and you almost laugh out loud. Get Riddle to say something mean to your sister? The guy whose idea of an insult is reminding someone to follow the rules more carefully? You know this’ll be near impossible—his mother raised him to be the picture of etiquette and politeness.

But, then again, opportunity tends to strike when you least expect it, and with your villain system, those moments come with a bit of flair.

It all starts innocently enough: horseback riding. You’re a natural at it, of course, and as you effortlessly guide your horse around the course, your sister glares at you from the sidelines, arms crossed.

"Oh, how shocking," she drawls loud enough for everyone to hear. "A masculine activity. How unbecoming for a lady."

Before you can snap back, someone else beats you to it. "That's funny, I quite like horseback riding too," The Empress says, her voice as polite as ever but with just enough edge to make your darling sister freeze.

And when Riddle adds that he also enjoys horseback riding, you almost snort. Of course, he does. Riddle would have to enjoy something that involves strict rules and perfect posture.

Your sister's eyes flicker toward Riddle, suddenly aware that insulting horseback riding is not the wisest move when he is within earshot. She stammers, trying to recover. "I—I mean, I didn’t say it was entirely inappropriate. It’s just—"

You just stare at her, subtly challenging her to continue. And she takes the bait.

Sensing an opportunity to show off, your sister decides to prove she’s good at it too. "I’ll show you how a real lady rides a horse," she declares, moving to mount the closest horse. The horse, sensing the storm of bad vibes radiating from your sister, immediately snorts and takes a few steps back.

“See, even the horse knows better,” Ace mutters behind you, earning a chuckle from Deuce. You can’t help but grin.

Your sister’s attempt to get on the horse is nothing short of a disaster. Her foot slips, her balance is off, and the horse finally has enough. In one swift move, it bucks her off before she’s even properly seated, sending her tumbling to the ground in an undignified heap.

For a second, there's stunned silence. Then, in true ‘sister’ fashion, she gets up, furious and embarrassed, and hits the horse on the flank.

Oh no. She did not just hit the horse.

Riddle’s face turns red—not his usual "I’m about to scold you" red, but the kind of red that suggests a leviathan-level insult has just taken place. "What are you doing?" he snaps, shocking everyone in earshot. Even you pause, surprised.

You quickly recover, barely holding back your grin. You can already feel the points tallying up.

"That was completely uncalled for," Riddle continues, his voice icy. "You should apologize to the horse."

Your sister sputters, clearly not used to being reprimanded by someone like Riddle.

"I—I didn’t—"

"Violence toward an innocent animal," the Emperor chimes in from his observation point, his tone dripping with disapproval. "Disgraceful behavior."

The Imperial Princess, who has been watching with her arms crossed, gives a snort of laughter. "Well, clearly not everyone can handle themselves with grace on horseback."

Your sister looks like she’s about to implode, her cheeks burning redder than Riddle's hair. "I didn’t mean—"

"Please," Riddle says, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. "Let’s not make this any worse for yourself."

The system pops up again with a cheeky little message.

"+25 bonus points: The system respects that level of carnage. Well done."

Honestly, even you can’t help but respect the sheer scale of the damage your sister just managed to cause to her own reputation in a matter of minutes.

Riddle, who’s usually the epitome of control, saying something that mean? The Emperor, the Imperial Princess, and the Empress all scolding her? It’s a beautiful mess, and you’ll take the points with a smile.

Villain Points: 750. 150 points left till freedom

You’re lounging in the courtyard, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when chaos inevitably strikes. You don’t know why you thought you could have a quiet afternoon without something going wrong. The universe must have you on its watchlist, and today, it decided to throw a wrench in the form of Deuce Spade sprinting across the courtyard, holding a goose under his arm like some kind of barnyard Olympian.

The goose then shows a surprising amount of athleticism and manages to pivot in his arms and jump down.

“GET BACK HERE, YOU FEATHERED MENACE!” Ace screams behind him, waving what looks like a loaf of bread. You raise an eyebrow, confused but intrigued. “Uh… do I even want to know?”

“They’re trying to catch the Duchess’s prized goose,” Cater pipes up, appearing out of nowhere. “It escaped from the coop. Again.”

You squint at the scene unfolding before you, watching as Deuce trips over a bush, while grabbing its tail, sending both himself and the goose tumbling to the ground, feathers everywhere. The goose immediately makes a break for it, flapping wildly in your direction. You can’t help it—some deep, misguided instinct kicks in. You blame your duel with the chicken of doom. Must help friends! Must catch rogue poultry!

You leap to your feet, determination surging through you. This is it. This is your time to shine. You throw yourself at the goose, diving for it like a soccer goalie saving the game-winning shot.

And you miss. Not just miss—you whiff it entirely. Instead, you skid along the ground, getting a face full of dirt and grass. The goose, clearly uninterested in whatever heroic save you were attempting, runs straight towards the nearby rose bushes, where Riddle is calmly reading a book.

“Got it!” you yell, trying to recover from your very undignified position. You scramble to your feet and sprint towards the goose, not thinking—absolutely no thoughts—just vibes and feathers.

“STOP THAT GOOSE!” you hear Deuce shout, which only makes you run faster.

But then… things go wrong. Horribly, hilariously wrong.

The goose, in a feat of poultry acrobatics, launches itself directly at Riddle. In a panic, you leap towards them, determined to protect Riddle from the poultry projectile. Unfortunately, in your zeal to save him, you overestimate your athletic prowess, launching yourself way too high and way too fast.

You soar right over the rose bushes. For a brief, glorious moment, you feel like you’re flying. Like Icarus, you’ve flown too close to the sun.

And then gravity kicks in.

You crash into Riddle, knocking his book out of his hands as you both go down in a very undignified heap. Riddle lets out a startled yelp, and you’re pretty sure your entire life flashes before your eyes in that split second.

When the dust settles, you’re on the ground, somehow tangled up with both Riddle and the goose, who looks mildly offended by this whole debacle. You can barely process the pain in your elbow because, oh no—you’ve just tackled Riddle Rosehearts in broad daylight. You’re doomed. Absolutely doomed.

Riddle, red-faced and thoroughly flustered, pushes himself up, brushing stray feathers off his jacket. “What in the world…?”

“I, uh… was trying to help?” you say weakly, still half-sprawled on the ground with the goose now comfortably perched on your back, like some sort of bizarre poultry crown.

Before Riddle can reply, Ace and Deuce finally catch up, breathless and thoroughly amused by the sight before them.

“Nice one!” Ace cackles, doubling over with laughter. “I didn’t think you’d go for the full-on tackle!”

“Yeah, wow,” Deuce adds, clearly struggling to keep a straight face. “Really… really brave of you. Or maybe just… really dumb?”

Cater, meanwhile, is gleefully giggling during the entire thing. "I can’t believe you almost took out Riddle over a goose!” Riddle glares at them, cheeks still a furious shade of pink. “This is not funny. Someone could have been hurt!”

You finally manage to sit up, the goose still somehow perched atop your shoulder. You look up at Riddle, giving him a sheepish grin. “Uh, well… thanks for breaking my fall?”

Riddle huffs, brushing dirt off his sleeves as he stands. “Next time, please consider not risking your life over poultry.”

“Aw, don’t be mad, Riddle,” Cater teases, still giggling. “Our hero here just wanted to protect you from the fierce Goose of Doom!”

Riddle shoots him a glare that could melt ice.

Ace leans over, giving you an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Honestly, this is peak comedy. I can’t wait to see the look on Trey’s face when he hears about this.”

You groan, already feeling the embarrassment sink in. “Just… just help me up, please.”

Riddle offers you a hand, though he still looks like he’s debating whether to scold you or just cry. As he pulls you to your feet, the goose squawks indignantly, finally hopping off your shoulder to strut away, victorious.

“See?” Ace says, still grinning like a fool. “The goose is fine. No harm done.”

“No harm,” Riddle repeats, looking at you with a sigh. “Except perhaps to our dignity.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, your cheeks burning. “Yeah, well, dignity is overrated. At least we caught the goose… eventually.”

Riddle shakes his head, a small smile finally tugging at his lips. “Next time, let’s leave the heroics to someone a little more... suited for it, shall we?”

You nod, rubbing your sore elbow. “Deal. But if that goose comes at you again, I’m not making any promises.”

Riddle just shakes his head, turning away to pick up his book. And he takes your hand and ties a handkerchief around a scratch you didn’t even realize was bleeding. You can still hear the teasing laughs from Ace, Deuce, and Cater echoing in your ears, but you can’t help the grin that tugs at your own lips.

Yeah, you might’ve girlbossed a little too close to the sun today. But at least you made Riddle smile and he held your hand!(kinda) . And, well, the goose is still alive, so there’s that. Small victories.

"System: Quest: Become the Flower of the Ball. Reward: 50 Points"

The system's new quest pops up with a glorious ping—Become the Flower of the Ball. Easy enough, right? Except, of course, your sister has always held that title. The "Flower of the Ball" is not just the prettiest person at the event; it’s the one who commands the room, whose influence and elegance leave everyone talking for weeks. And you? Well, with Cater on your side, you’re about to change that.

First step: rumors. Cater helps you work your way through the gossip circuit like a seasoned pro. With just a few whispered suggestions here and there, you have half the ball convinced that you’ll be arriving in something that will make your sister’s dress look like an afterthought.

Next, your mother—who’s never liked your adopted sister, mainly because of your father's favouritism —does her part by pulling the strings and reserving the best tailor exclusively for you. Your sister? She’s stuck with second-rate options, fuming in the background. By the time you step into the ball, you look absolutely perfect. The dress is a masterpiece of fabric and sparkle, the kind that makes everyone’s heads turn the second you enter.

Cater sneaks by your side as you walk in. "Nailed it, babe," he whispers, giving you a wink. "They're already talking about how your dress makes you look like a literal god."

And indeed, the whispers from the crowd follow you like a wave. Mission accomplished.

Your sister, of course, tries to maintain her usual position of dominance. She’s chosen the 7th male lead as her escort—a decision that reeks of desperation since she couldn't snag a higher-ranked noble. You, meanwhile, had originally planned to attend with Ace and Deuce, they were your closest friends after all, just to keep things low-key. But before you can finalize that plan, Riddle appears, looking composed as ever, and offers you his arm.

"I thought it might be appropriate if you accompanied me," he says with a shy smile. "Since my fiancée has chosen to attend with someone else this evening."

You almost laugh. Of course, she has. She likely thought it would make her look more desirable, but now it's given you a perfect in. Going to the ball with Riddle is about as high-profile as it gets.

Your sister’s eyes widen the moment she sees you walk in with him. Her expression morphs into barely-contained outrage, but before she can say anything, another bomb drops.

Riddle’s mother—stern and poised as always—leans over to one of her confidantes and just loud enough for you and your sister to hear, says, "Well, perhaps this arrangement is for the best. It wouldn’t be surprising if we reconsider the sister for our families’ union."

Cue dramatic gasp.

Your sister’s face twists in horror, while the 7th male lead stands there, visibly confused as to why he’s even part of this drama. "What—what did she mean by that?!" your sister hisses, shooting daggers at you and Riddle.

You smile sweetly. "Oh, who knows? Perhaps she just appreciates my company more."

Before your sister can explode, the Imperial Princess herself enters the fray. Your sister, still seething, is barely holding it together when she steps forward to greet the Princess, but her curtsey is sloppy. The Princess raises an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. "Hmm, interesting technique," she says coldly, her eyes flicking to you with approval as you execute your bow with flawless grace.

Your sister sputters, trying to recover, but it’s too late—the Princess’ interest is already elsewhere. The rest of the ball quickly follows suit, flocking to your side. Riddle, ever the gentleman, offers you a subtle smile as the room begins to orbit around you instead of your sister.

And then, like clockwork, your sister makes yet another blunder. This time, it’s with the cutlery at the dinner table. The 7th male lead awkwardly copies her, both of them managing to insult half the table in the process. You’d almost feel bad, but honestly, they’re making it too easy.

The system, naturally, is having the time of its life. "+25 points: Honestly, this is comedy gold. Extra points for the mess."

You flash a victorious smile, knowing that by the end of the night, you’ll be crowned as the new Flower of the Ball—your sister’s reign well and truly over.

Villain points: 825. 175 points to go.

Riddle wasn't quite sure when it happened. Maybe it had been a gradual realization, building slowly every time he saw you speak your mind with that sharp wit of yours, or maybe it was something that had struck him like a lightning bolt during a moment like this—watching you hold an entire room's attention, bright and confident in your own, distinct way.

You were just so... you. The way you spoke, that glint of mischief in your eyes whenever you were about to say something clever—it was entirely captivating. It was easy to see why people were drawn to you, why they wanted to bask in your energy.

Right now, you were standing near the center of the room, laughing animatedly as you shared some story with your friends. Your expression was full of life, each gesture adding color to your words, your smile lighting up the whole space. Riddle couldn’t help but find his gaze lingering on you, taking in every detail.

And then, out of nowhere, you turned your head, locking eyes with him across the room. For a split second, he felt his breath catch. He should look away, he told himself. But he couldn't. He was rooted in place as you spotted him.

Your face lit up even more—if that was even possible—and you raised your hand, giving him an enthusiastic wave, completely unabashed. There was something so genuine, so utterly you, in that wave. Your arm flailed just a little, and you were smiling so broadly, so openly, that you looked a little silly. But it didn’t matter.

Because, in that moment, Riddle felt something click into place. He might like you. He might like you quite a lot, actually.

Without even thinking, Riddle found himself waving back, a small smile creeping onto his face. He felt warm, a strange fluttering sensation settling in his chest. He probably looked ridiculous, waving with that soft, dazed look in his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

You gave him a thumbs-up, your grin widening, and Riddle had to stop himself from laughing. His heart was pounding in his chest now, a warmth creeping up his neck, and the realization hit him with startling clarity: you made him feel light. You made him feel... happy, in a way he hadn’t quite understood before.

He might have spent his whole life avoiding this kind of chaos, but when it came to you—when it came to your laughter, your brightness, your way of pulling him into your orbit—Riddle found he didn’t mind the chaos at all.

In fact, he was pretty sure he was completely smitten with it.

"Villain System: New Quest—Humiliate the heroine in front of the heir to the throne, the First Princess. Reward: 100 Villain Points"

You read the message and resist the urge to sigh. Your sister is a piece of work, sure, but the system really seems hellbent on making her your eternal punching bag. But hey, if the system insists… who are you to resist?

As luck would have it, the annual hunt is coming up—an event where the bachelors of the court go off into the woods to prove their worth, while the bachelorettes sit around and gossip like they're at an overpriced brunch. However, this year, the Imperial Princess, renowned master swordswoman and all-around terrifying person, has decided to spice things up by organizing a competition of swordsmanship for the ladies.

Before the hunt and the competition officially start, it's tradition for those not participating in the hunt to present charms to their loved ones—little tokens of affection and support to tie onto their swords before they charge off to slaughter things in the woods. It’s all very romantic, except, of course, when it’s you and your friends.

You've prepared four charms for Trey, Cater, Ace, and Deuce. Mostly because you know these four will be fighting like it's a matter of life or death (because, let's face it, it’s mostly about showing off at this point), and the least you can do is give them something to remind them not to do anything stupid and die.

You hand them out one by one, and each of them reacts in their own, very predictable way.

Cater takes his with a grin, twirling it between his fingers like it’s a prize from a carnival. "Aw, thanks, bestie! Now I have no choice but to win." He strikes a pose, charm held up as if he’s already envisioning the animal he's gonna get.

Deuce just flushes, taking the charm with both hands as if it's some sacred object. "I, uh, I’ll do my best!" he declares, looking both touched and slightly stressed by the responsibility you’ve just put on him.

Ace rolls his eyes, snatching his charm like you’ve just given him an extra chore. "Ugh, seriously? Now I gotta win for you?" He gives a dramatic sigh, but you can tell he’s secretly proud, especially with the way he ties it onto his sword with a flourish—making sure everyone nearby notices.

Trey, ever the gentleman, accepts his charm with a warm smile, nodding in thanks. "I appreciate it," he says, his tone so sincere you almost feel bad about how unserious the others are. "I'll try to bring back something worthy of this."

You wave them off with a grin. "Just try not to get yourselves killed, alright? I don’t need the guilt."

They nod, though Ace gives you a playful smirk. "No promises, but hey, if I survive, I'll owe you one."

You’re not entirely sure if that’s comforting, but at least they seem motivated... in their own, ridiculous way.

But then comes the surprise: Riddle. Normally, Riddle doesn’t accept charms from anyone. The whole court knows he rejects them all, your sister’s included, and it’s practically common knowledge that they’re engaged.

And yet, as you’re about to turn away, you feel someone tug gently on your sleeve.

You look back, and there’s Riddle, cheeks tinged pink, looking almost… shy? “I… noticed you hadn’t given me a charm,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

Your heart skips a beat. Riddle? Asking you for a charm? You quickly pull out an extra special one you’d prepared just in case, trying not to look too smug as you hand it over. “Of course, I saved the best for last,” you tease.

He takes it with both hands, his blush deepening, and carefully ties it to his sword. "Thank you," he says, the sincerity in his voice making you feel just a little warm inside.

The time for the competition arrives after they leave and naturally, your sister finds this whole idea beneath her. Women should be "gentle and poised," she says, like she hasn’t spent the last three months practicing how to flutter her eyelashes in just the right way to ensnare the nearest man.

Then she makes a godawful comment. "I'm sure I'm better than everyone here anyways."

The Princess's eye twitches at your sister’s comment, and you can practically smell the impending doom. “Is that so?” she says, voice calm but sharp enough to cut glass. “Then perhaps you’d like to prove it.”

Your sister blinks, feigning innocence. “Oh, but Your Highness, you're a general, a dame, it would hardly be fair—”

“No, no,” you butt in, already feeling the villainous urge rising. You smile sweetly at the Princess, “I’ll do it.”

Your sister’s eyes widen, and you swear you see a flicker of fear. “You?”

“Yes, me.” You roll your wrist casually, like this is nothing. After all, you’ve been secretly training with your mother(a former knight) for weeks. And let’s be real—if you can endure her strict-as-hell lessons without fleeing for your life, your sister stands no chance.

The crowd of onlookers murmurs, excited at the prospect of some royal drama. The Princess smiles approvingly. “Very well. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

The competition begins, and your sister—oh, sweet, naive, overly-confident sister—struts up to the sparring ring like she’s about to breeze through this. She hasn’t even drawn her sword, too busy preening for the audience.

The Princess stands off to the side, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed. “Whenever you’re ready,” she says dryly.

Your sister scoffs, finally drawing her sword with confidence that stems from absolutely nothing tangible.. “This won’t take long.”

It really doesn’t.

You sidestep her first swing with ease, and she fumbles, her balance thrown off. She’s clearly never sparred against anyone with any actual skill, and it shows. You suppress a laugh, offering her a mockingly sweet smile. “Having trouble?”

Her face flushes with anger, and she lunges again, this time with less grace and more brute force. You parry her strike effortlessly, spinning around her and tapping her shoulder lightly with your blade. “Point.”

The crowd gasps, and you can practically feel Riddle’s mother watching you with approval from her seat. Your sister glares at you, red-faced and flustered. “That was just luck,” she hisses.

“Sure,” you reply, twirling your sword for added flair. “Let’s see if your luck improves.”

Spoiler: it doesn’t.

By the end of the match, your sister is out of breath, red-faced, and thoroughly humiliated. You, on the other hand, haven’t even broken a sweat. The Princess claps her hands together, beaming. “Well done! I think that settles the matter.”

Your sister looks like she’s about to cry, and you can’t resist twisting the knife just a little. “Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before insulting women who actually know how to use a sword.”

The Princess snorts.

By the time the bachelors return from the hunt, everyone’s gathered around to see who brought back the biggest game. As expected, Ace and Deuce present their game to you: They’d both managed to snag huge wolves—both proud and slightly smug. Cater hands you his deer with a wink and a grin. Even Trey, with his calm composure, looks pleased as he hands over his bear.

And then, to everyone’s shock, Riddle approaches. He’s carrying what is clearly the biggest game of the day,a bear and a lion, and as he presents it to you, the whole crowd falls silent.

Your sister looks absolutely mortified. The other male leads, meanwhile, are either empty-handed or have brought back something pathetically small in comparison—a rabbit here, a pheasant there. But Riddle? Riddle has the prize catch, and he’s offering it to you, her sister who just humiliated her in front of the entire royal court.

The center of attention, you smile graciously as you accept the game, thanking him softly. The crowd erupts into whispers, all eyes on you and Riddle. Your sister looks like she wants to crawl into a hole and disappear, and you can’t help but feel just a little triumphant.

Meanwhile, the system chimes in:

"Villain System: Quest complete! 100 Villain Points awarded"

"Villain System: Bonus reward! 50 Villain Points awarded.

System: I wasn’t expecting you to charm all of the top hunters into giving you their game… but hey, overachieving is such a villainous trait. Well done."

You nearly roll your eyes at the system’s snarky tone. Of course it would reward you for accidentally out-villaining yourself. But hey, who’s going to complain about extra points?

Villain points: 975. 25 points to go, you're so close.

It was a peaceful afternoon in the garden, one of those rare moments where you and Riddle had a quiet space to just… exist. He was sitting across from you, his face slightly softened from its usual stern expression. The hedgehogs nearby were doing hedgehog things, oblivious to the world.

"I suppose it’s something I don’t talk about often," Riddle started, his voice softer than usual, like he was letting you into a part of himself he kept locked away. "My mother was strict—is strict. Everything had to be perfect. The rules, the grades, my behavior… there was no room for failure. Not even a sliver."

You nodded, already knowing this story from your countless hours reading the webnovel. But hearing it from him directly? It hit differently.

"I wasn't allowed to have friends or play outside. My entire childhood was about memorizing rules and doing things perfectly," he continued. His eyes stayed on the hedgehogs, but his expression grew distant, lost in the painful memories. "Every mistake I made was a punishment… every misstep was a disappointment."

You could feel the lump forming in your throat. Here it comes. The part that always got you while reading.

"But the worst part," Riddle whispered, his voice almost cracking, "was that I started to believe I wasn’t good enough… not for her, not for anyone."

That was it. The dam broke.

You tried to keep it together—you really did—but the sheer weight of Riddle’s story, the pain in his voice, it hit you like a sledgehammer to the chest. You started sniffling. And then… it escalated.

You’re not just crying; you’re ugly crying. We’re talking snot, hiccups, the whole I-will-not-survive-this package.

And then, in between gasps, you suddenly blurt out, "I swear... I SWEAR, I’ll get revenge for you! No one will survive my wrath!" You shake your fist to the sky like you’re about to start a one-person war against his emotionally distant mother.

Riddle looks at you, eyes wide with shock. He hadn’t expected this. No one had. Not even you.

"Are you… are you crying?" he asked, sounding both bewildered and concerned, because let’s face it, you were making sounds that weren’t even human anymore. Somewhere between a hiccup, a wail, and a seal being slapped.

"Y-YES!" you sobbed, wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt, which didn’t help because now you just had tear-streaked sleeves and a snotty nose. "IT'S SO SAD!"

Riddle blinked, completely caught off-guard. “It’s… it’s not that—”

By this point, you were full-on hysterical, tears streaming down your face as you flailed around in righteous fury. Riddle just sat there, completely overwhelmed. He had expected maybe a few words of sympathy, a comforting pat on the shoulder. What he hadn't expected was for you to declare full-scale emotional war on his behalf.

Riddle, for his part, was speechless. And also… redder than his hair.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat awkwardly. "I… appreciate the sentiment, but—"

"No, Riddle!" you cut him off, wiping your nose aggressively with your sleeve again. "You deserve someone who loves you without conditions! And I’m going to make sure the world knows it!" You stood up dramatically, only to trip over a rock, stumble, and fall back into your seat. "Ow."

Riddle, despite the chaos, couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at your sheer determination—and the fact that you were still crying while swearing vengeance. It was… endearing, in a very chaotic, unpredictable way.

You, however, were still in your feelings. "I can’t believe your mom! I’m—sniffle—gonna burn her rulebook. Watch me."

Riddle, who had started the conversation with the intention of sharing something personal, now found himself caught in a whirlwind of emotions he didn’t know how to handle. But… somehow, through your teary declarations of revenge and your intense empathy, he couldn’t help but feel something stir inside him.

He looked at you—your face blotchy, your eyes puffy, your determination unwavering despite the fact that you were an absolute mess—and he realized that you weren’t crying just because you felt bad. You were crying because you cared. Like, really cared.

His heart skipped a beat. Maybe… maybe you were the kind of person who could see past all his rules and expectations and just—feel for him. No judgment. Just empathy.

"I… I didn’t realize it would make you so upset," he said quietly, a soft smile pulling at his lips. "But thank you. Really."

Through your sniffling, you managed to nod and offer a watery smile. "It’s not fair. You deserve better, Riddle. I mean it."

And with that, Riddle found himself falling just a little harder for you—ugly crying and all.

