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snowysosturn · 6 hours ago

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Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 22

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, feeling of betrayal, mentions of loss of appetite, arguments, this ones a looooooong one

The sun is beginning its slow descent by the time I finally drag myself out of bed. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been carrying the weight of the world in my chest. I need something, anything, to ground me, and right now, a cup of tea sounds like the only thing that might help.

That’s the plan. Go to the kitchen, make it, and come straight back up to my room. I’ll sit on my balcony and watch the last bits of sunlight disappear while I think about what to do next.

But my main goal: avoid Matt.

I slip out of my room, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself. The house is silent apart from the distant murmur of voices outside on the patio. I catch a glimpse through the window, figures sitting around, but I can’t make out exactly who. Not that it matters. I’m not stopping to find out.

The only sound that gives away my presence is the low whirl of the kettle. I stand there, staring at it as it heats up, feeling every second drag out like an eternity. I grab a mug and put the tea bag in it so as soon as it clicks off, I can pour the water and milk, moving quickly but carefully. Just get in, get out.

Successfully, I make my tea.

Mission accomplished.

Now, I just need to make it back upstairs.

But just as I start up the steps, the sound of the patio door sliding open sends a jolt of panic through me.

Shit.

I don’t even turn to see who it is, I just pick up my pace, practically going up the steps two at a time.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn the corner, then..

BAM.

I nearly spill my tea everywhere as I slam into someone, my breath catching in my throat. I look up, and my stomach drops.

Matt.

For a split second, time slows. His eyes lock onto mine, searching, but I don’t give him the chance. Like I’m on autopilot, my feet keep moving, my mouth stays shut, and I walk right past him without a single word.

I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. I reach my room, step inside, and lock the door behind me.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping my mug a little tighter. I try my best to shake it off. It was just a few seconds. Just an unfortunate encounter in a house that now feels way too small.

I know I’m going to have to face him sooner or later. There’s no avoiding it forever. But I’m not ready right now, not for a one on one, not for the inevitable conversation.

So, instead of dwelling on it, I step onto the balcony. The sun is slowly dropping lower, so I sit here and try an appreciate the sky, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe..

Until there's a knock at my door.

I freeze.

No. No, no, no. If this is Matt, I swear to god.

But then I hear a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

“Y/n? It’s me.”

Nick.

Relief washes over me so quickly it almost knocks me over. I exhale, setting my tea down on the small table before walking back inside. I hesitate for just a second before unlocking the door.

Nick steps into the room, his expression soft but searching mine. "How you doing?"

I shrug lightly, forcing a small smile. "I'm okay.. I just made a cup of tea. Was gonna sit out on the balcony while the sun sets."

Nick nods, his eyes flicking toward the open balcony doors. "Mind if I sit with you?"

"Of course not" I say, stepping aside so he can follow me out.

We settle into the chairs. The silence between us is comforting, a huge difference to the chaos of the past twenty four hours.

After a minute, Nick clears his throat. "I ran into Matt coming up the stairs."

My body stiffens, fingers tightening around my mug. "Oh."

“I just asked if he had spoken to you yet, and he said no."

I huff out a breath, looking back toward the view. I take a slow sip of my tea before turning back to Nick. "So, what's your plan for the night?"

He leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I'm gonna go meet that guy."

I raise an eyebrow. "That guy? You’ve been talking about him for days, and I still don’t even know his name."

Nick hesitates, his expression shifting slightly. He looks at me like he's bracing for something.

I narrow my eyes. "Nick.. what?"

He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. "His name is.. George."

For a second, we just stare at each other. Then, at the exact same moment, we both burst out laughing.

"George?!" I manage between laughs.

"I know! I know!" Nick groans, covering his face. "I was hoping you wouldn’t ask."

"I'm sorry, but that’s just- " I laugh harder, shaking my head.

Nick grins, finally giving in. "I know I never pictured myself with a George but I swear, the way he is makes up for it though!"

"I'm sure it does.." I say, still giggling. "It's just.. George."

We end our fit of laughter and I don’t bother asking what everyone else’s plans are, especially after overhearing Chris earlier. My guess is he’s going to meet Rachel. Whether Matt tags along to meet Christina too is a different story. I don’t want to know. All I know is that I’m not moving from this room.

Nick doesn’t press the conversation any further, and I appreciate that. Instead, we sit there, laughter lingering in the air between us. I'm glad Nick came into me because suddenly I feel a little bit lighter.

Eventually, he checks his phone and sighs. "I should probably start getting ready."

I nod, still staring at the sunset. "Yeah. Have fun."

Nick hesitates for a second before standing. "You sure you’re good?"

I glance at him, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I’m good." I mean it is a lie, but he doesn’t call me out on it.

He squeezes my shoulder before heading out. I exhale, setting my empty mug down on the table beside me. I know I should eat something, try to distract myself, maybe even attempt to sleep, but I don’t move. I stay curled up in my chair, staring at the fading sky, wondering how everything changed so fast.

When I finally move to my bed, I pull the covers up around me, but even laying here feels weird. The sheets feel awful against me now, tainted with memories that once brought comfort but now only make my stomach churn. My mind spirals, picturing how easily our history could be replicated in his bed, with someone else. The thought makes my chest tighten, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting it all to stop.

I take a deep breath, then another, but it doesn’t help. My mind keeps circling back to the same place, the same questions, the same ache in my chest that refuses to go away. How could he do this? Did any of it mean anything? Was I just another passing moment for him?

I need to make it stop.

I turn onto my side, curling into myself, exhausted from it all. Being honest, my eyes hurt that much from crying, I don’t find it hard to fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning determined to be a new woman. I have a shower to wash away all of yesterday's sorrow, before pulling out the smallest blue bikini I could find. I make my way downstairs and throw myself together a small breakfast, considering I haven't eaten in over 24 hours but not forcing myself too much as my appetite still isn't fully back yet.

I take my breakfast outside to the patio and I settle onto a lounger, my plate resting on my lap. The villa is silent. Everyone must still be asleep, sleeping off their drunken choices, their reckless mistakes.

Good. I need the peace.

I take a slow bite of my food, staring out at the water. The pool glistens under the morning light, the water undisturbed. Today is a new day. A fresh start.

I adjust my sunglasses and stretch out after putting my plate under my lounger, determined to soak in the sun and let it warm the parts of me that feel cold and bitter. If anyone sees me out here, I want them to see that I’m unbothered. That I’m fine.

A few minutes pass in silence before I hear the sliding door creak open behind me. I don't turn to look. I don't react.

I realise it’s Nate and Nick coming out, both looking more awake than I expected.

"Morning" they say in unison, and I greet them with a small smile “Morning early birds.”

I turn to Nick first. "Soooo? How was your night with George?"

Nick rubs the back of his neck, and I can tell he’s holding back his excitement for my sake. "It was good" he says simply.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Nick."

He sighs, then finally lets the grin slip through. "Okay, fine. It was great, actually. We got drinks, had a laugh. He’s funny, really easy to talk to."

I smile at him, genuinely happy. "That’s what I like to hear. You deserve a good time."

Nick gives me a look, like he’s checking if I really mean it. I do. Just because my love life is a disaster doesn’t mean I want everyone else to be miserable with me.

I turn to Nate next. "And what about you? What were you up to?"

Nate stretches his arms over his head, looking far too well rested. "Didn’t move from my bed. Best sleep I’ve had in weeks."

I laugh. "Of course you did. You look like you just got back from a spa retreat while the rest of us look like we barely survived the night."

The three of us settle into conversation, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the lightness of it. But in the back of my mind, I know this moment won’t last. The rest of the villa is still asleep, for now. And soon enough, I’ll have to face the reality I’ve been trying to avoid.

"Is Chris up?" I ask Nate, trying to sound casual.

Nate shakes his head. "Don’t think he even came back here last night."

I swallow hard, nodding slowly. "Oh right"

There's been no sign of Matt either. That tells me everything I need to know.

Guess that means he went out with Chris and stayed with Christina last night again.

I should’ve expected it, but expecting something doesn’t make it hurt any less.

For the rest of the morning, it stays just me, Nick, and Nate chilling outside. The sun climbs higher, and the villa remains quiet, no sign of Chris or Matt. I sip on my water, listening to the distant waves crashing on the shore, slipping in and out of conversation with Nick and Nate as a distraction.

By midday, that peacefulness is interrupted. I hear the sliding door open, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching.

I lift my head slightly, peering through my sunglasses. Chris and Matt step outside together. Just seeing them like this, together, appearing at the same time, only further confirms what I already knew.

Matt was with Christina last night.

I can feel my heart break over again, but I refuse to let it show.

Without a word, I rest my head back down on the lounger, keeping my sunglasses on, blocking them out. I’m not ready for any type of conversation. Not yet.

Nate and Nick casually greet them, like nothing is out of the ordinary. Chris stretches, rubbing the back of his neck, and asks if anyone’s hungry.

My stomach twists at the thought of food. The second I saw Matt, my appetite vanished again. So I keep my mouth closed.

Nate says he is and disappears inside with them, leaving just me and Nick alone by the pool.

The quiet settles between us for a moment before Nick turns to me. “Are you coming to dinner tonight?” His tone sounds like he wants me to be there, even though he understands If I don’t want to.

I hesitate. The idea of sitting at a table with Matt, pretending everything is fine, feels impossible. I open my mouth to say no, but Nick is already cutting me off.

“You don’t have to talk to him at all” he reassures me. “I’ll be there the whole time.”

I exhale, chewing on my bottom lip. I do feel bad if I don’t go. It’s just dinner, right? I mean, the tension between Matt and I is like old times, nothing I haven’t had to deal with or experience before. The only thing is, the feeling in my chest is a hundred times worse than it ever was before.

“Okay” I finally say. “I’ll come.”

Nick grins, tapping my arm lightly. “We’ll have a good time, I promise.”

I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift.

By now, it’s nearly 3pm, and the sun has drained me but nowhere near as much as the situation with Matt has. The exhaustion clings to me, both physical and emotional, and I know if I don’t rest now, I’ll be useless later.

“I think I’m gonna go for a nap” I mumble, pushing myself up from the lounger.

Nick gives me a small smile. “Good idea. I’ll wake you if you’re not up in time.”

I nod again, grateful, and make my way inside. The second I hit my bed, the world around me fades.

When I wake up, the air in my room feels heavier, the remnants of my dreams still in my brain. I shake them off and head straight for the shower.

By the time I step out, wrapped in a towel, I feel better. Maybe, tonight won’t be as bad as I think.

I walk out and go to sit at the vanity, but I feel like I need to lift the vibe even more.

A drink and music.

That’s what I need if I have any chance of enjoying myself tonight.

Still in my towel, I make my way downstairs, moving quickly so I don’t run into anyone. I pour myself a vodka lemonade, throwing pieces of ice into the fancy glass.

Running back up to my room, I shut the door, take a sip, and set my speaker on full blast. I turn on It’s ok, i’m ok by Tate McRae, the lyrics hitting a little too close to home. I let the music drown out my thoughts as I start getting ready, determined to feel like myself again, even if it’s just for tonight.

I move through my routine on autopilot, letting the music and the slight buzz from my drink carry me through. I’m not overthinking my outfit, my makeup, or my hair, yet somehow, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I look effortlessly put together. Maybe it’s the lighting, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve just given up on caring, but either way, I feel like this is the best I’ve ever looked.

I pick up my phone and text Nick, asking him to come to my room to take pictures. It barely takes a minute before he’s knocking on my door, slipping inside with an approving grin.

“Damnnnn!” he says, dragging the word out. “You look amazing.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my lips. “You have to say that.”

“I really don’t” he laughs, already pulling his phone out. “We need evidence of this moment.”

We take a few pictures together, Nick hyping me up between shots, making me laugh just enough to keep it natural.

When we’re satisfied with the pictures, I wonder where it is we’re actually going to eat. “So, where are we even going for dinner?”

“Some Italian place Chris booked” Nick says, glancing at his phone. “He said he made the reservation earlier.

I nod, I love italian food, so I’m hoping this whole thing is just easy. I grab my purse, double checking that I have everything, phone, keys to the villa, money. I take a deep breath before heading downstairs with Nick.

The moment we step into the foyer, I see them. Chris, Nate, and Matt are all standing together, talking casually like nothing has changed, like the last few days haven’t flipped my world upside down. Matt looks up first. For the briefest second, our eyes meet, and I swear I see something flash across his face, it’s something, but I can’t make out what. But I don’t let myself dwell on it.

I adjust the strap of my purse on my shoulder, forcing my expression to remain neutral. This is the closest I’ve been to Matt since the nightclub, since everything, but I refuse to let it get to me. Not tonight.

I tilt my chin up slightly, gripping onto my confidence like it’s my lifeline, and step forward like I don’t have a care in the world.

I stay locked in conversation with Nick as we leave the villa to make our way to the restaurant, trying to distract myself from the tension in the air. Chris lingers back slightly, eventually matching my pace as we walk. His presence next to me is quiet at first, almost hesitant, before he finally speaks.

"You okay?" His voice is low, careful, like he already knows the answer but feels the need to ask anyway.

It’s a weird one. I haven't heard from Chris since everything went down. He’s been distant, not in a hostile way, but in a way that tells me he didn’t know how to approach me. And now, here he is, finally asking.

I glance at him briefly, weighing my response before settling on, "I will be."

Chris nods slowly, seeming to accept that answer. “Can we talk later? About everything?”

I exhale softly, not quite ready to dive into whatever everything entails but knowing that it’s overdue. I don’t think there was any malice from him in this situation. And I’m not mad at him at all. I would like to know what his thought process was throughout all this. And maybe, he's actually done me a favour. “Yeah,” I agree. “Later.”

That seems to be enough for now. The group keeps moving, making our way toward the restaurant. When we arrive, the guys step inside ahead of us, but I notice them mumbling amongst themselves, their voices low and almost hurried, like there’s some sort of confusion.

Something about their body language makes me pause, and I follow their line of sight before realizing exactly what has caught their attention.

Rachel and Christina.

They’re seated at a table near the back. Five empty seats are pulled out beside them, waiting.

A sharp, sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

Of course.

Of course they’re here. It was already bad enough having to see Matt, to sit across from him and pretend I wasn’t still breaking, but now, this?

I don’t even have to look at him to know. I can feel his presence, his hesitation. I wonder if he knew they’d be here. If this was always the plan.

My fingers tighten slightly around the strap of my purse as I will myself to keep my composure.

This night just got a whole lot harder.

Nick squeezes my hand gently, a silent reassurance that he’s here, that I’m not alone in this. “What do you wanna do?” he asks quietly, his voice just for me.

I take a breath, steadying myself. “Sit at the other end” I say, keeping my voice even, refusing to let this shake me any more than it already has.

Without hesitation, Nick follows my lead, guiding me toward the farthest end of the table, away from Rachel and Christina. I slide into my seat, positioning myself as far as I can from them, while Nick sits beside me, his presence like a barrier between me and whatever mess is sitting across the table.

Matt and Chris take their seats. Chris next to Rachel and Matt next to Christina. Whether it was planned or just happened naturally, I don’t know, but it doesn’t make a difference, the damage is done.

The tension is suffocating. You could cut it with a knife. I never thought at the start of this trip I’d be sitting diagonally across from Matt and another girl.

Nobody speaks at first. There’s an awkward shuffle of menus being picked up, the quiet clinking of silverware as waiters move around us, but no real conversation.

I keep my gaze down, focused on the menu even though I’m not really reading it. My appetite had started to come back earlier, but now? Completely gone again.

Nick, ever my lifeline in this nightmare, leans in slightly constantly making sure I’m okay. “You good?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

I nod once, though I’m not sure if I mean it. “Yeah” I lie. “I’m fine.”

But we both know I’m not.

I try to keep my focus on the menu, pretending to be absorbed in the options, but it’s impossible to ignore Christina. She is relentless, shifting in her seat so she’s angled toward Matt, her body language screaming interest. The way she leans forward, the way her fingers reach out casually to graze his forearm as she talks, it’s all so intentional.

“Oh my God, Matt, you look so good tonight” she purrs, tilting her head as she studies him. “Did you do something different? Your hair? A new cologne?”

Matt barely reacts, only offering a tight lipped smile as he glances at her briefly. “Uh, no. Same as always.” he replies, going back to his menu.

But Christina isn’t deterred. She lets out a soft, exaggerated sigh. “God, I can’t believe we’re all in Hawaii together. It feels like such a movie moment, don’t you think?” She flicks her gaze up at him through her lashes. “Like, if this was a movie, we’d be the main characters.”

Matt huffs a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t know about that, don’t really take myself as the main character type of guy.” His tone is light, but there’s no real engagement. He’s keeping it neutral.

She’s not giving up, though. She leans in again, dropping her voice to something more sultry. “You know, I had so much fun the other night” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

My stomach twists, but I don’t react. I refuse to. Instead, I lift my glass of water to my lips, taking a slow sip as if I’m completely unbothered.

Nick shifts beside me, subtly kicking my foot under the table as if to say don’t react. I know he’s watching me closely, waiting for me to crack, but I won’t.

Chris, who’s been silent this whole time, suddenly clears his throat. “Christina, didn’t you say this was your first time in Hawaii?”

It’s so obviously a distraction tactic, and I can’t tell if he’s doing it to get her off Matt’s back or because he knows I’m sitting here, silently absorbing every word.

Christina finally tears her gaze away from Matt and glances at Chris. “Oh, yeah it is.” she says, waving a hand dismissively.

Matt doesn’t say anything. He just flips a page of the menu, like none of this is even phasing him. Meanwhile, Rachel is watching me like a hawk, waiting for a reaction.

I meet her eyes for a split second and give her the most nonchalant look I can muster before turning to Nick. “What are you getting?” I ask, my voice steady.

Nick glances at me, eyes scanning my face for any sign of weakness before answering, “Probably the carbonara.”

I nod. “Good choice.”

Nate, ever the sweetheart, seems to pick up on everything, the way I’m keeping my head down, the way Nick keeps a protective presence beside me, the way Matt and Christina’s exchange is unfolding just within earshot. Without missing a beat, he slides into conversation with me and Nick as he’s seated opposite us, as if we’re in our own little bubble, separate from the tension on the other side of the table.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Nate asks, leaning forward with a smile. “I was thinking of heading down to the beach early. Maybe rent a jet ski or something. You two in?”

Nick catches on immediately, grateful for the shift in attention. “Absolutely. I’d love to see you wipe out within the first five minutes.”

Nate pretends to be offended, placing a hand over his chest. “Excuse you, I’m actually a professional. Very experienced!”