It’s a regular afternoon tea party, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and your sister is… making out with the eighth male lead in broad daylight behind a rose bush.

Ah. Classy.

You had only wandered over to sneak a mini éclair when you caught them. What’s worse is they weren’t even being subtle—like, they might as well have put up a sign that says, “We’re Ruining Our Reputations Here.”

Shocked beyond measure, you accidentally let out the loudest and most undignified gasp. It’s so loud that the entire tea party freezes mid-sip. Cups stop midair, all eyes turn to you like you’ve just declared war on the empire.

“Did someone choke on a scone?” Trey asks, concerned, already standing to assess the pastry crisis.

You try to subtly redirect everyone’s attention back to their tea, but it’s too late. The damage is done. The Imperial Princess, the Empress, the First Prince, the Emperor, Riddle, your parents, Trey, Cater, Ace, Deuce, and Riddle’s mom—all eyes are now locked on you and the unfortunate scene happening behind you.

Your sister and the eighth male lead pop their heads out of the bushes like deer caught in headlights, looking horrified. The heroine, of course, immediately bursts into tears. “I can’t believe you! How could you ruin my private moment!” she wails, mascara already running.

You blink. "Private? You were basically holding auditions for 'Romeo and Juliet' in front of the entire garden."

"Enough!" The Empress's voice cuts through the chaos like a sword. She glares at your sister, then glances at you for an explanation. You're about to open your mouth when—

"An outrage!" The Imperial Princess thunders, stepping forward with the grace of a tiger ready to pounce. "Is this what passes for decorum these days?"

Before you can even begin to process the incoming storm, your sister points her trembling finger at you. “It’s her fault! She—She’s been plotting against me this whole time! She wanted to embarrass me!”

You raise an eyebrow, utterly deadpan. “By forcing you to lock lips with the eighth male lead in broad daylight? Wow, my plans are so intricate even I don’t understand them anymore.”

Ace is snickering so loudly into his teacup that he’s shaking, and Deuce is doing his best to hold back tears of laughter. Cater’s trying to stay neutral, but even he’s got a lopsided grin.

Riddle, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying to create a new spell that will instantly smite him while his mother… well, his mother seems like she’s gonna cut someone.

Riddle’s mom, the always composed Lady Rosehearts, steps forward, glancing at your sister with such a cold expression that you could swear the temperature drops five degrees. “This engagement," she begins icily, "will not proceed. If there is to be any union between our families, it will be with someone more appropriate." She then turns her gaze to you. “Someone like you.”

Cue a choking noise from Riddle, who looks ready to faint on the spot. His cheeks turn red as he stares wide-eyed at his mother, clearly having not expected this. Trey’s eyes widen too, but he quickly coughs into his fist to hide a smirk. Ace elbows Deuce with barely concealed glee.

“U-Um, Mother?” Riddle manages to stutter out. “What… what do you mean?”

His mother gives him a rather smug look, clearly having already made up her mind. “I mean that if this union is to benefit both families, it would be much more suitable for you to marry someone with intelligence, grace, and… a bit of common sense. Someone who hasn’t made a public fool of themselves.” Her eyes drift back to your sister, who is now dramatically sobbing into her hands.

Your father looks like he’s just been hit by a runaway carriage, staring in horror at the scene unfolding before him. “Lady Rosehearts—surely this is a misunderstanding—”

Riddle’s mom raises a hand. “If there is to be any marriage, it will be between my son and your younger daughter. Or,” she adds sharply, “there will be no marriage at all.”

You stand there, blinking at the whirlwind you just caused by gasping too loudly at your sister’s terrible decision-making skills. You glance at your mom, who has her face buried in her hands. But when she peeks through her fingers, you see the slight glint of satisfaction in her eyes. She’s pretending to be scandalized, but deep down… she’s absolutely living for this. You know she's elated that you got your guy.

The Emperor himself clears his throat, trying to restore order to the royal circus. “Well, this is… unprecedented,” he says, diplomatically, though there’s a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth, like he’s holding back laughter.

Your sister, meanwhile, continues her sobbing performance, practically flinging herself into your father’s arms. “Papa, how can they treat me like this?! You always told me I’m the heroine!”

You try to hide your grin. “Heroine of a tragedy, maybe.”

“Enough!” Your father groans, looking utterly defeated. “You’ve done enough damage, girl.”

Riddle reluctantly speaks up. “I… I suppose Mother has made her decision.” His voice wavers a bit, and for a moment, he seems like he might collapse under the weight of all this sudden attention. But then, his eyes meet yours. And despite the chaos, despite his mortification, there’s a small, shy smile on his face.

“You,” he begins hesitantly, “you wouldn’t… mind this arrangement, would you?”

You laugh softly, glancing at the ridiculous mess that was this tea party. “Honestly? I'm quite fond of you so, why not?”

Ace lets out a snort of laughter, while Cater gives you a double thumbs-up from across the table. Trey just smiles warmly, giving you an approving nod. Even Lady Rosehearts looks somewhat satisfied.

The system, not one to miss an opportunity, dings in your head again.

"Villain System: New achievement unlocked! Engagement broken! Also… bonus points for making a royal spectacle of it. 100 Villain Points awarded."

With this, you're free from the system. Maybe it's time to retire your villain act.

You nearly burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all. But for now, you simply give Riddle a small, reassuring smile.

“Well,” you say, “guess we’ve got some wedding planning to do.”

It was a grand banquet, the kind where you could practically smell the prestige in the air. The Imperial Family was seated at the head of the table, all regal in their elegance. You were just trying not to trip over your own shoes and embarrass yourself in front of the Empress again.

Riddle, of course, was the epitome of decorum. Every movement was precise, every word carefully measured. Until—just as he went to refill the First Prince’s wine glass—his hand slipped ever so slightly. The tiniest splash of wine splattered onto the pristine tablecloth. It was so small you would’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him so intently.

But Riddle noticed. Oh, did he notice.

His face immediately paled like he’d just seen a ghost wearing polka dots, and his eyes darted across the table to where his mother sat. Lady Rosehearts was blissfully unaware, engaged in conversation with the Emperor, but Riddle looked like he was about to meet his maker.

You could almost hear his internal screams.

To anyone else, it was a non-event. But to Riddle, this was a catastrophe of the highest order. You could practically feel him sweating next to you, despite his rigid posture.

Time to act.

“Oh no!” You gasp dramatically, standing up and pointing directly at yourself. “I can’t believe I just did that!”

Everyone at the table stopped and stared, clearly wondering what on earth you were talking about. Even the Empress raised an eyebrow, a mix of confusion and mild amusement flickering on her face.

Riddle blinked, looking at you like you had just spontaneously grown a second head. “What…?”

You plopped down a napkin over the tiny splash of wine, covering the evidence. “I—I accidentally knocked the bottle when Riddle was pouring!” you announce loudly, offering a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry, Your Highnesses. How embarrassing.”

The Empress smiled indulgently. “It’s quite all right, dear. Such things happen.”

Lady Rosehearts glanced over at the napkin-covered spot and frowned slightly, but then she looked back to you and said, “No harm done.”

Meanwhile, Riddle’s face was a mix of confusion, shock, and—was that gratitude? He blinked again, still processing what just happened. His mother hadn’t even glanced at him in disapproval, and now you were taking the fall for a spill no one really noticed.

As the conversation around the table resumed, Riddle leaned in close, whispering under his breath, “Why would you do that?”

You grinned and shrugged. “Because I’ve got a heart of gold, obviously. And I quite like you, you know”

Before Riddle could respond, Ace, who had been watching the whole debacle with barely restrained glee, leaned over from his spot across the table. “You’re down so horrendously,” he said, just loud enough for you and Riddle to hear.

You shot him a look. “You’re just mad you don’t have someone as gracious as me taking the fall for you”

Ace wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe, but at least I don’t go taking the fall for my fiancé before we’re even married.”

Riddle flushed a bright red. “I—I—this isn’t—”

You laugh, leaning back in your chair. “You know, Ace, sometimes you just have to be a hero.”

“Sure, ‘hero,’” Cater chimed in, leaning in on the action with a smirk. “Or, you know, simp of the year.”

Riddle, still flustered, shoots both of them a glare, but you can tell he’s secretly relieved. The impending doom of his mother’s wrath was averted, all thanks to your impromptu performance.

With a small sigh, he finally mutters, “Thank you,” so softly you almost miss it.

You give him a wink and lean back in your chair, feeling pretty pleased with yourself. “Anytime, partner.”

Ace nudges Deuce. “You think we should get them ‘World’s Greatest Simp’ matching mugs for the wedding?”

Deuce shrugs. “I think it’d be cute.”

Riddle buries his face in his hands. "Please, spare me."

But the corners of his mouth are lifting, just slightly.

It happened when you decided to climb the academy's tallest tree. It was a brilliant idea in your mind—after all, you’d just spotted an adorable sparrow nest precariously hanging from one of the highest branches. Rescue mission mode engaged.

The execution? Less brilliant.

You were halfway up, dangling from a particularly wobbly branch, when you heard a very familiar voice calling your name from below.

“WHAT are you doing?” Riddle’s voice was half exasperated, half astonished.

You looked down (mistake) and saw Riddle, arms crossed, staring at you with a mix of bewilderment and that very specific “You’re in trouble” look he usually reserved for rule-breaking.

“I—uh,” you stammered, “I’m saving the sparrows?”

There was a long pause. Riddle blinked. “You climbed that tree for sparrows?”

“Look, I know it’s a bit—”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Riddle interrupted, running a hand down his face. “Do you even have a plan for getting down?”

“...I’ll figure that out later?”

Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “Of course you will.”

By some miracle (or the sheer force of your chaotic will), you managed to secure the sparrow nest and shimmy your way down without falling to your doom. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you triumphantly held the nest up, smiling wide.

“See? Mission accomplished!”

Riddle just stared at you, mouth slightly open, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then, out of nowhere, he laughed—a soft, bewildered laugh that grew louder the more he looked at you, dirt-covered and grinning like an idiot.

“You…” he started, shaking his head with a small, fond smile, “You’re such an idiot.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. “I—hey!”

“No, really,” he continued, stepping closer, eyes full of amusement. “You’re reckless and absurd and you do things like climbing trees to save sparrows and covering for me in front of the imperial family without thinking it through.”

You frowned, feeling a bit defensive. “Well, someone has to—”

“And yet…” His voice softened, and suddenly he was close, much closer than you expected. His gaze locked onto yours, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “And yet… I don’t think I could imagine my life without you.”

Your brain took a second to catch up. “Wait, what?”

Riddle took a breath, as if bracing himself, and then met your eyes with the most serious expression you’d ever seen on him. “I’m saying that I—” he hesitated, his cheeks turning pink, but his voice was steady, “I’m in love with you.”

You stood there, stunned, staring at him in complete disbelief. Riddle Rosehearts just confessed his love to you.

“…Even after all the dumb stuff?” you asked, still processing.

Riddle laughed again, that soft, endearing laugh that made your heart flip. “Especially after all the dumb stuff.”

There was a beat of silence where you just stared at each other, and for once, your usually silly brain kicked into overdrive. You stepped closer, leaning in with a sudden smoothness you didn’t even know you were capable of.

“Well,” you said, your voice dropping to a low murmur as you tilted your head toward him, “lucky for you… I’m your idiot.”

And before Riddle could even respond, you kissed him.

It was soft, and sweet, and everything perfect. For a moment, Riddle was so surprised he froze, but then he melted into it, his hand gently cupping your face like he’d been waiting forever to do this.

When you pulled back, Riddle was completely flustered, his face red as a tomato, but there was a dazed smile on his lips. “That… That was unfair.”

You grinned, leaning your forehead against his. “You love it.”

Riddle shook his head, still smiling. “I really do.”

And from that moment on, it was clear: you may be the academy’s resident chaos agent, but you were his chaos agent, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You finally got a private moment to yourself. It was time to say goodbye to the villain system that you may or may not have gotten fond of.

The notification flashed across your vision, blindingly bright:

[Congratulations! You’ve accumulated enough points to finally say goodbye to the system.]

You blinked. "Wait… really? I can finally get rid of you?"

[Yes. It’s been a wild ride, hasn’t it?]

Wild ride was an understatement. The system had dragged you through schemes, quests, and enough drama to fill a ten-season TV show, all for the purpose of toppling your sister's reign of terror. And now, at long last, you were free.

"...So that's it?" you asked. "No final boss fight? No sudden plot twist where you take over my body and reveal you’re the real villain?"

There was a pause before the next notification popped up.

[Actually... about that plot twist...]

You groaned. "I knew it. What is it this time? Are you an evil AI? A demon? Oh God, please tell me you’re not my fairy godmother in disguise."

[I’m… actually the original villainess.]

You stared at the screen for a solid five seconds. "...What."

[Yeah. You, uh, you kinda possessed me.]

You blinked rapidly, your brain short-circuiting. "WHAT?!"

[I was the original villainess of this world. The real one. You didn’t just get isekai’d into some random character. You got me, because I wanted you]

"Oh my God," you muttered. "You’ve been here the whole time?"

[Yup. Watching you fumble around like an idiot. No offense.]

"None taken, but wow—uh, okay," you said, rubbing your forehead. "So I’ve just been… helping you take revenge on your sister this whole time?"

[Well, duh.] The system sounded almost smug. [She tormented me horrifically when I was still alive. That’s why I pushed you to make her life miserable. I wanted justice.]

"Justice," you repeated, thinking back to all the chaos, sabotage, and general insanity. "That was justice?"

[Look, we both know she deserved it.]

You couldn’t exactly argue with that. "I mean, fair. So what now? You just leave?"

There was a long pause before the system replied.

[Well... you actually have more points than you need. You can buy my identity if you want. Get the full story. You know, if you're curious.]

You hesitated for a second, but then shrugged. "Eh, why not. Hit me with it."

The system pinged, and suddenly, memories flooded your mind—her memories. You saw everything: her upbringing, her struggles, how she had tried so hard to be perfect for her family, only for her sister to constantly outshine her. You saw the cruel way her sister belittled her, humiliated her in front of the court, all while smiling sweetly to the outside world.

And then… the tragic ending, where the villainess was cast aside, labeled a monster, and killed.

By the end of it, you felt like you’d been punched in the gut.

"Oh, wow," you whispered. "She really was awful to you."

[Told you.]

"Man… I’m so sorry," you said, your voice softening. "You went through all that, and then you ended up stuck with me."

[Honestly? It was kinda fun watching you screw up everything at first.] The system’s tone was teasing now, but there was an undeniable warmth underneath it. [But you did a good job. Better than I ever did. You were a little unhinged, but hey, that’s probably why I liked you.]

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Thanks, I guess? I tried my best."

[You did more than that.] There was a strange fondness in the system’s voice. [You turned this whole world upside down. You made people laugh, cry, and probably question their sanity. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better revenge.]

For a moment, you felt a lump form in your throat. "So… what now? Do you just disappear?"

[Yeah. It’s time for me to move on. But… hey, I’m rooting for you. Go live your best life. Be happy. And if you ever need to knock your sister down a peg, do it in style. For me.]

You smiled, blinking away the sudden wetness in your eyes. "You bet I will. And hey—wherever you go, I hope you get to relax for once. You deserve it."

[Pfft, I doubt it, but thanks.]

There was a brief pause, then another notification popped up.

[Goodbye, little reader. It’s been real. And remember—always aim for the drama. It makes life more interesting.]

With that, the screen dimmed, and the system was gone.

You stared at the empty space where the notifications used to be. "Aim for the drama, huh?" you muttered, a grin tugging at your lips. "Well, I guess that’s one thing I’m good at."

As you turned around, ready to move forward without the system hovering over

you, you felt something. A strange, gentle sensation, like the faintest brush of a breeze, except it wasn’t just that. It was warmer, more personal, and… oddly comforting.

It took a second, but then it hit you. "Wait—"

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Was this—?

It was as if the original villainess was giving you a ghostly hug. Soft, delicate, but so real you could almost feel her presence.

Tears welled up in your eyes, completely out of nowhere. You weren’t supposed to feel emotional! Not over a system—no, not just a system—a person who had suffered more than you ever realized.

"I… I’m sorry I couldn’t fix everything for you," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I tried, I really did, but…"

You felt that warmth grow a little stronger, like she was reassuring you, telling you that you had done enough. More than enough. Maybe, in a way, you’d freed her. Given her peace.

The weight of that ghostly embrace made your heart swell, and before you could stop yourself, you started crying. Again. But not the ugly, chaotic crying from before—this was softer, deeper. The kind of crying that cleansed your soul.

"I’ll do it," you whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks. "I’ll finish what I started. I’ll take her down. Not just for me—but for you."

The presence seemed to linger for a moment longer, and then it was gone, leaving behind a quiet strength in its place.

You wiped your eyes, steeling yourself. The resolution hardened in your chest like iron. Everything you had been planning, all the revenge, the chaos you had been orchestrating, it wasn’t just some game anymore. It was personal.

For her.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and looked out toward the path ahead, a fire burning brighter than ever inside you.

"I’ll finish this," you muttered, fists clenching. "And it’s going to be beautiful."

And with that, you walked forward, no longer just a reader in someone else’s story.

This time, you were the one in control.

The day of your wedding to Riddle was perfect. Every detail was as if the universe had conspired to make sure nothing went wrong. The air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers, and laughter echoed throughout the grand venue. Your friends were all there, supporting you—Ace and Deuce bickering over who looked better in their suits, Cater contantly checking if everything was aesthetically pleasing, and Trey managing everything behind the scenes with his usual calm, though you caught him grinning at you more than once, proud as ever. Even Che'nya had shown up, popping in and out of sight as he pleased, throwing teasing remarks at anyone who passed by.

Your sister, however, was absolutely seething. She stood stiffly, dressed impeccably, but with a scowl that could burn down the entire venue. You knew she was fuming because she had always imagined herself in your place, standing beside Riddle. Too bad for her—you had the upper hand now.

You glanced at her briefly as you passed by, a wicked smile tugging at your lips. “Didn’t think you’d have the guts to show your face here. I almost admire it,” you whispered sweetly as you walked past her, arm in arm with Riddle.

She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could get a word out, you tossed one last barb. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to toss my bouquet to you. Maybe you'll get married next? You know, if they can find someone that can stand you?”

Riddle squeezed your hand as if to remind you to behave, but even he had a hint of a smirk on his face. Your friends snickered behind you, and Che'nya, perched casually on a railing, added a quiet, “Oof, that’s gotta sting.”

The ceremony itself was beautiful. Riddle stood there looking like he’d stepped out of a fairytale, his usually stern face softened by the moment. As you exchanged vows, there was a lightness to the air that made everything feel surreal. You could see how much he cared in the way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he held yours.

Ace, unable to help himself, whispered loudly, “You sure Riddle isn’t going to pass out from the nerves?”

Deuce elbowed him, but you could barely hold back a laugh. Even Riddle blushed a bit, shooting a glare at Ace but unable to hide his own amusement.

When it was time for the reception, the fun really kicked off. Che'nya gave a surprisingly emotional speech—well, for him at least, as he vanished mid-sentence and then reappeared to finish his speech. Trey quietly made sure everything ran smoothly, even sneaking a slice of cake for you before the official cake-cutting, while Ace and Deuce took over the dance floor with some wild moves that had everyone laughing. Cater even got caught spiking the drinks and you couldn't help but laugh.

After the wedding, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light over the celebration. Everything had gone smoothly, almost too smoothly. Even Riddle’s mother, who was notoriously hard to please, had remained poised and polite throughout. But you knew there was still unfinished business, and the weight of it settled heavily on your chest.

You’d seen the way she treated Riddle for years—through the pages of the webnovel and now, up close. Sure, she liked you, had even hinted at being pleased with your match to Riddle, but that didn’t erase the years of pressure and manipulation she had placed on him. The burden he had carried because of her was too great to ignore, and today, of all days, you were not going to let it slide.

You spotted her near the garden fountain, quietly observing the festivities. For a moment, she looked almost serene, her icy exterior softened by the beautiful day. But that didn’t change how you felt.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over. "Lady Rosehearts," you began, your voice steady but laced with unspoken tension.

She turned to you, a smile on her lips. "Ah, my dear. You were magnificent today. Truly the picture of grace and elegance. I couldn't have asked for a better match for my son."

Her words were warm, genuine even, but they only fueled the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t respond right away, just stared at her, waiting for the right moment to unleash what you’d been holding in.

Finally, you spoke, your voice low. "I appreciate your kind words, but there’s something I can’t let go of." You stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "For years, you’ve pushed Riddle to be perfect. You suffocated him with your expectations, and it hurt him. I can’t stand by and let you pretend that didn’t happen."

Lady Rosehearts blinked, caught off guard. She opened her mouth to respond, but you held up a hand.

"You like me, and I’m grateful for that, but I love Riddle." Your voice wavered, not with fear, but with emotion. "And because I love him, I can’t ignore the damage you’ve caused. The pressure you put on him to be someone he wasn’t. The way you never let him breathe. You may have done it out of love, but it hurt him."

She stared at you, the weight of your words sinking in. There was no immediate defense, no cold dismissal. She simply looked… surprised.

"I…" she began, but faltered. "I thought I was doing what was best for him. I wanted him to succeed, to be respected."

"But at what cost?" you snapped, unable to hold back the edge in your voice. "You wanted him to be respected so much that you never let him make his own choices. He deserves to be happy. And he deserves your respect, not just as your son, but as a person."

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. You could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the realization that perhaps, just perhaps, she hadn’t done as well by Riddle as she thought.

Before she could respond, Riddle appeared beside you, having noticed the tension from across the garden. He stood tall, his usual calm demeanor in place, but you could sense the vulnerability beneath it.

"Mother," he said quietly, his voice steady but with a new strength behind it. "She’s right."

His mother turned to him, the surprise evident on her face. "Riddle…"

"I know you wanted the best for me. I know you love me. But I needed more than just discipline and expectations. I needed to know that it was okay to be myself. To fail, even." He paused, and his eyes softened. "I love you, Mother. But you have to let me live my life. I’m not a perfect image for you to sculpt."

The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken words. You held your breath, waiting for her reaction, unsure of what to expect. You had always imagined her to be unmovable, too set in her ways to ever change.

But then, her expression softened. She took a step toward Riddle, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. "I… didn’t realize. I thought I was protecting you. But I see now that I may have been too harsh, too controlling." She paused, her gaze shifting between you and Riddle. "You’re right. Both of you. And I am truly sorry."

You blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in her voice. This was not the cold, unyielding woman you had expected. There was genuine remorse in her eyes.

She turned to you, her tone softer. "Thank you. For helping him find his way. And for standing by his side."

For a moment, the three of you stood there, the weight of years of tension slowly lifting. It wasn’t a perfect resolution—years of damage couldn’t be erased with one conversation—but it was a start.You sighed, the anger that had been simmering inside you finally ebbing away. "I only did what anyone who loves him would do," you said, glancing at Riddle with a soft smile.

Riddle’s mother nodded, and though her usual composure was still in place, there was a warmth in her expression that you hadn’t seen before. "Then I’m glad he found someone like you." But you saw her expression crack a little and so did Riddle.

Then, Riddle, ever the perfect son, stepped forward. "Mother, it’s alright." His voice was soft, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t often seen. He reached out and offered her something you never expected—a hug.

For a moment, she hesitated. Then, slowly, she stepped into his embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around him. It was quiet, emotional, and—before you knew it—you were also pulled into it.

The warmth of the group hug surrounded you, Riddle’s mother surprisingly holding you a little tighter than you expected, as if silently acknowledging the forgiveness Riddle was able to give because of your presence by his side.

She then pulled away, wiped her tears and wiped the tears that you didn't realize were falling from your eyes either. "Congratulations, again, I'm proud of you both" was all she said as she turned to leave.

As she stepped away, leaving you and Riddle alone in the garden, you let out a long breath, feeling a sense of closure you hadn’t expected.

Riddle turned to you, his expression soft and full of gratitude. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For standing up for me. For everything."

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "You don’t need to thank me. We’re in this together, remember?"

He squeezed your hand gently, his usual stoic expression melting away into something softer, more vulnerable. "I know. And I wouldn’t have it any other way."

From across the garden, you saw Trey and Che'nya watching, Trey giving a subtle nod of approval, while Che'nya grinned, undoubtedly waiting to pounce with some teasing remark later.

But for now, you just stood there with Riddle, the weight of the day finally settling in. You’d won—both the battle for his heart and the battle for his freedom. And in that moment, everything felt right.

The courtroom was packed, filled with nobles from all across the empire. This was the moment you’d been waiting for, orchestrated with the help of your closest friends: Trey’s calm, methodical planning, Cater’s relentless information gathering, Ace and Deuce’s enthusiasm (and occasional chaos), and, of course, Riddle, who stood by your side, his presence a steady reassurance.

Your sister stood at the center of attention, oblivious to the storm about to hit. For years, she had manipulated and destroyed anyone who dared stand in her way. She thought she was untouchable, the darling of the nobility, admired and respected. But you knew the truth, and so did everyone in this room, thanks to the carefully gathered evidence that was about to expose her for the monster she was.

Cater had planted seeds of the truth you found out that grew into full-fledged whispers about your sister’s darker deeds. Even now, the tension in the room was palpable as people murmured, casting glances her way.

You stepped forward, the letter you held clutched tightly in your hand. Riddle gave you a small nod of encouragement, his eyes steely as he took his place beside you.

"Ladies and gentlemen," you began, your voice clear and sharp, cutting through the room's murmurs. "I come to you today not with accusations, but with the truth. The truth of the heinous crimes committed by my sister."

There was a gasp from the crowd, the air thick with shock and intrigue. Your sister's face remained calm, but you saw the flicker of worry in her eyes.

"She has embezzled from the kingdom’s treasury, siphoning off funds meant for the empire's welfare," you declared, holding up the documents that Trey had meticulously helped you gather. "She has blackmailed noble families into silence, using threats and false accusations to maintain her hold over them. And worst of all—"

You paused, letting the tension build as you cast your gaze over the room, making sure every pair of eyes was locked on you. Then, with quiet, deliberate force, you spoke.

"She has been responsible for the poisoning of the emperor’s own cousin, Lady Astoria. A death that was pinned on an innocent maid."

The room exploded into chaos, gasps, and shouts of disbelief filling the air. Your sister’s face drained of color, her facade finally cracking as people turned toward her, expressions of shock and outrage growing with every second.

"These documents prove every crime," you continued, your voice strong and unwavering as Cater passed around copies of the evidence to the nobles. "She thought she could keep her secrets buried. But not anymore."

"These are lies!" your sister shrieked, her voice desperate as she clutched at the air, trying to regain control. "This is a setup! You’ve all been deceived!"

But it was too late. The emperor himself stood up, his eyes narrowing in fury as he glanced over the evidence. The knight commander beside him was already moving, her sword drawn as the guards approached your sister.

"For your crimes against the empire, you are sentenced to death," the emperor declared, his voice cold and final.

Your sister screamed, fighting as the guards seized her, but there was no escape now. The nobles who once fawned over her turned away in disgust, her power crumbling in mere moments.

Riddle’s hand found yours, his grip tight but comforting as you watched her dragged away. It should’ve felt sweet, but instead, you felt a strange heaviness settle in your chest. This was the end, wasn’t it?

As the execution was carried out in the courtyard, the crowd watching with bated breath, you stood off to the side, Riddle at your side, and your friends close by. Ace whispered some snide comment about how dramatic everything was, and Deuce elbowed him to shut up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

When it was over, the finality of it hit you like a truck. You had done it—exposed her to the world, avenged not just yourself, but the original villainess too. You expected to feel victorious, but instead, a deep sadness settled in your chest. She should've been the one to see this.

And then, just as you were about to turn away, you saw her.

A faint, ethereal figure stood near the edge of the courtyard. The original villainess. Her eyes were softer than you imagined, her expression free of the bitterness that had fueled her desire for revenge. She looked… peaceful.

Tears welled in your eyes, and before you knew it, you were crying, really crying. Ugly, messy sobs that you couldn’t control. All the rage, all the sorrow, everything you had carried from her spilled out in that moment.

"I did it," you whispered, barely audible, but you knew she heard you. "I did it for you."

The specter of the original villainess smiled, a soft, almost sisterly expression on her face. And then, in a moment that almost felt too surreal, you felt her—felt her give you a final ghostly embrace. It was as if the weight of her vengeance had lifted, her spirit no longer bound by the chains of hatred. She was free now, and so were you.

With a final nod, the specter faded into the night, leaving you standing there, tears streaming down your face. You wiped them away as best as you could, sniffling and trying to compose yourself, but the lump in your throat remained.

The warmth of the original villainess's hug lingered long after she faded, her presence now a bittersweet memory. You stood in the quiet, feeling an overwhelming sense of both loss and completion. For the first time, it felt like the weight of both your lives had lifted.

Then, a soft flutter of wings caught your attention. A small dove descended gently, perching on your shoulder. It was so light, so delicate, and for a moment, it just sat there, as if offering comfort. You held your breath, watching it. The dove turned its head toward you, as though it knew. As though she knew.

You blinked, tears pooling in your eyes again as the dove gave a soft coo and flew away, soaring into the sky. Something inside you broke at the sight—something that had been held together for too long. The tears came harder now, not out of sorrow, but of release.

"She's free…" you whispered, your voice trembling. "She's finally free."

Your chest heaved with emotion, sobs you couldn’t control spilling out as you watched the dove disappear into the distance. All this time, everything you had done, every struggle, every sacrifice, was for her. And now, it was over.

Riddle turned toward you, concern flickering in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

You nodded, blinking away the last of your tears. "Yeah… yeah, I am. It’s just—" You paused, looking up at the sky. "My sister’s gone now. And I think… I'm at peace."

Riddle stood beside you, his own heart heavy with the weight of your emotions. Without a word, he reached out, gently pulling you into his arms. His embrace was soft but firm, grounding you when you felt like you might fall apart.

Riddle’s grip on your hand tightened, and when you looked at him, there was something unspoken in his gaze—understanding, maybe. "You did what was right," he said softly. "And now it’s over."

You took a deep breath and nodded, squeezing his hand in return. "Yeah. Now it’s over."

With Riddle by your side, and your friends waiting for you just beyond the courtyard, you knew that the hardest part was behind you. You had avenged the original villainess, exposed your sister for what she truly was, and now, finally, you could walk away from all of it.

Riddle leaned closer, his voice gentle but filled with quiet strength. "Come on. Let’s go."

Together, hand in hand, you turned away from the past and walked toward the future—your future—with the love of your life, your husband, Riddle, by your side.

Boy, was this a ride to write, but i genuinely haven't had this much fun writing before, and it got longer as i went.

For the next Trashy Novel Chronicles, which twst char would you like to see? I have a few plots planned for these, I'll eventually write them both but which one do y'all wanna see first?

Series Masterlist ; My Masterlists

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #chaotic mc #ace trappola #deuce spade #trey clover #au: nobility #arranged marriages #trash novel chronicles

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cherry-leclerc · 6 months ago

Text

we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by sharpest tool, sabrina carpenter !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him.

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often."

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?”

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters.

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t.

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones.

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body.

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver.

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower.

He’s just becoming— too real.

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his.

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush.

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble.

The start of the season is always tough.

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn.

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world.

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing.

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention.

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand.

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough.

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles.

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend?

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words.

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing.

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.”

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement.

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry.

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room.

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help.

Woah, are you feeling alright?

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.”

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright.

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you.

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter.

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek.

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little.

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration.

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you.

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground.

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open.

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver.

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace.

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.”

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.”

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat.

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.”

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose.

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering.

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it.

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers.

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers.

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs.

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess.

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon.

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando.

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.”

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands.

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.”

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.”

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him.

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again.

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan.

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing.

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.”

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief.

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.”

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision.

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk.

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing.

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off.

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop.

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you?

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning.

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other.

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry.

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath.

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer.

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn��t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning.

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Lennon gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome.

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando.

You what?

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers.

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream.

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean.

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.”

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts.

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice.

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare he have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to.

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has.

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might.

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, round eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.”

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct.

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now.

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once.

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it.

It was never going to be you.

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues.

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt?

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend.

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing.

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you.

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded.

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you?

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks just as tired as you. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab.

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough.

Only then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.”

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring.

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle.

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.”

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed m—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a shy laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes.

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly.

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes.

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock.

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it will for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place.

“What about me?”

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

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pomegranate-theater · 2 months ago

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I'm really nasty 😞 can I request more Mydei smut, maybe detailing how vocal he is and how he talks the reader through it. 😭 God forgive me.

You and I think alike, anon. Hopefully this fulfills your request.

Cw: fem reader, established relationship, Mydei bends you in half, sex on his throne, oral fem receiving, praise, size kink, possessiveness, semi public, dumbification, Mydei talks you through it and can’t shut up. Word count: around 1.6k Not suitable for minors!

There was an odd, wild idea about Mydei today; even more than usual, when he was suddenly putting you down on his throne, just moments after you were calmly resting on his lap, your tunic being lifted up by your clearly eager husband. Whether it was something that frustrated him today that had Mydei coming to you, something about you filling his head too much, you couldn’t really complain — even if you felt swallowed by him.

You thought that you were about to be snapped in half with how much Mydei was forcing your thighs close to your head, folding you in half. Kneeling in front of you seated like this on his crystal throne, he was eating everything between your thighs, growling rather aggressively at your taste. “You’re always so wet for me… I bet you can’t stop thinking about me doing this to you, huh?” he said against your sweet pussy, slurping with his tongue, and latching onto your clit with his lips.

“You can’t keep quiet at all, even when I told you to. It’s as if you want us to get caught,” he said roughly. He’d never let anyone see you like this, maybe slaughter someone who did, when this holy sight was reserved just for him; nor did he want entire place to know, but you were too brain-dead on the pleasure he was giving you to even think of the consequences of letting others hear. You, instead, were busy with moaning for him and pulling on his orange hair, unable to stay still. It was just his hands on your thighs keeping you from squirming away, supported by his strong arms.

“Mydei, please!” And he couldn’t even try to shut you up if it meant denying himself of hearing your wanton voice and his name on your lips, calling out for your husband. He groaned with his tongue inside of you, feeling his dick throb at your needy whines. “You taste so good, love… you’re making me crazy like this. So, so weak,” his voice was muffled against your skin, the vibrations making you even more sensitive.

No matter how much you trashed, he brought you to your first pleasure, lapping at every juice you gave him. “Damn it…” he cursed when he looked up at your expression, seeing it twisted and so ruined by him, with tears and daze in your eyes, your lips parted and crying out of him. You were so beautiful like this, and he couldn’t stop obsessing about making you like this everyday. Maybe he should, seeing what a desperate of a wife he made… if you didn’t make him even worse.

He was quickly standing up, letting your legs rest down for a moment, not even bothering to take his pants off and choosing to yank them down. Thankfully, his armor part has been abandoned earlier when he returned.

You felt heat in your abdomen grow, knowing he was going to give you something even much better, to fill you up and shut up your whines for more; or rather, make you whine even harder. He’d take care of you, as always, cause while your husband could be merciless with his enemies, with you, his wife, he felt dutiful and giving. “Please, Mydei, I need you so badly…” you said eagerly. “Fill me up.”

“You really can’t wait… No, you never can…” he mused, his low voice, not any better at hiding his desperation. “Don’t worry, I can never really deny you, no matter how much how I like hearing your begs…” he said with appreciation. Mydei was well aware that his mind has been always catching up to the memories of your moans and begs from your nights just when he’s trying to focus on something else. “My wife won’t walk around starving.”

Mydei was kneeling in front of his throne again, this time lowering your body by your legs to lay your torso on the bottom of the seat, and having your head rest against the back, your neck and spine curved to accommodate the position. Your legs dangling down the throne, Mydei threw over his shoulders. You were trembling with anticipation, whimpering impatiently, when he grabbed his cock to spread his wetness with his tip stirring against your wet hole’s entrance.

“Hush, you insatiable woman…” he teased, only to grunt hard when he finally was pushing himself inside of you. You were so eager for him that stretching you even with his thick girth was easy today — you just couldn’t stop enjoying seeing your husband so eager, unable to stop himself from pouncing on you. Mydei had to grab onto your thighs again, feeling suffocated by your heat and tightness. “There we go, so full of your husband… so beautiful for me,” he groaned, and was not wasting any time to start roughly thrusting into you, not leaving any space inside of your walls empty. Mydei was even more motivated when you were falling into moaning for him quickly, and way too loudly, for your surroundings again. No one would dare to walk in without knocking, but hearing…

“So good…” you whined out. “I can’t… you’ll break me,” you cried out, your eyes rolling back.

Something twisted shone in his orange eyes at your words, making him thrust even faster and deeper. “No, I won’t break you… but I’ll make sure it’s just me on your pretty mind,” Mydei exclaimed with a sense of ownership, liking the idea of your mind being dumbed with thoughts of your husband and no other man — devoted just the same way he was devoting himself to you. “I really wish there was a way for you to see yourself like this, how beautiful you are… maybe next time, I’ll take you in front of the mirror,” he said, awfully content at the idea. Your pussy was too when you suddenly squeezed on him, and Mydei latched onto your calves roughly to pull you even closer to his hips. “Yeah? You’d want that?”

The throne was shaking at this point.

With your legs still over his shoulders, Mydei forced them around his hips for even better angle, and leaned forward to kiss you hungrily; along to rub your clit to help you reach your peak. He tasted your tongue, smacked your lips and devoured them with his, humming when you moaned right against his mouth, making his digit circle faster and his hips to be meaner. Each harsh thrust was making your pussy gather a pressure that was growing, and soon would snap and release in another wave of intense pleasure.

Mydei withdrew from your lips, looking below at where his fat cock was pushing itself inside of you, disappearing, and leaving no space unstreched, forcing your folds to part for him. “What’s wrong, my love? Too big for you? No… I know you love me splitting you like this,” Mydei admitted the truth for you, one you knew to the core. Nothing would make you feel fulfilled like he does, ever again. Taking him wasn’t easy, but Mydei always made sure to make you ready for him, with the end result always so worth the long wait. “Yes… love it so much… so big,” you blabbered, and you were making him so proud like this — thinking only about your Mydei, your husband, just like he wanted it to be.

“Do you feel how deep inside I am?” he asked in awe, before placing his other hand on your tummy to press. You trashed under his palm, feeling him even more right there, protesting as you felt so overwhelmed yet so good. “I’m sure you do. You take me so well, I cannot stop spoiling you like this…” he praised, before falling back into sequence of groans and grunts; when as in result of his previous actions, your legs brought him closer around his hips, forcing him even deeper into you.

Just with the way he had to busy his face into your neck next you knew he was getting close too, ready to fill you up with his load, making you even more swollen of him. Mydei just couldn’t control himself with you, that he had to rest himself here, almost embarrassed of letting you see him so much differently than an everyday warrior. You let him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, as he pounded into you and vocalized against your ear, digging your nails into his skin and leaving him even more crazy on you. His balls slapped against you, adding to the animality of the scene.

“Mydei, I’m so close, please, fill me up…” you said desperately, scratching him slightly and making his hips momentarily falter, before they were mad again. “I will, my pretty. You’ll take it all, won’t you? You’ll come for your dear husband, and let him fill you up like he should,” he inquired, looking up at your face again. You nodded furiously, making him smile in pride, before he sped up for the last time and spent up himself inside of your walls, making you feel even fuller and warmer. He gripped onto your sides viciously, spilling curses and rough grumbles, feeling as if you were trying to kill him when your pussy was twitching madly from your orgasm. The high pitched strangled moan you let out was echoing across the empty room.

Mydei kept his hips pressed tightly against yours, having you filled entirely, as he wasn’t ready to let anything spill yet. He rested his body over yours, its heaviness crashing you comforting, letting you both catch your breaths. He wouldn’t think a battle is more breathtaking than doing this with you.

Soon, with much more gentleness than before, Mydei was lifting you up into his arms, leaning towards your face to press a kiss against your forehead; before he was carrying you to let you both take a nice bath.

#mydei x reader #mydei smut #hsr smut #mydei x you #haniaistic—works.

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tjelestial · 2 months ago

Text

Pick A Lana:

Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

PAC: Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

☆ How to choose your pile: Take a deep breath, hold it for a sec - exhale slowly through your mouth. Close your eyes and focus on the question. Once you're ready, take a look at the number and choose the pile you feel drawn to.

If you feel called by more than one pile, there might be more messages for you.

Remember: This is a general reading, therefore I'd be picking up messages for collective audience. Take only what resonates and leave what doesn’t. May you find your message!

PILE 1

Hi Pile 1, welcome to your reading! Okay, right of the bat Pile 1, your person is giving ✨possessive✨ I just heard “You’re mine.” Damn. It’s the ultimate "I own you, and you own me" energy. There’s no in-between, just a raw, unshakable pull between you two. It’s almost obsessive, the way their body craves yours, the way their mind keeps coming back to thoughts of you, even when they try to focus on work and other things.

They fantasize about taking their time with you, making you beg before they finally give you what you want. I heard “arguing is foreplay”. It’s the kind of connection where even your arguments hold heat—one second you’re challenging them, the next, they’ve got you against the wall, their mouth on yours, hands gripping tight because they can’t keep their hands off you. Your body is like a prize they’ve won, and they’re going to worship every inch of it. For some of you, your person don’t shy from PDA and they like to show you off.

You’re someone who set high standards for yourself and actually put in the work to meet them. Whether it’s in your career, social circle, or relationships, you exude the energy of someone who knows their worth. For some of you, I’m getting IxTP/xxFJ vibes.

Your person is a provider. I almost thought it’s giving sugar daddy vibes, with how much they spoil you materialistically. But there’s this insecurity within them. Maybe they think you’re too good to be true? Maybe it’s fear of losing you? Maybe you shine so bright? But they don’t want to let you go. And in the heat of it all? They can’t resist you. They want to fuck the insecurity out of their system, to make you scream their name until they know you’re theirs in every way possible.

They love taking you from behind too, it’s one of their fantasies, gripping your waist, pulling your hair against them because they need to feel all of you. They’re possessive with their hands, their touches—palm against your throat, choking (consensually), fingers tangled in your hair, nails digging into your hips. They don’t just want to make love to you; they want to mark you with hickies, claim you, make sure you remember exactly who’s fucking you so good.

They love the way you let them take control, but they also love it when you push back—when you straddle them, pin them down, show them that you know exactly what you’re doing, it drives them crazy. They want to own you, but at the same time, you own them just as much. And they’ll make damn sure you never forget that.

For some of you, there’s also cuddle/spooning fantasy going on. They want to hold you tight after, in that sweet afterglow. But even while they’re holding you, their hands are gonna wander, teasing, exploring. Honestly they just can’t help it 🤷‍♀️

PILE 2

Oh, now this is the seductress irresistible pile. Your person? They don’t just want you—they ache for you, in a way that borders on desperation. What did you do to them Pile 2 🥵Your person hates how much control you have over them, but at the same time, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

They can’t stand it when you play with them, when you act all innocent, when you act like you don’t know exactly what you do to them. But you do know. You’re giving that "Who, me? I would never officer..." energy while knowing damn well you’re driving them insane. It’s not outright teasing, it’s subtle. You don’t have to try to be alluring; it’s just who you are. You don’t deny anything outright, but you never fully give in right away either. It’s that delicate push-and-pull that drives your person up the wall.

And you love it. You love making them work for it, love seeing them lose their composure, love the way their hands shake slightly when they finally get to touch you after being deprived.

It’s no brainer that they fantasize about you driving them insane—about you dragging things out, taking your time, leaving them with pent up frustration. But once they snap? Once they’ve had enough? That’s when they lose control, that’s when they take you the way they’ve been day dreaming about. Bending you against the nearest surface, with their hands gripping your waist. Spanking you, punishing you. They love to see you squirm, love to see you struggling to keep up with them, love the way your body arches against theirs, silently pleading for more.

Before I continue, if you feel drawn to Pile 1, that’s because there might be a message for you there.

For some of you, your person is obsessed with your mouth—there’s something unique about it. Could be your lips is pouty, or it’s unusually red, could be it has hyperpigmentation on the outer lips so it looks like you have lip liner on, could be the shape is plump and full, or it’s just that you have a smart mouth. Whatever it is, they just can’t get enough. The way your lips part, the way they run their fingers around it—it’s intoxicating. They’ll kiss you like they’re starved.

They like to see you. Mirror sex might be present. So they can take in every shift of your expression, every little gasp and whimper that escapes your lips. They want you to see exactly what they do to you, want you to watch the way your body moves against theirs, want you to witness the complete mess they turn you into.

PILE 3

Ah, Pile 3, your person is craving that deep emotional and physical connection—this isn’t just about lust, your person wants to make love to you. This pile got me listening to Make Love to You by Boys II Men and All My Life by Kci and Jojo. Your person is very passionate, loving and tender.

You are the indulgence they can never resist. You feel like a luxury, like a hidden treasure or something rare. They fantasize about giving you everything, pampering you with the finest things, worshipping you with their hands and touches. They want to be the only one who gets to see you like this—laid out for them, body relaxed, eyes hazy with pleasure as they take their time with you. The way you respond to them, the way your body shivers under their touch, the way you take all that they give you—it’s maddening for them.

They also fantasize about being taken care of and indulging in pure sensuality—slow, lingering touches, bodies tangled in sheets. There’s whispered praises, there’s physical craving—running hands over warm skin, feeling soft lips, savoring the connection fully. They also dream of devotion, they want you to crave them, to cherish them, to treat them like something precious and irreplaceable. Your person might have Leo/Aries in their big 3.

They fantasize about being wanted and wanting you so badly that restraint is impossible for both of you. The moment when all that confidence, all that dominance, turns into need. Because as much as they want to own you, as much as they want to be the one in charge, you have a way of turning the tables. They think they’re the one running the show, but then you touch them just right, whisper something sinful in their ear, look at them with those eyes, and suddenly, they’re the one falling apart.

They don’t even realize how much power you have over them until it’s too late. Until they’re groaning your name, gripping you tight like you’re the only thing keeping them grounded. Until they’re letting you do whatever you want to them because, fuck, they need it. They need you. It’s rare for them to lose control like this, but with you? You pull it out of them effortlessly. They fantasize about you taking from them—taking your pleasure, pushing them to the edge over and over until they’re left breathless and completely wrecked.

It’s not just the sex, though. It’s the connection. They want all of you, body and soul. That’s why they never stop at just one round. Even after the fire dies down, they’ll hold you close, fingers trailing lazily over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your temple. Because for them, this isn’t just lust. This is everything. And Pile 3 they’ll never get enough of you.

PILE 4

Welcome to your reading Pile 4! Your person fantasy carries a heavy emotional undercurrent, it’s not just about physical desire but something deeper, unspoken, and possibly even unresolved. There’s a sense of longing, nostalgia, and emotional intensity, as if their thoughts about you are tangled between wanting, missing, and aching for something far away or unattainable. This is more than just fantasy; there’s something real and deep about the way they think you. For some of you, this person could be an ex.

Your person’s fantasies might be tinged with frustration or a sense of emotional distance. They want you, but something always feels just out of reach. They imagine scenarios where they try to get your attention, but you’re so detached—which only makes them crave you more. There could also be a desire for an unexpected, intense moment that breaks through the emotional barriers.

Now if this is an ex, for them, you’re the one that got away. The one they can’t forget, the one they can’t let go of, no matter how much time passes. Their fantasy isn’t just about having you—it’s about getting you back. About fixing what was broken, about proving to you that no one else will ever know your body the way they do. Because no matter how much they try to move on, no one feels like you. No one haunts them the way you do.

For the action, they fantasized about a night where the past no longer matters, where it’s just you and them, tangled together in sheets that smells like longing. No more distance, no more hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered need. Their feelings go beyond just sex —they want to reclaim you. To remind you, through every slow drag of their fingers, every deep, desperate thrust, exactly who they are to you. They want to see it in your eyes—the way your walls crumble, the way you give in to what’s always been there between you.

You could undo them with just a single touch. And they know it. That’s why, when they have you under them, all soft gasps and breathy moans, they take their time. This isn’t just about pleasure—it’s about proving a point. That no one else will ever make you feel like this. That no one else will ever know you the way they do.

They love how your body trembles when they push—push you to the edge, push you to need them just as much as they need you. You’re so familiar, yet somehow, every touch feels brand new. And it has them consumed, you have them mad.

There’s a strong nostalgic, bittersweet and sentimental quality to their thoughts. They might fantasize about reuniting, rekindling an old spark, or returning to a time when things felt easier. There’s also a sweet yet intense craving for deep emotional intimacy, wanting to feel truly connected, known, and seen by you.

#tarotblr #tarot community #free readings #pac #pick a pile #pick a card #tarot cards #tarot daily #tarot game #tarot reading #love reading tarot #18+ tarot

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silkscream · 1 month ago

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sugar hiccup

ੈ✩ caleb (xia yizhou) x reader

ੈ✩ tags: pseudocest/incest (caleb is referred to as your big brother lol), brat!reader, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, pussy inspection (idk), use of gege, teasing, cum eating for those with the eyes to see (?)

ੈ✩ wc: 2.3k (hello????)

ੈ✩ a/n: i will not be held accountable for this as i was possessed during the two hours it took to write this. bye

Caleb likes to rough you up. He does it as a favor for never letting you get into fights with other boys on the playground. The grudge you held against him for locking you in the attic when he was dealing with a bully was so deep within your marrow, that it took months of allowance money for him to make it up to you.

Now, though, he knows you can handle yourself. The little hunter girl you are. Talented and stubborn to a fault, with bright eyes and a sharp tongue you aren’t afraid to use. You’ve been like that since you were a kid.