I can’t help but smile at their antics, grateful for the distraction. “Professional, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Nate smirks. “Oh, you will. And when I leave you both in my wake, don’t come crying to me.”

Nick scoffs. “Yeah, okay, Nate. Keep dreaming.”

As we laugh, it’s almost easy to forget the rest of the table exists, almost. Because out of the corner of my eye, I see Chris sitting stiffly, glancing between me and the rest of the group, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hasn’t even touched his menu. He just sits there, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, like he’s caught in the middle of something he never signed up for.

At one point, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something,to me, but then he hesitates, pressing his lips together instead. His fingers drum restlessly against the table. It’s almost like he wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room, but he can’t.

I keep my focus on Nate and Nick as everyone gives their orders, letting them carry me through the moment, keeping me occupied. And for now, that’s all I need.

The food arrives shortly after, and I focus on my meal, keeping my eyes down, keeping my composure. If I just get through dinner, I’ll be fine.

But Christina doesn’t make it easy.

She just doesn’t stop, her voice carrying just loud enough to ensure I hear every flirtatious remark, every exaggerated giggle. It’s all so obvious, the way she leans toward Matt, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

“Oh my God, Matt, you’re so funny” she forces, brushing her fingers against his wrist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hasn’t even said anything that funny.

“We should totally do something after this!” Christina continues, tilting her head. “Maybe check out that tiki bar? It would be so fun.”

Matt doesn’t commit. “Maybe.”

Maybe.

That single word twists something in my stomach, because it means he hasn’t outright said no. And I know it shouldn’t matter but that doesn’t stop the sting.

As everyone starts discussing where to go next, I stay quiet, already knowing my answer. The only place I want to be right now is home. I only ever agreed to dinner, nothing more. The idea of trailing behind while Christina continues her performance, while Matt does whatever he’s doing, is unbearable.

I lean toward Nick and quietly tell him, “I’m heading back.”

He nods in understanding, not even questioning it. “That’s fair. I’ll go for one drink, then I’ll be home after. We can debrief, I’ll try to get more info.”

I manage a small smile at that. If there’s anyone I can count on to feed me the details later, it’s Nick.

We both stand, and I feel Chris’s eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. If he wants to talk, he can find me when I’m not on the verge of either snapping or crying.

Nick walks me to the taxi rank just outside the restaurant, following behind me as we weave through the crowd. I should want to stay out, to drown out my thoughts with drinks and distractions, but all I want is to be alone.

“You sure you’re okay going back on your own?” Nick asks as we wait for a taxi to pull up.

I let out a breath. “Yeah. Just over it.”

Nick doesn’t push. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

A taxi pulls up, and he opens the door for me. Before I get in, he squeezes my hand briefly, just a reminder that I’m not alone in all of this.

I nod my thanks, slide into the backseat, and as the car pulls away, I finally let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

I pull up to the villa and thank the taxi man, paying him for the fare. I step out of the car and as I do one pulls up directly behind me.

I freeze for a second, my stomach tightening as I watch Matt step out of the taxi behind me. Of all people, of all times, it has to be him.

I don’t wait for him to say anything. I turn toward the villa, walking quickly up the steps, my heels clicking against the cobblestone pavement. I take my keys out of my bag, unlocking the front door.

I can hear him behind me, his footsteps unhurried, like he’s debating whether to call my name.

“Wait” Matt’s voice finally breaks the silence, and I feel his presence closer than I expected. “Can we talk?”

I let out a slow breath before turning to face him, the front door slightly open behind me. His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to figure out where my head is at.

“Talk about what, Matt?” My voice is steady, but I can feel the exhaustion creeping in.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost.. nervous? “About this. About everything.”

“I’m not too sure what there is to talk about” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “I’ve seen it all. I saw Christina in your bed. I saw how she was with you tonight.”

Matt’s face falls, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I don’t let him.

“And now, what? You think you can stand here and make some sorry excuse for your actions? Do you even realize how disrespectful that is?” My voice rises slightly, frustration taking over. “You can’t just act like nothing happened, Matt. You don’t get to do that.”

He sighs, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, it’s a bit too late for that now.” I say, my voice sharp.

"I’m sorry." he mutters.

I let out a short laugh. "Yeah. So am I.”

Matt stands there looking at me, almost confused.

“I'm sorry I let you play with me for so long. Sorry I let you in, that I actually believed there was something real between us. But it’s clear now, isn’t it? Whatever tension was there, it was only ever sexual for you."

Matt steps forward, opening his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.

"So what now?" I snap, my voice shaking with anger. "What’s your next move? You feel bad for how you’ve treated me, so you’ll do what? Buy me flowers? But never actually give them to me? Did you ever track down Christina’s ex to get her locket back too? Or was that just a special little stunt for me?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking my head. "And don’t you dare try to tell me you haven’t been with anyone else since that night in the house. Christina basically spelled out what happened in Vegas to me at the club.”

Then realisation hits me. “It makes sense to me now, the real reason you customised your jacket that way. You didn’t do it because you felt something for me. You did it so if the topic of her in Vegas came up, you had something to sway me from believing it, so you could keep stringing me along.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Can you please listen to me? I didn’t even know they were coming out here” he says quickly, almost desperately, like that one fact will make any of this better.

I scoff, shaking my head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes a lot” he insists, stepping forward. “Chris was the one that brought them out here, he has a thing with Rachel and probably just-”

"-wants to smash?" I finish for him, my voice sharp.

"Yeah, Matt, I know. Just like you said before, that Chris only gave me a job because he wants to smash?" I tilt my head, watching as realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. I heard you when you said that."

Matt shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never meant that" he mutters. "I swear, I didn’t mean it like that."

"Oh really?" I fold my arms, my patience running dangerously thin. "How exactly did you mean it then, Matt?" My voice is sharp, no bullshit. "Because it sounded a lot like you were trying to discredit any of the work I do."

Matt exhales sharply, looking away. "It wasn’t about that, okay?" His voice is tight, like he’s struggling to find the right words. "Maybe I was jealous, maybe I was pissed off at the whole situation, maybe I just-" He stops himself, his jaw locking.

"Maybe you just what?" I push, my voice rising slightly.

His silence is louder than anything he could say. And then, it hits me.

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. "Oh my god. It was projection, wasn’t it?" I take a step closer, my words like a slap to the face. "You said Chris only gave me a job because he wanted to smash, but really, that was just you speaking for yourself. You only ever kept me around because that’s what you wanted."

I take a breath, my heart pounding. "And congratulations, Matt. You got it."

Matt’s face falls completely.

"And then you got it from her too, only a matter of hours later." My voice is laced with disgust, and I see the tears welling in Matt's eyes, but I don’t stop. "It’s obvious to me now, you never had feelings for me. You never cared."

I take another step closer, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve kept inside. "I know you saw me leave the club that night. I know you saw me walk out. And not once did you check on me. Not once did you care enough to see if I was okay. It was like, out of sight, out of mind. I disappeared, and you moved on like I was nothing."

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. "And then you brought her back here, to the same villa I’m staying in, to rub it in my fucking face? Like this is some sick joke to you?" And then to keep doing it, over and over again, like it wasn’t enough to break me once?" My voice shakes, but not from weakness, from the sheer weight of the betrayal burning inside me. "You didn’t just move on, Matt. You made sure I saw it. You made sure I felt it. Like twisting the knife wasn’t enough, you had to keep pushing it in, again and again."

I shake my head, my breathing uneven. "And for what? To prove a point? To get back at me for something you thought I’ve done? Or was it just fun for you? To watch me fall apart while you played pretend with her?"

Matt’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, to defend himself, but I cut him off before he can even try. "No. Don’t. Because there’s nothing you can say that will make this okay. Nothing you can do that will undo the fact that you chose this. You chose to hurt me. And I’m fucking done." I spit, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve held back.

"Because all you’ve ever done is choose to hurt me. Over and over again, like it’s second nature to you." I stop for a second to catch my breath, realising how pointless this all is. "I don’t even understand why you’re standing in front of me right now, when what you want is down at the bar with everyone else. Stop bothering me, and go back down there and get it."

Matt looks at me, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, like he wants to argue. Like he wants to fight his case. But he doesn’t get to, not now. Not after everything.

"In fact" I breathe out a bitter laugh, shaking my head, "don’t ever think of speaking to me again. Because it’s clear now, Matt, we were always better off when we didn’t speak. When we just ignored each other. Maybe that’s what we should’ve stayed."

My heart is hammering in my chest, my entire body shaking from the adrenaline coursing through me.

I turn around and storm into the villa, slamming the door so hard behind me that the walls seem to shake with the force of it. But he doesn’t follow. He doesn’t even try. Probably heading straight back down to the bar to get exactly what he wants. What he’s always wanted.

My blood is boiling as I march into my room, every step fueled by the sheer rage burning inside me. I feel like a bull, seeing red, ready to destroy everything in my path. But I don’t, because I don’t have time to waste on any of this anymore.

I grab my phone with trembling fingers, my vision blurring from unshed tears as I unlock it.

I can’t stay here.

I refuse.

I pull up the American Airlines website, my breathing heavy, my chest rising and falling too fast. I don’t even hesitate as I search for the first available flight back home.

The sooner, the better.

And when I find one, first thing tomorrow morning, I don’t even think twice. I press confirm before I can second guess myself, before the pain can catch up with me.

I’m leaving.

I’m done.

a/n : OOOOF. thats gotta sting.

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blackdykegirlblogger · 1 day ago

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rambling about loser!puppyvi who adores eating pussy. what else is new?

a/n: just a lil something from my drafts to hold the masses over. i swear i'm not ignoring any requests, i see them all and plan on getting to them. but assuming we're all college-aged and older yall can probably understand that classes have been beating. my. ass. 😭 but i'm getting back on track so don't fret

could be seen as a part ll to this

if you were to look up the definition of "pussydrunk", chances are you'd find vi's face there. she's always been weak for some cunt, her self-control levels close to 0 and her appreciation for women always up to 100, but this was just....another level.

it's gotten to a point where her face felt foreign if it wasn't coated in copious amounts of your cum, to a point where she would find her middle and ring fingers curling unconsciously, imagining them snuggled deep inside of you. every waking thought was clouded by the prize between your legs.

with literally anything else, vi's usually quite the smart cookie. quick on her feet, adaptable, showing a level of emotional awareness and understanding that's very uncommon for a girl her age. but as soon as you enter the picture, she's morphing into your dumb little puppy, ready at your beck and call to make you leak in any every way possible.

this was a position she held with nothing but immense pride, truly.

whether she was on her neatly on her knees in front of you, your legs dangling over her shoulders, or hovering on top of her face before she slams you onto her mouth and forces you to break her neck, she's made it her mission to always be tongue-deep inside of you. she worshiped your pussy like it was her god (and the church has always scared her), and she was your most devoted priest. reverent, devoted, completely braindead.

and you just let her, hand gently curled around her leash as she feasts upon you. you're still in control, you always are, but it's easy to get swept up in her eagerness, easy to give in when she'll beg for a taste of you. there's a certain edge to her pleading, a method to her madness. she knows exactly what makes you tick, knows all the right buttons to press to get what she wants. so she'll ham it up as much as possible. she'll crawl, she'll cry, hell, she'll bark. and sooner or later, you'll cave. allll according to schedule.

and when she goes in, she goes in. sucks on your clit until it's stiff and raw, licks at you until you're dehydrated with the amount of slick that's pouring out of you. in these sweet, sweet moments, you're just as stupid as her. so out of it, so lost in that sweet little head of yours.

and vi will have.... thoughts. thoughts about subtly pulling away from your heat, creeping up your body to kiss gently on your neck. you wouldn't even be able to see it coming, her sliding into you. she would turn you out, balls deep, her thrusts so thorough and urgent that your knees would buckle for the next 2 weeks.

but if that were to happen, then she knows they'll be hell to pay. you would keep your legs glued shut for ages, depriving her of everything she's worked so hard to get. so for now, she'll keep her fantasies to herself, not wanting to possibly rock the boat.

besides, what's a puppy without her favorite toy?

#vi smut #vi x reader #arcane vi #arcane vi x reader #arcane smut #vi x fem reader #vi arcane #sevika smut #lesbian #vi league of legends #arcane jinx smut

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dailylooneys · 1 day ago

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Happy 90th B-B-Birthday, Porky Pig!

Yeap! Happy 90th Birthday to Warner Bros. first ever true cartoon star and the oldest continuing character in the Looney Tunes character.

After many (somewhat) failed attempts at creating a starring character for the very young Termite Terrace, many of them being Mickey Mouse-equse characters, such as Bosko, Foxy (most infamously and obviously) and Buddy....

.....there came a point in the mid-30s' where the directors, particularly Friz Freleng and Tex Avery, wanted to try and do something different, and that was to create a character who had a unique voice and embodied the soon-to-become irreverent style of humor of the WB cartoons.

First appeared in 1935's I Haven't Got a Hat, directed by Friz Freleng, part of the color one-shot series of Merrie Melodies shorts, was an attempt for Termite Terrace to see which character who appeared in the short could be there next star. Porky appeared in a somewhat supporting role in the film, voiced by Joe Dougherty, who had an actual stutter. The character's iconic stutter was inspired by a real-life pig guttering noise, according to Mel Blanc.

Well, I had trouble with, Porky, because he stuttered, and a lot of people said, "you can't do that". That's why I did it, because everybody was using falsetto voices, everything sounded the same. And I said, what can I do to make this character different? So I called up Warners' casting and said, do you got anybody who stutters? And they had this [Joe] Dougherty guy, who stuttered, and the guy could not just get through a line. And we were doing all of our sound on film then, there wasn’t any tape. If Jack Warner knew how much film I was using, I was through with animation. So I had to get somebody to mimic, and that was Mel. And of course, Mel can do anything. - Friz Freleng (”Friz on Film” documentary)

According to animation historian Jerry Beck, there was some thought that Beans would be the studio's next big cartoon star, as he would appear in a handful of shorts in the black-and-white Looney Tunes, while Ham and Ex were the only other characters of I Haven't Got a Hat to also make one more appearance, starring alongside Beans in The Fire Alarm (1936).

Goes without saying, nobody found Beans or Ham and Ex at all interesting, leading to Porky overshadowing them, and the rest is history.

From then on, Porky became the star of the Looney Tunes series, which were still in black-and-white up until '43. Like many classic cartoons character from the Golden Age of Animation, Porky's role varied from kid to adult character, to dealing with many everyday mundane things or having a specific position, including, but not limited to, farmer, hunter, waiter and zoologist, usually accompanied with other characters such as Porky's dad, Daffy Duck, Gabby Goat, or other one-offs.

The director who perhaps was responsible for giving Porky an even more distinguishing personality and design that we associated with today is Bob Clampett, as he was relegated to directing the main Looney Tune shorts up until the early '40s, which was possibly when Porky shorts were at their best.

(an image of the now-famous "blooper" (Breakdown of 1939) of Porky swearing, directed by Clampett, was made as part of a compilation of bloopers from live-action films, was screened during WB Christmas party reels, but was never released to theaters. This was made a year earlier before Gone with the Wind gained controversy for the use of the word "damn", as swearing was beyond prohibited in films up until the 1960s, when the Hays Code was starting die out.)

However, with the introduction of other, more colorful and quirky, mischievous characters such as Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny, the directors would have admitted to having gradually grown tired of Porky as a character, even as early as 1939, he would play a very minimal role in much of the shorts, such as Porky's Hotel, Porky's Poor Fish, Meet Joe Dougherty and The Chewin' Bruin to name a few. Frank Tashlin infamously stated that he straight up hated Porky, referring to him as "a terrible character", due to the fact that a majority of the shorts he directed always starred Porky, finding him to be very inflexible, compared to his favorite character, Daffy. As a result of Porky's lack of popularity with the directors, Porky would end up becoming more of a side character, often alongside Daffy, Sylvester, Charlie Dog and so on, worked to Porky's benefit as not only did he continue to have sustained popularity with movie theater audiences, but the humor often derived from Porky being the most fairly grounded character being caught in the center of the character's wacky, off-the-wall personalities, or that when he's pushed to his limits, Porky will too snap!

"Nobody liked to work with Porky, because he was too square of a character." - Friz Freleng

Thankfully, this resulted in Porky never losing his popularity as he continues to be as world-famous and recognizable as Bugs, Daffy, Road Runner, Foghorn Leghorn, ect. After over 30 years, Porky would make his last appearance in the original theatrical series' in 1965's Corn on the Cop starring Porky and Daffy as Keystone Kops-looking cops trying to capture a crook whose dressed as Granny.

This cartoon has many significance: it being the only latter-day WB short he ever appeared in. The only Porky short directed by Irv Spector. And the only time Porky appeared alongside Granny, having almost the longest-lasting appearance of any of the characters in the original Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies series, defeating only by Daffy Duck, who's last original appearance was in 1968 (31 years), near the ending of the original theatrical cartoon series and the closure of Warner Bros. animation department.

After the end of his movie career, Porky would continue to appear in many other Looney Tunes-related material, one of them being The Porky Pig Show (1964 - 1967) which is a compilation of various of the original shorts, an appearance on Tiny Toon Adventures as Hampton J. Pig's idol and mentor, and many more, especially more recently, one of the main stars of The Day The Earth Blew Up (2025) where we see him in his original Bob Clampett design.

So, despite not being considered the immediate favorite of either the creators (both the original and new) and/or casual viewers', we should not forget the importance of Porky Pig and the impact he left on the original Looney Tunes, and the franchise as a whole. I mean, we got a whole DVD set entirely dedicated to the pig himself:

#porky pig #looney tunes #merrie melodies #friz freleng #bob clampett #birthday #birthdays #termite terrace

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cjsmalley · 2 days ago

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Mothers Against the World:

When Selina first appeared with Terry in public, it was chaos as every paparazzo was on them as soon as she stepped from the car. And while normally she would welcome them, playing up the ‘might-be-Catwoman, might-not-be’ angle and complementing the Brucie Wayne personality as she hung off his arm or flashed his credit cards, she knew she was setting up a new image.

A mother. Someone maternal, a baby cuddled to her breast. That she was mothering Bruce’s infant son willingly, happily. That she was part of a united, harmonious family.

The tabloids had had a field day with Terry’s appearance in their lives; fuzzy pictures and possible sketches splashed across their covers; they proclaimed that Gotham’s Prince had lost his princess all over an illegitimate heir. That the baby spelt disaster, even discord for the Wayne Family. All because Bruce was old enough, and actually was, a grandfather and yet there was yet more proof of his playboy ways.

Like Bruce hadn’t, repeatedly and very firmly, declared he loved all his descendants, blood or not; as if the Wayne children hadn’t just as loudly and fervently declared that they loved their father and all strived to emulate his more mature qualities.

Terry was just another child for them to welcome and love. A besides, everyone who knew Brucie Wayne knew it was only a matter of time before…ahem, consequences came back to bite him.

Selina shielded Terry from the worst of the paparazzi, striking out at unsuspecting paparazzo with a murderous glare.

They had all met flirty Selina, silly Selina, captivating Selina, the beauty, the bombshell.

They were just now meeting the lioness protecting her cub. This was the Catwoman who helped Red Hood. The Catwoman still uncomfortable with getting her paws bloody but willing to do so in defense of children. This was the Catwoman who had faced down an angry, grieving Batman even while grieving herself for one of her birds.

Perhaps sensing trouble, Diana walked out of the family friendly diner Bruce had rented for their little get-together, and joined Selina’s fierce glare with one of her own.

The mothers of the Bat-descendants were meeting to let the children play somewhere outside the safety of the Manor or Palace.

Ophelia was in Diana’s arms, becoming fussy at all the flashing lights. Terry too was becoming fussy in Selina’s arms.

“Disgusting,” Diana spoke, every inch an Amazonian princess and ambassador, “that Man’s World would treat children like a spectacle because of who their father is.”

Her words found no sympathy as they completed the arduous trek to the diner’s doors and through them.

“Stupid paparazzi,” Danielle voiced from where she was nursing Bette, darkly.

“They never change, in the future,” Bart said from where he was playing with Connor and Mar’i in the play area.

“Pity.” Koriand’r sniffed from her spot near the counter, where Lian was coloring, before beaming, “Come, friends. Let us partake of a meal together.”

And so they did, each ordering something off the laminated menus the hostess handed out; the cook made it all admirably, he was no Alfred but he made delicious food.

The women chatted as the children played, or in Terry and Bette’s case napped after finishing their own meals.

Then it was time to face the paparazzi again; though this time they presented a united front as they walked shoulder to shoulder to the limousine that Bruce had sent.

A picture of them walking as if to battle was splayed over the Gotham Gazette and several other papers the next morning.

Wished Away 9

Tylers meet Phantoms:

“Christ, Mum,” Rose said as she took in how Jackie, Pete, and Tony were dressed, “we’re just meetin’—”

“Royalty!” Jackie squeaked. They were all done up like they were meeting the Queen at Buckingham Palace itself!

“Honestly, Mum, they don’t care,” Rose rolled her eyes, grabbing her mother’s wrist and tugging her through the console room and to the wardrobe room, “I told ya ta dress casually. Let’s just hope the Ol’ Girl has clothes fer ya.”

It took about an hour to get everyone redressed, in things much more casual but still nice, before Rose led them back to the console room.

Jackie was clearly anxious, “Are ya—”

“’m sure, Mum. Danny an’ Sam don’t do formal unless they have ta. Unless you’re an annoying subject or someone threatenin’ war, ya don’t even have ta call ‘em by their titles. They’re just Danny an’ Sam ta family.”

“Lookie what I found,” Jenny bounded from the innards of the TARDIS, holding a tiny bike helmet.

She went to her toddler uncle and put it on him, making sure it fit right, “Landings in the Realms are worse than normal ones. The TARDIS does Her best but the Realms give her…nausea? A headache? She just doesn’t do good.”

“Oh, goody,” Jackie said lowly, hugging a strut for dear life already.

“Let me protect Anthony,” Bad Wolf came out, holding out her arms; without hesitation, Pete handed his son over.

Bad Wolf settled Tony in her arms, against her chest and shoulder, and then spread her feet and crouched slightly, clearly bracing for impact; she stayed steady even as the TARDIS began Her flight.

Everyone else was thrown about the console room, the Doctor and Jenny barely holding on to work the console, but Bad Wolf and Tony did not move an inch.

The landing was rough, just as Jenny said it would be, throwing even the Time Lords to the grated floor before the TARDIS stopped quaking.

Jenny recovered first and stood up, rubbing her shoulder, to peek out the doors, “We’re in the Palace. Uncle Danny and Aunt Sam are waiting…”

Slowly, everyone picked themselves up and Rose reemerged, straightening with some popping from her knees.

Jenny led the procession out, racing to hug a man and a woman, “Uncle Danny, Aunt Sam! How’re you?”

Danny and Sam chuckled and hugged her as one, “Good, doing good. You?”

“Perfect!”

She let go of them to drag Jackie, who was hesitant, forward, “This’s my Gran, Jackie. Mum’s side, duh. Completely human. He’s my step-granddad, Pete, and Mum’s holding my uncle, Tony.”

“Yer Majesties,” Jackie tried to curtsy even though she was in trousers, “an honor ta—”

“Oh, enough,” Sam chuckled, “didn’t they tell you? We don’t do formalities with family.”

“Family?” Jackie’s eyes were wide, “I know Rose said—but—”

“We count Clockwork as family,” Danny explained, “and he’s claimed the Doctor as family. The Doctor and Jenny. Rose’s basically married in by this point. Common-law, you understand. That makes her family our family. Welcome to the Palace, your home in the Infinite Realms.”

“My god,” Pete muttered, somewhat disbelieving.

“Not a god, not yet anyways,” Danny winked.

“Where’s Dani?” Jenny burst out, “Is she still in school?”

Sam grinned, “With Anakin, in the nursery. We let her stay home today.”

“Oh, Gran! Can I introduce Tony to Anakin? Please!” Jenny nearly begged.

“Anakin’s our youngest,” Danny explained kindly, “around Tony’s age, actually. We also have a nanny looking after them, Nanny Clara. He’d be perfectly safe.”

“Well…” Jackie looked to her husband, who nodded, “if you’re sure.”

Jenny cheered and took Tony from Rose, dashing off with him deeper into the Palace.

“Jenny knows the Palace as well as anyone,” Sam assured, “and if she gets lost, she can flag down a servant for help. She’s heading directly for the nursery. It’s the most defensible part of the Palace.

Danny stood up, helping Sam, “C’mon, we can talk over food; stay close, Tylers. Doctor?”

“Rose and I can bring up the rear,” the Doctor agreed, taking Rose’s hand as they began walking.

The Palace was a gothic masterpiece, in a very literal sense, though even Sam had wearied of all the gloom and had sought artists and artwork to fill the halls, soft, plush carpets and tapestries to keep the warmth, glassworks to fill the once barred windows. Statues and busts dotted the hallways, some classical, some avant garde

Masters had given their masterpieces, their magnum opuses; they were paid handsomely of course, in either coin or material.

Oils, watercolors, acrylics, textiles, glass, all created for Her Majesty the Ghost Queen. For His Majesty the Ghost King.

It wasn’t yet a riot of color, nor would it ever be, but it was more alive.

Jackie gasped and the group stopped, turning as one to see what had captured her attention.

“When they said the family was huge…”

Ah, it was the most recent family portrait; all the children were gathered around Danny and Sam, all in formal wear.

“We…sometimes people sell the souls of children to me,” Danny started, causing her and Pete to whip around to him in horror, “I know, it’s horrible, isn’t it? But anyways, we adopt the kids. Only Dani—Danielle—isn’t adopted.”

He pointed out each child and gave their backstory.

“Good Lord, you were young!” Pete said at Damian’s story.

“Old enough to be king,” Danny shrugged helplessly, “it…it wasn’t easy, we had help, so much help, and we made mistakes…”

“All parents do,” Jackie told him softly.

“So we’ve been told,” Sam smiled just as softly, “and we’ve learned and made new ones with each kid.”

Danny coughed and continued to point out kids and tell stories, until all had been covered and then they moved on.

As they neared the dining room, Danielle and Jenny joined them with each holding a toddler.

“Oh my,” Jackie said, taking in the Anakin Skywalker; she knew who he grew up to be, or would have if he had not been adopted.

“We’re hungry, Dad,” Danielle said.

Danny waved them into the dining room where the smaller table was already set for a meal; there were two chairs with booster seats and Jenny and Danielle put Tony and Anakin in them before sitting beside them and helping them get food.

The group chatted over the meal, Jackie and Pete slowly relaxing at how easy going the Royals were, and generally had good cheer.

After the meal was done, Jenny asked, “Do we put their photo up on the family wall now? I know you’ve got me, Dad, and Mum…”

Danny chuckled, “We can, if they’re okay with it.”

“Family wall?” Pete questioned.

“We keep walls of pictures of the extended family,” Sam explained easily, “you know, like Rose, the Doctor, and Jenny. Harry’s and Neville’s parents. Damian’s paternal birth-family. The Royal Portrait is just the immediate royal family. The walls are for everyone and everything else.”

Danny and Sam led the group out of the dining room and down another hallway; the walls were plastered with photographs. Some were professional, most were candid and amateur.

A common camera sat on a small round table; a high-end camera but nothing too expensive or professional.

Danny picked it up, saying, “If Jackie, Pete, and Tony don’t mind—”

Jackie decided it would be a family photograph and dragged the Doctor in; Rose and Jenny came without complaint.

Danny took a set of pictures.

After that was done, it was decided it was time for the Tylers to leave, taking pity on the still disgruntled TARDIS.

They were, however, invited to the next family gathering.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 days ago

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Do you think that we are getting book 8 that will focus on Grim since we almost are on the end of book 7? And how do you feel if that what happened and we get book 8 that focus on Grim and Yuu like why are they here all of that? Do you want to see a specific thing that wasn't mentioned in the main story?

Last question how do you feel about twst ending? Would you stay in the fandom or find another interest? I'm not ready for that like if twst ended I will move to twst fanfics 🥲

But to be honest with how they are using the 3D animation as inspiration too now for the new events I have hope that even if the main story ended we will still have plenty of new events coming plus we have the anime coming too and manga chapters still going. I don't want this fandom to die as soon as main story end.

Honestly I don't mind if the game kept going forever 😂 not necessarily the main story but with events and talk about the world.

Imagine something like twst: The New NRC Generation like they did with many animes XD

Okay I talked so much sorry for the rambling.

As I have stated in the FAQ section of my pinned post (I kindly ask that people check that first before sending asks because I have been asked some variant of “what do you think about a potential book 8”/“how do you want book 7 to end” dozens of times; I don’t answer them because the answer is already out there but overlooked, but I feel bad for ignoring so many people 😅):

"I want to actually see Yuu going home and the current students moving on to the next year of schooling. We could focus on how the guys have grown and are growing, how these more mature versions of the characters interact with the incoming freshmen/first years, or the long-term consequences of their OBs (particularly Malleus's, which probably caused an international crisis). It would also be cool to learn more about RSA students after book 7, but I don’t want them to rehash the OB formula."

"As for a potential book 8, I don’t know if there’s enough evidence for it? Book 7 is cramming a lot in right now so it’s possible that all the loose ends will be tied up there. Book 8 also implies a strong focus on Ramhackle, which… I know we love Yuusonas and all, but the game cannot canonically fill in their backstory a ton or it will ruin player self-inserting/projection. That means we’d have to rely on Grim and Grim alone to be the emotional crux that somehow transcends even Malleus’s chapter. I think that’d be hard to pull off, especially since we'd be expecting book 8 to be even LONGER than the 290+ book 7 is. If there's a book 8 at all, it might have to be closer to prologue length...? Because even if they push the Mickey stuff and revealing Crowley's motives to a theoretical book 8, I can't imagine this would take up more parts than book 7 already has 💦"

Secondly, I don’t think “Twst ending” is… the best phrasing? It’s not like the game is going to shut down as soon as book 7 finishes. Live service games close when they’re no longer financially viable, not because they finished a main story arc. Several of these kinds of games continue the main story into a new arc—and while we don’t have any official confirmation of this for Twst, it would be just silly for a money and merch machine to be shut down for an arbitrary reason. If it's not broken, then don't axe it. I would be genuinely shocked if Twst just left the main story untouched after book 7, though it may take some time before new main story stuff comes out, as the writers would have to... you know, write. Running the servers based on events alone, especially when we are not guaranteed new story events every month, doesn't sound sustainable in the long term. There's still going to be new Twst stuff coming out for a long time between the manga, anime, and light novels too. That's at least a good couple of years.

dyugaoydaswqyb Anyway, I'll be staying in the fandom even once book 7 finished; it's very near and dear to my heart ^^ Like I said, I think Twst will probably continue its service for a while. And it's not like you can only have one interest at a time, right??

#disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland #notes from the writing raven #question #twst manga #twisted wonderland manga #twst light novel #twisted wonderland light novel #twst anime #twisted wonderland anime #Yuu #Grim #Malleus Draconia #Dire Crowley #Mickey Mouse

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be-it-so · 1 day ago

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I'm so emotional over the end of the Odyssey.

Because I just know that after Penelope forces Odysseus to throw away all his lies and masks, when she confirms that he is indeed Odysseus, she just runs into him. And then they both fall to the ground as crying messes, because their feet just can't hold them up. And they are holding to each other like it's a matter of life and death. They can't even kiss properly because both of them are trembling with emotions. They embrace every part of each other, just can't get enough of other's presence. And after they go to bed and still can't stop clinging to each other. They are intervened with every centimeter of their bodies. Even if someone tried to physically separate them, it wouldn't work out however strong you may be.

I just know they can't get enough of each other in every way possible. They are always trying to have some physical contact with each other and never let other out of their view. Odysseus once wakes up at night and goes to drink some water or something, and Penelope wakes up without him and has a full breakdown until she finally sees and touches him again and the other way around.

I can't imagine how hard for both of them was the journey Odysseus had to take in order to calm down Poseidon. How hard for them it was to be separated like that again knowing that the last time they were at these places they didn't see each other in next 20 years.

And I don't care for all your sad headcanons, in my head this journey doesn't take more than a half a year, okay, maybe a year, because for once he is lucky, Athena is with him, I dont care, but he comes back as soon as he can, retires couple of years after and then raises his grandchildren with Penelope in their palace with Telemachus being the king without ever having to leave them again.

I am not taking any other variants for their life post odyssey, thank you.

#they are making me feel so many emotions #i love them so much #odysseus #penelope #odysseus x penelope #odypen #the odyssey #tagamemnon

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maskedcrawford · 17 hours ago

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Hidden Secrets

G-Dragon x Reader ft. Song Kang

Summary: Tensions rise with Jiyong's insecurities, you make a move that hurt's him, and you must learn how to maneuver in the world with a new dynamic.

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: Rest assured I have a plan. Trust the process. <3 Chapter 6 will be out as soon as I get it typed and proof read!

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Chapter 5- Mistakes and Heartbreak

Over the next two months, you and Jiyong grow closer than ever before, and you weren’t even sure it was possible. But all good things come to end, don’t they?

“Hey, my love,” you sing as you walk through the door of your shared home. Jiyong is on the couch and grunts with slightly raised brows staring at his phone. You set the shopping bags down on the table in front of him and try to playfully peal his phone from his hands.

“Quit!” You pull back quickly at his snappy tone. He cuts his eyes at you briefly before returning his gaze to the screen.

“Who pissed in your cheerios?” He sighs and looks at you, his eyes full of malice.

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” he gets up and walks to his room; the door slam echo’s through the house. You stay there for a moment, processing what just happened. You slowly get up and put your bags in your room. You then turn to go into Jiyong’s room, but when you try to turn the knob the door is locked.

“Aein,” you call out as you tap on the wood.

“Can you just leave me alone for a bit?” His tone is harsh and you're so confused.

“Someone’s on their period,” you joke to yourself.

Jiyong had been stressed from work and seeing you in the news with Song Kang recently. You had met him when you were at a party with Jiyong last month and he had asked if you would mind to run lines with him for an upcoming audition. You told Jiyong and he said he didn’t mind, that he trusted you. But the two of you quickly bonded and became close friends. Now the media is running with a story that you two could be seeing each other romantically. None of this was in your realm of knowledge as you didn’t watch the news and didn’t pay attention to magazines or online gossip.

You spend the evening alone while Jiyong is holed up in his room. You tried calling him for dinner but he didn’t answer. You set a plate of food outside his door and knocked to let him know it was there if he wanted it. You went to your room and shut the door.

He was going slightly crazy.

Is this why she didn’t want the public to know, in case she found someone else? She would’ve told me if she wasn’t happy, right? Did I do something? The thoughts buzzed in his head like an angry bee. He really thought you two were ok until this. That things had gotten better. But now he fears he’s wrong. He hears your knock on his door again and then hears the door to your room open and shut. He opens his own it revealing his dinner and a drink. He smiles slightly to himself. He picks it up and see’s a note underneath it.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here if you want to talk. Please don’t shut me out, even if I can’t help, I can listen <3 xoxo – your girl

He grips the paper, crumpling it up and he knows if he talks to you now he won’t be very nice about it. He takes his dinner and shuts his door. Meanwhile you are in your room talking to Song Kang on the phone.

“Hey,” he answers cheerfully.

“Hey,” you offer a half smile to no one, trying to make your tone sound cheery, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just, I’m just down.” You lie straight through your teeth.

“You know you can talk to me,” he offers.

“I know, but there’s nothing you can do. I just wanted to call and see how the audition went.”

“I got the part, thanks to your amazing help,” his tone was friendly, a little too friendly but you didn’t read into it. You offer him a giggle.

“Congrats! If Jiyong would stop being so moody, we could go out and celebrate!” you wince as you realize you let an intimate detail slip to another guy.

“Moody? What’s going on?” you sigh, too late to lie now.

“I don’t know, Kang, it’s like he doesn’t even want to see me. He snapped at me when I got home.”

“For what?”

“I genuinely have no idea,” you confess.

“He won’t talk to me long enough to tell me.” You pause for a moment, “But I shouldn’t bore you with this,” you trail off.

“No, no it’s not a bore, I honestly didn’t realize you two were so close.”

“We’re actually dating,” you say shyly.

“And he’s treating you like that," he scoffs before continuing with a slightly prideful tone, "Man if you were my girl,” he trails off and the conversation goes silent for a moment.

“So, you’ve been thinking about me being your girl?” you tease him and he laughs awkwardly.

“Actually, yeah, I-I have,” he admits and your jaw drops slightly. You had no idea he liked you like that.

“Oh, um,” you hear a knock on your door.

“Hang on a sec,” you say as you get up off the bed and open it to see Jiyong standing there.

“Who’s that?” he mouths and you put your finger up.

“Kang? Yeah, I’m gonna have to call you back.” You press the end call button and meet a pair of angry dark eyes.