He can’t help the satisfaction he feels when he gets to reduce you to tears, though. Likes to taunt you when what he’s doing to you is all a bit too much despite how much you pretend to be a big girl and grit your teeth through it. Whether it’s a playful arm wrestle or the trials of trying to take his cock in your tight heat.

But even when he roughs you up and overpowers you, he loves to coddle you afterward. He’s your big brother after all – there’s a soft spot for you in his heart always. Even if it’s deep like a bruise on ruined fruit, his love for you is sweet all the same. It’s always hurt to love you. Like the masochistic thrill of pressing down on a wound.

He should feel bad right now. He was rougher than usual on you today, but you seem to like the bites and the bruises littering your skin. You were getting stir-crazy lately, which is probably why you talked back to him today, knowing damn well that his temper was short-fused because of work lately.

But you’re just so good for him, milking his cock for all it's worth. He told you as such when he was deep inside you only minutes prior, kissing the tears on your cheeks. You know deep in your heart that your gege will always take care of you. Even when his love hurts, it’s all from a good place.

Caleb looks up to the sound of the bathroom door opening. He’d expected you to go to your room and get dressed before returning to him, but you’re still naked. He narrows his eyes.

“Hi,” you say softly.

“Hey.”

You climb into his lap, nesting yourself in his embrace. He takes a deep breath and tightens his grip on you, swallowing you inside his arms. You could never get used to how large he was compared to his lanky teenage self.

You whine when he squeezes your hips.

“Missed you.”

“I just went to pee,” you scoff. “Stop smothering me.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling my cuddles now?”

“Yes,” you huff. As if you didn’t make yourself at home in his lap moments before.

“You’re being such a brat lately, you know that?” he says lowly, tracing your bottom lip. He smirks at you with a slight tilt of his mouth, his violet eyes gleaming.

You part your mouth and his gaze darkens. You bite his thumb.

He laughs, not unkindly, but you know it’ll taper into his usual scoffs. The ones that you coax from him when you don’t obey him or when you’re picky. Spending more than half of your life with him means that you have his micro-expressions memorized.

“See?” he mutters, pulling his thumb back. “Brat.”

Before you can respond, he pushes two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue.

“What’s wrong, Pip? You usually like having your mouth full.”

You whine in response. A noise that’s defiant more than anything.

“Suck.” Caleb’s voice is biting. You can feel his fingertips graze the back of your tongue and you exhale sharply. You end up obeying.

“There you go. Good girl.”

You can’t help but glare at him. He finally pulls his digits out of your mouth, watching intently as a string of saliva stretches from your tongue to his fingertip. Your insides flutter with something in between arousal and disgust.

“Stop playing with me,” you huff.

He lets out a sharp laugh. “What do you mean?” he asks innocently. You shiver when he peppers sweet kisses below your ear, down your neck.

“Tickles,” you whine, your shoulder jerking. You squirm and the strength at which he’s able to hold you down should scare you. Instead, it excites you. Your stomach pools with shame.

You pout, continuing to defy him by moving so much. Trying to get off his lap, thrashing like you’re an unsettled bird. You don’t often bicker the way you used to when you were younger, but there’s still a place inside you that holds a specific kind of irritation when you hear him chuckle darkly. Knowing he doesn’t take you seriously. Even when he fucks you, there are moments you feel reduced to your younger self. His kid sister.

“Stay still,” he huffs. “Let me hold you, honey.”

You make a noise of protest just because. You always want to provoke him for reasons you can’t explain.

He sits you down firmly on his thigh and it reminds you of your size difference. Renders you embarrassed, because you’re still bare and your skin is so hot and his touch is so –

He holds you by the jaw. "I can feel you, you know," he says to you, his eyes inky amongst a bed of indigo. "You're not even trying to hide it anymore, are you?"

“Wh-what?”

His lips move to your ear, kissing the lobe before he whispers, "You're getting worked up again, hm? Need Gege to calm you down?”

He grinds you against his bare thigh, moving you like you’re a ragdoll. You gasp involuntarily. It’s now that you realize how embarrassingly wet you are.

Caleb makes a strangled noise. As if the air is punched out of him. “Hah – you feel that? Is that all you? Or you and me, baby?”

“You and… me?”

He leans back to flash you a raised brow. “Yeah. You and me. Did you forget that I just –”

“Yes,” you cut him off, blushing, “I remember. Don’t be crude.”

“I want to know. You’re not normally this wet, you know.”

Fuck. You want to bury your face in his shoulder to hide your reaction, your face up in flames. You had always admired his candor. But there are times like these when he could pry anything from you. When his bare honesty would humiliate you.

“I cleaned up in the bathroom,” you shoot back, frowning.

“Did you?” he smirks. “I’d like my own proof.”

“Excuse me?” you scoff.

He gives you a knowing look. Usually, he likes to wipe you down with a warm, wet towel, maybe bathe you after he makes a mess out of you. This time, you had fled to the bathroom without warning, still embarrassed for some reason. He didn’t understand. Fucking was the closest he could get to you without sewing himself inside your skin. He loved you, and you loved him, so it often puzzled him why you were so shy sometimes.

“What?” he asks. He tilts his head, soothes a palm over the bruise he gave you on your waist. “Just wanna see if you cleaned up as good as you thought.”

His hand moves down to your hip. “Or should I find out for myself before you start making a mess on my thigh?”

You shoot daggers at him. “Don’t –”

His eyes flicker with intrigue before he narrows them. “Don’t what, hm? Your big brother just wants to check. You were never so good at cleaning yourself up, you know?”

You frown. Your heart is ready to burst from your sternum.

“You used to ask me to wash your hair in the bath,” he says lowly, giving you a lazy grin. “Said no one washed it as good as me. I think you just wanted a scalp massage, though. Spoiled girl.”

Your face burns even hotter. For him to mention something so innocent from your juvenile self while suggesting something so dirty minutes prior – the humiliation almost makes you shudder.

“I– I don’t need –”

“C’mon. You know you can’t hide from me. You never could.”

You blink at him. Before you know it, he lays you on your back, pressing his weight against you. Your eyes flutter when you feel his hard cock against your thigh, inhaling as you feel him shift his body.

He presses a kiss to your thigh, then pries your legs open. The intensity in which he examines your pussy makes you want to crawl into a hole.

He hums, prodding in between your folds with deft fingers. You whimper at the stimulation.

“C-Caleb –”

He hums. “Hm.. just as I thought,” he murmurs, amused. “You missed some.”

“I did not –”

“You know,” he tsks, “I’m a bit disappointed.”

“What? Why?”

“You were so eager to leave me. I would’ve cleaned you up myself,” he sighs, feigning disappointment. “Like I always do. But you still didn’t do a good job, even though you’re all grown now. What a shame.”

He’s quick to move down your body. It’s like whiplash.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice high with incredulity.

“What do you think?” he grins. “I’m gonna make sure you’re all clean.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He looks at you with a hint of disdain and it makes your heart sink. In the back of your mind, you know his demeanor is all play, but any sign of disapproval from Caleb always makes you panic slightly. You had always wanted to please him, even when you were kids. That coupled with your attuned sense of his emotions made it all the more Pavlovian. You’d give in to him if it would make him happy, no matter what.

“A-Are you serious?” you mutter.

“Deadly.”

He spreads your legs even more, pushes himself down his king-sized bed until he’s face-level with your glistening cunt. You almost gasp when you feel his breath against you.

“Be good,” he whispers sternly. You can only nod.

He laps up your arousal with eagerness and everything inside you melts. You don’t realize how sensitive you are from the sex you had with him less than an hour ago until you feel his lips latch onto your clit.

“O-Oh, Caleb, don’t–”

He simply hums. Your eyes roll back at the sensation. You whimper and you think that maybe you feel the hint of a laugh against your pussy. That or it’s a sharp breath.

Caleb has kissed death too many times to count. He really thinks he should be dead by now, given the horrific incidents he’s been through, even beyond the explosion. It’s funny. He doesn’t think about his own morality anymore now that he’s with you again, reunited. He thinks that if he should dance so close to the edge of death again, he’d do it for you. Drown for you. Drown in you. Let the sweetness of you kill him like slow poison in his veins. Like mistaking heroin for honey.

What’s awful about Caleb is that he wants to sacrifice himself for you. The altar is where he can rest his head – on your shoulder, on your stomach. In between your legs.

He groans against your core and you cry out. You’re so, so sensitive. You pull his hair and whine to tell him as such, but he only doubles down on his actions. A man starved.

You tug on his dark locks and he moans, squeezing your hips. Encouraging you to arch yourself up to his mouth so he can taste every drop of you.

“I– I’m probably clean now—”

He chuckles against you, then sucks on your clit. When he lifts his head to meet your eyes, he looks otherworldly. Rosy cheeks and messy hair. Boyish. You’ve never seen him look like this before in your life.

“You want me to stop? Really?”

“You don’t have to keep–”

“You’re halfway there, baby,” he smiles warmly, kissing your clit. You jolt and his gaze turns unbearably fond. “Want you squeaky clean, okay?”

Your eyes widen. Before you can protest, he’s licking you up again. You moan out, your knees knocking together as if the middle of your body is struck by lightning. All the arousal in your belly seems to make a mess of your insides.

You gasp when Caleb hooks two fingers into you without warning. You don’t need it, really, you barely need any prep for it. You’re so slick with want that there’s no resistance. It’s so fucking easy for him to reach into the depths of your sex. He grazes the sweet spot by your cervix and your legs start to tremble.

You’re so fucking close, and for some reason, what comes to mind is the image of you and Caleb as your younger selves. When you were naive, when you were frustrated with him more than usual because you didn’t realize that you had a crush on him.

You think of the word crush and think of demolition. A car crash. An avalanche. His moans vibrate against your pussy as his tongue licks up all of your honey, his fingers prodding your g-spot with a constant rhythm.

“Caleb,” you whine. “I can’t–”

Your eyes shut tightly until the phosphenes behind your lids vibrate like the birth of a new star. That’s the only way you can describe the orgasm that washes over you – like chaos, like the big bang. You’ve never cum so hard from head in your whole life.

Despite this, he doesn’t let up.

“Caleb, Caleb,” you gasp. “S’too much–”

You have to push away his head to get him to stop. He pauses, looks up at you with eyes half-lidded. Full of delirium. A wet, sweet mouth.

You think of peaches. You think of him in the summertime, wiping his mouth from a bite full of watermelon.

He pulls his fingers out of you and licks up your slick, grinning.

“All clean now, baby.”

#caleb x reader #xia yizhou x reader #caleb smut #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #incest cw #pseudocest cw #writing tag

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swtheartz · 8 days ago

Note

i loved your little drabble of the “breaking up with mark doesn’t work” post and i’d really like to hear your thoughts on how that would go down with some of his variants if you have the time pretty please🫶✨

ohh of course dear !! been thinking abt it and this req inspired me even more info : obsessive behavior, mentions and acts of murder, stalking, he’s crazy in every universe. gn!reader a / n : this is a gift to you guys for 348 followers. i’m soo grateful n happy <33

SINISTER MARK

he thinks it’s a joke at first. you’ve no real reason to actually want to leave him, right? he’s utterly convinced that there was nothing wrong with the relationship. and to be fair, there wasn’t. other than the fact he was possessive as shit and always had tabs on you. would scare off your friends and constantly linger around you whenever he wasn’t terrorizing the masses. the second he realizes that you’re serious? he doesn’t take it very well. you won’t ever find someone better than him. he won’t let you. just what human could ever be better than him?

“You’re not very good at jokes,” Mark says—voice and expression both hauntingly blank. It sends chills down your spine for the simple fact he’s never had such an empty tone. The way he looks at you is something that you can’t exactly put into words. Maybe he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s annoyed, or expectant, or some other emotion that you cannot be bothered to decipher. Not when there’s blood staining your clothes and his, the floor, your cheeks and his hands. Whatever ‘friend’ you were hanging out with was dead before they’d hit the ground. It’s been twelve days since you had gathered the courage to tell Mark you wanted a break, and it took him this long to take you seriously. Thought, it hadn’t taken much effort for him to take a life. “I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea. . .” He hummed, tilting his head as he crouched down in front of you, watching you tremble like a deer in front of an incomprehensible creature. ”But let’s not do this again, hm?”

OMNI MARK

calm. at least, he seems calm. but he also doesn’t take you very seriously. acts as he usually does, even asks you when the next date night is. as if he’ll even be able to make it with his schedule and how often he cancels on you. looks at you as though you’ve said something ludicrous when you answer that there isn’t a date night—you’re not together anymore. surely, you don’t know what you’re talking about. if you wanted him to plan the next date, you could have just told him. he’s usually the one that does all the thinking, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. honestly, what made you think you could walk away from him? the one human he cares for, and you’ve the nerve to try and separate from him? funny.

“We’re not dating, Mark.” The way the two of you stare at each other for a few tense moments is a little awkward, though he doesn’t seem to care. He holds eye contact with you before sighing—like you’re a child who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Like you’ve garnered the nerve to tell some dry joke. “If you have a problem,” Mark starts, arms crossed against his chest as he ignores your exasperated expression, “we talk it out. Like a couple is supposed to do.” “But we’re not a couple anymore. That is what I’m telling you.” You’re attempting to be reasonable, you really are, but you swear up and down he’s making you feel like the crazy one. This has got to be the third time you’ve had this conversation with him, and it hasn’t even been a week. There isn’t any way you can get through to him and you just don’t understand why. Mark scoffs, again, ignoring you. “I’ll make sure I’m not busy. Crime’s been going down, so it should be fine. They’ll manage without me.” “Just kill me already.” You mutter to yourself, unable to decide whether or not you’ll be able to ever get your point across. . . . You’ll just try again tomorrow.

FULL MASK MARK

more pathetic than mainstream mark. this man is like a wet cat in the rain. tries to maintain distance, but ends up following you everyday, texts you without thinking about it while he attempts to reason that it’s okay. you just need some distance and time, and maybe you’ll both get better. ends up outside your window after a particularly bad fight with a villain he had. he didn’t do it on purpose, he just sort of ended up here. call it muscle memory if you will. all he knows is that he’s a mess without you—needs you like oxygen, can barely think or focus on anything without you. probably the only one that tries to be the best he can be for you outside of the main universe. and probably the only one you didn’t really want to break up with.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Markus.”

“ ‘m sorry,” Mark sniffles, face tucked into your neck as he clings to you. You’d think of it as pathetic if it were anyone but him, honestly. He’d shown up with your favorite candy and drink, bloody and looking like a stray abandoned on the side of the street. You practically had to drag him through the window when he tried to turn back around. It took a bit of insisting and a med-kit to get him cleaned and patched up, despite him reminding you that he technically didn’t need it. You snapped at him to shut up before inevitably pulling him to your room again—letting him stay the night was an easy decision, almost too easy. As of right now, he was simply listening to the sound of your heartbeat, your soft breathing, enjoying the way your gentle fingers tangled in his hair. It was sweet. Familiar. Something Mark had missed so much it made his heart ache and hurt, to the point felt as though it was being ripped apart. Though, if it were done by your hands, he wouldn’t mind.

a / n : i liked writing this, i might make a part two to this and i’m gonna make the healer reader thing a series if you guys are up to reading that. mwah mwahhhh

taglist : @lxkoluvsu // @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha // @tokoyamisstuff

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shadowkoo · 23 days ago

Text

Up In Flames - Part 2

→ Summary: When your sister calls with an emergency, you drop everything to house-sit while she’s out of town. What she forgets to mention is that her fiancé’s friend, a handsome stranger who might have saved your life earlier, is already expecting to stay there too. Awkwardly sharing the space, you manage to get through two weeks with Seungcheol—only to unexpectedly cross paths again when he saves you from another dangerous situation outside your therapist’s office.

Seungcheol, a wildland firefighter, is back in the city taking his leave and debating whether to join Station 17 or return home. While sorting out his own issues, he keeps finding himself in situations where he has to save you—the fiery, stubborn little sister of his best friend’s fiancée who has a terrible habit of calling him the most obnoxious nicknames ever. Despite your resistance to being rescued (and his denial of how much you affect him), the sparks between you two continue to ignite. As you grow closer, it’s only a matter of time before everything goes up in flames.

↠ seungcheol x f.reader | Part 2 = 23.8k (42.7k words total, i’m so sorry but also not really 🗿) | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, action, slow burn, firefighter au, author au, damsel in distress au, ‘let me help you’ wildland firefighter!cheol x ‘i can do it myself’ miss independent yet clumsy!reader

→ Warnings: fire, car accident, extreme burns, graphic & traumatic death of non-significant characters (read at your own risk!), seungcheol suffers from panic attacks and ptsd, solo masturbating (seungcheol gets a lil freaky in the bathroom one morning), grinding in a hot tub, fingering, protected & unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, oral sex, cheol is a proud muncher, body worship, taking plan b, jealous coups, slight possessive coups, breast play, nipple sucking & biting, dirty talk, soft sex, rough sex, creampie, praise, begging, aftercare, stripping, heavy teasing & banter, tongue fucking, cheol loves to rub himself through your fold, praise kink, semi-public sex (cheol fucks you hard against a firetruck), injury, cuts, smoke inhalation and other dangerous elements (again, please read at your own risk!)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @lapydiariesnet @keopihausnet

@svthub @thediamondlifenetwork

→ Author Note: thanks to maren @wooahaeproductions and lexi @heechwe for helping me come up with some of these funny nicknames used in here a few months back! this is the first fic of my station 17 collab, check it out here and stay tuned for the next fics from alta @haologram sevń @aaagustd and yannie @wonuwoe!!! dedicated to all my coups girlies, i know you’ll love this <3

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

→ READ PART 1 ←

Last night was a wake-up call. Seungcheol can’t let himself be completely derailed just because of the gravitational pull he feels toward you. Right? That would be crazy…

And yet, as if the universe wasn’t done tormenting him (he still can’t believe the timing of that phone call) he’d gotten another gut punch soon after you took Kate’s call. A text from Mingyu.

Hey, don’t forget about the open spot at Station 17. Interview’s yours if you want it. Come crash with me until then.

In the heat of the moment, still spiraling from nearly losing control with you, Seungcheol had said yes. Told Mingyu he’d be there by tomorrow, which is, technically, today.

Now, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, he wonders if that was the right move. Or if he’s making a huge mistake by leaving.

Or, worse, if staying would be an even bigger one.

…

You wake up alone, not that you expected Seungcheol to climb into your bed during the night, but still, waking up to some slow, lazy morning sex wouldn’t have been the worst thing.

Instead, the only thing greeting you is the smell of breakfast wafting through the air. You smile, stretching as you sit up. Nothing better than breakfast together… and then finishing what we started last night.

With that thought lingering, you climb out of bed and head to the kitchen, excitement bubbling in your chest.

"Morning," you say, sliding onto a stool at the island, watching as he flips the last pancake onto a plate. You expect him to turn, grin at you, maybe tease you about last night, maybe even pick up where you left off.

But he doesn’t.

Something’s off. He seems stiffer than usual, his movements too careful. Your stomach twists.

It’s only when he finally turns around and sets a plate of pancakes in front of you that he drops the bomb.

"I'm leaving today."

You blink. "What?"

"I…figured some stuff out, and I have to be somewhere in a few hours."

You stare at him, waiting for something more. An explanation that makes sense. A reason that doesn’t sound like complete bullshit. Because while you believe him, you also know this has everything to do with last night. And that realization stings.

But you won’t ask. You won’t embarrass yourself like that.

Your pride flares, masking the disappointment sinking into your bones. "I don’t want your pity pancakes," you mutter, pushing the plate back toward him. "Have a safe drive wherever you’re going."

Then, without another word, you turn and disappear into your room, slamming the door behind you.

Part of you hopes he’ll come after you. That he’ll barge in, apologize, explain himself. The other part just wants to be left alone to lick your wounds in peace.

But when you finally gather the courage to come out for an adult conversation, you’re met with nothing but silence.

And an empty house. He left. Without saying goodbye.

Mika whines by the front door, already missing him too.

2 Days Since Seungcheol

The longest two days of your life.

You don’t know if you’re more pissed off or hurt. One minute, you wish you could scream at him "Are you a fucking idiot?" Another part of you wishes you could say "I've fallen so hard for you." Then, you’re convincing yourself that he’s not worth the energy. If he wanted to explain himself, he would’ve. If he cared as much as you do, he wouldn’t have left in the first place.

But then your brain betrays you, reminding you of every touch, every look, every fucking moment that made you feel alive in his presence. And just like that, you’re back to square one, seething, heartbroken, and in desperate need of a distraction.

Unfortunately, waiting for a response from your team isn’t the ideal way to keep your mind occupied. You sent over the latest chapters last night with a simple message: This is the creative direction I’m going with. If you don’t like it, you’ll have to learn to. Otherwise, I’ll take my books elsewhere.

The most assertive you’ve ever been. It felt good to take control, to stand your ground. You channeled all your frustration over Seungcheol into that email, and now all that’s left to do is wait.

Since Kate and Jun are supposed to be arriving sometime today, you’ve spent the last few hours cleaning. Anything to keep yourself busy. The kitchen is spotless, the living room dust-free, and now you’re finishing up in the bedrooms.

As you strip the sheets off the bed, a familiar scent lingers in the fabric. Cedarwood and a subtle musk.

Seungcheol.

You freeze, the breath knocked out of you by something as simple as a goddamn bedsheet. It still smells like him. You close your eyes for a moment, gripping the fabric tighter. As much as you want to erase every trace of him, the idea of washing this last piece of him away feels... unbearable.

“Goddamn it, Cheol,” you whisper, voice trembling.

You shake yourself out of it, throwing the sheets into the hamper with more force than necessary. He left. You need to get over it.

But as you grab fresh linens from the closet, your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Your heart stutters.

Maybe it’s him. Maybe he got your number from Jun and he’s finally come to his senses, finally realized what a complete asshole move it was to disappear like that.

You practically lunge for your phone, but when you see the sender, your stomach drops.

Not Seungcheol.

Just your editor.

And the message?

A single thumbs-up emoji.

You stare at it, heat rising in your chest. After everything, after putting your foot down, after fighting for your creative vision—this is their response?

No feedback. No acknowledgment. Just a fucking thumbs-up?

A new kind of anger burns through you, one that has nothing to do with Seungcheol.

Needless to say, by the time Kate and Junhui step through the front door, the house is spotless. You’ve spent the last several hours scrubbing, dusting, and organizing—anything to keep yourself from spiraling.

“Hi! I’ve missed you!” Kate beams, pulling you into a tight hug.

You cling to her for a second longer than usual, grounding yourself in the comfort of familiarity.

“What have you been up to? And where’s Seungcheol?” she asks, glancing around as if expecting him to walk out of the kitchen at any moment.

Your stomach twists. They don’t know.

“He left,” you say flatly. “The next morning after you called last.”

Jun sets their bags down, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a look you can’t quite decipher. It’s not surprise, not exactly. More like…concern. Like he already knows there’s more to the story than he’s willing to share.

Kate, however, is instantly thrown. “He what?” Her brows knit together as she takes in your expression, your tired eyes, the way you’re hugging yourself. Realization dawns, and before you can blink, she’s pulling you into another hug.

“Oh honey, come here.”

The warmth of her arms around you, the softness in her voice, it’s enough to break whatever fragile hold you had on your emotions. Your throat tightens, and before you can stop yourself, the whole story spills out.

Every last detail.

From the way he kissed you like he was starving, to the way he pulled away like you’d burned him. The way he left that morning without so much as a goodbye. The way you woke up thinking—no, hoping—you’d get another chance, only to figure out he already made plans to leave.

Kate listens intently, nodding along, her expression shifting between shock, outrage, and deep-seated frustration.

“Okay,” she says finally, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but…maybe he left because he does care.”

You blink. “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Jun, who has been quietly watching from the sidelines, finally speaks up. “I mean, it sounds like he panicked. Like he felt something real and it freaked him out.”

Kate nods. “And instead of dealing with it like an adult, he ran.”

You scoff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well, he could have at least said something instead of disappearing like a coward.”

“True,” Jun agrees, “but maybe this isn’t over. If you want to get in touch with him—”

You shake your head. “No. He made his choice. And I’m not going to sit around waiting for him to un-make it.”

Kate studies you for a long moment, then sighs. “Okay. Then let’s get your mind off of it. You need a distraction.”

Jun grins, raising a bottle. “Lucky for you, we brought wine.”

Kate settles onto the couch, shooting her husband a sideways glance as he pours three generous glasses. “Oh, and by the way,” she says casually, “when you text Coups next, tell him I think he’s an ass.”

“Kate!” you groan, your head snapping up.

“What?” she shrugs. “He is.”

You sigh, turning to Jun. “Please don’t say anything to him. I’m already mortified about the whole situation. Clearly, I misread everything, and there’s no need to harass him about it. Really.” You drop your face into your hands. “In fact, I’d love to just forget it ever happened.”

Kate rubs a soothing hand over your back, but you don’t miss the way she exchanges a knowing look with her husband.

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, her voice gentle but far too agreeable. “Whatever you want.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Kate…”

“What?” she says innocently, sipping her wine.

Jun clears his throat, but there’s the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

They’re definitely going to discuss this later.

Five Days Since Seeing You

Seungcheol completed his interview earlier this week, though the term interview is generous. He was practically a shoo-in for the open position. It was more of a formality, a final box to check before officially signing his contract. And just like that, he became the newest firefighter at Station 17.

The guys have been great; they’re so welcoming and easygoing, treating him like he’s been there for years. The transition has been smooth, the work familiar, the routine comforting.

Everything is going great.

And yet, he can’t shake this feeling weighing him down.

Because as much as he should be excited about this new chapter, all he can think about is how much he wants to tell you about it.

He knows he fucked up by leaving. He was panicking, and in the moment, it felt like the only way out. Staying meant inevitably hurting you in the future. Leaving meant hurting you now. Either way, you’d get hurt. He’d hurt you by breaking a promise, something he can’t afford to do right now. Not with his previously delicate state. Not when he’s just finally started to heal.

With a sigh, he leans back in his truck seat, staring up at the office sign in front of him.

He’s really not looking forward to today.

To finalize his transition onto the team, the fire chief required a mandatory meeting with a therapist, a standard “head check” to ensure he was mentally fit for duty.

Normally, he’d be seeing the station’s staffed therapist, Dr. Xu Minghao, but apparently, his schedule was packed this week. So instead, Seungcheol was assigned an outside source for evaluation.

He runs a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.

Of all the things he wanted to do today, sitting in a sterile office, talking about his feelings with a stranger, ranked dead last.

Stepping out of his truck, he locks it and waits for the remaining car to drive by before crossing the road.

“Wow, someone’s gonna slip on that, they should put some salt out,” he says to himself, noticing how icy a section of the sidewalk is, hidden from the sun.

He sighs again, realizing he’s trying to find anything to avoid heading inside.

Get it done and over with ‘Cheol.

With one final groan, he forces himself to step into the office.

The session is more exhausting than he expected. The therapist is sharp, reading between the lines of everything he says, sensing the weight he refuses to fully unpack.

He shifts uncomfortably as she prods at the fire that still haunts him. The way the smoke had swallowed the house. The way the screams had cut off too soon. The way he’d clawed through debris, lungs burning, only to come up short.

She listens, nodding as she takes notes, before finally meeting his eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

That’s what everyone tells him.

But he knows better. He wasn’t the one who set the fire, but he could have tried harder, could have pushed his limits just a little more. Maybe then…

His throat tightens.

“You can blame yourself for life, and they’ll still be dead, Seungcheol.” The therapist’s voice is firm but not unkind. “You can either accept that, grieve, and learn how to move forward. Or you can let this tear apart your life. It’s up to you.”

He looks away, jaw clenching.

After a pause, she signs off on his paperwork. “I’m clearing you for duty, but I highly recommend biweekly follow-ups with Dr. Xu.” She meets his eyes again, unyielding. “I’ll reach out to your chief myself, so don’t think you’re getting out of this. You need this, Seungcheol. You need to deal with your PTSD before it deals with you.”

His fingers tighten into fists on his lap. He nods once.

Seungcheol picks up the papers and drags himself out of the therapy room, his mind heavy and clouded, the weight of the session still pressing down on him. He heads toward the reception area, and that’s when he sees you. His heart lurches in his chest.

You’re a few steps ahead outside the door; maybe it’s the way the tension between you both always seems to linger, or maybe it’s just instinct, but something causes you to turn around, and your eyes meet his.

For a split second, time seems to freeze, and Seungcheol’s heart pounds in his ears. He’s not prepared for this. He has no idea how you’ll react, no idea what to say or do. The regret he feels for walking away hits him like a wave, but there’s no time to address it.

As his thoughts spiral, his eyes dart down. He sees the icy patch on the ground just in time, but it’s too late. You’re already stepping onto it, your foot slipping from under you.

Everything happens in slow motion as Seungcheol’s breath catches and his warning dies in his throat as you fall, your body jerking violently before gravity yanks you down. Your head hits the pavement with a sickening crack, and all the air rushes from his lungs.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathes, scrambling to your side, hands already reaching for you. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

You blink up at him, dazed, and then like flipping a switch, your eyes harden into sharp slits.

“I don’t need your help,” you snap, shoving his hands off. “I’m perfectly capable of standing up on my own.”

His stomach twists at your hostility, but he backs off, hands hovering just in case.

You manage to push yourself upright, wincing as you touch the back of your head. Seungcheol clenches his fists to keep from reaching for you again.

Then, as if just processing the situation, you narrow your eyes even further. “What are you even doing here?”

Seungcheol swallows. He wasn’t prepared for this. Not now, not like this. But he can’t exactly lie, not when the evidence is all around him.

“I had an appointment,” he admits, voice low.

Your brows knit together. “Here?”

He nods.

Realization dawns across your face, and for a second your expression softens. Then it’s gone, replaced by guarded skepticism.

“Right,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Of course.”

Seungcheol doesn’t know what to say. He wants to ask if you’re okay, wants to reach for you again, but he can feel the walls between you, thick and impenetrable.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head once more before muttering, “Whatever. See you around, Seungcheol.”

Hearing you use his actual name and not one of your creative nicknames stings more than he’d like to admit. You turn on your heel, walking away from him without a word, leaving Seungcheol standing there in the cold, his heart heavy in his chest. He watches you take a few steps, but then, just like that, you stumble again.

Before you even have a chance to catch yourself, Seungcheol is by your side, steadying you with a hand on your arm.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you really should get checked out. You could have a concussion, or worse,” he says, his voice more insistent than he intends it to be.

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’m not going to the ER or urgent care. I’ve got enough on my plate today without wasting hours in a waiting room.”

Seungcheol doesn’t back down. “Then at least come with me to the station. I’ve got guys there with more medical training than I have. They can take a look at you.”

You sigh heavily, frustration clouding your expression. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope,” he says firmly, meeting your gaze, his tone softening just a touch. “You’re not leaving my sight. Not until you get checked out.” And even after that.

…

The ride back to the station feels suffocatingly silent. Seungcheol’s grip on the steering wheel is tight, his knuckles pale from the tension. His mind is a chaotic whirl of worst-case scenarios; brain bleeds, fractured skulls, aneurysm. Every time he glances at you, his stomach twists in anxiety.

He’s brought you to the station, not because he wants to, but because he has to make sure you’re okay. He can’t live with the idea that something’s wrong, something he missed. The place he’s been trying to settle into now feels like a blur as he focuses only on getting you seen by someone qualified.

“We need someone to look her over right now,” Seungcheol says as he helps you inside, his voice clipped, his urgency clear.

Within seconds, someone rushes over, immediately assessing the situation. He’s dark-haired and familiar, locking eyes with Seungcheol.

“She slipped on an ice patch and hit her head pretty hard. She was unsteady after,” Seungcheol explains, the worry still evident in his tone.

You recognize him immediately, it’s the same man who had been there during your power line incident. He offers a small, knowing smile as he addresses you.

“You must have a thing for danger,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, his voice warm. “Alright, follow my finger for me, yeah?”

You nod, rolling your eyes in a way that lets him know you’re not in the mood for jokes, but you follow the instructions anyway. Mingyu finishes checking you over thoroughly, testing for the usual concussion symptoms. His hands are steady as he works, and he even checks for a few other things just to put Seungcheol’s mind at ease.

Through the whole process, you can feel Seungcheol’s gaze on you, his body tense and watchful as he waits for the all-clear.

“Well, good news, no concussion,” one of the firefighters says, giving you a reassuring smile. “But you’re probably going to have a killer headache for the rest of the day, at least.” He stands up and nods, "I’ll grab you some pain relievers and an ice pack."

You almost beg him not to leave. You don’t know if you can handle being alone with Seungcheol right now. The tension is too much, and there’s so much left unsaid. But for some reason, none of the words feel right.

As the firefighter leaves, you can feel the weight of the silence. You don’t want to, but you have to say something.

“Sorry I was so short with you earlier,” you start, your voice quieter than you intended. “I was surprised to see you again. You left so suddenly, and I... I just assumed you wanted to forget everything that happened between us.”

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair, his expression tense and worn. He sighs heavily, his eyes dark with regret. “I didn’t want to leave,” he admits, his voice low and heavy with the burden of unspoken words. “I thought it would be best, though. I just… I didn’t want to make promises to you that I couldn’t keep.” His gaze flickers down to the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes again, filled with vulnerability and uncertainty. “I’m not sure what I want, and I didn’t want to drag you into that.”

The admission hangs in the air between you. The walls that you built to keep him distant start to crumble, but it’s not enough to tear them down entirely. Not yet.

“I missed you,” Seungcheol says, the words slipping out before he can stop them, vulnerable in a way you haven’t heard from him before.

You meet his eyes, feeling the familiar ache twist in your chest. The urge to reach out, but you hold yourself back.

“Well…what now?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended, unsure where things go from here.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, eyes softening as he looks at you. “I’ll leave it up to you,” he says. “Can I see your phone?”

You hesitate for just a moment, then dig around in your purse, your fingers brushing over the edges of your phone. You unlock it, hand it to him, and watch as he taps away at the screen.

When he hands it back to you, your heart skips a beat.

He’s added himself to your contacts. Cheolie now sits with a flame emoji beside his number. You stare at it for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips before you can stop it.

“There,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You have my number. You can use it if you want...or you can pretend you’ve never met me.” His eyes search yours, a hint of hope behind the layers of uncertainty. “But I’m really hoping it’s the latter.”

You laugh softly, a mix of relief and confusion washing over you. “I don’t think I could forget you, even if I wanted to.” You glance down at your phone again, the flame emoji burning a little brighter than it should.

The sun is shining brightly today, casting a golden glow over the city. Its warmth seeps into your skin as you stroll down the sidewalk, Mika prancing ahead, her tail wagging with every step. The fresh air fills your lungs, momentarily easing the tension that’s been sitting in your chest all week.

It’s been seven days since you last saw Seungcheol. Seven days since he handed you the reins, giving you the choice of whether to reach out.

You haven’t wanted to.

Okay, maybe that’s a lie. You’ve definitely wanted to. You’ve hovered over his name in your contacts more times than you’d like to admit, especially late at night when the loneliness creeps in.

But texting him just because you miss him doesn’t feel like the right move. You both need a real conversation, and between book cover meetings, deadlines, and endless revisions, the right time just hasn’t come up yet.

You sigh, wondering if you should just break the ice and say hi.

Then, suddenly, your phone rings. Always interrupting your thoughts. You glance at the screen and answer, barely getting out a greeting before a clipped, professional voice cuts through.

"We’d like to see you this afternoon to discuss your book."

You blink, caught off guard. Getting called into your publisher’s office unexpectedly isn’t usually a good sign. Anxiety prickles at your skin, but you push it down. You can handle this.

The only problem? You’re downtown, window shopping with Mika, and you know you can’t bring her inside. One of the admins has a severe dog allergy, and there’s no way they’ll make an exception.

You quickly fire off a message in your friend group chat, hoping someone can watch her for an hour.

Hey, urgent favor! Can anyone watch Mika for a bit? Got a last-minute meeting.

One by one, the replies roll in. Busy, sorry, stuck at work, wish I could.

Ugh. This is not good. You glance down at Mika, who looks up at you with wide, trusting eyes. An idea creeps into your mind—one you immediately push away.

No. You can’t.

Can you?

You chew on your lip, staring at your phone like it holds the answer. After a deep breath, you sigh and send a quick message before you can second-guess yourself.

A quick twenty minutes later, he rounds the corner. Your heart does an embarrassing little flip when you see Seungcheol, who looks just as effortlessly handsome as ever.

Mika notices him at the same time you do, her tail wagging frantically as she yaps in excitement.

“Hi,” he says, stepping close, his lips brushing your cheek in a brief but familiar gesture.

You exhale, tension leaving your body just a little. “I’m so sorry for asking, but thank you for showing up. You’re literally saving the day, thank you so much.”

His eyes soften. “I’ll always show up,” he says simply, taking Mika’s leash from your hand. “Here, let me take her.”

You hesitate for just a second, watching as he effortlessly soothes Mika, scratching behind her ears.

“Good luck in your meeting,” he adds, his voice warm.

As you turn to go, you glance back once more. He’s already walking off with Mika, talking to her like she understands every word. The sight tugs at something deep inside you, something warm, something dangerous.

Shaking your head, willing yourself to focus. You have a meeting to get through. But damn, that man makes it hard to think straight.

You walk the short distance to your publisher’s building, each step making your heart beat a little faster. The elevator ride up feels both too quick and too slow, carrying you to a floor you’ve spent countless hours on.

The receptionist greets you with a warm smile. “Hi, Miss Y/N. Let me gather the team and let them know you’ve arrived.”

You nod, offering a polite smile as she picks up the phone. Within moments, she gestures toward the hall. “They’re ready for you in the conference room.”

Here goes nothing.

You take a steadying breath and walk down the familiar hallway, knocking lightly before stepping inside. “Hi, everyone, thanks for waiting,” you say, slipping into a chair. Your hands rest on the table, steady despite the nerves buzzing under your skin. “I know we have different ideas about how this book should play out, but as the main creative in the room, I want to emphasize that I want this to work just as much as you all do. So let’s discuss.”

You brace yourself for pushback, but instead, the head editor at the head of the table smiles.

“Thank you for making time to see us in person,” she begins. “We have a very important update to share with you.”

You straighten in your seat, anxiety prickling at your spine.

“We gave the draft of your book to a subgroup of readers to get their initial reactions…” She pauses, dragging out the suspense. “And you were right.”

Your breath catches.

“Almost everyone had the same thing to say, this book is somehow even better than the first. And that’s not something we get to say often.”

For a second, all you can do is blink.

They…loved it?

The weight that’s been pressing on your chest for weeks suddenly lifts, leaving you lightheaded.

You let out a breathless laugh, barely able to contain your shock. “Wait, really?”

The editor nods. “Really. We still have a few minor tweaks to discuss, but overall, the response was overwhelmingly positive.”

Relief floods through you, mixing with a spark of pride. You fought for this version of the story, for your vision, and it paid off.

“Basically, we just want to confirm some plot details and fix potential inconsistencies, and then you’re free to finish writing. The sooner, the better, I might add,” your agent says with a knowing wink, her subtle way of saying she’s proud of you for standing your ground.

You blink, still processing. “So, just to make sure I’m hearing this right… you don’t want me to scrap the chapters and start over?”

“Of course not,” the editor reassures you. “Based on early reviewer notes, we strongly believe sales will surpass expectations.”

She slides a thick stack of papers across the table. It’s filled with feedback, page after page of praise from the test readers.

Your heart pounds as you skim the first note.

If you thought the first book was otherworldly, you’re in for a big surprise with this one. The characters have grown so much, and I truly felt like I was right there in the fight with them.

Another one reads:

I can’t wait for this to be released so I can buy several copies. So dang good.

You exhale sharply, overwhelmed. Looking up, you find a room full of expectant gazes, waiting for your reaction.

“Wow, I—uh.” You shake your head, speechless. “Wow.”

The team chuckles, clearly pleased.

“We figured you’d like to read those,” your agent says warmly. “Feel free to take them home.”

You nod, gripping the papers a little tighter as if they might disappear.

“How about we go through our questions now and then leave you to it?”

You square your shoulders, a fresh wave of determination surging through you. “Sounds good.”

This is really happening.

…

Seungcheol sits on the park bench, one arm draped over the backrest as he scans the path for you. Mika sits obediently at his feet, tail thumping against the ground every so often as she watches the world go by.

He wasn’t expecting your message earlier. After your last conversation at the fire station, he figured you needed space, maybe even a clean break. But when you said you needed help, he didn’t hesitate to figure out what he could do. He would’ve done just about anything.

Watching Mika on his day off hardly counted as a favor. Plus, even if he had been working today, he would’ve just taken her to the station. The guys all love dogs and Mika? She’d eat up the attention.

Then, finally, he sees you.

You’re walking toward him with a bounce in your step, that breathtaking smile stretching across your face. His heart clenches at the sight, he hasn’t seen you like this in a while.

“Hey,” he says, standing up as you approach. “How’d the meeting go?”

Before he can react, you launch yourself into his arms.

He barely has a second to process before instinct kicks in. His arms wrap around you securely, lifting you off the ground like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of you, the way you fit so perfectly in his hold, it makes his chest ache.

“It went so well! Oh my god,” you gush, your excitement bubbling over. “They gave the rough draft to some readers, and they all loved it!”

Your arms tighten around his neck, and he holds you just a little closer, just a little longer, savoring the moment as long as it will last.

“Of course they loved it,” he says, setting you down gently once you finally loosen your grip. His hands linger for just a second longer than necessary, as if reluctant to let go.

Mika, not one to be left out, jumps up against your leg, her little paws pressing insistently as if demanding her fair share of attention. You laugh, bending down to scratch behind her ears before turning back to Seungcheol.

“Thanks again for helping out,” you say, sincerity laced in every word. “I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Anytime,” he replies easily, then adds with a smile, “I missed my girls.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. You hesitate for a second before asking, “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, giving you his full attention.

“That thing you said the other day—about not being sure what you wanted and not wanting to drag me into it—was that just in general? Like, you weren’t sure about anything in your life? Or were you talking about a relationship specifically?”

His eyebrows raise slightly, clearly impressed by your directness. Then he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Damn, woman. Straight to the point,” he teases, picking up Mika’s leash in one hand. With the other, he reaches for yours, intertwining your fingers effortlessly as the two of you start walking out of the park.

He takes a breath, carefully choosing his words. “At first, I thought it would be better if we just stayed friends,” he admits. “I told myself it’d be easier that way. Safer for the both of us.”

A pause. A small squeeze to your hand.

“But the more I’m around you, the more I realize that’s impossible. I’m so unbelievably attracted to you. And it’s not just that, you see me. And honestly?” He turns to look at you with a knowing smile, his voice dropping into something softer, more certain.

“The thought of you going on more dates with losers who don’t deserve you makes me want to throw hands.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, sending a shiver up your spine. “Especially when we both know I’m the only one for you.”

He hadn’t exactly planned on being that brutally honest, but if you were going to be vulnerable with that direct of a question, the least he could do was return the favor.

Because the truth is, he knows he’s the only one for you. Just like you’re the only one for him.

“Does hearing me say that freak you out?” he asks, searching your expression, hoping you’re not about to bolt.

“No.” You shake your head, exhaling softly. “Actually, it’s relieving to hear.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “I think I’d probably go a little crazy if you started seeing someone else too. I don’t like the idea of you being the hero in someone else’s story.”

His chest tightens, something warm and fierce settling in his ribs.

You reach your apartment building and climb the steps to the front door before turning to face him. “This is me.”

He nods, glancing at Mika, who wags her tail happily.

“Do you want to come up?”

“Just to let Mika inside,” he starts, but then hesitates, shifting on his feet. He rubs the back of his neck before meeting your gaze. “I know it’s last minute, but…I’d love to have dinner with you. Unless you already have plans tonight?”

Hope flickers in his eyes, cautious but steady, and suddenly, you know exactly what your answer is.

“Are you asking me on a date?” you tease, unlocking your door with a growing smile.

Mika bolts inside, immediately rummaging through her toys before dragging her favorite one onto her bed.

“Yes,” Seungcheol confirms without hesitation, shutting the door behind him. His eyes scan your apartment; it’s cozy, well-kept yet lived-in, aside from Mika’s spilled toy bin. It’s very you.

Your smile grows even bigger. “Okay, wait here. I’ll just be a minute.”

You disappear into your bedroom, and when you return, you have a cardigan draped over your arm. “Just in case it gets cold later.”

But before he can respond, you close the space between you and press your lips to his.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that since you came to save me earlier today,” you confess against his mouth.

His hands find your waist as he pulls you in for another, this time deeper, slower, and time stops. Nothing else exists in this moment.

His lips move against yours in a way that leaves you breathless, your fingers curling into his shirt to keep yourself upright.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests lightly against yours, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“C’mon,” he says, voice low and warm, “I know a great sushi place.”

Dinner feels easy, like slipping back into something familiar yet exciting. The conversation flows effortlessly as you both catch up.

Seungcheol tells you about his week, most of it spent training, pushing himself harder than ever. “The meeting with the therapist was the last step so I could start going on calls with the team,” he explains, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed the action. The change in pace will be good for me.”

You nod, genuinely happy for him. “That’s great, Cheol. I can tell you’re excited.”

“I am,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s been a long time coming.”

You take a sip of your drink before offering your own update. “Kate and Jun came home earlier than expected,” you tell him, watching his reaction. “And, uh… Kate might hate you just a little bit.”

His grin falters slightly. “Yeah…she might have sent me a rather interesting text about personally castrating me the next time she sees me if I haven’t apologized to you before she finds me.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Don’t worry, I told her I was already working on a plan to win you back.”

“Oh? And what’s the plan?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Can’t spoil the surprise,” he teases. “But let’s just say it involves a lot of groveling.”

You laugh, then add, “Well, don’t forget about Mika. You have to make it up to her too.”

He leans back in his chair, smug. “Oh, Mika already forgave me. We shared some blueberries earlier while you were in your meeting.”

Your mouth falls open in mock betrayal. “She never shares her blueberries with me.”

“What can I say?” He smirks, shrugging. “She and I have an understanding.”

“Unbelievable,” you huff, though the amused smile on your lips betrays your true feelings. You love that he adores Mika just as much as she adores him.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both focus on your meals. The restaurant hums with the growing chatter of other diners, the clinking of glasses adding to the cozy atmosphere. The food is delicious, and the company is even better.

You take a sip of your drink, gathering your thoughts before speaking. “So, I have another question for you.”

Seungcheol lifts his gaze, his eyes warm with curiosity as he picks up another bite. He gives you a small nod, silently encouraging you to continue.

“As you might have figured out by now, I’m the kind of person who needs clarity. If I don’t have all the details, my brain starts filling in the gaps, and that never ends well.” You exhale, rolling your drink between your hands. “I also know it’s probably way too soon to bring this up, but if I don’t, I’ll overthink it until I drive myself crazy.”

Seungcheol finishes chewing, setting his chopsticks down as he leans forward slightly, giving you his full attention. “First of all, you don’t have to hesitate to ask me anything,” he says, voice steady. “I’d rather talk things through than have you overthink and stress yourself out.”

His words soothe some of your nerves, but the anticipation is still there.

Seungcheol tilts his head, his expression soft but attentive. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, picking up on your nervous energy.

You sign, then take the plunge. “Are we…dating now? Or starting a relationship?”

His brows furrow slightly. “Is there a difference?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I mean…yeah, kind of? But I guess it depends on who you ask. Some people see dating as casual, while a relationship is more serious. I just—” you pause, suddenly aware that you’re rambling. “I don’t need some big, grand definition. I just want to know where your head is at. About us.”

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel your chest tighten. The ‘what are we’ conversation has never gone well in your past relationships, and despite how comfortable Seungcheol makes you feel, the fear of rejection still lingers.

He exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know much about modern dating labels, but if going on dates, wanting to kiss you all the time, and spending as much of my free time in your presence as possible means that we’re dating, then yeah, we’re dating.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“But more than that,” he continues, his eyes never leaving yours, “I want us to be something real. I don’t want to waste time playing guessing games or pretending we’re something we’re not. So if you’re asking whether we’re in a relationship?” He tilts his head slightly, considering. “I’d say we’re at the beginning of one, if that’s what you want too.”

The knot in your stomach eases, replaced by something warm and fluttery. You don’t even try to hide the smile that breaks across your face.

“That’s how I feel too.”

“Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go this time.” His grin mirrors yours, warm and full of certainty. Then, after a brief pause, his expression turns just a touch more serious. “Actually, I have a question for you in return.”

You lift your eyes and meet his, intrigued. “Yeah?”

He leans in slightly, his eyes staying locked onto yours. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially.”

Your heart stumbles over itself.

“I’m asking because I take this seriously. And also,” his lips twitch into a smirk, “so that pretty little brain of yours doesn’t fry.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

“Well?” He lifts a brow, waiting.

You don’t need to think twice. “Yes, Cheoliepop. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

His smirk softens into something sweeter, filled with sincerity and promise. "Good," he says, voice low and warm. But then, his expression shifts as his pocket vibrates. He pulls out his phone, his eyes flicking to the screen. "Shit," he mutters under his breath.

He looks up at you, his face tinged with regret. "Sorry, that’s my pager app for the station."

You raise an eyebrow, already knowing what’s coming. "Gotta go?"

"Yeah," he exhales, frustration flickering in his eyes. "I’m really sorry, but I have to head out now. They need a lot of extra hands. Can I call you later?"

You smile, trying to hide the slight pang of disappointment. "It’s okay, really. And yes, please do."

Standing up, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away. He takes a wad of cash out of his wallet and leaves it on the table.

"That’s not necessary," you protest, shaking your head. "I’ve got it, go save the day, or night, whatever."

He shoots you a look that says, don't even think about it and shakes his head. "My girl never pays," he says firmly, his grin returning. "Bye, baby."