“Song Kang? Really, y/n?” He walks away like he’s going back into his room and you grab his arm.

“Hey, what the hell is with you, we’ve been doing fine, great even, and now all of a sudden, you’re pissed at me and won’t talk to me? I want to know why. What did I do?” His eyes dart between yours and he bawls his fists.

"I can't fix anything if I don't know what I did wrong, Jiyong," you try to reason with him.

“Why don’t you just call Kang back, hmm? It seems I interrupted something important,” he feigns a considerate tone.

“No you didn’t, now if you’d quite being a dick and talk to me maybe we can figure something out.”

“Go figure out something with Kang,” he spits. Your pull your head back in confusion and then it hits you.

“You’re jealous of him?” you ask surprised. He shakes his head with a scoff.

“I’m not jealous,” he starts but can’t finish.

“Then what’s the problem with me talking to Kang,” you cross your arms.

“He likes you, y/n, and I don’t like it. Not at all.” He shakes his head and remember the confession he made.

“Well, it’s not exactly his fault, he didn’t know we were dating.”

“Didn’t? You told him?” He quirks his brow.

“Yeah, just now, actually.” His face softens a little.

"Why did you need to tell him?" he asks his voice filled with suspicion.

"Well, he, uh, he told me that he'd been thinking about me," you trail off and that earns a scoff from Jiyong.

"It's not like anything happened, Ji." you say annoyed, "Wait is that what you think?" your tone is more offended now.

“Have you seen the articles?” he asks pointedly.

“What articles? You know I don’t pay attention to that stuff.” He sighs and pulls out his phone. He shows you the article with pictures of you and Song Kang out at a local market, which you had been to so you could grab something he needed for his audition and you were running lines with him at the time. Then there was a picture of you leaving his house, again to help him run lines. You never questioned why it never was anyone else that it seemed he’d ask, but you also didn’t read into it.

“Song Kang and a new love interest? Song Kang and his girl y/n l/n. Is Song Kang y/n’s new Muse?” he reads out and you sigh, pulling the phone away from his face.

“Why didn't you just tell me this,” you ask frustrated, but trying to gracious.

“I,” he sighs and rubs a hand down his face.

“I got so upset I assumed the worst.” That strikes a chord in you.

“Wait you really thought I would do that to you?” you take a step back from him.

“I just feared,” he begins.

“That I’d leave you for him? That I’d go fuck him and leave you here wondering where I’m at? That I’d cheat on you?” You become more outraged by the minute.

“Kwon Jiyong after all we’ve been through that’s what you think of me? You think that’s the kind of person I am?” He looks at you apologetically.

“It wasn’t,”

“Have I given you any reason to distrust me?”

“You did call Steve when you got mad at me,” he says quietly and you holler a sarcastic laugh.

“Don’t you even fucking go there with me. First of all, you said we were good. We talked and that it was over for both of us. Second that was months ago, we weren’t even together and neither of us knew how much we lov-,” you stop dead in your tracks and his ears perk up at you. You had only said the words once, when you first got together, but it still was a word with so much meaning and you don't want to throw it around.

“Neither of us knew how much we cared about each other,” you start again, “Third, it’s not like we were having issues! Things were so good,” you almost whine out the last sentence as you think of the romantic dates and sweet moments you had shared. The sweet at home date nights and movie nights where you would lay blankets out and watch a movie on a projector on his ceiling or wall. The way he'd hold you during it. The romance and genuine intimacy of it all.

“If that’s really how you think I’d treat you, why are we together?” you ask him after a moment of silence. His own insecurities got the better of him at times, and now it sounds as if it could cost him your relationship.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he tries to defend.

“It must be, because if you did you would’ve talked to me about this instead of snapping at me and then trying to shut me out. You do this every time something is wrong. When are you going to learn I’m a safe place for you? God, Jiyong,” he winces at the use of his name. You never really use his full name unless you’re upset.

“If you trusted me then you’d of come to me and tried to talk,”

“I was afraid you were going to leave,” he interrupts.

“And yet, here we are. So you don't trust me or the faith I have in our relationship.” You storm back into your room and slam the door.

“Y/n,” he calls after you and you sit against the door for a moment, he tries to open it but you push it closed on him.

“Y/n, I don’t want you to go,” he says through the door.

“You don’t want to talk when there’s problem’s either, Jiyong. I refuse to be in a relationship with a man who can’t even talk to me when he’s upset. I’ve done nothing but be loyal to you, except for the one time you can’t seem to let go of,” you say with tears pricking your eyes, it's not like the was the only one, but you had forgiven it and you were trying to move on from it. For the most part, you did. Your heart was shattering, but you've had enough. With the way you two started off and now he’s acting the same way again, it’s looking like nothing but a cycle; one you refuse to be apart of. You grab a suitcase and start packing. You shove your clothes, phone charger and shoes in it and you open the door to see him still standing there. He looks at the suitcase in your hand and his eyes grow wide.

“Wait, you’re actually leaving? Where are you going to go?” His tone is fearful.

“Maybe I’ll stay with Kang, he seems to be fond of me.” You sass and his eyes look scared, but he hides it with fierce anger and jealousy.

“Fine, go stay with him, but if you walk out that door we are done.” He says as he watches you walk toward the door.

This is what you were afraid of, that you would lose him and you wouldn’t be able to recover. But you were hurting being with him too. You take your phone out and dial Kang right there in front of Jiyong.

He stands there as you put the phone up to your ear and if looks could kill, you’d both be dead on impact. He hears your voice all too fake and cheery.

“Kang? Hey, listen can I stay at your place tonight?”

“Really? You’re a doll, thanks. I’m on my way now,” you cut your eyes at him.

“Y/n,” he warns.

“As far as I’m concerned, we’ve been over. You shouldn’t be with someone you don’t trust, and you clearly don’t trust me. So since you’re all but coming out and accusing me of sneaking around with him, I think I’ll just go and do it. That way it isn’t an accusation anymore.”

“Y/n, if you leave,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re done for good. There’s no coming back, there’s no ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I didn’t mean it’. We’re done forever.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Your mouth slightly parts in shock at his words. But your mind says it’s time, despite your hearts pleas.

“Jiyong, if you don’t trust me, then there’s no reason to be together.” Your voice is solemn, your heart is thumping out of your chest. You turn to face the door.

“I’ll come get the rest of my things tomorrow,” you say as you barely look over your shoulder. You hear his footsteps come up behind you and as you open the door, he shuts it his hand and turns you to face him. His eyes are pleading with you not to go, he cups your face with his hands and kisses you deeply. You kiss him back and sigh into it. You separate and he gives you a soft smile thinking you’re going to stay.

“Goodbye, Jiyong,” you say as your voice cracks during his name and you turn to walk out. You shut the door behind you and get in your car. You let out a loud scream as your tears flow freely and your heart physically feels as if it’s being broken into a million tiny pieces.

Inside Jiyong is on his knees staring at the door with tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Why did he keep hurting you? He didn’t mean to, why couldn’t you see things from his perspective? He didn’t want you to leave, but between begging and threatening, he didn’t know which was the better option. He's left wandering if you were always doomed to fall apart.

------------

You get to Kang’s house, obviously an emotional mess. He opens the door and his face softens to your broken state. He moves past the doorway and allows you inside.

“What the hell happened?” Kang wasn’t necessarily upset that you were here, but he didn’t like the fact that you were upset. You went to speak but just broke down in tears again. You sink to the floor as the sound of pain and heartache fills his apartment. He comes over to hold you, doing anything he can to make you feel better.

“Hey, hey, come on, talk to me.” He strokes your hair. You want to, but right now you can’t, not really.

“It-it hu-hu-hurts,” you grab at your chest as you hiccup and you start crying all over again. This was it; Kwon Jiyong has ruined you like you knew he could. And the worst part is you felt like it was all your fault. You knew better. You should’ve stayed friends, you never should’ve hooked up and you never should’ve put a label on it.

He rocks you back and forth as you hug onto his neck. His heart genuinely broke for you, he hated seeing such a lively and beautiful soul be so broken.

After a little while you finally calm down and you sit on his couch explaining what happened.

“He really gave you an ultimatum?” He’s shocked by your story. You nod as another lone tear makes its way down your cheek. He goes to scoot in behind you, to hold you and you let him. You lean against his chest and the tension of the room is thick. You stare at each other for a minute and just as Kang barely inches forward you clear your throat.

“Can we watch a movie? I really want to take my mind off all this.” He gives a semi forced smile to your question.

“Sure, you can pick one out. I’ll grab some snacks.” You pick a comedy, maybe it’ll ease the pain and tension.

Back at home, or what you used to call home, Jiyong is stunned. He’s picked himself off the floor and flopped on his bed on his back, listening to the stillness of the house. He suddenly lets out a scream of frustration before getting up and drowning his sorrows in alcohol. He plays a drinking game by himself. The rules? Anytime you cross his mind he takes a shot. It makes it a lot easier when he starts to pack up your things for you.

It's not long until he’s drunk, close to blacking out. Yet the alcohol can’t numb the pain. He ultimately drinks until he can’t think about you, or anyone else for the night.

Back at Kang’s house you two are in the middle of laughing at the movie you picked; your heart still hurts and you wish it could be like this with Jiyong. As much as it hurt, you missed his presence. His arms being around you and gentle kisses on the back of your neck when you’d cuddle, you could still almost feel the ghost of his touch on you, and for a moment you imagined you were back home with him. Like nothing happened and things were still ok. But reality hit you once more when Kang let out a belly laugh. You snap your head at him and he’s popping some popcorn in his mouth, eyes glued to the tv.

“You got anything to drink?” you ask suddenly. He tears his eyes from the tv to you.

“I got Soju, Vodka, Hennessy, pick your poison.”

“Can I get Vodka and Hennessy?” He looks at you surprised.

“You sure you can handle both?” he smirks as you shake your head.

“All right, ladies’ choice,” he says cautiously. Before you know it, your feeling warm and fuzzy, buzzed from the drinks. And Kang feels the same. He wouldn’t dare let you drink alone.

“You know,” he slurs as he pulls you into his lap so you straddle his waist. You giggle.

“He really should’ve trusted you,” he downs another shot. You match him every time.

“It’s not like I gave him any,” you hiccup, “reason not to, I mean he acted like we’d slept together.” You hiccup again and then a giggle slips out.

“Hell, by the way he accused me, I should’ve done it. At least then he would’ve had a reason to freak out,” you take another shot and wrap your arms around his neck and lean in close to him, your breath a strong sent of the two drinks you were downing. Kang looks at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Maybe you should,” he mumbles. You tilt your head, confused.

“Maybe I should what?”

“Maybe you should stay here, be with me and let me take care of you,” he says quietly. He suddenly seems more sober and you feel your buzz come down some.

“I um,” you look away and he brings his face back to where you look at him.

“Just tell me to stop and I will,” he whispers just before putting his lips on yours. You freeze for a moment, Jiyong’s memory heavy in your mind again. You push it away and let your body give in to the temporary comfort Kang is willing to provide.

-------

The next morning, you wake up tangled in Kang’s bed sheets, naked underneath them.

“Oh my god,” you groan quietly as you see him next to you, also naked. You rub your face and quietly slip out of bed, sliding on your clothes from last night. You check your phone half expecting to see some text from Jiyong, almost hoping to, but nothing is there. You’re disappointed, hurt even. You weren’t sure that he really meant what he said. You thought maybe he was mad and just said it to try and get you to stay. You sigh and head to the kitchen, head pounding from a hangover. You grab a granola bar from his cabinet and some medication.

You dial Jiyong’s phone and he doesn’t pick up. You shoot him a text.

Coming over at 10 to get my things.

You hit send and wait for him to respond, but he doesn’t. Part of you is worried about him, maybe he drank last night like you did. You started freaking out internally and decided you couldn’t wait. You left Kang a note saying you would be back and you grabbed your keys.

You arrive at Ji’s place and see his car is still there.

“At least he didn’t drive” you think to yourself.

“Ji?” you call out as you open the door. You walk in and see the house is a mess. There’s broken glass in the kitchen, magazines on the floor, some torn to shreds. There’s plates and other dishes broken in the sink and on the living room floor.

“Jiyong?” you call out again, getting no response.

“Oh, my God Jiyong,” you say in shock as you see him on the floor of the living room. He looks unconscious.

“Ji? Jiyong?” You frantically pat his face and shake his body. He doesn’t budge.

“I swear,” you say out of fear as you reach into your bag and get a mirror. You put it under his nose and see it fog up. At least he’s alive. You get up, a little less panicked, and get a glass of cold water. You throw it in his face and he wakes up.

He looks around and see’s you standing over him.

“What the hell,” he groans.

“You scared me, that’s what,” you say as you help him up, he’s wobbly, still a little drunk.

“How much did you drink last night,” you ask trying to help steady him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” his breath reeks of it as he pushes you off him. Yeah, that stings, bad. You purse your lips.

“Why are you here, anyway. I told you if you left last night,”

“That we're done for good, yeah I know. I have things here I need to get.”

“I could’ve dropped them off or at least put them outside.” He says getting another shot.

“Jiyong it’s not even 10 am and considering you were passed out when i got here, no you couldn't have,” you scold and he gives you a death glare.

“You fuck to deal with the pain and I drink. So what?” His tone is venomous. You bite back tears as you scoff and he raises a brow at you just before downing his shot. He walks over to you, backing you up against the wall by the archway of the kitchen.

“You’re really going to act like you didn’t fuck him last night?” his voice is dangerously low, his face is inches from yours. He moves your hair out of the way revealing a hickey on your neck that wasn’t there 24 hours earlier.

He sneers and can’t help the deprecating laugh that emits from his vocal chords.

“You’re too damn predictable baby, tell me, how many times were you with him before you actually left me, hmm?” Before he can process what’s happening, he feels a sting on his cheek.

“You’re an asshole when you’re drunk,” you push him away feeling a light sting on your hand as you go to the back studio. You notice most of your stuff is all ready packed up for you in bags. The painting of you and Ji still sitting on the easel he bought for you a couple days after you moved in. You feel the tears prick your eyes as you look at it. You bite your lip as your hand runs over itl feeling the texture of the canvas and the raised paint splatters. Jiyong sneaks into the door way, watching you. He stared at the painting for what felt like forever last night, he debated on destroying it, all of it really. Everything you ever made, but if he did that he’d be like Steve and despite your screwed up relationship, he wouldn’t be like Steve, at least not in that way.

“You can take everything but that painting,” he says causing you to jump.

“It’s my painting.” You retort.

“I’ll pay you whatever you want for it.” You scoff at him, and he leans against the door frame, a deadpan look on his face.

“I’m serious. How much?”

“Its not for sale.”

“Everyone has a price,” you scoff at his words.

“Why do you even want it,” his face softens before he hardens it again.

“Something to remember you by,” his voice drips with sarcasm.

“I’m serious why do you want it,” you cross your arms.

“Because, it shows your true colors,” he sasses and you roll your eyes.

“The red and orange, the fiery passion I hold within myself. The blue and gray the way you always play the victim, baby.” He sneers again.

“It’s so, us." His laugh is villainous.

“You want it so bad, it’s 2, 921, 460,060.00 won.” (That’s 2 million dollars for my U.S readers)

He nods his head, “Cool I’ll write you a check,” he says casually. He grabs his check book and writes it down.

“Cash it today, heck I’ll take you there myself.”

“There’s no way that thing is worth this much,” you look at him trying to figure out his goal.

“Oh, to me, it’s priceless,” his smile is plastic, and you give up trying to figure it out. With that you grab your things from the art room and put them in the car. You go to what used to be your room and see everything in boxes.

“Couldn’t even let my body heat leave the room before he packed me up,” you think to yourself. Truth be told, this hurt more than if you had to do it yourself. This was like Jiyong saying he was completely and forever going to be done with you. That he was ready for you to leave. Part of you wondered if any of it was just for show.

“Need any help?” his voice cuts through the tension you feel like a knife. You shake your head no.

“I’m good,” you say quietly.

“Whatever,” he says casually. He goes back to the kitchen to finish off the bottle of liquor he opened a little while earlier. He was dying inside. Seeing you here, obvious signs you’d been with someone else the way you had been with him. It ate him up inside. It was almost too much. He sighed before downing the last shot watching you carry out a box. He had to stick to his guns. He made you a promise and he intended on keeping it, maybe it was to punish you, or maybe, just maybe, it was to punish himself.

If you enjoyed and want to support me, buy me a coffee

Tags: @loveesiren @natalicss @mashtatosworld @nerdydoll-com @fleabagspurplewife @multifanxtvshows

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it-was-summer · 3 days ago

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Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #5

A/N: Hey, hey... that's not an earthquake!! It's me... Em. I was feeling a little sad because this series gets so much love despite being on hiatus. I love everyone for being so sweet and letting me take my sweet little time! This chapter... is rather short because I feel like a longer chapter would be rambling, and I want the next one to be GUT-WRENCHING. Let me know what you think!- Love, Em

Link to the: Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star Link to the: Yee olde masterlist

Previous Chapter: Tape #4 > Next Chapter: Coming Soon...

WARNING: Hospital, PTSD from sexual assault, Reader tries to punch a nurse, gauze mittens to the rescue, fear of drug addiction, mention of fatherly abandonment and bullying, guilt, a hospital bed, Spencer reid being... pookie i fear.

Pairing: Season7!Spencer Reid x VKTRSFem!Reader

Tape Contents: Waking up to a bunch of hands on you in the hospital doesn't go over well with you. Spencer delivers on a promise he made to a little girl, and then some.

Word Count: 2,649

March 7, 20XX

You can hear the beeping of the EKG machine before your mother’s voice—a soft, droning sound that maintains a steady tempo. You can count it, remembering something Adeline told you once about the best tempo for CPR– 120 beats per minute, stayin’ alive. But this sound does not match that of the Bee Gees. The thought makes you smile; your lips twitch before your eyes open.

Your mother has her hand gripping your limp one, calling your name as she watches you stir awake. When your eyes open, they don’t go straight to her or the EKG machine; they stare blankly at the ceiling. You stay like that for a moment, your fingers twitching against your mother’s palm.

Your body feels like it’s moving through frames of air, your head rolling down to look at your mother with a rolling dizziness. Giving her a lazy smile, she throws her arms around your upper torso. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Her sobs make you feel guilty at first, your hazy brain not catching up all the way. Everything seems to be broken up in tragic mosaic tiles.

Heather, pink, pain, blood, brown eyes.

Your mother’s touch leaves you feeling heavy. When she pulls back from her emotional embrace, she places her hands firmly on your shoulders. You gasp sharply at the sensation, shaking your head quickly, your mouth filling with cotton. You watch her eyebrows knit together in fearful confusion, and one of her hands comes up to stroke the side of your cheek, hoping to soothe your fear.

The feeling leaves a trail of rageful fire against your cheek, and you can’t stop yourself as you smack her hand away, eyes wild and crazed, as you let out a strangled sound. “No!” Your yell alerts the nurses to rush in as fast as possible.

Your mother’s hands fly away from you at your yell, stammering softly, “I hugged her, I didn't-–” But the rest of her sentence drowns out as one of the nurse’s hands touches your left forearm, it's a graze of a touch. Her fingers are soft and steady, and it makes you feel sick as you pull your forearm away from her at the speed of light.

“Don’t touch me!” You cry out, your cheeks flushing, and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You can feel the blood rushing in them— hear it as clear as day—the EKG pounds away: Beep, Beep, Beep, Beeps in unsteady notes.

One of the nurses moves the IV stand out of her way, her fingers wrapping around the edge of the hospital bed, her tender green eyes looking down at you with pity. “Hey, it’s okay.” Her hand is reaching over the bed to fix one of your blankets, taking care to avoid any contact with your body. “You’re safe.”

But her hand is too close, and you can feel the warmth of an invisible palm on your inner thigh— unwanted and vile. Your fists ball up, panting hard, as you swing at the nurse. Your fist misses her by an inch, and your lips part to scream at her, but you can feel someone’s hands actually on you now. One nurse is grabbing your shoulders, trying to pull you away from her colleague and push you back down on the hospital bed.

The action makes you downright vicious, your mother screaming for you to calm down as you thrash against the hands on your shoulders. Overlapping voices swarm, but all you can hear is the pounding in your ears and your heaving pants. Another nurse rushes into the room, needle in hand, and stands at the ready as the other three nurses manage to hold your thrashing body down.

The nurse with the needle is quick to administer what you can only assume is an opioid. It works fast like one, a warm comfort and then a welcoming darkness.

When you wake up, you can see that your outburst from earlier has gotten you some special treatment. Your hands are padded and wrapped in a gauze-made mitten. You sigh as you flex your fingers weekly against the gauze, feeling the soft, scratchy material against your knuckles as you look around the room. Your mother is outside, head down as she talks with someone on the phone. You can barely hear her hushed voice, but you catch the sound of “She’s never been violent” before you decide it’s best if you don’t hear the rest of her conversation.

Guilt creeps into your stomach because it’s true. You weren’t violent. You made cookies when people were sad and talked with your friends about how you thought every fight could be avoided with a good sit-down. The idea of peaceful talk seems naive now; no good talk could stop the seething rage from boiling in your blood.

Were you still kind? Were you ever kind or just painfully sheltered? When did your sweetness leave you? Would it be a temporary leave or one in perpetuity?

Did all of your goodness bleed out of your lip or the ‘x’ on your chest? Or was it seeping out of the broken bones of your ankle? You feel like crying at the onslaught of questions—questions of goodness, sweetness, blood, death, and rage. Two stood out above the rest: when will this be over? Is this just the beginning?

The thought of the rest of what made you… you, being stripped away until you were bare, made you start to cry. A soft sob left you as you numbly stare at flowers in vases and cards of well-wishes on the hospital’s windowsill. Your mother must have heard your sobs because she was standing by the side of your bed with heartbreak in her eyes.

You turned your head toward her, your mitted hands reaching toward her—toward comfort. But when you lift your hands, she flinches. You can see the shock on her face as her shoulders slowly relax. Her fingers nervously reach out for you, and she tentatively wraps her arms around you. She held you like you were precious china, like she was scared of scratching the surface of your skin.

Your tears slow to a stop as you feel her arms around your upper torso, a numb feeling consuming your yearning heart. Some comfort this is. The voice in your head leaves you with a bitter taste on your tongue, and saliva comes to the surface of your tongue as you try to swallow away the feeling. She smiles as she pulls away, her hands smoothing your hair carefully. “I’ll go get you something to eat?” she offers with a grin.

You nod, a stray tear falling down your cheek. Before she leaves, she cleans your face of tears with a Kleenex, and then she helps you find something on the menu, and she’s gone.

The beeping from the EKG no longer brings you comfort, but the room's silence would be deafening without it, so for that, you’re grateful. You eye your ankles under the blankets, one clearly in a cast. You sigh, imagining how long that will take to heal.

Wanting to see something happier, your eyes flit over to the window sill again. You see assortments of flowers scattered on the windowsill, and you hate that the sight doesn’t bring the joy that flowers usually do. Your eyes stray, staring down a red rose. You sniffle softly, forcing yourself to look away.

Looking down at your hands, you wonder how to get out of these gauze mittens. You lick your lips carefully, your tongue tracing the edges of a tiny bandage on your lip. You bring one of your hands up to your lips, your teeth ready to try and tear the gauze off your hands. Just before you can attempt your —ultimately foolish— plan, a gentle knock on the doorframe spooks you.

Turning your head, you see… Spencer Reid? You blink at him, then again, making sure you aren’t hallucinating. Why is he here?

“JJ, um, is on the fifth floor.” You give him a look, eyebrows knitting together before you realize you must’ve said that question out loud.

You don’t know what to say to answer, simply staring at him with a shocked expression. You weren’t complaining, of course. He had saved you from… that place. But that didn’t warrant a check-in… did it? You weren’t sure how things like this worked. Honestly, you would have been thrilled never finding out how things like this work, but that option is lost on you now.

Spencer rocks back and forth on the soles of his feet, eyes shifting through the room slowly before he perks up and reaches for the messenger bag on his hip. Sitting up straighter, you try to peek at its contents before he pulls out a tattered orange stuffed cat— Bee. Seeing the stuffed cat, your hands instinctively reach for it, and your cheeks feel hot with embarrassment as Spencer’s eyes take in your wrapped-up hands.

Spencer offers you a warm smile, walking toward you to place the plush cat beside you on the bed. Looking down at your hands, he whispers, “Did you hurt your hands?”

You feel the urge to stuff them under the blankets and tell him it’s nothing, but lying feels pointless. “Ah, no. I,” you lick your lips, a pit forming in your stomach, “I tried to punch a nurse.” Your voice drops into a whisper, avoiding his gaze and looking solely at Bee.

Spencer’s eyebrows raise, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at your hands. He tries to stop his lips from forming a smile, but he can't help it. He had walked in on you trying to chew through gauze. “I would not recommend chewing through that.”

“Well,” You scoff, your gaze lifting to meet his with an exasperated scoff. “I don’t have a lot of options.”

Spencer sucks some air through his teeth, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. We can always ask for help.”

You blink, eyes leaving his face to look down at your hands. “You think?” You can’t imagine one of the nurses from earlier giving you the okay. But maybe if they reassess your condition, they’ll agree to it. You’re sure all the fight left in your body left the second they administered that sedative, right?

The thought makes your throat tight, and you can feel your fingers twitching nervously under the gauze. Why did the fight leave you after they administered the sedative? Shouldn’t you’ve come back stronger? Your eyes shift back and forth across the room, your nerves getting the best of you as you ponder the question. Though a soft voice, sweet and sinister, and not yours, answers for you, ‘They gave you what you wanted.’

Spencer can see the tension building in your shoulders, your eyes nervously searching the room, and his chest tightening with emotion. He knows that anxious feeling. He can see it in your eyes. That desperate, silent plea for an answer to a question you haven’t spoken. For once, he finds himself without words, not knowing what to say.

And while he sometimes struggles to read the room correctly… he can read the lingering question on your mind. It's a question he’s had since the Dilaudid. The same one that came into his mind after his father abandoned him, after being strung up on a flag pole by his classmates, haunting him all his life— What’s wrong with me?

He can hear your heavy breathing as he decides to speak, but there’s that rushing sound again. You listen to the muffled sound of his voice near you as you try to snap yourself out of your self-made spiral. Eventually, some words got through: “Should I get the nurse?”

Your head spins at how fast your lips say, “No!” The sound of your shaky voice makes him freeze in his tracks. Your sight wavers momentarily, squeezing your eyes shut and opening them slowly to look at his concerned face. You sigh as they focus on him, and all you can see is his warm, honey-colored gaze. His eyes betrayed concern amongst their softness, compassion mixing with a soft look of apprehension. “No,” You repeat, softer, hating the idea of scaring him further. “Can you just...” There’s a pause, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait?”

Spencer slowly nods, stuffing his hands awkwardly into his pockets as quiet beeping fills the room. He wants to ask how you’re feeling, but he has a feeling he already knows. He’s experienced that look in your eyes, the dim light begging to grow brighter, how your bottom lip quivered before you told him not to get the nurse. He knows offering a comforting touch is the wrong move, and he’s not keen on that idea anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice hits him like a train. Its ragged tone oozes self-hate. Upon hearing it, he pushes out a breath, his awkwardness fading into sympathy.

“I wasn’t upset about anything.” He replies in a calm tone, “I’m the one who showed up here with no warning.” His eyes flick over to Bee by your side. “I was just following the orders of a little girl.”

You glance over at Bee again before nodding. “Very dutiful of you.”

“It’s what I’m known for.”

“Not the gun and badge?”

Spencer sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, “My skills with guns are lacking, and as for the badge, it only gets me so far.” He watches as a slow grin breaks out on your face, and your eyes drift over to his for a moment. He feels positively elated. Spencer decides that now is a good time for you to be free of those mittens on your hands.

The nurses quickly reassess your condition as you throw soft and squeaking apologies their way. They quickly brush it under the table, repeating reassuring comments as they snip away at the gauze wrapped around your hands.

You’re stretching out your fingers when Spencer’s fingers tentatively wrap around the strap of his bag. “Well, I suppose I should be going.”

Your eyes widen at that, and you try to hide the quiet feeling of disappointment with a soft smile. “Oh.”

Spencer can see how your eyes cast down at your hands and how your posture slumps. His fingers slip into his bag before he has time to think about it, rummaging around for a business card. He fidgets with the card for a moment, his long fingers tracing the edge of the cardstock. He hasn’t given anyone his card in a while, fearing it would backfire on him.

But as he looks at your downcast expression, his heart aches, and he’s striding forward with his hand outstretched toward you. “If you ever need to talk.” Your eyebrows rise, and your fingers slowly take the card with a nervous expression.

“Thank you,” You mutter, studying the card in your fingers a moment longer.

Spencer nods, stammering a little before he huffs out a quiet, “Of course.” Then he points toward the hallway, backing away from the bed. “I’ll see you.” he doesn’t know why he feels so tense, but he does. Your softening gaze made his heart beat a little faster than usual. You raise a hand, waving goodbye. “See you.” Once he’s gone, you find yourself gazing down at the card in your hands. Your thumb traces his name on the card, smiling at the sight. You know you’ll probably never call, but the offer is sweet. It reminds you that not everyone is afraid of you, and the thought makes you feel a little lighter as you place the card on the hospital bed tray. Likely to be lost among get-well-soons and flowers as you close your eyes with a lighter heart, waiting for your mother again.

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themilfsland · 3 hours ago

Text

Under the forbidden tree - Part I

Pairing(s): religious!mommy Wanda X female!reader

Words count: ~ 10k

Summary: A break from your studies and work. A program dedicated to foster children you decided to join. A weekend of faith, charity, and innocence under the watchful eye of the Westview church. But beneath the prayers and borrowed smiles, something unholy stirs.

- "...but have you ever sinned in God’s house?”

- "What’s wrong, Y/N? Kneel." - She repeated, this time with a slightly softer tone."

tags | content: Wanda being a little psycho, innocence/corruption, a lot of teasing, jealous, manipulation, possessiveness, improper use of religion itens, praying for grace.

A/N: My initial plan was to create an one-shot, but it ended up being too long, so I decided to split it into two parts. Honestly, I’m still not sure if that was the better choice, but anyway. Enjoy :)

menu fic | Part II (coming soon)

You were running late, but not as much as the ride your friend, Yelena, had promised you.

As you packed the last pieces of clothing you had laid out on the bed — "toothbrush, comfortable sneakers, sunscreen, hairbrush, cap, towel... vibrator?!" — your mental checklist came to an abrupt halt when your eyes landed on the object placed inside one of the suitcase compartments. "Do I need to bring this?" - you wondered, a pang of guilt creeping into your conscience. Bringing your toy to a church retreat might not be the wisest decision — actually, it was a terrible one. The possibility of boredom wasn’t a valid excuse, nor was the fact that finding a moment of privacy in your friend's apartment was nearly impossible.

Your thoughts drifted beyond the present — this week marked two months since you had temporarily moved into your childhood friend’s apartment. You could call it luck or mere coincidence, but either way, it had been a huge help.

A few months ago, you received an offer to work and study temporarily at a psychiatric hospital unit in Westview. At first, you considered turning it down — far from home, a small town that felt more like a village, completely different from your life, nothing particularly appealing. However, after an honest conversation with your favourite college professor, your perspective shifted. Finding out the significant research advancements happening there reignited your interest.

But, of course, there was still one major issue — where would you stay during that period? Money was tight, and there weren’t many good housing options in Westview. That’s when Yelena practically "fell from the sky" — or rather, her girlfriend, Kate, did, stepping in to help with everything you were missing — they were your saviour.

Two weeks after accepting the offer, you stood in front of Kate’s apartment with your small collection of belongings. In a quick rundown, Yelena had explained that she met Kate at an exhibition of ancient artefacts —more specifically, weapons and combat objects. Well, none of that surprised you. In fact, you made a mental note, wondering how it was even possible for more people to share Yelena’s questionable and somewhat violent interests. Either way, things moved quickly after that, and now Kate was working in a neighbouring city to Westview. Yes, even though you had to travel a few extra miles to the hospital where you’d be working and studying for the next few months, this was still the best option, and you were incredibly grateful for it. Oh, and of course, the small yet not-so-insignificant detail — less than a month after Kate settled into her apartment, Yelena invited herself to move in. Classic.

A knock on your bedroom door pulled you back to the present. The door suddenly swung open, followed by Yelena shouting, - “I’m home! Are you still not ready? Let’s go!”

You jumped in surprise and quickly shut your suitcase. Any hesitation you previously had about the vibrator was gone. It was coming with you, whether because you no longer had the chance to take it out or simply because privacy in this apartment is definitely not an option. Maybe, in a quiet place, free from interruptions, you’d finally get to enjoy a moment to yourself.

----

On the way to Westview, Yelena convinced you to make a quick stop at a Café. After all, a little caffeine would be welcome before hitting the road.

- "Are you sure about this, Y/N?" - Yelena asked, her expression filled with doubt.

- "You mean doing a little charity work by volunteering for the kids at the orphanage?" - you replied with a question of your own.

- "Yes... I mean, not exactly about helping out, but you know, this is a project run by the Westview church community..." - her voice trailed off as if she wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

- "I know, I get what you're trying to say." - You let out a small laugh. - "Honestly, I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea of spending the next few days at a church ‘club.’ Religion really isn’t my thing..."

Yelena was trying her best to not look judgmental, but she was failing miserably.

- "Look, it’s not going to be the best place or the best people, but I’m doing this for the kids. Giving them a weekend of fun, games, and a chance to breathe some fresh air outside of the orphanage. It’s worth it." - you continued.

Yelena stared at you while taking another sip of her coffee, carefully choosing her next words.

- "Okay, I’m still not completely convinced by that excuse." - You raised an eyebrow, waiting for a better response. - "But since you’ve decided, I should warn you that where you're going is far from being a ‘club.’ Kate and I went there once. Honestly, the place looks like the perfect setting for a period horror film. There's only a chapel and three large wooden buildings."

You were about to argue, but she cut you off.

- "No, don’t defend the place before you’ve even seen it. You’ll agree with me later. Oh, and before you ask what Kate and I were doing there — the only, and I mean only, good part is the huge, beautiful lake. Great for swimming or just relaxing."

You let out a long sigh and nodded, choosing to avoid a pointless argument.

- "Maybe the truth is... I just need a short break," - you admitted in a low voice, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself.

You could hear Yelena’s voice in the background — she was probably giving you a lecture about neglecting self-care and not recognizing your limits. But her words barely registered. Your mind was elsewhere, your thoughts louder than her voice, dragging you back to the exhausting days at the hospital.

- "Y/N adapted so quickly here, didn’t she, Darcy?" -Jimmy asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

- "Yeah! A little too quickly, actually. But she got lucky that we don’t currently have any patients going into the ‘dark book,’" - Darcy replied, giving you a playful wink.

The three of you were in the hospital’s break room, taking a short rest and having what might be lunch or maybe even dinner — with shifts so chaotic and schedules a mess from the overwhelming workload, this was probably your biggest meal of the day — a combo of lunch and dinner.

- "'Dark book'? What’s that?" - You asked, puzzled.

Jimmy shot Darcy a disapproving look as if she had just brought up a forbidden topic. Then, turning back to you, he answered in a tone that was far too cold. - "It’s nothing big, Y/N. Just reports on patients with more complex cases. In these instances, to protect their future, all records are archived under strict confidentiality. Once they’re discharged, it’s as if their past is erased — so there’s no public speculation and they can reintegrate into society more easily."

The idea intrigued you. What kind of cases could be so dark that they needed to be kept secret, their pasts wiped clean?

- "That sounds interesting, but I have my doubts about you two keeping secrets. I can practically read it on your faces that you know more than you're letting on."

Darcy let out a loud laugh before responding. - "Of course we do… and yet, we don’t." - She chuckled again. - "But honestly, we respect that confidentiality rule. I think it’s fair."

You weren’t satisfied with that vague answer, and your curiosity got the best of you. - "Oh, come on, guys! It won’t hurt anyone if you share just a little of what you know. Besides, I’ll be gone in a few months anyway." - You gave them your best pleading puppy-dog eyes.

Jimmy chuckled before finally speaking. - "Look, Y/N, you can dig around in our library all you want, but you won’t find anything with real details. Even we, after years here, barely have any real information."

Darcy nodded in agreement and added, - "He’s not lying, Y/N. We don’t even know the patients’ names. All we ever get are bits and pieces of stories that float around the hallways."

You kept staring, silently pushing for more, until she finally gave in. - "Jimmy, do you remember that guy who used to pull pranks on other patients? Even on Dr Strange? He was absolute chaos."

Jimmy refused to say a word, just shooting her another disapproving look.

- "Oh, come on, Jimmy. Everyone here knows at least one story about that guy, don’t give me that judgmental silence." - She smirked before continuing. - "But fine, I know you were way more interested in that other guy… the one who almost turned green when he got angry."