With a wink, he heads out, leaving you to watch him go, your heart doing a little flutter at the way he treats you.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Mingyu teases as Seungcheol rushes into the locker room, pulling on his gear with impressive speed.

"It’s been 8 minutes since I got paged," Seungcheol shoots back, his voice laced with amusement. "I think that’s pretty damn good, considering." He quickly straps on his helmet. "First one already leave?"

"Yeah, Engine 13 rolled out a few minutes ago. We’re just waiting on Wonwoo and the Rookie. None of us were supposed to be on call tonight, but a shopping center across the city has an unnoticed gas leak that’s now a full-on blaze. Two other stations are already there and called for backup."

Seungcheol nods, tugging the zipper of his overalls up and stepping into his boots. His focus sharpens as he prepares himself mentally for what’s to come.

“There you are,” Mingyu says, pointing at Wonwoo and Vernon as they practically sprint to their lockers.

Yunho, one of the station’s firefighter engineers, whistles as the last of them gear up. "Let’s move, crew!"

Within moments, everyone loads up into the truck. The sirens blare to life as they race toward the fire, the adrenaline already kicking in.

"You haven’t stopped smiling since I got here tonight," Vernon observes, squinting as the red hue from the flashing lights dances across his face. "Just that happy to see me again so soon, or because you finally got cleared earlier today?"

"You wish," Seungcheol teases, bumping his shoulder against Vernon’s, who’s sitting next to him.

Wonwoo tilts his head; thinking as he reads, and recognizes, Seungcheol’s face. "Who is she?"

"Who’s who?" Seungcheol asks, his grin betraying him, making it impossible to hide the obvious answer.

Mingyu laughs, pointing a finger at Seungcheol. "It’s the girl he brought here after she slipped on the ice, right?"

"Ahhh," Wonwoo says with a knowing look, "I thought I sensed something there."

"Yeah, well, we made it official tonight," Seungcheol admits, the satisfaction clear in his voice.

Mingyu kicks Seungcheol’s boot with a grin. "Good for you, man. You deserve to be happy."

Seungcheol smiles, grateful for the support, but his focus shifts as the fire engine pulls up to the scene.

The building is ablaze. Flames roar up to the sky, swallowing the structure whole.

Their fire chief, already standing with personnel from the other stations, breaks away from the group and heads toward the newly arrived team. He quickly briefs the firefighters, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding in front of them. Seungcheol’s focus sharpens as he steps forward, ready to jump into action.

"Everyone who was scheduled to work tonight has been accounted for," the fire chief announces, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them. He surveys the scene, the flames still raging high, a testament to the severity of the situation. "The only concern we have now is a potential person who might’ve been waiting on a delivery out back. We have no confirmation, but it’s a possibility. There's a service entrance on the south side of the building, and I want two of you there to check it out immediately."

Seungcheol stands at attention, nodding as he quickly glances at Mingyu and the others. "I’ll go," he volunteers, already moving toward the south side.

"I’ll go with you," Mingyu replies without hesitation, catching up to him as they head for the back of the building.

The chief doesn’t waste time. "The rest of you, let's join the others and focus on knocking down these flames from the front. We need to contain the fire before it spreads further. Get in there and hit it hard."

"Got it, Chief," Wonwoo responds, his voice firm but calm. He slaps his gloves together, ready to move. Vernon, standing beside him, gives a quick thumbs-up, and the pair heads toward the front of the building, their steps steady and synchronized.

The team moves quickly, and efficiently, their skills are evident in every step they take. Seungcheol can feel the adrenaline surge through him as he secures his face mask, the weight of it grounding him, bringing clarity amidst the chaos. The sirens blare in the background, but his focus is on the building ahead; the flames, the smoke, the crackling heat that pulsates from the structure.

As Seungcheol and Mingyu move further into the danger zone, the heat begins to creep toward them as they reach the service door. Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to get it open. He kicks it a few times, the metal groaning under the force, and they step inside, immediately hit by a fresh wall of heat and smoke.

The air is thick, stinging with the mixed smell of burning wood, plastic, and metal. Seungcheol’s vision blurs from the smoke, but the fire-resistant gear does its job. His breathing is steady, his focus unbroken. There’s no time for hesitation, no space for doubt. He’s seen fires like this before, and the weight of each decision bears down on him as he forces his body to move faster, his senses heightened to every crackle and shift in the air around him.

"We need to check every side room back here," Mingyu says, his voice low but urgent as they near the entrance. "Make sure if anyone's in there, they know we’re here."

Seungcheol nods, motioning for Mingyu to follow. They’re already scanning for signs of life, flashes of movement, any indication that someone might still be inside. They move swiftly through the dimly lit back hallway, their flashlights piercing the smoke. Each door they pass is carefully checked.

"Nothing yet," Seungcheol mutters, though he can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. The building creaks ominously, and the heat intensifies as they round the corner.

Mingyu splits off, his figure disappearing into the haze of smoke. Seungcheol’s heartbeat quickens. He knows the risks; fire, smoke inhalation, the unpredictability of a building on the verge of collapse. But this is what he’s trained for.

As he moves deeper into the building, he calls out, "Hello? Is anyone in here? We’re here to help!"

Suddenly, a muffled noise, like someone’s cough, pierces through the roar of the fire. Seungcheol’s heart races.

It sounds like it's coming from the storage room ahead. He quickens his pace, adrenaline surging as he approaches the door to the storage room. It’s slightly ajar, and the sound of coughing grows louder.

"Hello?" Seungcheol calls out, his voice firm, commanding.

A faint reply, weak but unmistakable, echoes back. "Help… please."

The heat intensifies, but he pushes forward, moving debris out of his way. His flashlight cuts through the darkness, landing on shattered glass, scorched furniture, and the faintest outline of a figure near an overturned file cabinet. His pulse spikes.

"Mingyu! I’ve got someone!" Seungcheol shouts into his radio, and then yells out, "Over here!"

Mingyu’s voice crackles through the radio, "Copy that. I’m on my way."

As he gets closer, Seungcheol sees that the person is covered in dust and soot, struggling to breathe. Seungcheol’s heart lurches, but he doesn’t waste time.

He rushes toward the figure, carefully lifting them into his arms, feeling the weight of the person’s body. It’s a woman, unconscious but breathing, her skin warm but not burned. He calls out again, voice urgent, but steady.

“Mingyu, she’s alive! I’m getting her out!"

"Got you," Mingyu replies, quickly appearing from the smoke like a shadow, ready to help. He moves to the other side of her, offering his shoulder for support.

Together, they move swiftly, holding the woman between them as they maneuver through the building, dodging debris that falls from above. The sound of the fire crackling is deafening now, but they don’t stop. There’s no time to waste.

As they approach the door, Seungcheol hears the loud, alarming sound of the building creaking, and the ground shifts beneath his feet. The structure is weakening.

"We need to get out now!" Mingyu says, his voice sharp.

They make it outside just as the first signs of the building’s collapse start to echo through the air. The woman is handed off to the paramedics waiting outside with a stretcher. Seungcheol takes a deep breath, grateful that they made it out in time.

"Nice work, Cheol," Mingyu says with a grin, his voice filled with relief.

Seungcheol nods, wiping sweat from his brow, though it’s hard to tell if it’s from the heat of the fire or the weight of the mission. Despite the exhaustion, there’s a quiet pride in Seungcheol’s chest. She’s alive.

The team is still working at the front, battling the flames as the building begins to crumble. Seungcheol and Mingyu make their way back, and the fire chief nods in approval. Seungcheol lets out a long breath, his body still humming with adrenaline.

“Good work,” the chief says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You guys did great.”

Seungcheol doesn’t have time for celebration. His eyes are already scanning the burning building, making sure his team is safe and the fire is under control.

But as the flames begin to die down, and the last of the smoke starts to clear, Seungcheol allows himself a brief moment of relief. They’ve done their job. They’ve saved a life tonight. And that’s what matters most.

“Can we get a table on the patio? It’s too nice to be stuck inside,” Kate asks the hostess as you both approach the cute, bistro-style restaurant. The woman nods with a polite smile, grabbing two menus before leading you to a cozy table in the fenced-in patio area.

The space is adorned with string lights and various colored potted plants, offering the perfect blend of a trendy atmosphere and eclectic style. From here, you have a prime view of the street, ideal for people watching as pedestrians stroll past, some lost in conversation, others in a hurry.

“This was a great idea,” you say as you settle into your chair. “I’m starving.”

Kate grins, flipping open her menu. “I’m just glad you were free for lunch today. Feels like we’ve barely had time to breathe since getting back.” She sighs, leaning back slightly. “I can’t believe it’s already been almost a month since the heart attack. It feels like everything’s been stuck on fast-forward.”

You nod, completely understanding where she’s coming from. It’s been a nonstop whirlwind since everything happened. It’s nice to take a break and relax, even if it’s just for an hour.

The waitress arrives with two glasses of water, the condensation beading along the sides as she sets them down. “Are you ready to order?” she asks with a friendly smile.

After quickly scanning the menu one last time, you both place your orders, opting for fresh, light dishes that match the warm afternoon. The waitress jots everything down before disappearing inside, leaving you and Kate to continue your conversation.

Your talk meanders effortlessly from one topic to the next; updates on work, the latest drama in your friend group, and Kate’s lingering frustration over unpacking all her things after getting home. It’s easy, natural, the way it always is with her.

When the food finally arrives, Kate practically beams. “God, this looks divine,” she says, wasting no time in picking up her sandwich and taking a big bite. Her eyes flutter shut briefly in appreciation before she gives you a satisfied nod of approval.

You both fall into a comfortable silence as you eat, occasionally breaking it to point out stylish outfits worn by pedestrians passing by. For the first time in a while, life is going pretty well.

Excuse yourself for a bathroom visit, you make your way inside, relieved to find no line. After washing your hands and taking a deep breath, you head back toward the patio, ready to enjoy the rest of your lunch.

Just as you step outside, a tall figure moves in front of you, blocking your path. You stop short, and as you lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sun, your stomach twists with recognition.

Daniel. Your ex.

“Hi,” he greets smoothly, a smile on his lips. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

You arch a brow, unimpressed. “Wish I could say the same,” you deadpan, stepping to the side in an attempt to move past him.

He shifts just as quickly, blocking you again.

From your table, Kate catches sight of the interaction, her expression hardening as she starts to push back her chair. You give her a quick shake of your head, silently telling her you’ve got this.

She hesitates but stays put, eyes locked on Daniel like she’s already planning how to rip into him if he tries anything.

“About?” You scoff, already exasperated. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

He exhales like he’s been rehearsing this moment. “I miss you. I wish things could go back to how they were.”

A humorless laugh escapes you. “Oh, you mean when I was blissfully unaware of your cheating? When I spent a week crying after I caught you? Yeah, no thanks. I think I’ve wasted enough time on you.”

You shift your gaze away, your patience wearing thin. That’s when you spot a familiar figure across the street, broad shoulders and that confident stride you’d recognize anywhere.

Seungcheol.

He’s just stepped out of an apartment complex, following a couple of other firemen. As if he can feel your eyes on him, his head lifts, scanning the area. The second he spots you, a smile tugs at his lips. You wave, instantly tuning out whatever nonsense Daniel is still rambling about.

Seungcheol’s smile falters as his eyes flick to the man standing a little too close to you. His jaw ticks, his easy going demeanor shifting into something more guarded. He doesn’t like it.

It doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the tension; your standoffish stance, Daniel’s pleading expression. Seungcheol can tell there’s history there, and though he trusts you, a flicker of jealousy ignites in his chest.

Without hesitation, he starts making his way over.

“Hi, baby,” Seungcheol grins, leaning over the short patio fence to kiss you. He’ll admit he might have lingered a little longer than necessary, just to make a point. A point that says, She’s taken. Move along.

His lips press firmly against yours, warm and sure, the faint scent of smoke clinging to his uniform. It’s familiar, comforting. When you finally pull back, you glance around only to realize Daniel is gone. Good.

Seungcheol follows your gaze, catching sight of your ex retreating into the restaurant. His brow lifts in silent question, but he doesn’t push. He knows you’ll tell him if it matters.

Instead, he asks. “Can I come over later?”

“Sure,” you muse, tilting your head with a playful smirk. “But only if you bring dinner. I’ll take care of dessert.” Your voice is light, but the meaning behind your words is unmistakable, the teasing glint in your eyes makes sure of that.

Seungcheol’s gaze darkens just a fraction, his smirk growing. “Dangerous offer, baby,” he murmurs, voice dipping low enough that only you can hear. “Deal.”

Kate clears her throat, dragging his attention away from you. He finally acknowledges her with a lazy grin. “Hi, Kate. Bye, Kate.”

She waves, practically buzzing with amusement. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just here for the entertainment. Five stars, by the way.”

The firetruck rounds the corner from where it must’ve been parked, sirens off but lights still flashing. Mingyu leans halfway out of the passenger-side window, grinning like he just caught Seungcheol red-handed.

“Come on, lover boy! We’ve got another call!” he shouts, his voice carrying across the street.

Seungcheol huffs a laugh, shaking his head before turning back to you. “Guess I gotta go,” he says, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pressing a quick, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Stay safe,” you murmur, already missing him.

“Always.” He flashes you one last smile before jogging toward the truck and hopping in. The moment the door shuts, Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows at him, and the truck pulls away, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a silly smile.

Seungcheol shows up at your doorstep with burgers and fries, the scent of crispy, salty goodness filling the air. Your plan for the night had been simple; share dinner, maybe find a movie to watch, and ease into the evening.

But the second you see him, every ounce of restraint flies out the window. His white tee hugs his broad chest, jeans slung low on his hips, and hair slightly tousled from the night air.

You barely give him a chance to say hello before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him inside, your lips finding his the moment the door clicks shut. He lets out a surprised chuckle, but quickly recovers, kissing you back with just as much urgency.

The forgotten bag of food lands on the table as he wraps his arms around you, allowing you to guide him toward the bedroom. The second the back of his knees hit the mattress, he pulls you down with him, flipping you underneath him with ease.

“So much for dinner,” he murmurs against your lips, grinning.

You tug him closer, breathless. “You can have me first. Then the burger.”

Luckily, he feels the same way. This moment is long overdue.

Seungcheol’s hands explore your body with a slow, tantalizing touch. His fingers trailing over your skin as he eases your shirt over your head. His gaze darkens with desire as he drinks you in before shrugging off his shirt, revealing the sculpted muscles you adore.

Your hands find his broad shoulders, pressing against the firm warmth of his skin. He shivers under your touch, his breath hitching as your fingers trace over the hard lines of his body, mapping every ridge and dip like you want to memorize him.

He rolls his hips into yours, his voice thick with want. “Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give you exactly that.”

Your breath hitches as heat pools low in your stomach. “I want you to kiss me,” you murmur, guiding his hand lower before whispering, “here.”

His darkened eyes flick up to yours, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “My pleasure.”

He tugs your pants down with ease, eyes darkening when he sees the damp spot already forming on your panties. His fingers trace over the fabric, teasing, before applying the slightest pressure. The friction makes you gasp, your body arching toward him on instinct.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “You want me to taste you that bad?”

Your desperate nod is all the encouragement he needs. Hooking his fingers around your panties, he slides them down, groaning at the sight of you bare beneath him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, pressing a lingering kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his tongue slowly up your slit. The first stroke makes you shudder, a whimper past your lips.

He hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. “So perfect,” he praises, spreading you open. His tongue works expertly, flicking, circling, teasing. The pressure of his nose against your clit makes your thighs tremble as he devours you like he was made for this.

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your back arching as pleasure coils tighter and tighter. “God, that feels so good, Cheol,” you moan, thighs threatening to clamp around his head.

But he doesn’t let up. Not when he knows you’re close, not when he’s determined to make you unravel beneath him, again and again.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you. The vibration sends a jolt through your body, and you can’t hold back the broken moan that escapes your lips. Your hips roll against his mouth, desperate, chasing the pleasure that’s building so intensely it’s almost unbearable.

And then, pure, white-hot bliss. The coil inside you snaps, pleasure rippling through your body like a shockwave. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and his name spills from your lips like a prayer.

But Seungcheol isn’t done.

He holds you in place, hands gripping your hips as his tongue continues its merciless assault. He’s ravenous, devouring every wave, every twitch of your body, every moan that falls from your parted lips.

It’s overwhelming, too much. But somehow not enough, and just as you try to catch your breath, another orgasm crashes over you, even more intense than the last. Your body clenches, vision goes dark for a moment as you cry out his name. “Seungcheol!” you gasp, your voice wrecked from pleasure.

When you finally go limp, your body spent and trembling, Seungcheol presses one last kiss against your inner thigh before resting his head there. His dark eyes flick up to yours, filled with emotion. His nose and chin glistening with your release as he smirks, his voice husky and dripping with satisfaction.

“You’re unreal.”

He leans up, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep and intoxicating that it leaves you breathless. The taste of yourself lingers on his tongue, only adding to the fire burning between you. Arousal thrums through your veins as you reach between your bodies, palming his stiff length through the rough denim. The heat of him, even through the fabric, makes you ache with need.

“My turn,” you purr, pushing him back until he’s sitting up, your mouth watering at the thought of taking him deep.

But Seungcheol only grins, dark and full of mischief, before flipping you effortlessly onto your back again, caging you beneath him. “Nuh-uh,” he teases, his voice low and dripping with promise. “Tonight is all about you. I’ve got some making up to do, remember?”

His lips find yours once more, kissing you slow and deep before trailing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, leaving a scorching path in his wake. When he reaches your chest, his hands skillfully slip behind your back, unhooking your bra in one smooth motion.

He groans as your bare skin is finally revealed to him, his gaze darkening with hunger. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs before taking one of your hardened peaks into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue swirls around you, sucking just enough to make you arch into him, a needy whimper escaping your lips.

His free hand slides down your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin as he worships you, intent on unraveling you piece by piece.

You grab his arm just before his fingers can slip between your legs, your grip tight, your breathing uneven. “As much as I’d love to feel your fingers there,” you pant, your voice desperate, “I need your cock in me before I lose my mind.”

Seungcheol hesitates, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His mouth opens, as if he’s about to protest, but you don’t give him the chance.

“Please, Seungcheol,” you plead, your voice dripping with need. “Fuck me. I need you so bad. I’m going crazy.”

His grin is slow and teasing, his dark eyes flickering with amusement and pure desire. “You’re supposed to make me work for it,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours, savoring your impatience.

“Fuck that,” you whimper, your hands already undoing his pants, shoving them down his hips with urgency. “I already know it’s going to be so good, and I can’t wait any longer. I’ve needed you since that night in the hot tub. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

Your confession makes his cock throb painfully. The memory of that night, your soaked skin, the way you had looked at him, only fueling his desire. He swears under his breath, his hands gripping your thighs as he positions himself between them.

He strokes himself twice, eyes never leaving yours, drinking in the way you shudder with anticipation beneath him. “I’ve needed you since then too,” he groans, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you just for a second longer.

Then, without further hesitation, he thrusts into you, burying himself in one deep, slow stroke.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he groans, voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours as your walls clench around him. "I promise."

“You stretch me so fucking good, oh my god,” you moan, your head tilting back against the pillows as he pulls out just enough to slam back into you, filling you to the hilt.

Seungcheol groans, the sound guttural, his jaw tightening as he watches the way your body takes him so perfectly. So tight, so wet, so fucking perfect. His hands roam over your curves before gripping your hips, using them as leverage to thrust even deeper.

The flames between you grow hotter, consuming you both as your bodies move in perfect sync like you were made for this, made for each other.

His breathing is heavy, lips brushing against your jaw before he captures your wrists in one strong hand, pinning them above your head against the mattress. “Hold still for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with command and lust.

You whimper at the sudden control, your walls clenching around him in response. “Fuck,” he hisses, his grip tightening just slightly as his hips snap against yours with increasing intensity.

Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body arching beneath him. The slick sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, mixing with the symphony of your moans and his groans.

His free hand trails down your body, his fingertips ghosting over your skin before pressing firmly against your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles.

“Cheol—” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coils tight in your core, the tension threatening to snap at any moment.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasps, his lips brushing over your parted ones. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

Your body obeys his command, trembling as pleasure surges through you. Your walls tighten around him, milking every inch of his cock as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Seungcheol groans, his grip tightening on your wrists as he slows his thrusts, guiding you through the aftershocks, keeping you grounded while you catch your breath.

He watches you, completely wrecked beneath him, your body glowing with satisfaction, your chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale. And yet, the way your eyes meet his, filled with hunger, tells him you're not done.

“Come in me,” you whisper, voice dripping with desperation, fingers curling into his biceps. “I’m all yours to claim.”

His body tenses at your words, his restraint snapping like a rubber band stretched too thin. A deep groan rumbles in his chest as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself inside you. The heat of his release floods through your center, your walls fluttering around him as he spills every drop.

He collapses over you, supporting his weight on his forearms, pressing his forehead against yours as he tries to steady his breath. A satisfied smirk tugs at his lips as he leans in, deeply kissing you.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough, possessive.

You hum in agreement, running your fingers through his damp hair. “Yours.”

You lay there together, limbs tangled, basking in the lingering warmth of each other's bodies. The room is thick with the scent of sweat and satisfaction. And the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing is the only sound filling the quiet. Seungcheol presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, pouring unspoken emotions into it.

Eventually, he pulls away with a soft sigh and sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. He disappears into your bathroom and returns with a warm washcloth, kneeling between your legs. His touch is gentle as he cleans you up, his brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully wipes away his release spilling from your folds, making sure you’re comfortable before tending to himself.

You watch him, your heart swelling at the quiet intimacy of it all.

When he’s finished, you sit up slowly, a blissed-out smile stretching across your face. “That,” you begin, “Was so worth the wait.”

He chuckles, tossing the washcloth aside. “Glad to know I met expectations.”

“Please,” you snort, standing to grab a clean pair of panties. You swipe his discarded t-shirt off the floor and throw it on, the hem skimming your upper thighs. “You surpassed every single one.”

Seungcheol smirks, eyes trailing your frame as you move around the room. You catch his gaze and raise a brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he muses, leaning back on his hands. “Just admiring the view.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you grab his hand and tug him toward the kitchen. “Come on, I need a french fry in my life. You wanna eat out here, or should I bring it back to bed?”

“You can’t eat in bed,” he scolds lightly.

You shrug. “I do it all the time.”

He shakes his head but follows you out anyway, pulling his boxers back on.

Once the burgers and fries are plated, you both settle on the couch. You hand him a plate before digging in, barely pausing between bites. Seungcheol watches you with amusement, but when you’re not looking, he sneakily drops a fry down for Mika, who’s curled up in her favorite blanket. The pup wags her tail and happily munches on her secret treat.

“Post-sex burgers kinda slap, I’m not gonna lie,” you say, taking another big bite.

Seungcheol doesn’t respond right away, too busy watching you with an expression so soft it borders on devastating. He knows he’s in deep, he has been since the moment he met you. Loving you this much is dangerous, but fuck, it’s so worth the inevitable heartache and future pain he’s setting himself up for.

The following morning, Seungcheol stirs awake at the faint rustling of movement beside him. Still half-asleep, he instinctively reaches out to pull you back into his arms. It’s way too early to be getting up, but his hands find empty sheets. His brows furrow as he cracks his eyes open, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

You're standing by the dresser, slipping on a pair of leggings, your hair thrown up into a clip.

“Good morning, Seungshine.”

His heart swells at the nickname, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Mmm, morning. Going somewhere, gorgeous?” His deep, raspy morning voice sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Just a quick run to the pharmacy. I’ll be back in a few.” You lean down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “Don’t get up.”

He hums against your lips but narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What for?”

You straighten, grinning. “Well, if you recall, we ended the night with a big bang, no puns intended. But I don’t take my birth control as consistently as I should, so just to be safe, I’m grabbing a Plan B.”

The realization hits him like a freight train. His eyes widen as he sits up abruptly, pushing the covers off. “Shit—I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think to ask last night.” He scrambles for his jeans. “I’ll come with you—and I’m paying for it. Obviously.”

You chuckle at his flustered state, shaking your head. “Cheol, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he insists, standing and pulling his jeans on. “That should’ve been a conversation before we went at it like animals.” He runs a hand across his face, exhaling sharply. “I feel like an asshole.”

You step closer, moving his hands to cup his face in yours. “You’re not an asshole. We got caught up in the moment, it happens. But we’re handling it now, and that’s what matters.”

He studies you for a moment before sighing, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Still. I wanna come with you.”

You arch a brow. “You sure you wanna be seen in public, bright and early, in the pharmacy aisle buying Plan B?”

He deadpans, “I’m a firefighter, babe. I run into burning buildings for a living. You think I’m scared of the contraceptive aisle?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fair enough, but you really don’t need to come. I begged for it. And, honestly? I’d beg you to come inside me again because that was so fucking hot.” You give him a teasing grin before adding, “But yeah, just to be safe, I’ll pick one up. Don’t worry, babe.” You flash him a reassuring smile. And the truth is, you’re not upset about it. Shit happens. You wouldn’t change a thing about last night.