Jimmy scoffed. - "Now that’s a low blow. Of course, that case was more interesting, but don’t even try to change the subject. Your real obsession was that crazy patient who kept rambling nonsense and scribbling in that little red notebook… the one with those three initials on the cover."

You and Darcy were about to press him for more when Dr. Strange walked into the room. - "I believe the break is over. Time to get back to the studies."

- "Y/N? Are you listening to me?" - Yelena said, shaking your arm. - “Y/N!! Earth to you, hello??”

You were snapped back to reality by the pinch she gave you.

- “OUCH, YELENA! I’m here, and that hurts!!” - you grumbled, rubbing the spot where she had pinched you.

- “Yeah, yeah, I can see that you're here, physically, at least. But your mind? Oh, it went far, far away from here,” - she retorted with a disappointed tone. - “Anyway, you do seem like you need a break. Maybe your crazy idea isn’t so bad after all.”

She continued speaking as she grabbed her bag from the chair.

- “Speaking of enjoyment, I got you a little present.” - A mischievous smirk appeared on her face as she pointed to a small wrapped box in front of you. - “BUT — you can only open it once you get there. You have to promise me.” - She winked at you as she handed over the gift.

Still unsure, you took the package and shot her a suspicious look. - “This is so unlike you… but okay, I’ll accept this rare expression of affection.”

Her mouth fell open in mock offence at your comment — though she was well aware that acts like this weren’t exactly her style.

Well, you’d understand soon enough once you saw what was inside the box.

----

No matter how many times you drove down the road to Westview, you never grew tired of the natural beauty surrounding you — the towering trees lining the way, the fresh breeze streaming through the open window of the car, if you were lucky, you could even hear the birds singing as they soared through the sky.

As expected, the location was just beyond the entrance to town, requiring a small detour off the main road. A wave of anticipation and gratitude washed over you. You were excited about all the opportunities the universe was laying before you— and, of course, grateful that your friend was here to support you. After all, she was doing you a huge favour by giving you a ride. The designated arrival day for volunteers and children was technically set for tomorrow, Saturday. However, Yelena and Kate had already arranged a small camping excursion for the weekend. Not wanting to interfere with their plans, you reached out to the project administration to inquire about the possibility of arriving a day in advance. Fortunately, they responded quickly, assuring you that it wasn’t a problem — on the contrary, it was common for some team members to arrive early to help with preparations.

Once again, your mind wandered, and before you even noticed, Yelena was already steering into the front garden and parking the car.

- "Alright, are you ready to spend your next few days praying and dying of boredom?" - Yelena teased, her voice dripping with irony.

You let out a laugh. - "Girl, you are sooo dramatic! It won’t be that bad. I have high hopes it’ll be fun, and time will fly by. Just don’t forget to pick me up." - You tried to sound confident, though deep down, you had your own doubts about how interesting this place would be.

Yelena stifled a mocking chuckle, gripping the door handle. She turned her head toward you and stated, - "Good luck, then, Y/N. But seriously, don’t fool yourself into thinking this place is all rainbows and sunshine. When you’re sitting in that chapel praying…" - she pointed outside toward the small building, "… you’ll remember me and what I’m telling you now. There are a lot of weird people around here, so don’t be too easily convinced by good manners."

Without giving you a chance to argue, she swung open the car door.

You shared a brief embrace and a farewell kiss on the cheek. With a final wave, you watched the car fade into the distance.

Drawing in a deep breath, you turned toward the small gathering nearby and began making your way toward them. As you neared, a woman in the group noticed you and greeted you with enthusiasm.

- "Hello! Good afternoon! Welcome!"

The surrounding chatter ceased as the others turned their attention to you.

- "You must be Y/N, right? I’m Monica," - she said, extending her hand to greet you. You shook her hand in return, slightly surprised at her accurate guess.

- "Yes, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you! But… um, how did you know my name?" - you asked, suddenly aware that all eyes were on you.

- "I was the one who replied to your email about arriving a day early," - she said with a warm smile. - "I was just talking about you! We don’t get new volunteers here very often, so we’re happy to have you."

She glanced at the others and began introducing them from right to left.

- "This is Clint, Scott, Agatha, and Wanda."

They all welcomed you with warm smiles. A slight unease tingled up your spine — being in the spotlight had never been your comfort zone. Clint seemed to notice your nervousness and spoke up.

- "Hey, don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll guide you through the activity schedule. Today will be pretty relaxed — we’re just preparing the welcome for tomorrow and taking care of some last-minute details."

You nodded and muttered a "thank you."

It was also evident that holding onto your luggage was wearing you out, so Monica swiftly added, - "Alright, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know Y/N over the next few days, but for now, I think it would be best to show her around. Wanda, would you mind?"

Without hesitation, Wanda stepped forward and gently took your suitcase from your hands. - "It would be my pleasure! There’s so much to do here — you’re going to love it. But first, let’s drop off your things in your room so they don’t get in the way during our little tour."

She flashed a warm smile, gesturing for you to follow, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the vivid green of her eyes.

----

The place itself didn’t have much in terms of infrastructure, just as Yelena had warned you. There was the chapel, a large house that served as the dining hall and the main space for meetings and activities, and two additional buildings that housed the dormitories.

Fortunately, since you had arrived early, Wanda informed you that you could choose between a shared or private room. That was an easy decision—a private room, without a doubt.

Wanda followed up with something you weren’t expecting.

- "Alright, a private room for the young lady. But you should know, Y/N, that nothing can be hidden around here."

You stared at her, speechless and confused about the meaning behind her words, until she continued.

- "I’m talking about the bathroom, darling. The restrooms here are communal, but don’t worry — there’s hot water and plenty of stalls for everyone in the building."

That was… disappointing. Not the worst thing in the world, but you had always valued your privacy— especially in a place full of strangers. At least you had managed to secure a private room, you thought.

- "And here we are, finally, at the most beautiful part of the refuge — the lake!" - Wanda said excitedly, taking your hand and leading you closer to the shore. - "The sunset view from here is just breathtaking… We’ll have plenty of activities with the kids around this area. I’m sure you’re going to love it."

You were absorbed in the view when you suddenly realized — she was still holding your hand. A warmth spread through your body, catching you off guard. You weren’t used to physical contact, especially not with people you had just met. And yet, when Wanda gently squeezed your hand to get your attention, pointing toward a flock of birds soaring on the other side of the lake, you felt something… different.

Your palm began to sweat from nervousness. In an attempt to check if she had noticed, you turned to look at her — only to find her gaze locked onto yours. It was as if she was trying to read your mind. Strangely, it was both unsettling and comforting at the same time. She radiated kindness, an almost motherly aura. Yet deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she had the power to destroy you if she chose to.

A wave of anxiety started creeping in, and to break the tension, your eyes mistakenly drifted to her lips. That only made things worse. A rush of heat spread across your skin, and you could feel your cheeks starting to burn. Acting purely on instinct, desperate to avoid an impending disaster, you abruptly pulled your hand away and turned to the side, pointing at some nearby trees.

- "This place is so green… so many trees, so many flowers. It’s really beautiful, Wanda," - you said quickly, starting to walk toward what you had just pointed at. - "Are those… fruits hanging from the branches?"

Wanda followed your awkward retreat, staying close. Too close.

Your face was burning, and you cursed yourself internally. Why do I always react like this around women? It was so embarrassing. This was exactly why you could never successfully start a relationship. It was ridiculous — being a lesbian but completely incapable of holding a normal conversation with a beautiful woman.

Before you could spiral deeper into your self-inflicted humiliation, Wanda’s voice cut through your thoughts.

- "Yes! Most of these trees are fruit-bearing. We have peach, orange, pear, plum… and my personal favourite—apples."

Coincidentally, the tree closest to you had a few ripe apples hanging from its branches. You stopped walking, determined to keep your eyes on the fruit rather than on Wanda.

Your plan failed miserably.

Before you notice it, she was standing right in front of you — too close again. Close enough that you could catch the faint yet intoxicating scent of her perfume.

Your gaze remained fixed on the apples above, but your real struggle was maintaining steady breathing. And, of course, you failed at that too.

- "Are you okay, Y/N?" - Wanda asked with a concerned expression, taking a small step closer. - "Your face looks a little flushed, and—"

- "I-I’m fine, Wanda," - you interrupted, quickly stepping back. - "It’s just… hot, I mean, because of the sun." - You fought to keep your voice steady, but it was a losing battle.

- "Oh, darling," - she said with a pity tone. - "Maybe you didn’t put on enough sunscreen. Your face is looking a little red."

Before you could react, she reached up and gently brushed her fingers against your cheek.

You froze.

Your thoughts raced so fast that they made no sense at all. A simple touch. A meaningless gesture. Why did it make you shiver? Why are you like this?

Just as you were about to combust from sheer overthinking, an apple from the tree behind you fell to the ground with a soft thud.

You let out a startled breath — partly from the sudden noise, mostly from relief.

The shift in focus was instant. Wanda let go of your face and looked down.

- "Oh, we’ve been blessed, Y/N! Look at what we have here," - she said, crouching down to pick up the apple, rubbing it against the fabric of her blouse. Then, she held it up to your lips.

- "Here, sweetheart. Take a bite."

Her eyes flickered from yours to your lips.

You didn’t move. You just… stared at her.

- "Y/N," she repeated, this time in a firmer tone. - "I said, take a bite."

A tremor coursed through your spine. There was something about the way she spoke — the quiet dominance in her voice. Instinctively, you followed, taking a small bite.

- "Well done, dear. That was so easy," - she said with a sly smile.

- "Huh? Easy?" - you repeated, swallowing the piece of fruit.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her thumb to the corner of your lips, brushing it softly as if wiping away a nonexistent trace of apple. - There was nothing there. Right? - Before you could even think to protest, she silenced you with a quiet "Shhh."

She took a bite from the same apple.

- "Mmm… absolutely delicious. Almost as sweet as you are," she murmured with a smirk, then winked at you.

Your brain shuts down.

- "Anyway, it’s getting late, and we still have things to do. Let’s go, dear," - she said, taking your hand — again. - "I have some important work for your hands."

- "W-What??" - you blurted out in disbelief.

These double meanings — was she doing this on purpose, or was your pathetic interpretation playing tricks on you?

Wanda didn’t respond. She merely pulled you along, guiding you toward the buildings without a word of explanation.

----

It was obvious that you would use your hands to make welcome signs — what else would you even use them for? — As you cut and painted the papers, you found yourself caught in an internal debate. There was no reason for you to have ambiguous thoughts about Wanda. You reassured yourself that she was simply being kind, making sure you felt comfortable around here. She was polite and respectful, and it was evident in everything she did.

As you both worked on the signs, she struck up a light conversation — never prying, never overstepping, but also not allowing an awkward silence to settle between you. When you casually mentioned that you didn’t have much knowledge of religion because it had never been a significant part of your life, she simply smiled warmly, respecting your choices.

She took the opportunity to talk about the upcoming services. For the children, there would be interactive lessons designed to introduce them to biblical teachings. For the adults, there would be mass at night, just like in Westview. Before you could even comment on it, Wanda reassured you that you were under no obligation to attend it but were always welcome to share in the Lord’s grace.

What once felt unattainable was now unfolding—you were speaking to her with ease, without anxious stuttering or overthinking every word. Wanda was an incredible woman, captivating in every way, but above all, she was deeply devoted to her faith. She was present at every service, every activity — the very definition of a right woman.

The signs were finally done, and without wanting to brag, you felt quite proud of your artistic skills. What you weren’t so proud of, however, was the mess you had made in the process. Clumsy as ever, your hands and arms were stained with paint. Wanda noticed your chaotic state and grabbed a damp cloth to help you clean up. Unexpected yet expected. The more time you spent with her, the more you noticed her nurturing aura. It was oddly comforting.

She took your arm and gently wiped the fabric against your skin.

- “You made quite the mess here, huh, Y/N?” - she teased, meeting your eyes with a soft smile. You felt your face heat up, both from embarrassment and from the way her fingers moved over your skin.

- “I’m proud of your work, though,” she continued, her voice warm. - “They’re so colourful, so full of life. In the end, the mess was worth it, wasn’t it?”

You were almost certain she said that just to make you feel better, but either way, you couldn’t stop the small smile that formed at the thought of her being proud of you.

Wanda continued wiping away the last traces of paint. Her touch was soft and delicate, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the moment. The silence between you carried a strange paradox — both exhilarating and calming at the same time. To keep your mind from spiralling into dangerous territory, you let your curiosity take over. After all, you did want to know more about the woman in front of you. So with the smallest bit of confidence you could muster, you crossed a line you didn’t even know existed.

- “So, Wanda…” - You hesitated. - “You said you live in Westview. Are you married? Do you have children?”

The hand that had once been so gentle against your skin suddenly tightened around your wrist.

Your heart skipped a beat. The shift in her demeanour was instant, her features tensed and her breathing grew heavier. Regret flooded your chest, and you wished you could take the question back.

Seconds passed, though they felt like hours. Her grip didn’t loosen. You tried to pull your arm away, your voice barely above a whisper.

- “Wanda? I—I’m sorry if that was too personal. I didn’t mean to be intrusive.”

It was as if the more you tried to retreat, the harder she held on.

Then, finally, she spoke. - “Oh no, there’s no need to apologize.” - She let go of your wrist at last, and yet, you still felt the pressure of her fingers lingering on your skin.

- “Your question wasn’t inappropriate,” - she said, though something about the way she avoided your gaze made you doubt her words. - “It just caught me off guard.”

You unconsciously rubbed the spot where she had held you. The moment had been tense, and though you wanted to move on, you felt compelled to apologize again. Wanda let out a noticeable sigh. Wrong move. Before you could process what was happening, she took your chin between her fingers and tilted your head to the side.

- “I think there’s a little paint left on your neck,” - she murmured.

Before you could react, she wiped her bare fingers against your skin. - “Almost clean, darling,” - she continued. - “The paint dried, so it’s a little harder to get off.”

Her nails began to lightly scrape against your neck — not painfully, but enough to make your breath hitch. Your body froze again, your thoughts scattering in every direction, yet none of it seemed to add up. Such a small gesture, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. It was meaningless— just a touch, just a fleeting moment — so why did it feel like something more?

- "All done,” - she finally said, pulling back slightly. - “Oh dear, I might have been a little too rough. Your skin turned a bit red where I cleaned.”

Her voice was laced with mock sympathy, her eyes watching you intently before she leaned in. And then, without hesitation, she pressed a soft kiss against the spot on your neck.

- “Don’t worry, it’ll go back to normal soon,” - she murmured against your skin. She pulled away, her lips curling into a knowing smile. She didn’t wait for a reaction — not that you could have formed one if you tried. She simply changed the subject, as if nothing had just happened.

- “Well, that’s it. You’re officially free from your tasks with me.” - She winked and turned toward the door. - “I’d love to see you at mass tonight, Y/N. If you feel comfortable, of course.” - And then, just like that, she was gone.

----

After finishing your afternoon activities, you took one last walk through the garden, hoping the fresh air might help clear your thoughts. You had made a promise to yourself —all the interpretations you had about Wanda’s actions were just figments of your imagination. She was simply being kind, and that was it. You were the one at fault, the one creating feelings and fictionalizing reality. Plus, you even convinced yourself that she probably had a beautiful family but just didn’t feel comfortable sharing that with you.

Taking advantage of your free time, you returned to your room to organize your things and rest for a while. You even felt a spark of excitement as you remembered the gift Yelena had given you earlier. Tearing the wrapping open impatiently, you tried to guess what it could be. But the moment you saw what was inside, you immediately understood why Yelena had been so thrilled to give it to you. It was none other than a strap-on.

You stared at it in disbelief. Your friend was absolutely insane. Okay, sure — it was a good gift, you couldn’t deny that. Technically, you had no right to complain, considering that, during a drunken conversation some time ago, you had confessed your curiosity about trying one. But, honestly, first: it would be ideal to actually have someone to use it with. And second: of all the moments she could have chosen to give it to you, she had to pick now — while you were in a religious setting.

Anyway, it would be hypocritical to blame her, though, considering you had also brought something inappropriate into this environment. Still, you made a note: you weren’t going to let her get away with this when you saw her again. For now, to avoid any potential disaster, you hid your new toy deep in your suitcase, tucking it beneath layers of clothes.

----

You stood in front of the chapel door, hesitating, unsure whether to step inside.

- "Good evening. Are you not going in?"- A male voice sounded behind you, pulling you from your thoughts.

You turned around, startled.

- "I'm Peter… and you must be…?"

You extended your hand in greeting. - "Oh, sorry, I’m Y/N," you replied. - "Yeah, I was just about to go in, it's just—"

He cut you off before you could finish. - "You're the new volunteer! Nice to meet you." - He grinned. - "Don’t worry, the first time can be overwhelming. Come on, I’ll show you around."

Saying this might sound cliché, especially given the circumstances, but thank God Peter showed up to keep you company. Only now did it truly dawn on you that you were in a religious environment. The air inside the chapel felt heavy on your shoulders. Some people were wearing traditional garments, though - obviously, you had no idea what they were called. Others were arranging objects at the altar and most of them clutched bibles in their hands.

The service didn’t take long to begin, but it was enough time for you to get to know Peter a little. His situation was surprisingly similar to yours, he was a university student who was here simply to support the cause of the children. He wasn’t part of any religious community and had started participating in these volunteer activities because one of the partners at his internship happened to be the founder of an adoption center in his city.

Learning that there were others here who weren’t directly connected to the church was a relief. The pressure in your chest, that lingering sense of being out of place, softened just a bit. Besides, you were now intrigued to meet this partner Peter spoke so highly of — Mr. Stark.

Your eyelids drooped with boredom. The people around you were full of energy, reciting prayer after prayer, but to you, they were just meaningless words drifting through the air. Without thinking, your eyes kept wandering over the crowd, searching for Wanda. You were fairly sure she was seated near the front, beside the woman named Agatha. They seemed so immersed as if they truly belonged.

All of a sudden, the sound of drums and guitars filled the chapel. A group of people at the front stood and walked up to the altar. Among them was Wanda. Her gaze landed on you immediately. It was hypnotic. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t look away.

- "This is always the best part. The lyrics aren’t great, but at least the melody makes up for it!" - Peter whispered, nudging you with his elbow. - "At least it brings some energy to the room… and wakes up anyone who's about to fall asleep." - He chuckled.

You nudged him back, holding in a laugh to avoid drawing attention.

But Wanda noticed.