But Seungcheol’s face softens with concern, and he shakes his head. “It’s not right, no. If I wasn’t in such a rush last night, I would’ve remembered the condoms in my wallet. But I didn’t, so I’m gonna take care of this and fix it.” His voice carries a mix of guilt and determination, and you can see it’s eating him up inside.

You gently touch his arm, trying to ease his frustration. “Cheol, seriously. There’s nothing to fix. It’s okay.”

His jaw tightens, frustration falling across his features. The sound of him exhaling sharply fills the room. He feels like he’s messed up, and it’s killing him. But then, seeing the look on your face, he softens, his anger shifting to self-recrimination. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I don’t mean to argue. I’m just frustrated with myself. I should’ve used protection, that won’t happen again.”

You step closer, wrapping your arms around him, feeling his stiffened posture. He doesn’t immediately return the hug, his muscles tight with guilt.

“Cheol, get out of your head,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his back. “We’re good. I’m not mad at you. Please don’t do this to yourself.”

He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Sorry,” he breathes out, his voice full of self-disappointment. “I don’t like messing up.” He pulls away slightly, looking at you with a half-hearted smile. “I’m gonna head to the gym and blow off some steam before my shift. Call me later?”

You nod, offering him a warm, understanding smile. “Of course.”

He gives you one last, lingering kiss on the forehead before grabbing his gym bag and heading for the door. His footsteps fade, but the weight of his thoughts lingers in the room. You just hope he knows that everything is okay.

…

Seungcheol arrives at the station early, eager to clear his mind with a good workout. As soon as he walks in, he spots Vernon already warming up, and they exchange a quick greeting before diving into their routines. Seungcheol starts with his usual heavy dumbbell reps, the weight feels almost too light as his mind drifts away from the frustration of earlier.

His focus sharpens as he moves onto sprints on the treadmill, feeling the burn in his legs, and finally finishes with some deadlifts. Each rep clears a bit more of the tension from his shoulders, his thoughts slowly settling into a rhythm.

It’s only when he checks his phone to switch the song playing through his headphones that his heart drops. There’s a text from you, simple and straightforward: Got the pill, already took it.

The frustration from earlier resurfaces instantly, a knot tightening in his chest. His jaw clenches as he finishes the last set of deadlifts, his mind whirring with thoughts of how to fix things, but also realizing that fixing things isn't always the solution.

“Dang, dude,” Vernon whistles from across the room, clearly noticing the shift in Seungcheol’s demeanor. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

Seungcheol lets out a frustrated breath, wiping his face with a towel before flinging it over his shoulder. “You could say that,” he mutters, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Y/N and I argued this morning. She wasn’t having it when I tried to fix something, solve a problem, whatever you wanna call it.”

Vernon raises an eyebrow, setting down his weights. “Oof. Sounds like you’ve met your match, man. Mr. Fix-It’s getting his ass handed to him by Miss Independent, huh?”

Seungcheol runs his hand across his neck, letting out a sigh of exasperation. “Yeah, and it’s infuriating sometimes. She’s clumsy by nature, which I absolutely adore, but she won’t ask for help, even when I offer. I don’t mind helping. I want to. If a problem arises I want to jump in and solve it. Hell, I’d love to do anything to make her day easier, but she just won’t let me. It drives me crazy. I’m trying to be a good boyfriend, but she’s just...so stubborn.”

Vernon chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s all women for you.”

Seungcheol shoots him a side-eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vernon leans against the wall, looking over at him with a knowing smirk. “You’re learning the hard way. It’s like, no matter how much you want to help, they’ll still want to do it themselves. It’s part of the charm...and the frustration.”

Seungcheol snorts, running a hand through his hair again. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s like she wants to carry the weight of the world herself, even if I’m standing right here, ready to take some of it.”

Vernon pats him on the back, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “Dude, you’re gonna have to accept that. It’s just how it goes. Just try not to lose your mind over it. You’re not gonna win this one, so don’t let it eat you up.”

Seungcheol nods, letting the advice sink in. Maybe Vernon’s right, maybe this is just one of those things he has to let go of. But damn, it’s hard when all he wants to do is help, especially when he’s so used to fixing everything around him.

Your latest meeting with your publisher went better than you could’ve ever imagined. Over coffee downtown, she told you the great news: your editor approved the final draft of your novel, and it's officially being sent to the press.

In three months, thousands of copies will be printed, bound, and sent out to stores across the world. The feeling of seeing your work finally come to life is overwhelming, and you can't wait to share the news with Seungcheol.

You rush to the station, eager to surprise him. As soon as you walk in, you spot the sweet receptionist at her desk and flash her a bright smile.

“Hey, Y/N! Seungcheol’s in the garage.”

“Thanks!” you call back, your excitement bubbling up as you head toward the garage.

“Mika!” comes the familiar chorus of voices from the station’s crew. Everyone loves your husky, and she loves their attention. She prances around, soaking up the affection before running straight for Wonwoo, ready for a round of frisbee. He takes her out back, tossing the frisbee with a grin as she happily chases it down.

You walk into the garage just as Seungcheol is finishing up something on a truck. Before you can get his attention, he’s already spotted you. He moves swiftly, wrapping his strong arms around you from behind, pulling you against his chest. His lips find the spot just below your ear, planting a soft kiss there.

“What do I owe the pleasure?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. “I didn’t think I’d see you until after I finished this 48-hour shift.”

You can’t help but laugh, the happiness of the moment bubbling out of you. “Well, I couldn’t wait to see you. I have some huge news!” You tilt your head to catch his gaze. His smile widens at the sound of your enthusiasm.

“What’s that?” he asks, clearly intrigued.

“The book’s officially being printed,” you say, the excitement rushing out in a stream of words. “They approved it, Seungcheol. In three months, it’ll be out in stores!”

Seungcheol freezes, his arms tightening around you as the realization sinks in. “No way.” His voice is filled with awe. “You did it, Y/N.” He turns you around, looking you in the eyes, a thrilled smile on his face. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You beam, feeling the weight of everything you’ve worked for finally come to fruition. His words only make it feel more real. “I couldn’t have done it without your support. You’re the one who told me to write for myself.”

He presses a quick kiss to your lips, his hands sliding down to rest at your waist. “So, what’s the next step? Are you gonna do a book tour or something?”

You shrug playfully. “I’m still figuring that part out, but for now, I just wanted to celebrate with you and share the news.”

His grin is sinful, full of mischief and raw desire. “Well, I think I know the perfect way to celebrate.”

Before you can ask what he means, Seungcheol takes your hand and tugs you between two fire trucks, tucking you into the dimly lit space where the shadows provide just enough secrecy. Your heart hammers in your chest as you take in his expression. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire body practically radiating heat.

The second you’re in position, he crashes his lips to yours His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you whimper against his mouth. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, tilting your head to take even more of you.

Then, using his pure strength, he lifts you effortlessly, pinning you against the cool, hard metal of the fire truck. You gasp at the contrast between his burning body and the icy steel. His hips press between your legs, and you can feel him, thick and heavy, even through the layers separating you.

“Fuck, I need you,” he groans, his voice rough with restraint.

Your head spins. “Here?” you whisper, glancing to the side, your nerves and excitement blending together.

He pulls back slightly, his breath fanning over your lips. “Only if you want to.”

God, it’s reckless. You could get caught. But something about the idea of Seungcheol taking you right here, in the middle of his workplace, with his crew just yards away, has arousal pooling between your thighs. It’s like a scene ripped straight from one of your books, and you can’t help but bite your lip, nodding frantically.

A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “That’s my girl.”

His hands slide under your skirt, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs before pushing the fabric up to bunch around your hips. You shiver in anticipation as he unzips his pants, the sound sharp in the quiet space. Your breath stutters when his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and tucking them into one of his pockets.

The cool air hits your damp heat before his fingers find you. He lets out a low curse. “So wet for me already.” His voice is pure sin, dripping with desire.

Then, he reaches into another zipper pocket, pulling out a small foil packet. He rips it open with his teeth, grinning as he rolls the condom onto his aching length.

“As wild and unpredictable as you are, I’ve learned my lesson.” His tone is teasing, but his eyes are dark. “So, I always keep a condom on hand. This is my surprise sex stash.” He taps the pocket he pulled it from.

A breathy laugh escapes you, the absurdity of it making your stomach flutter. “That’s so hot, but also so funny.”

He chuckles, “What can I say? I like to be prepared.” Your laughter quickly turns into soft mewls as he rubs his cock through your folds.

And then, without warning, he thrusts into you, stretching you perfectly, filling you in a way that has you gasping against his lips.

He grits his teeth, jaw clenched tight as he bottoms out inside you. His breath comes out in a ragged groan as he mutters, “Always a perfect fucking fit.” The praise sends a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your walls fluttering around him in response.

Then he starts to move. Hard, fast, relentless. His hips snap into yours with an intensity that has your head falling back against the truck, the metal vibrating with each powerful thrust. The pleasure is overwhelming, every nerve in your body is on fire, and you can do nothing but take it, your body molding to his as he fucks you into oblivion.

The sounds of your wetness mixed with his grunts echo dangerously in the garage, and a sudden thrill shoots through you at the realization of how exposed you are. Anyone could walk in. Any second now, someone could round the corner and—

A strangled moan tears from your lips, loud and uncontrollable.

Seungcheol reacts instantly, his free hand flying up to cover your mouth, muffling the desperate sounds threatening to give you away. His other hand remains firm on your waist, guiding your movements as he thrusts deeper, angling perfectly to brush against that sweet, devastating spot inside you.

“Shh, baby,” he rasps against your ear, voice thick with arousal and amusement. “Unless you want them to hear how good I’m fucking you.”

His words send a violent shudder through your body, your nails sinking into his shoulders as you cling to him. His pace only grows rougher, more desperate, like he needs to push you over the edge. And with the way his cock is slamming into you, dragging against your most sensitive spot with every stroke, you know you won’t last much longer.

Your muffled whimpers vibrate against his palm, your body trembling as that familiar coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.

“Fuck,” he grunts, thrusts growing erratic. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel you.”

You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer pleasure. You’re right there, teetering on the edge, the tension in your core threatening to snap at any second.

And then—he thrusts particularly deep, his name slipping from your lips against his palm as you shatter around him, your entire body convulsing as pleasure washes over you in overwhelming waves.

Seungcheol tenses, a deep groan tearing from his throat as his release crashes over him. His hips stutter, pressing flush against you as he spills into the condom, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs.

His forehead rests against yours as he catches his breath, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “I swear, it’s better every time.” He kisses you, slow and deep, as if trying to make the moment last a little longer.

Gently, he lowers you back onto your shaky legs, steadying you with firm hands as he smooths down your skirt to cover your still-throbbing core. You blink up at him, dazed, before holding out a hand expectantly. “My panties?”

Seungcheol’s grin turns downright wicked as he pulls his pants back up around his hips. “Nope. Those are mine now.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Consider them a souvenir.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Fine. But only because my legs are too wobbly to fight you for them.” You shake your head, still trying to regain some semblance of composure. “How the hell did you even hold me up for that long? Guess I gotta start calling you Swole Cheol.”

He throws his head back in laughter, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you steady. “Damn right, baby. Now, let’s get you out of here before someone starts wondering why you look so thoroughly fucked.”

He watches you walk away, a satisfied smirk lingering on his lips as you glance back with a knowing look. Once you're out of sight, he releases a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before making his way to the locker room.

With a sigh, he disposes of the soiled condom, shaking his head at himself. You’re insatiable, Choi Seungcheol. But who could blame him when it came to you? His body already aches for another round, the memory of your warmth and the way you came undone around him burned into his mind.

Unfortunately, that will have to wait until tonight. For now, a very cold shower is in order.

After finishing his grueling 48-hour shift, Seungcheol finally gets to clock out. But instead of heading straight home to crash, he shoots you a text.

Come over?

You don’t hesitate. Obviously.

You haven’t seen his place yet, and curiosity buzzes through you as you drive over. When you arrive, he’s already waiting at the door, wearing nothing but gray sweats you silently pray he never gets rid of, and a tired smile that still somehow makes your stomach flip.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says, stepping aside to let you and Mika in. His place is warm and inviting, all dark wood and soft lighting, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

You barely get a chance to take in your surroundings before he’s pulling you into his arms, kissing you slow and deep like he’s been starved for you.

You don’t make it past the couch. Neither do your clothes.

He lays you down, hovering over you, taking his time worshipping your body. It’s sweet and slow, his lips tracing every inch of your skin, his hands gripping your hips as he sinks into you, rocking into you with a steady rhythm that has your toes curling.

Then, for the next round, he carries you to his bed. Where you take control by straddling him, rolling your hips just right. His hands roam your body, his praises spilling from his lips like he can’t help himself. “You ride me so fucking well,” he groans, his grip tightening as he watches you fall apart above him.

And just when he thinks he’s spent, you pull him into the shower, pressing your chest against the cool tile as he takes you from behind, water cascading over both of you.

By the time you tumble back into his bed, tangled in the sheets, your limbs are heavy with exhaustion. Seungcheol pulls you onto his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

He presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You hum sleepily, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “At least you’ll go happy.”

With a breathy chuckle, he tightens his arms around you. Sleep takes him quickly, and you follow soon after, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

You sleep soundly for the next couple of hours, wrapped in warmth, the steady rise and fall of Seungcheol’s chest beneath your cheek lulling you into the deepest rest you’ve had in weeks. His scent surrounds you; fresh soap, faint cologne, something inherently him.

But then, movement stirs beside you.

A restless twitch. A sharp inhale. A quiet, broken, “No.”

Your brows knit together as you lift your head, immediately sensing the distress rolling off him in waves. His muscles tense beneath your palm, his fingers gripping the sheets as his breaths grow shallow. Another boom cracks through the night, lightning flashing across the room, illuminating the crease in his brow, and the tremble in his lips.

Then he whispers it, his voice thick with anguish.

"Please don’t be dead."

Your heart clenches. You realize what’s happening in an instant, he’s trapped in another nightmare, reliving something dark, something that still haunts him.

“Seungcheol,” you murmur softly, placing your palm over his racing heart. “You’re dreaming. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

But then another crack of thunder rattles the walls, and his body jerks violently as his eyes snap open, wild and unfocused. His breath comes in quick, panicked gasps, and for a moment, he’s not here. He’s somewhere else, somewhere terrible.

“Cheol, it’s me,” you say quickly, sitting up beside him. “I’m here.”

His gaze darts around the room as if searching for danger, for confirmation that the horrors of his dream weren’t real. Another flash of lightning streaks across the sky, and you see it, the sheer panic in his eyes, the way his entire frame trembles.

Without hesitation, you press your hands over his ears, shielding him from the roaring thunder. He lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans into your touch. Slowly, gently, you guide him back down onto the bed, keeping your hands in place, anchoring him.

“It’s just a storm,” you whisper. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

He listens, inhales deeply, exhales slower. Again. And again. Until the tremors in his body ease, until his chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm.

Minutes pass before his grip on you loosens, before his exhausted body succumbs to sleep once more. You stay like that, curled against him, watching over him, your fingers trailing soothing patterns on his skin.

…

The morning light filters softly through his windows, casting a golden glow over Seungcheol’s bare shoulders as he sits across from you at the kitchen table, fingers curled around his coffee mug. The night’s storm has long since passed, but the weight of it still lingers in the air between you.

You take a careful sip, watching him as Mika eats the last of her breakfast. He hasn’t said much since waking up, just his usual quiet “Morning, gorgeous” and a kiss to your forehead before brewing your coffee exactly how you like it. But there’s a tension in his shoulders, a faraway look in his eyes that hasn’t faded since last night.

You set your mug down. “You were really freaked out last night,” you say gently. “Do you want to talk about it? It’s okay if you aren’t ready to.”

He exhales through his nose, his grip on the mug tightening. You see the war happening in his head, his instinct to protect you from the darkness in him battling against his desire to be honest with you. To not keep things hidden.

Finally, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“That storm...the thunder, the lightning, it took me back,” he admits, voice rough. “There was this wildfire a few months ago. A lightning strike started it. We had barely any warning before it spread out of control.” He pauses, jaw tensing. “A family refused to evacuate. I begged them to go, promised I’d do everything I could to protect their home. But the wind...it changed direction so fast, faster than anyone could’ve predicted.” His knuckles whiten around his cup. “By the time we got back there...it was too late.”

Your heart clenches at the raw anguish in his voice, the way his eyes flicker with a pain so deep it’s nearly unbearable to witness.

“They didn’t make it?” you ask softly.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “No one did,” he murmurs. “When we found them, they were still holding onto their baby.” His voice breaks on the last word. “I broke my promise.”

Tears prick your own eyes at the thought, at the unbearable weight he’s carried with him all this time. You reach across the table, placing your hand over his.

“Cheol,” you whisper, squeezing gently. “You did everything you could.”

His jaw clenches, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, red-rimmed and filled with regret and guilt. “Did I?” he rasps. “Because I should’ve convinced them. I should’ve been able to make them leave. I should’ve gotten there sooner.”

“They chose to stay,” you remind him softly.

“They didn’t know any better,” he counters, voice thick with guilt. “They were scared, and I should’ve—” He stops, dragging a hand down his face as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill. “I live with that every damn day. Knowing I couldn’t save them. That I had to carry their bodies out instead.”

The silence between you is heavy, but you don’t rush to fill it. Instead, you shift your chair closer, wrapping your arms around him. He stiffens for half a second before melting into you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“You carry so much,” you murmur, fingers tracing soothing circles on his back. “More than anyone ever should. But you’re human, Cheol. You can’t save everyone.”

He exhales shakily, nodding against you. “I just wish I could.”

“I know,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his hair. “And that’s what makes you you.”

For the first time that morning, he lets himself break. And you hold him through it all.

You refuse to let him go, arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders as he holds you just as fiercely. His breath is steadying now, though his heartbeat still pounds beneath your fingertips. You don’t say anything; just stay there, grounding him, letting him know he’s not alone.

Then, a sharp alarm cuts through the air. Seungcheol’s phone buzzes insistently against the table, and the moment ends. He exhales deeply, hesitating for just a second before he pulls back to check the screen. His brows knit together, and his entire demeanor shifts.

“I gotta go,” he murmurs, jaw tightening. “House fire.” Uncanny timing.

His movements are swift as he grabs his keys, slipping on his jacket quickly after. He kisses you once, lingering just a little longer than usual, before crouching to ruffle Mika’s fur. “You stay here and keep your mom company, okay?” The husky wags her tail, oblivious to the tension in the air.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” he tells you, pausing at the door. “Though...I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

There’s something unspoken in his words, something heavy. Like a part of him isn’t sure he’ll be back at all.

“That’s okay, I have to pick up my new car at some point today. Be safe,” you whisper, and he nods before he’s out the door, disappearing into the early morning light.

When Seungcheol arrives at the station, the usual buzz of activity is nowhere to be found. Instead, the air is thick, weighed down by everyone’s mood. They move in near silence, expressions grim as they gear up. There’s no room for jokes or casual banter this morning.

The fire must be bad.

It doesn’t take long before the trucks are roaring down the streets, sirens wailing. Seungcheol watches the city blur past through the windshield, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the strap of his harness. His mind drifts back to the wildfire, to the storm, to last night’s memories clawing at the edges of his mind.

Not again.

The moment they arrive on the scene, it’s clear just how dire the situation is. Flames engulf the upper floors of a residential building, thick black smoke pouring from shattered windows. Panicked screams echo through the street as people scramble outside, clutching children, pets, whatever they could grab before escaping.

“Two confirmed still inside,” their Chief barks as they hop off the truck, already securing their oxygen masks.

Seungcheol’s pulse kicks into overdrive.

Two people.

That’s all it takes for him to lose his grip on rational thought.

Adrenaline surges through his veins as he storms toward the entrance, ignoring the heat licking at his skin. The radio crackles in his ear with orders, but they barely register. He has one mission.

Get them out.

“Coups, wait—” someone calls behind him, but he’s already gone, disappearing into the inferno.

Inside, it’s a warzone of collapsing debris and searing flames. Visibility is nearly zero, but he pushes forward, relying on instinct. His breaths come in controlled, measured gasps as he scans the smoke-filled hallway.

A cough. A desperate sound.

There.

He finds them huddled in a bedroom, an older woman shielding a teenage boy with her body. Their faces are streaked with soot, eyes wide with terror.

“It’s okay,” Seungcheol says, voice firm. “I’m getting you out of here.”

The woman clings to him as he hoists the boy onto his back, securing his grip before turning toward the exit. But just as they reach the hallway, an explosion rattles the structure, sending a shower of debris crashing down below them. The floor beneath them groans ominously.

“Shit,” he grits out, adjusting his hold. “Hold on.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

Breaking protocol entirely, Seungcheol barrels forward, his mind laser-focused on getting the trapped family to safety. He moves quickly, weaving through the fiery chaos, dodging falling beams and blistering flames that seem to reach out for him. His breath is ragged, adrenaline coursing through his veins, but nothing will stop him—nothing. Not the heat, not the smoke, not even the ever-encroaching collapse of the building around him.

Then, a massive beam crashes down onto his shoulder, the impact so brutal that a sharp cry of pain is forced from his lips. He staggers but pushes through, gritting his teeth, refusing to let the pain slow him down. His shoulder burns like hell, but he won’t stop, not when the woman’s terrified eyes are locked on him, desperate for his help.

“Cheol!” Mingyu’s voice cuts through the fog of pain, and Seungcheol knows what’s coming even before his friend is fully in view.

“Do you have a death wish?” Mingyu barks, his tone sharp with concern as he catches up, the rest of the unit trailing behind him.

Seungcheol grits his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. He doesn’t have the energy for this right now.

“You guys shouldn’t be in here,” he growls, eyes scanning the wreckage. The staircase is gone, replaced by nothing but broken wood and twisted metal. He shifts the woman in his arms, her fragile weight barely noticeable compared to the responsibility pressing down on his chest.

“Neither should you,” Wonwoo shoots back, annoyance lining his voice as he surveys the scene. “We wait for orders then comply, remember? Protocol.”

Seungcheol shoots him a scowl, shaking his head. “Then why did you follow?” He’s out of breath, but his tone is still biting. The words tumble out without thinking.

“We weren’t going to let you die in here,” Vernon huffs, catching the woman in his arms with a grunt, before nodding to Seungcheol. The teenage boy is next, and Seungcheol carefully lowers him down to safety.

The unit works quickly, their frustration visible, but they all know this is the harsh reality of their job. As Seungcheol is helped down next, Mingyu’s eyes stay fixed on his shoulder, unable to ignore the way Seungcheol’s fingers are tightly gripping his own arm, gloves tight across his knuckles from the pain he's clearly trying to hide.

Seungcheol catches his stare, his expression darkening. The warning is clear in his eyes. Don’t fucking say a thing.

Mingyu swallows hard, but he says nothing. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t push the issue. Seungcheol’s pride, his reckless courage, has always been part of him. And right now, no amount of scolding will change what’s already been done.

The fire rages behind them, a constant roar of destruction, but Seungcheol keeps his focus, pushing through the pain in his shoulder. The family is safe, that’s all that matters. For now, anyway.

As they burst through the door, the mother and son gasp for fresh air, the paramedics rushing in to attend to them. But Seungcheol barely registers the relief in their faces before the harsh crackling of his radio fills the air. He tenses, hearing the fury behind it, and before he can react, a voice booms from behind him.

“Choi Seungcheol, what the fuck was that?” He turns sharply to see Captain Namjoon storming toward him, absolutely livid.

“You ignored a direct order, you reckless idiot—”

But Seungcheol doesn't flinch, doesn't care. Not when he glances back at the boy, clutching his mother, both of them alive and safe. That’s what matters to him.

The Chief interrupts, his voice cold and authoritative as he steps in front of Seungcheol. “You willingly put yourself and your unit at risk. Disciplinary action will be discussed tomorrow in front of a panel to decide your reprimand for misconduct. You’re dismissed. Get back to the station.”

Seungcheol’s heart sinks, but he knows better than to argue now. What’s done is done.

A slight worry settles in your gut as you glance at the clock, noting that the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon. You haven’t heard from Seungcheol since he left early this morning. You know his job is demanding, but the silence gnaws at you, twisting your thoughts into worst-case scenarios.

You try to distract yourself. You’ve run all your errands, picked up your new car from the dealership, and taken Mika on a long walk in the park. But now, there’s nothing left to occupy your mind. The restlessness builds, gnawing at your thoughts until you can’t sit still any longer.

You decide to drive to the station, thinking that maybe if you wait there, you’ll see Seungcheol when the trucks return. At least then you can breathe a little easier. You leave Mika safely tucked in your apartment, lock up, and head for the station. The closer you get, the more your nerves spark.

But when you pull up and see the big garage doors closed, your stomach drops. That means the trucks are already parked back inside.