And when you looked at her again, her expression had changed. If she had been happy to see you here before, that feeling had now been replaced by something else entirely. Her eyes burned as they locked onto you — and your new colleague.

As soon as the choir finished their last song, Peter turned to you with a small smile. - "I have to go now. I promised to help with the kitchen duties for dinner," - he said, getting up.

You felt a pang of disappointment, both at losing his company and at the realization that the mass still wasn’t over. Turning your attention back to the altar, you watched as the singers from earlier now exchanged greetings with the priest. And there she was — Wanda.

From a distance, she looked so harmless. She conversed effortlessly with those around her, and everyone appeared to admire her. In a way, it felt odd watching her engage with others. She didn’t seem to be giving them those scrutinizing glances, nor did she speak in cryptic phrases designed to mislead or perhaps she behaved the same as always, and everything weighing on your mind was meaningless after all.

It didn’t take long for people to return to their seats. Some, like Peter, left the chapel, but Wanda— She didn’t go back to her place. She was walking toward you.

- "Is this seat taken?" - she asked, not waiting for an answer before sitting beside you. - "I'm really happy you came tonight. I hope it’s not too overwhelming for you, darling," she added, placing her Bible on her lap and opening it.

- "It’s been a good experience," - you admitted truthfully. - "Besides, I met Peter. He seems like a good person." - You weren’t sure why you brought him up, maybe just to fill the silence.

- "Oh, Peter. Yes, I know him," - she said, her tone suddenly firmer, colder.

Looking down, you noticed her fingers fidgeting with the rosary in her hand, gripping the cross a little too tightly. Her mood had shifted — again.

- "Uh… is the mass almost over?" - you asked, hoping to lighten the air.

- "Almost, dear. Almost," - she murmured, just as the priest began speaking again. She turned her head forward, focusing on the next prayer, but not before flashing you a small smile. You were exhausted, silently pleading for everything to end soon.

As the minutes ticked by, Wanda’s presence beside you awakened something unfamiliar. It was as if your body remained in a perpetual state of anticipation, craving something beyond reach, even though you knew your longing was forbidden. Dangerous. And then, almost as if she had read your restless mind — you felt it.

Her hand lay still on your exposed thigh, the cool beads of her rosary caught beneath her palm, pressing into your skin each time her grip tensed with every echoed “amen.” You silently cursed yourself for choosing shorts over jeans.

Unlike you, Wanda appeared entirely unbothered by the situation. She echoed the priest’s words with ease, her voice steady and sure. And with each proclamation of praise, her grip tightened just a little more, pressing the cold metal of the cross even deeper into your skin.

Then, at last, the priest spoke his final words.

Wanda turned to you again. - "I hope you have a blessed night…" - she whispered, leaning in. - "And one full of grace, Y/N. Good night." - her lips grazed your cheek in a whisper-soft kiss.

And just like that, she was gone.

You remained still, frozen in place, watching as she walked toward the others as if nothing had happened. What… was that? Was your mind playing tricks on you again? Regardless of what conclusion you might come to, one thing was undeniable — That kiss was way too close to your lips.

----

You woke up to the sound of the chapel bell ringing. You were exhausted. Pressing the palm of your hand against your eyes, you let out a low groan of frustration. Your treacherous mind dragged memories from the previous night to the surface — the chapel, a new friendship, the endless prayers, and her — Wanda. No matter how much you fought it, the memories kept replaying in your mind—her gaze fixed on you, her presence beside you on the bench, her hand on your thigh, the ghost of her lips on your cheek. Stop. You had to stop thinking about it. As if stealing your sleep wasn’t enough, you refused to let her linger in your thoughts all day too.

As you wished, things were going well. At breakfast, you ran into Peter, who instantly invited you to sit with him. He talked a lot, cracking jokes and sharing stories from college — a great distraction for your restless mind. After indulging a little too much in the delicious food, you both headed to the courtyard, where more volunteers and children began arriving. You finally met the famous Mr. Stark, whom Peter had raved about, and his lovely wife. The conversation was engaging, but duty soon called. Monica gave you instructions to take the children to the dining hall while others helped store their luggage in the respective accommodations. Everything was well-organized, and the people were incredibly helpful. While watching over the children, you even managed a quick chat with Scott, who was eager for you to meet his daughter.

The day was going wonderfully, and, without intending to be judgmental, there were moments when you almost forgot the place was tied to a religious organization. You met people from nearby towns who volunteered regularly for this cause, regardless of their beliefs. It was all about the children, and they were absolutely delightful. Laughter echoed through the air, some raced across the lawn, others tended to the garden, played ball, or explored the small farm area, where they could interact with animals and learn about them. The most rewarding part was witnessing their beaming smiles, their excitement unmistakable as they eagerly chose which activity group to join.

Speaking of which, you were assigned to oversee the lake activities. Initially, you were excited about your role, but upon realizing that "lake activities" meant swimming with the children, your enthusiasm waned. You hadn’t packed a swimsuit, after all, who would have guessed there’d be water activities at a church retreat? Never. Regardless, you worked with what you had, slipping into workout shorts, a sports top, and a lightweight shirt over it. That would do.

The evening bell rang, signalling the start of the night’s activities. You began calling the children out of the water and sending them over to Cassie, Scott’s daughter, who was handing out towels.

You were happy but utterly drained. You had to give your all to help your team win the water polo match against Peter, but it was worth every effort. Of course, you took the time to lift the losing team’s spirits, assuring the kids that they had played exceptionally well and placing the blame for the loss entirely on Peter. Maybe that was a little harsh because your convincing words successfully triggered an all-out water fight against him.

Well, karma always finds a way back. After all the children had left the lake and headed to the dorms, Cassie announced that only one towel remained. You and Peter locked eyes in a wordless challenge before sprinting for it. Unfortunately, he was faster, laughing mischievously as he grabbed the towel. - “Better luck next time, Y/N! I win. See you later!”

Great. A short walk to your room while soaking wet wasn’t the end of the world. Everything was fine, you told yourself — until you heard Agatha’s voice.

- "My God, Y/N! Where are you going, dripping wet like that?!" - she exclaimed, approaching you, her loud voice drawing attention including Wanda’s.

- "I’m just heading to my room to grab a towel," you murmured, not wanting to attract more stares. - "Don’t worry, just a few more steps and I’m there," you tried to sound cheerful.

- "Oh, poor little thing," - Agatha teased, giving you a mock pitying look before turning away. - "Wanda! Bring a towel, your little angel here looks like a lost, wet puppy."

A cold breeze hit your damp skin, making the temperature difference even more unbearable. Your body tensed as you saw Wanda approaching.

- "Y/N! Why are you walking around soaked like this? You’ll catch a cold, for God’s sake. Where’s your towel?" - she asked, concern evident in her voice. - "Here, let me help you," - she added, draping a towel over your shoulders, pulling you closer —too close.

- "It’s fine, Wanda. There was only one towel left, and Peter got to it first," - you admitted softly, feeling guilty for secretly enjoying her attention.

- "Peter, huh? I’ve noticed you two are getting along, maybe a little too well," - she remarked, her hand tightening on your arm over the towel. Her grip was firm. - "I hope you had fun." - You couldn’t quite decipher if her tone was sincere or laced with something else.

Your mind replayed moments from earlier. You had done your best to keep thoughts of Wanda at bay, and, for the most part, you had succeeded. The distractions of games and the children’s company helped lighten things, as long as you didn’t glance in her direction. Every time your gaze drifted toward the field where the children played, Wanda was there, watching you. At first, you brushed it off as a mere coincidence, but soon, it became unnerving. Again and again, you caught her observing you as if carefully tracking your every move.

You snapped back to the present when Wanda pulled the towel from your shoulders. You looked at her, confused.

- "Take off your shirt." - It was more of a command than a suggestion. You stared at her, surprised at her boldness.

- "I’m not saying it twice, Y/N. Your shirt is drenched. Take it off." - You stood firm, refusing to comply so easily. Who did she think she was, ordering you around? Sure, she was right, but still, you can make your own choices.

- "I’m warning you. Don’t test me," she said in a sharp tone, raising an eyebrow and stepping closer. - "Don’t worry, darling. No one will see." Your eyes locked, and in an instant, whatever determination you had shattered. She had that effect on you, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Hesitantly, you peeled off your damp shirt, shivering as the cold air met your skin and the fabric of your sports top. Wanda gave you a satisfied smile, wrapping the towel back around you.

- "Good girl. I’m proud that you listened to me," - she murmured, adjusting the fabric on your shoulders. - "It’s okay, sweetheart." - Her voice softened as she leaned in, her hands caressing your back over the towel, sliding lower. - "It’s okay to want to act like a brat sometimes…" - Her face was dangerously close to yours, her hands now resting on your waist. - "But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you know your place." - She whispered the last words against your ear.

Taking the wet shirt from your hands, she gave you one last knowing smile before turning and walking back toward the others.

----

Your plan to stop thinking about Wanda had completely failed. The scene from earlier kept replaying in your head. Nothing made sense. Why does she act so harmless, yet suddenly she feels like a predator ready to devour me? The question tormented your mind. Well, not that it would be a bad thing for her to devour you, you thought. "STOP!" The thought was so loud in your head that you accidentally muttered it out loud. You needed to do something.

The first solution that came to mind wasn’t the best. In fact, it was the worst. But you were tired and maybe, just maybe, desperate. Whether you were ready to admit it or not, the truth was that your body craved her. The way she looked at you, her touch, her words — everything. She was driving you insane, both mentally and physically. You needed relief, and you convinced yourself this was the perfect moment. After all, you had come prepared for this.

You sat up in bed, determined. This was the right time, everyone was probably asleep by now. After skipping the evening mass and only stopping by the dining hall to grab a sandwich to go. You had been avoiding any contact.

Rummaging through your suitcase for your toy, your body burned with anticipation, your thoughts consumed by Wanda. To your surprise, the midnight bell rang, and you jumped in fright. The cool night breeze rustled the curtain by the open window, bringing a sudden clarity to your mind. "God, I mean, literally God. What am I doing? This is madness!" Guilt crept up your spine. Letting out a long sigh, you made a new decision — you needed a cold shower, now.

The freezing water was undoubtedly the best choice. As it cascaded down your shoulders, you felt your mind finally regaining balance. You were relaxed, at peace, when suddenly, a noise outside your stall broke the silence. A chill crept down your body. Maybe it was just the wind. Maybe it was nothing. Just to be sure, you murmured hesitantly, "Hello? Is someone there?" of course, no response. There couldn’t possibly be anyone here at this hour.

Finishing your long, calming shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and stepped out, heading toward the bench where you had left your change of clothes. Everything was perfectly normal until you realized your underwear was missing. You shook out the rest of your clothing, but nothing. You could have sworn you brought it with you. — Had it fallen somewhere on the way? Or had you simply forgotten to grab it? — There weren’t many options left, you dried off and put on what you had. It was just a quick walk to your room. No one would see.

- "Y/N! You’re still awake!" - a familiar voice called out, approaching in the hallway.

No way, you thought. Your hand was already on the doorknob, about to open your room when Wanda appeared.

- "Oh, hi, Wanda. Yeah, I just… went to take a shower," - you responded awkwardly, suddenly avoiding eye contact and instead looking at the object in her hand.

- "Mmm, lucky me, then! I was heading to my room and figured I’d drop off your shirt on the way." - She extended the clothes toward you.

- "Oh, right. Thank you. You didn’t have to wash it," - you said, suddenly remembering the forgotten shirt. Honestly, at that moment, all your focus was on one thing — you were only wearing a thin pair of pyjama shorts, no underwear.

- "No problem, darling." - She offered a warm smile before tilting her head slightly. - "Are you okay? I didn’t see you at mass and dinner tonight. I missed you." - Her hand reached out, gently stroking your arm with a concerned expression.

The warmth of her touch instantly undid all the effects of your cold shower. Your body heated up fast. You tried to maintain a natural posture, but feeling so exposed beneath your flimsy shorts was not helping. You kept your response brief, gripping the doorknob tighter. You needed to get inside, for your safety. - "I’m fine, Wanda. Just tired from today’s activities."

She didn’t seem satisfied with your answer. Placing her hand over yours, she stopped you from opening the door. - "Is that all? Are you having trouble sleeping, dear?" - She squeezed your hand gently.- "How about we say one last prayer together, hm? It will help you rest." - Without waiting for an answer, she pushed the door open.

You had no choice but to nod and step inside, your pulse racing. Wanda followed, closing the door behind her. - "You know," she mused, her voice calm yet laced with something unreadable, - "I have this essential oil that works wonders for sleep. I could use it on you."

This had to be a curse. No word came from your mouth and you were afraid to face her.

Then the silence of the room was broken by her single command. - "Kneel." - Her voice was firm as she stepped closer to you by the bed.

You finally stared at her, incredulous. Your body tensed, yet you could feel a damp heat forming between your legs. She had power over you, and she knew it.

- "What’s wrong, Y/N? Kneel." - She repeated, this time with a slightly softer tone.

A thousand scenarios raced through your mind, all the possibilities of what might happen—but none were what she meant.

- "Didn’t you agree to pray with me before going to sleep?" - she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

- "Oh—of course! Pray, yes, yes, let’s do that." - You responded, your tone far too enthusiastic for the occasion, but relieved nonetheless.

Of course, kneeling was for prayer. You were so stupid. Immediately after your reply, you dropped to your knees, resting against the edge of your bed. The movement caused friction between your legs, heightening your sensitivity. This whole situation was making you feel strangely aroused and simultaneously desperate at the thought of what Wanda might do if she discovered you had been without underwear this entire time.

Before kneeling beside you, she cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at her. - "You’re a good girl, Y/N. Let’s pray to receive His blessing."

Those were the longest, most torturous minutes of your life. You fought against your consciousness, struggling to stay focused, but every little thing distracted you — Wanda’s arm brushing against yours, the rasp in her voice as she pronounced each word, the way she inhaled between phrases. — You felt guilty for desiring her this way, especially at this exact moment.

Shame. Guilt.

Your soaked folds throbbed with ache, your knees pressed against the cold floor — you were paying for your sins, and the devil knelt beside you.

- "Amen." - It was the last word you spoke before she ran a gentle hand down your back and stood up. - "That was wonderful, wasn’t it? I can feel God’s presence here." - She smiled, extending her hand to help you up. - "Alright, now it’s time to rest. Lie down, and I’ll apply the essential oil on you." - She turned, slipping a hand into her bag to retrieve the small bottle.

Honestly, you wanted to plead for her touch — to put an end to this unbearable torment — but at the same time, you felt like the most unworthy soul alive. She was doing all of this out of care and concern… right?

You lay down as she instructed. She poured a bit of oil onto her fingers and rubbed it slowly onto your wrists. - "This will help you sleep tonight, I promise, darling." - Her voice was gentle, almost a whisper. - "One last spot, and we’re done." - She released your wrists, giving you no time to protest before lifting the hem of your shirt, and slipping her hand underneath. Her fingers trailed just above your chest, massaging slowly. The motion caused the delicate fabric of your shirt to brush against your hardened nipples — she must have noticed. Just a few centimetres more, and she would be cupping your breast.

You couldn’t contain it, pressing your legs together, seeking any friction where you craved it most, a quiet moan escaped your lips.

- "You’re so good for me. My good girl." - Her eyes locked onto yours as she smiled. - We’re finished."

- "Goodnight, Y/N. I hope you have sweet dreams." - She stood up and left, leaving you there, needy and desperate. And you could swear that just before turning away, her gaze lingered on the damp spot forming at the center of your pajama shorts.

----

You slept peacefully, like an angel, and for that, you couldn’t hold it against Wanda. She had been right. However, that was the only credit she deserved. Last night had been a whirlwind of emotions and desires, forbidden ones. No matter how much your body craved her or how, in fleeting moments, you believed she might feel something for you too, none of it mattered. It was wrong.

Perhaps God had heard your prayers because your day went wonderfully well. In the morning, you had breakfast with Peter and Cassie. In the afternoon, you were in charge of the arts and painting activity group. Time flew by in the company of the children — so much fun and laughter. You even had the chance to teach them about recycling and how discarded materials could be turned into toys.

Everything was going perfectly — too perfectly. Until Monica approached you. Simply put, one of the church volunteers, an older woman named Sharon, requested a private room, claiming that her roommate’s snoring was unbearably loud. At first, you thought Monica was asking you to check the accommodation list for an available room, but then it clicked. She was actually asking you to give up your room for Sharon. Well, fine. It was a bit inconvenient, but you didn’t mind too much. After all, no one deserved to share a room with a noisy sleeper. However, the proposed solution for your lodging took you entirely by surprise — Monica suggested that you move into Wanda’s room.

You had no excuse to refuse. What could you possibly say? "I’m having forbidden thoughts about a religious woman and I think I’m losing my mind?" So, you had to accept it.

You didn’t have much to carry to your new dorm, or rather, Wanda’s dorm. Even so, Agatha offered to help with your belongings since Wanda had given her the key to unlock the room for you, as she was tied up with something else. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little disappointed that Wanda wasn’t here.

You stepped into the room, a wave of anxiety settling in your stomach. It was nearly the same size as a single dorm, the only difference being two twin beds separated by a nightstand. You couldn’t help but picture Wanda sleeping there and wondered why she had a shared room all to herself.

Agatha walked in right after you, lingering by the door for a moment before heading straight to the window above the beds, pushing it open to let in some fresh air.

- “Feel free to put your things in the wardrobe, Wanda won’t mind,” - she said with confidence, settling onto Wanda’s bed.

You nodded in agreement, carefully placing your suitcase on a table near the wardrobe, mindful not to knock over the items already there. Then, you quietly began unpacking your few pieces of clothing.

Agatha decided to break the silence and asked - “Y/N, have you ever sinned?”

A strange question, you thought, but maybe not so much, considering the place you were in. You took a few extra seconds to think of a response. - “Mm… I guess everyone has sinned at some point, right?"

She let out a laugh. - “Smart answer, darling. But have you ever sinned in God’s house?”

You froze in front of the wardrobe. Did I hear that right? You wondered to yourself. A pang of guilt tightened in your throat as if she knew some secret you’d been hiding. - “Mm… I don’t think I understand. You mean in church?” - you lied, feigning innocence as you resumed putting your things away.

You could feel her gaze on you, the heat creeping up your neck as she studied you. - “Never mind. You’re still too pure, aren’t you?” - she chuckled again, but this time, there was something more suggestive in her tone. - “Anyway, it’s good that you’ll be keeping Wanda company here. She’s been down all day.”