Your pulse quickens as you lock your car, your mind racing with questions. You rush through the door, barely noticing the soft murmur of voices inside. When you round the corner, you bump into Mingyu just outside the locker room door.

His eyes meet yours, his usual laid-back demeanor momentarily replaced by a flicker of concern. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” he asks, concerned about your current state, even though his exhaustion is evident.

A flood of worry surges through you as you look at Mingyu, your mind racing with a thousand different scenarios. “How long have you guys been back? Did Seungcheol get mandated to stay for overtime? Or is he hurt?”

Mingyu gives you a look, one that’s part confusion, part understanding, as he puts the pieces together. He raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard from him?” he asks, his voice softening as he realizes the depth of your concern.

You shake your head quickly, panic creeping in. "No. He didn’t text me like he was supposed to.”

Mingyu pauses, processing the situation. “He returned from the call this afternoon,” he finally says, his tone thoughtful. “The rest of us got back around dinner time and he was already gone by then. I assumed he was already with you.” He pulls his phone out, texting someone quickly. “Let me check with a few people. We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”

His attempt at reassurance does little to ease the anxiety knotting in your stomach. You let out a breath as he directs you to sit down, and you follow him into the rec room. The worn-out chairs and tables, so familiar to Seungcheol’s coworkers, suddenly feel out of place in the heavy silence hanging between you. Mingyu sits across from you at the table, his fingers drumming anxiously on the surface.

“Why was he the first one back?” you ask, trying to piece together the timeline in your head.

Mingyu’s eyes shift away for a moment, his face tightening, and you can see the hesitation on his features. “I—” He stops himself, clearly uncertain of how much to say. After a long pause, he meets your gaze again, the heaviness in his eyes unmistakable.

“What is it?” you press, your voice rising with urgency. You can feel it now, a gnawing sense that something happened, something bad. “Is he hurt?”

Mingyu’s fingers hover over his phone as he glances down, hesitation clear in the tightness of his posture. After a tense moment, he finally meets your gaze, his voice softer than usual, almost reluctant.

“He…he wasn’t in the best shape when he got back,” he starts, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “They had to take him to the infirmary. Just a minor shoulder injury…” His voice trails off, as if he’s holding something back.

Your heart skips a beat, but you can’t help pressing for more. The knot in your stomach tightens as dread creeps into your thoughts. “There’s more?” you ask, your voice shaky with worry.

Mingyu sighs, his expression unreadable as he shifts in his seat. “He pulled a reckless move today,” he admits, his gaze flicking briefly to his phone again. “Chief forced him to leave after breaking orders. Seungcheol wasn’t supposed to go in like that. He didn’t wait for backup, didn’t follow the plan…” He sighs again, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Vernon answered, he’s with Coups right now. They’re at Shooters. The bar on Fifth.”

Shooter’s. The last place you ever expected to hear about when Seungcheol’s name was involved, especially after what Mingyu just told you.

“Should I go to him?” you ask, standing up as the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. Your legs feel like they’re made of lead, but your heart is racing. All you can think about is getting to Seungcheol, making sure he’s okay, whatever happened today.

Mingyu looks at you, his eyes soft with sympathy. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think you should. Don’t push him too hard though. He’s not exactly in the best mood.”

You nod, already grabbing your keys from your bag. You’re out the door before another thought can settle in, your mind only focused on reaching Seungcheol.

When you walk in, the thumping rock music and the rhythmic clink of glasses vibrate through the air, filling your ears as you scan the dimly lit room. Your gaze lands on Seungcheol immediately, his broad frame slumped against the bar, his head hanging low as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.

Beside him, Vernon sits quietly, his eyes flicking between you and Seungcheol, sensing the brewing tension before it even fully settles.

“Hey, Y/N,” Vernon greets you with a small smile, but his eyes flick to Seungcheol, reading the situation before it can spiral out of control.

As soon as Seungcheol hears your name, his head jerks up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His eyes glaze over with a mix of exhaustion and frustration, meet yours, and you can tell he doesn’t want to deal with you right now.

But there’s no way around it. You’re here. And you’re not leaving without talking this through. Vernon takes one last look between you two before silently slipping away, giving you both space to talk.

You sit next to Seungcheol, your presence undeniable, and cross your arms as you wait for him to acknowledge you. He doesn’t.

“Aren’t you curious why I’m here?” you ask, the edge in your voice sharper than you intended.

Seungcheol doesn’t even look at you, lifting his glass to his lips and taking another long swig of whiskey, his silence only making your frustration boil over. "No," he finally grunts in response, not even bothering to meet your eyes.

“Mingyu let me know you were here,” you continue, your voice now firm, cutting through the tension between you two. “After I went to the station, worried because you didn’t come home. And he kindly informed me that you’ve been back from that house fire call for hours."

At your words, Seungcheol’s grip on the glass tightens, his jaw clenched as if he’s trying to hold back the storm. The non-answer he gives you only stokes the fire inside you, and you can feel your patience wearing thin.

His stubbornness frustrates you more than anything, but you refuse to let this go.

“Did you act out today because it was another family? Do you feel like you owed it to the universe to save them, no matter the cost?”

His glare could cut through steel. “Don’t,” he snaps, his voice low and hard.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Seungcheol, it’s not your fault. They chose to stay behind. You can’t carry that burden. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone, especially when it’s out of your hands.”

But as you watch him, his arm in a sling, the frustration bubbles up inside you. It’s like he’s determined to destroy himself for a past he can’t change.

“I just don’t understand,” you say, frustration edging into your voice. “Why did you forget all rational thought? You never break orders. You know the risks. You could’ve died today. Along with that mother and her son, since you were too focused on your own guilt to consider the usual risks, like weak spots. What if she’d fallen through the floor? What if her son had to watch her die right in front of him because you were in such a rush to right a wrong? Sure, you saved them this time, but what you did was just as reckless as it was selfish. You made it about yourself, Seungcheol. You let your past mistakes dictate your actions and put everything else on the line. You put your team, your friends, and your own life in danger.”

The words hang heavy between you, your chest rising and falling with the weight of them. You wait for him to say something, anything, but the silence stretches on.

“Was it worth it? Do you feel better now?” you bite out, anger and hurt lacing your tone. “I already know the answer to that, seeing you sitting here, ignoring me.”

His fist slams down on the counter, the sound sharp and final. “Enough!” His voice cracks with the tension, and the glass in his hand shatters into pieces on the counter.

Instinctively, your hands reach for the broken glass, not thinking, but the jagged edge cuts through your skin before you can pull away.

"Shit" you mutter, more to yourself than him, as you suck in a sharp breath, pressing napkins to the small wound on your hand. The blood stains the white paper, and you can feel your emotions boiling over.

Seungcheol's voice erupts, raw and jagged, his words like acid. “See? This is exactly what I mean,” he spits. “You’re pissed at me for saving lives today, for doing my job, but look at you. You can’t even get your own shit together! You want to lecture me, but you’re over here falling apart at the smallest thing. How many times do I have to save you, huh? You always come to me with your problems, needing me to fix everything for you. And what do I get in return?”

His hands slam against the bar, his knuckles turning white as his gaze hardens as if he’s trying to bury his emotions behind the anger. "Just go away, Y/N. I can't fix you right now. I can't fix anything about you or me. So just go.”

His words are like a slap, cold and unforgiving, making you recoil. And they leave a burning sting in their wake. The sting isn’t just from the cut; it’s from the weight of his accusation. You take a breath, steadying yourself as you step back, holding the napkin tighter against your palm, trying to hold back the tears.

Without another word, you turn and leave, feeling the heat of the moment suffocating you. He can clean up his own damn mess, because you’ve done all you can.

Seungcheol’s disciplinary panel finally came to a decision today. The verdict hits him hard. Two weeks without pay, and he's benched from responding to fires for the same period. He knows it’s deserved—hell, he was honestly expecting more.

But it still stings. It’s a reminder of how far he pushed everything, how much he screwed up. But deep down, he knows it could’ve been worse. It’s not the worst punishment he could’ve gotten, but it sure as hell feels like a taste of it.

What stings even more, though, is that you’ve been gone for three days. Three days where you won’t answer his calls, won’t reply to his texts, won’t answer your door. He leaves each attempt feeling worse than the last.

And it’s his fault. He knows it. The words he threw at you, the way he pushed you away…he deserves this. He deserves you leaving him, walking away, because he fucked it all up.

He heads to lunch in a haze of guilt, dragging his feet, already dreading the conversation with Jun. He agreed to meet him, mostly because he couldn’t avoid it anymore. But Jun, as usual, knows more than he’s letting on.

Seungcheol is surprised that Jun has Mika with him

“What’s with the dog?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he sits down.

“I’m watching her while Y/N and Kate are away for the weekend. A resort and spa,” Jun starts, his voice low, careful. “After everything that happened, she needed a break. A well-deserved one.”

Seungcheol's stomach drops, a sickening feeling twisting inside him. “You heard?”

Jun’s gaze softens a little, before nodding.

He hesitates for a split second before the truth spills out. “Yeah, I was working at the hospital when Y/N was getting stitches.”

Seungcheol’s entire world shifts. The air leaves his lungs as his mind struggles to process what Jun is saying. “What?” The word comes out as a whisper, hoarse, the shock of it hitting him like a physical blow. “What happened? She…she got hurt?”

“She cut her hand. On the glass. From the broken drink you threw.”

The words cut through him like a knife, deeper than anything he’d ever felt before. He can feel the weight of his actions, the damage they’ve caused, crashing into him all at once. His breath hitches as he imagines the moment you had to deal with that—alone, after he pushed you away, after he made you feel small.

“Fuck,” he mutters, looking down at the table, unable to meet Jun’s eyes. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Jun’s gaze hardens, but his tone is gentle. “I know, man. But you need to figure out how to make things right.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, frustration clawing at him. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything’s gone up in fucking flames.” His voice cracks slightly, the weight of it settling in his chest like concrete. “She has to know I didn’t mean it. Right? She has to understand. She’s never too much for me to fix. I’m not… I’m not like this. I never meant to hurt her.”

Jun studies him for a long moment before he asks the question that Seungcheol hasn’t fully allowed himself to think about yet.

“You love her, don’t you?”

The question hits him like a shot to the chest, a truth he’s been running from but can’t escape. Seungcheol exhales sharply, his eyes drifting to Mika, who’s sitting at his feet, head tilted in confusion. “Yeah,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I love her. And I’m scared…I’m scared I’ve lost her for good this time.”

…

The scent of eucalyptus and lavender fills the air, meant to be soothing, but it does nothing to settle the storm raging inside you. The spa worker carefully places cooling eye masks over your lids, letting the skincare seep into your skin, and for a moment, you try to ease yourself into relaxation.

But it’s useless.

You shift restlessly on the plush lounge chair, arms crossing and uncrossing, letting out sharp, annoyed exhales every few minutes. At first, the sadness was all-consuming, a crushing weight that settled deep in your chest. But now? Now, you're just pissy.

It’s not like you ever asked Seungcheol for constant help. If anything, you’ve proven that you can handle things on your own, pushing back every time he tried to coddle you. You told him, over and over again, that you weren’t some helpless damsel in distress. That you didn’t need fixing.

And yet, that night, he made it seem like you were a burden. Like you were too much. Like he was exhausted from having to save you.

Your fingers twitch into fists at the thought, and if he were standing in front of you right now, you’d be seriously tempted to kick his ass.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Kate drawls beside you, not even bothering to lift her eye mask. “You’re getting more worked up by the minute. This is supposed to be relaxing, remember?”

Her voice is teasing, but you know she gets it. She knows how badly you want to scream, to shake Seungcheol and make him understand just how much he hurt you. Hell, Kate probably wants to kick his ass, too.

Frustrated, you rip the eye masks off, only to immediately wince as pain flares through your palm. Your stitches pull, a sharp sting running through your hand. You glance down at them, at the neat, dark lines slicing across your skin. A physical reminder of just how much things have spiraled.

You swallow hard, jaw tightening as Mingyu’s words echo in your head.

Don’t push him too far.

But you did.

And now, you don’t know if there’s anything left to fix.

You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the lounge chair. The plush robe feels suffocating, the scent of essential oils dizzying rather than calming.

“I’m heading back to the room,” you announce, already reaching for your slippers. “I can’t relax in here. I need to watch some trashy reality TV to feel better about my life.”

Kate lifts her eye mask just enough to peek at you, one brow arching. “You sure? We’ve got a whole hour left. The hot stone massage is next. You want me to come with you?”

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “No, no, you stay and enjoy the rest of the appointment. You actually deserve this.”

Kate sits up slightly, skepticism written all over her face. “Y/N—”

“I just need to clear my head,” you cut in gently. “I’ll be fine. I just…need a break from all this self-care happy mindset crap.”

She huffs a laugh, but you see the concern lingering in her eyes. “Fine. But if you start drafting an angry text to Seungcheol, I will come drag your ass back here.”

You hold up your injured hand. “Hard to text when my dominant hand is stitched up.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of an angry, one-handed rant,” she quips, settling back into her chair. “Now go, enjoy your reality TV, and for the love of God, don’t think about your emotionally constipated firefighter ex for at least an hour.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head as you make your way toward the exit. But as you step out into the hallway, the weight of everything crashes back down, pressing into your chest like a vice.

You’re not sure if an hour—or even a whole weekend—is going to be enough to stop thinking about Seungcheol.

…

Seungcheol had never been above swallowing his pride when it truly mattered, and right now, nothing mattered more than seeing you.

So he begged. Literally begged Junhui to drive him to the resort. He didn’t care how pathetic it made him look, all he needed was a chance. The smallest sliver of hope that he hadn’t completely destroyed everything between you.

Jun, with his soft heart, eventually caved, wanting everything to work out in the end. Forever the optimist. He muttered something about how Kate was definitely going to chew him out for enabling this, but deep down, he wanted to believe that maybe this wasn’t a lost cause. That maybe Seungcheol could fix what he broke.

And so, Girls’ Weekend was about to be crashed.

As soon as they pull up to the resort, Seungcheol wastes no time heading inside. His pulse pounds with every step, his injured arm stiff in its sling, but he doesn’t let it slow him down.

And then, just his luck—he runs right into Kate.

She’s standing in the hallway, waiting for the elevator, arms crossed the moment she spots him. Her eyes narrow into sharp, unforgiving slits.

“And what the hell are you doing here?” she demands, her tone dripping with disbelief. “Actually—how are you even here?”

Seungcheol, already bracing himself for impact, exhales sharply. “Jun drove.”

Kate’s gaze flicks past him, and when she spots Jun lingering a few feet away, looking guilty as hell, her glare sharpens. “Seriously, Jun?”

Jun shrugs. “He begged.”

Kate rolls her eyes before turning her wrath back on Seungcheol. “Unbelievable. You do realize this is a spa weekend, right? As in, a Seungcheol-free weekend?”

“I just need to talk to her,” he says, voice raw with something dangerously close to desperation. “Please, Kate. Just tell me where she is.”

Kate scoffs, arms tightening over her chest. “Oh, you think I’m just gonna hand her over to you after everything?” She shakes her head. “Not happening.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw, frustration and regret simmering in his chest. “I know I fucked up. But I need to see her. I need to—”

“What you need is an ass-kicking,” Kate cuts in sharply, stepping closer with fire in her eyes. “And maybe a damn class on how to properly handle your emotions instead of acting like a fucking toddler.”

Seungcheol flinches but doesn’t argue. He knows she’s right.

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. “You’re right,” he admits, his voice rough with defeat. “I handled everything wrong—worse than wrong. But please, Kate, I need to fix this. I can’t wait another day without telling her how sorry I am.” His voice wavers, raw and unguarded. “And how much I love her. How much I don’t want to live without her.”

Kate’s sharp gaze falters, just for a second.

Her arms are still crossed, her stance still firm, but there’s the faintest flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

She wants to stay angry. Seungcheol knows that, but he also knows Kate isn’t heartless. She’s seen how much you’ve been hurting, but she can also see it now—the weight of regret pressing down on him, the exhaustion in his face, the way his hand fists at his side like he’s barely keeping himself from falling apart.

She sighs, exasperated. “God, I hate you for making me feel bad for you right now.”

Seungcheol exhales, not quite relief, but something close.

Kate’s eyes dart away, toward the hallway leading to your room. Then she looks back at him. “She’s pissed at you, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

“She’s been trying not to think about you.”

“I know.”

Kate sighs again, this time heavier, before rubbing her temples. “If I send you to her room, and you fuck this up any worse, I will personally make sure you regret it.”

Seungcheol nods without hesitation. “I know.”

Kate looks him over one last time, eyes narrowing. Then, begrudgingly, caves.

“Room 413,” she mutters. “Good luck.”

Seungcheol doesn’t waste another second.

The knock at the door startles you. You quickly wipe away the lingering tears, sniffing as you straighten up. You’re expecting Kate, probably coming to check on you, and the last thing you want is for her to see you crying again. You’ve already done enough of that.

Forcing a smile onto your face, you pull open the door—

—and freeze.

Seungcheol stands on the other side, looking as wrecked as you feel. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhaustion and regret etched deep into the lines of his face. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like the weight of the world is pressing down on him.

Your stomach twists violently. Especially when you notice his shoulder sling.

Before you can react, before you can slam the door like every part of you is screaming to do, he speaks.

“Before you close the door in my face,” he says, voice tight with desperation, “please—just let me apologize.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even if you don’t want to hear it, even if you never want to see me again after this, you deserve a face-to-face apology for how I treated you that night.”

His voice wavers, raw and unguarded, and for a second, just a second, your heart wants to soften.

But then the memory of his words that night…How many times do I have to save you? Those words claw their way back to the surface, and the anger simmers all over again.

Your grip on the door tightens, but you don’t close it.

Seungcheol takes that as a good sign, and he clings to it like a lifeline.

His voice trembles, raw and unguarded, as he begins. “I am so sorry. There’s nothing I can say that will erase what I did, the cruelty of my words, or the way I made you feel that night. But I can tell you this—I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”

He swallows hard, eyes never leaving yours. “Nothing about you needs to be fixed. Nothing. You are perfect exactly as you are, and I hate myself for ever making you feel otherwise. I love everything about you. Your clumsy quirks, the way you refuse help even when you clearly need it, the way you care so much, sometimes more than you should.” He exhales shakily. “I love you. And if you let me, I will spend forever proving it to you, making sure you feel as loved and seen as you always make me feel.”

A single tear slips down your cheek. Seungcheol reacts instinctively, his thumb brushing it away before he cradles your face in his palm. His touch is warm, familiar, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “I know I hurt you. And if you need time, I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes because I know you are the only one for me.” His voice cracks, a tear slipping from his own eyes now. “If it’s not you, it’s no one.”

His hand falls away as he takes a step back. Shoulders slumping, he turns, ready to walk away.

And that’s when you realize, you can’t let him go.

“Wait,” you choke out, the word escaping before you can think twice.

Seungcheol halts, spinning around just as you launch yourself into his arms. He barely has a second to react before you’re clutching onto him with everything you have, burying your face into his neck as if letting go would mean losing him all over again.

His free arm wraps around you instantly, holding you tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even a fraction. His entire body relaxes, melting into yours as he exhales a deep, shuddering breath.

Without a word, he lifts you off the ground, carrying you back inside your room before the door closes and locks you both out.

Because this time, neither of you are walking away.

“I love you,” he breathes, and then his lips are on yours. desperate, searching, like he’s been starving for this moment. And maybe he has. It feels like an eternity since he’s last kissed you, since he’s last held you like this.

The warmth of his words sinks into your heart, dissolving the last remnants of anger, replacing them with something softer. Something inevitable.

“I love you too,” you confess against his lips, your hands framing his face, thumbs tracing over his cheekbones as you pull him back in.

Your kisses grow frantic, heated. All the tension, heartbreak, longing, all of it crashes into this moment. Seungcheol groans as he presses you back against the nearest surface, his fingers digging into your waist after he slips off his sling. He’s nearly recovered anyway.

You suddenly pull back, breathless. “Wait,” you pant, your hands still fisting the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes flicker with concern, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “What? What’s wrong?”

You glance around the room. “Where’s Kate?”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “She left with Jun. He was my ride here.”

Relief floods through you, followed immediately by something more electric. “Good,” you murmur, and before he can say another word, your hands find the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head and tossing it aside.

Seungcheol barely has time to react before you’re pulling him back in, pressing your lips to his with renewed desire. He groans against your mouth, his hands roaming over your back, your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

He carries you over to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress with a gentleness that contradicts the sheer desperation in his touch. His lips barely leave yours as he presses his body against yours, hands mapping the familiar curves of your skin like he’s trying to commit them to memory all over again.

Your movements are frantic, both of you tugging at clothes with a sense of urgency like you need to feel each other, skin to skin, to truly believe that this is real. That this is happening.

But then, just as things are escalating, Seungcheol suddenly tenses. “Wait,” he rasps, his forehead dropping against yours as he forces himself to pull back. “Fuck, wait.” His breathing is ragged as he lifts himself off you, every muscle in his body straining with restraint.

You blink up at him, dazed. “What—?”

“As much as I would love to continue, I don’t have a condom on me,” he admits, voice thick with frustration. He runs a hand down his face, clearly cursing himself. “I wasn’t even sure you’d speak to me. I didn’t plan this far ahead.”

For a split second, he braces himself for frustration or disappointment from you. Instead, a small, amused chuckle slips past your lips.

He frowns. “What’s funny?”

You tilt your head toward your purse, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I have some in there.”

His eyes dart to the bag, then back to you, skepticism flashing across his face. “In your purse?”

You nod. “Yes, Cheol. In my purse. Feel free to check.”

Still looking slightly suspicious, he reaches for the bag and unzips it, peering inside. His brows shoot up when he spots a neatly lined row of condoms tucked away in an inner pocket.

“Why the fuck do you have a whole stash in here?” he asks, holding up the small strip like it personally offended him.

You laugh, propping yourself up on your elbows. “For unplanned moments like this,” you tease, eyes twinkling. “So you can knock that look off your face.”

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. “And what look is that?”

“The one where you’re wondering if I’ve been using them with someone else.” Your expression softens as your hand dips down between your legs, his eyes following the movement. Your fingers tease your entrance and you say, “I’m yours, remember?”

Something in him snaps at that. His grip tightens around the condom packet before he tears one away from the rest, tossing the strip back into your bag. The way he looks at you; like you’re his entire world, like he’d burn the earth down if it meant keeping you, sends a wave of heat directly to your core.

He growls in approval, ripping the packet open with his teeth before rolling it on in record time. Then, he’s back over you, caging you beneath him, his lips crashing onto yours once more.

And this time, there’s nothing stopping him.

Seungcheol’s hips move against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm, sinking into you with a hunger that mirrors your own. His hands find yours, lacing his fingers into yours, holding you in place as if he never wants to let go. His lips trail a path of fiery kisses down the side of your neck, each one a whispered confession of the feelings he’s been holding back, of the love he’s been desperate to give you.

“I love you so much,” he breathes, his voice low and thick with desire, the words dripping with meaning as he presses into you again, as if trying to prove it with every inch of his body. “So fucking much.”

His pace quickens, rolling his hips into yours again and again, his movements becoming more desperate, more frantic. “The way you touch me, the way you always know exactly how to make me feel,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. “Your generosity, your kindness, how innocent you can be at times despite writing absolute filth in your books.” A wicked smirk crosses his face as he feels the heat rise in your cheeks.

“The sounds you make when I make you feel good, the way your body responds to mine,” he continues, each word punctuated by a shift of his hips, a shift that leaves you breathless, wanting more. “But most of all,” his voice drops to a whisper, eyes locking onto yours as his thumb gently brushes your knuckles, “the way you love me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ll ever need.”

Each word, each touch, each kiss seems to bring you closer to unraveling. The coil winds so tight within you, each movement of his pushing you closer to the edge. His body presses into yours, the rhythm of his hips matching the frantic beating of your heart.

His voice, low and rough, murmurs against your ear, words of devotion, each one sending jolts of electricity through your body. He moves with purpose, each thrust taking you higher.

And then, just as the tension reaches its peak, everything explodes in a rush. You come, your body tensing, every nerve igniting as your eyes stay locked on his. You watch the way his expression shifts, the way his breath catches, and in that shared moment, it feels like time itself pauses—just long enough for the two of you to fully experience the depth of your connection.

His grip on you tightens, the intensity of the moment reflected in his eyes, and with a final, desperate thrust, he follows you, his own release washing over him. His name escapes your lips, soft and breathless, and in that instant, there’s no room for anything else but the overwhelming wave of closeness, of love, of pure, shared bliss.

And as the world slowly comes back into focus, you both remain tangled in each other’s arms, hearts still racing, breaths still shaky. The chaos of everything outside, the unresolved tension, the emotional fires that once threatened to destroy you both; none of it matters anymore.

In this moment, it’s just the two of you, holding each other like the world could fall apart and you wouldn’t care. There are no unspoken words, no distance between you, just a quiet understanding that everything you need is here, in his arms.

It feels like the safest place in the world. Where it’s just you and him, imperfectly in sync.

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