Agatha was right. Your afternoon had been busy with group activities, but in the few moments you glanced around and caught sight of Wanda, she seemed… indifferent. For a moment, you told yourself she was just overwhelmed with tasks or maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as interesting to her anymore, not enough for her to seek you out in a crowd. Whatever the case, something had changed.

- “Really? What happened to her?” - you asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

- “Yeah, she won’t be able to attend the kids’ farewell or the final mass tomorrow since she has to leave in the morning,” - Agatha replied, idly twirling a strand of her hair before continuing. - “That’s a shame. She’s always loved the last day, but unfortunately, she has to go back to Westview to take care of her boys.”

- “Boys??” - you asked, almost cutting her off as she finished speaking. There was no doubt she noticed how quickly the topic had caught your attention.

- “Yeah, her boys. They’re adorable. Too bad I can’t say the same about their father,” - she replied as if it were common knowledge. Common to everyone except you.

You put away the last of your clothes and stared at the back of the wardrobe. Agatha had just dropped a fact you weren’t prepared to hear. You felt pathetic for ever indulging in your own fantasies, a slow-burning frustration creeping in, frustration at yourself. Wanda wasn’t to blame for any of this. It was all in your desperate mind. “Just one more night here, then you’ll be gone. You can do this. You’re here for the kids.” You kept repeating it in your head as you turned to zip up your suitcase, eager to leave the room. But in your emotional haze, you pulled the zipper too forcefully, causing the suitcase to shift and knock over a few nearby objects, sending them tumbling to the floor.

- “Shit,” - you muttered, frustration slipping out before you could stop it.

- “Oh God, everything okay over there?” - Agatha asked, craning her neck to check.

- “Yeah, yeah, sorry for the language. I’m just a bit clumsy,” - you said, quickly crouching down to pick up what had fallen.

The moment you saw what had fallen, you silently prayed not to be cursed. Lying there was a red hardcover notebook and Wanda’s Bible. You carefully picked them up and placed them back on the table. But, as luck would have it, one of the Bible’s pages had crumpled from the fall. Hoping to smooth it out, you opened it where a bookmark had been placed.

There were countless handwritten notes and highlighted passages. The sight warmed your heart. Wanda was truly a devoted woman. But then, one message stood out.

It was written in red ink:

“Father, forgive me;

For I have sinned;

This love isn’t holy;

But I’m too far in.”

Your eyes widened. You were about to read it again when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

- “Y/N? Are you sure you’re okay? Have you finished unpacking?” - Agatha asked.

You quickly shut the Bible, placing the small notebook on top of it. In one swift motion, you grabbed your suitcase from the table and turned to face her.

- “I’m fine, and everything’s set. We can go.” - You forced your best fake smile before striding toward the door, eager to leave.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda x y/n #mommy wanda x reader #unholy wanda #unholy reader #i don't make the rules #religious wanda #im a sinner #wanda x sinner reader #wlw fanfic #wlw #mommy wanda #mommy wanda fanfic #im still working on part two #I got inspired by the song Eve by precious pepala #I let my dirty thoughts came out #maybe I regretted it

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em1989ts · 18 hours ago

Text

𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫

five hargreeves x reader

masterlist

word count: 1.7k

summary: when most of his siblings don't make it back to the alley in time to go back to 2019, five is livid. but when you don't make it back in time, he gets worried about what might've happened to you. (idea based on this request)

author's note: i've had a lot of essays to write recently but this request sparked some inspiration so i took a break lol, i've been working here and there on some other works so hopefully i can put a couple more out soon! thanks sm for the request, inbox is still open, and hope you enjoy! *not proofread*

You didn’t show up.

He waited for you. He waited to see you run around the corner into the alleyway at the last moment, just in time to make it back to 2019.

He was already extremely disappointed in his family for not meeting such a simple deadline, an opportunity that he worked so hard for. He wanted to be done with killing, it was a part of him he wanted to leave in his past. But as a man who puts the ones he loves before anything else, he gruesomely assassinated a boardroom full of people just to have a chance at returning them to their normal lives in the correct timeline.

But when you still didn’t show up even after the time he specifically told you, his mind began to assume the worst. He knew you were responsible, he thought you were more than capable of understanding the severity of the deadline. He also knew there was nothing holding you back here. As far as he knew, you had been living alone in an apartment above a diner, no roommates, not even a pet, just taking shift after shift as a waitress to get by in this new timeline, waiting for him to return. He knew you barely talked to anyone in the few months you were left alone here, so you couldn’t have gotten held up with goodbyes.

As he stomped up the stairs, exhausted from his rant outside in the alley, his aggravated mind continued to theorize the possibilities of your absence. Luther agitated him even further as he trailed behind him up to Elliot’s apartment, already waiting for Five to immediately hand him the next plan. Without another word to his nagging brother, Five made a beeline for one of Elliot’s many guestrooms and locked the door quickly, leaving a worrisome Luther behind.

Five began pacing angrily, shoulders hunched and hands deep in the pockets of his shorts, chest rapidly rising with every panicked breath.

“Five?” Luther knocked gently, not wanting to upset his brother further, “Why don’t we just go look for them, they probably got held up somewhere, or they could be in trouble.”

Of course they were in trouble, his family always manages to fuck up the simplist things. They could never go a day without getting themselves into the most outrageous conundrums possible. They were so careless, yet so selfish. He sacrificed everything, worked and struggled for his entire life, just to save their sorry asses and what does he get? Blame and fault.

All their problems, blamed on him. It was his fault they got stuck here in the first place, they said. Instead of a thank you, all he received in return from his lifetime of fighting for their lives was utter ungratefulness.

He thought you were different.

You were the only one who showed him any signs of appreciation. You trusted him, you thanked him, you made him feel like everything he did meant something, you made him feel like he mattered.

And that’s what he loved about you.

So he couldn’t see why you wouldn’t be there.

Luther was right, something bad must’ve happened to you. The handler, the remaining swedes, something must’ve deliberately tried to fuck up this plan for him. Someone tried to take you away from him.

His blood was boiling, he knew you were strong on your own, you were independent, you could put up a fight. So what the hell could’ve stopped you?

~~~

You thought you still had time.

The screen of your watch, synchronised perfectly with Five’s, was completely smashed in, making it impossible to tell the time. Tiny shards of glass fell from your wrist as you ran through downtown Dallas. Bloody, scraped up knees stinging in the wind as you quickly turned the corner into the alley behind Commerce and Knox.

Your face dropped as you slowed to a stop, noting the absence of the family.

They couldn’t have left without you, could they?

As you walked further into the alley, you noticed a large stain of bile covering the concrete, with a groaning Klaus rolling around right next to it.

Seeing the familiar face gave you a little hope now that you weren’t alone, as you walked over to him and knelt by his side.

“You okay?” you asked, watching him roll over to face you.

“Oh Y/N!” he said with a groggy yet excited voice, “You sweet angel, you’re alive!”

You held out a firm hand and helped him sit up, trying to ignore the pungent smell, “Yeah I ran into a bit of trouble, where is everybody?”

“Oh, Five and Luther were the only ones here, but they left a few minutes ago,” he said, referring to the door at the end of the alley that led to the stairwell.

You helped him stand up with the strength you had left, still a little roughed up from your fight. He wandered off back towards the street while you headed upstairs.

Once you made it up to the floor where Elliot’s apartment was, you thought your knees were going to buckle with every step you took. When you knocked, Luther was the one who answered the door, looking absolutely relieved to see you.

“Oh my god, you’re okay,” he moved aside to let you walk inside, “Five’s uh, a little pissed right now so maybe-”

You walked away towards the shut bedroom door, leaving Luther in the kitchen.

Stopping in front of the door, you could hear his footsteps going back and forth.

You sighed as you gently knocked, “Five?”

The footsteps stopped abruptly, until you heard him walk over and unlock the door, before resuming the back and forth routine.

You let yourself in and shut the door behind you, leaning against it as you watched him.

His stare remained on his shoes, not bothering to look up at you.

His mind was racing, you could tell. It was easy to imagine how frustrated he was, with only two out of six people showing up at the right time. You had no idea what happened to Diego, Allison, and Vanya, you could only account for your own absence, but that would have to wait until he was calm enough to listen.

Once he stopped pacing, he stayed facing away from you, not bothering to look up.

“Where the hell were you?”

Before you could answer, he cut you off, “No, no, it doesn’t even matter anymore, does it? We had one chance, Y/N. ONE chance, to get back home and have everything back to normal again, and now you, and my braindead siblings fucked it up. I thought you were better than this, really. I thought you were actually reliable, I thought I could count on you to be there so we could go home, but I was wrong. Now I’m going to ask one more time, what the hell were you so busy doing that you couldn’t make it to the alley on time?”

He hadn’t gone off on you like that, ever.

Sure, you’ve seen him get angry from time to time and you’d let him rant to you. You’d always be there to listen to him when he needed to let off a little steam. The Handler bothered him, the Commission stressed him out, his brothers pissed him off, but never you. This was the first time he’d really directed his anger towards you.

You looked at him, his chest heaving heavily, his face flushed red, but his expression confused you. His face displayed his typical scrunched brows, his clenched jaw, but his eyes were hurt, telling you the secret of how he really felt.

The more you stared at each other, the more realization set into him. He noticed the bruise starting to form around your eye, the reminisce of swiped dried blood under your nose, and slowly, his furious expression turned fully into concern.

You sighed, breaking the eye contact, “I was on my way here when I bumped into one of the Swedes. I didn’t even mean to start anything, he just saw me and went totally insane. He was by himself so I think I have a good guess as to what happened.”

You felt like shit, physically and emotionally. The Swede caught you off guard when you ran into him, all the anger and grief he held after he had just killed his brother at Allison’s house was taken out on you. You were sore and tired, and you felt even worse about letting down Five.

He walked over to you, holding your hand, carefully walking you over and sitting you down on the bed sitting in the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he looked at your face and felt so guilty. How could he be so harsh on the one person who did their best to be there for him? “Me too,” you said softly, reaching out to comb your fingers through his hair. It always seemed to get a little messy when he got upset.

“No, I shouldn’t have yelled at you, It’s just-” he paused, “When you didn’t show up I thought-”

“Hey,” you cupped his cheek gently in your palm, “I’m fine, and this isn’t the end, okay? We’ll figure something out, we always do.”

He leaned into your hand, his eyes no longer glaring but looking at you so warmly. He didn’t deserve you. You made him feel like time wasn’t bearing down on him, like it wasn’t wasting away at every moment he wasn’t fighting for his life. You were so patient with him, helping him stay in the moment, allowing him to think of new plans without the pressure of his siblings.

As he sat there with you, his mind relaxed just enough to come up with another plan that was so crazy it might just work. The lightbulb flashed in his eyes as he gave you a quick kiss, before he moved to clean up your wounds and begin his next idea to save the world.

~~~

author's note: i just wanted to note i started writing this in my hotel room in nyc (for some reason hotels are my favorite place to write lol)

also i'm still very confused by taglists so i'm just going to tag people who have asked previously to be tagged and copy and paste it for every work i upload, if you want to be added or removed please let me know :)

tags: @misakiisstupid @lveegsoi @groovydazephantom @tremendoushearttaco @spidermansfangirl @madscamp02 @beanzwritez

~~~

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matsbaby · 2 days ago

Text

Stalker much? pt. 2

photographer!matt x popular!reader

…

The next day passed in a blur for Matt, his mind elsewhere as he sat across from you at your vanity desk, flipping through pages of The Great Gatsby without truly seeing the words.

He couldn't focus on Gatsby's love life when his own mind was consumed by fantasies of you.

That was, until you spoke these words.

"You have any plans tomorrow night?" you asked casually, flipping your hair over your shoulder as you glanced up at him with those irresistible eyes.

He blinked, snapping out of his lustful daze as he met your gaze. "Uh, no... I don't think so. Why?" he stammered, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. Great, it fucking sounded like he was going through puberty again.

"Well," you said, leaning back in your chair and crossing your long, lean legs. "There's this party tomorrow night. My friend's parents are out of town, so..." You shrugged, letting the implication hang in the air between you.

Matt's mouth went dry, his tongue suddenly too big for his own mouth. "Oh," he managed to choke out, his mind racing with possibilities. A party. You, in a crowded room, in a short dress, laughing and dancing and singing...

"S-so, um... you want me to come with you?" he asked, hardly daring to believe the words were true.

Your smile widened, your eyes sparkling with a secret amusement. "Yeah. Y’know, since we're studying partners and all..." You trailed off, letting your words linger in the charged space between you.

He swallowed hard, knowing he was about to make a decision that would change everything. Knowing that once he crossed this line, there would be no going back.

"Okay," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I'll come."

…

As Matt walked beside you up the driveway to your friend's house, he couldn't believe this was really happening.

He had spent an eternity getting ready, staring at his reflection in the mirror as he tried on every shirt and pair of pants he owned, desperately attempting to look just the right amount of put-together and cool. But as he walked beside you now, he felt painfully aware of how out of place he was, like a fish out of water in this sea of preppy, perfectly coiffed popular kids.

You, on the other hand, looked like you were born to be here. Your hair was down, loose and beachy and perfect, falling in soft waves around your face. You wore a simple outfit, your makeup on point as usual. He couldn't stop staring at you, his eyes glued to your face, your body, the way your hips swayed with each step.

"Ready?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the pounding music.

He nodded, even as his feet were ready to turn and make him walk away.

…

Twenty minutes into the party, Matt found himself huddled in a corner of the living room, a red plastic cup of warm beer clutched in his sweaty palm.

He couldn't believe you had stuck by him this whole time, even as the party swelled with more and more people. He half-expected you to abandon him as soon as you walked through the door, eager to lose yourself in the fray of your social circle. But instead, you had taken his hand and pulled him along with you, introducing him to friends and classmates, never leaving his side for more than a minute.

Now, as you laughed at something a tall, blonde girl said, Matt felt a pang of annoyance twist in his gut. He wanted to ask your friend to leave you two alone.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Because what right did he have to claim you, to act like he owned any part of you at all?

As if sensing his thoughts, you turned to him with a bright smile, your hand finding his bicep in the crowded room. "Hey," you said, leaning in close so he could hear you over the pounding bass. "You okay?"

Matt nodded, trying to return your smile with a weak one of his own. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, his voice strained. "Just... a little overwhelmed."

You squeezed his arm in a way that made his heart skip a beat. "I know," you said, your voice soft. "But you're doing great. Everyone loves you."

He couldn't help but scoff at that, his eyes darting around at the sea of perfect, beautiful people surrounding them. "Yeah, right," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure they do."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile never wavered. "I mean it. Alex here said you’re the nicest guy she’s ever met”

Matt blinked, stunned by your words. He glanced over at Alex, who was now chatting with a group of guys near the punch bowl, and felt a flicker of surprise. He had barely spoken two words to her, too intimidated to engage in more than surface-level conversation. But hearing you say she thought he was nice...

It made him feel a little less out of place. A little less like the awkward third wheel.

He turned back to you, his eyes wide. "She did?" he asked, hardly daring to believe it.

You nodded, but your smile faltered a little once you noticed his face “yeah. you interested?” you asked.

Matt felt his entire body stiffen at your question. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, couldn't believe that you would even ask him such a thing.

Was he interested? In your friend Alex? How could he possibly be interested in her when he was so hopelessly, completely in love with you?

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara. "I... I don't know," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I mean, she seems nice and all, but..."

He just shrugged “not really my type” he finished.

“not your type?” you asked “and what is your type?”

Your smile was back now, playful and teasing, your eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. It was a look that made Matt's knees feel weak and his palms sweat even more, if that was possible.

You. You. You’re my type, goddamn it say it Matt, he thought.

"Honestly? Just… someone who makes me laugh" he said lamely in the end.

You nodded then spoke again. “do i make you laugh?” you asked tilting your head.

Matt's heart stuttered in his chest as you tilted your head, your hair falling in soft waves around your face. He could barely breathe, barely think, as he stared into your eyes and saw the playful, teasing glint that seemed to be reserved just for him.

He licked his suddenly dry lips, trying to find the right words. "Are you askin’ if you’re my type?”

Suddenly Alex grabbed your elbow, and Matt saw your smile fade, replaced by a look of mild annoyance. You glanced over at your friend, your body tensing slightly.

"Hey, can I borrow you for a sec?" Alex asked, her voice loud enough to be heard over the pounding music. She didn't wait for your response before pulling you away from Matt, towards the kitchen.

Matt stood there, frozen, as he watched you disappear into the crowd. fuck. you had just opened your mouth to respond. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

….

After that, your time together had been very limited. It was now 2:46 am and he had been searching for you everywhere to get you home safely before your curfew expired at 3.

He had already checked the living room, the kitchen, even the bathroom upstairs. But there was no sign of you anywhere. He pulled out his phone, hesitating for a moment before typing out a message to you.

"Where r u? Gotta go soon"

“Otsouide.”

Matt's frown deepened as he read your misspelled text message. He shoved his phone into his pocket and hurried towards the front door, his heart pounding in his chest as he pushed through the crowded foyer.

Outside he scanned the darkened porch, seeing a few couples making out in the shadows cast by the dim porch lights. That's when he spotted you, sitting alone on the top step of the front stairs.

"Hey," he called out, his voice sounding louder than he intended in the relative quiet of the night. He walked over to you and sat down next to you.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" he asked, glancing around nervously. "I was waiting for you inside"

You sniffled and looked down at your boots “i’m sorry…” you whispered softly, biting your lip “i needed some air, I think I drank too much”

Matt's heart clenched at the sound of your soft whisper, seeing the way you sniffled and looked down at your boots. He could sense the vulnerability in your voice, the slight slur of your words.

Shifting closer to you on the cold concrete step, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, feeling the warmth of your body heat the fabric. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You don't have to apologize."

He hesitated for a moment before placing a tentative hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm just glad I found you. I was gettin’ worried."

Matt glanced up at the dark sky, the stars hidden behind a veil of clouds. He knew he should be getting you home soon, but he didn't want to rush you. Not when you looked so... fragile. So beautifully, heartachingly real.

You finally looked up at him “can i stay with you tonight? my parents can’t see me like this” you mumbled.

Matt's heart skipped a beat at your words, hardly believing what he was hearing. Stay with him tonight? At his place?

He knew it was a terrible idea. He knew he should say no, should insist on taking you home like he was supposed to, should maintain the boundaries that kept you safe and their relationship platonic.

But as he looked into your eyes, seeing the vulnerability and desperation there, he knew he couldn't refuse you anything. He was putty in your hands, a puppet with his strings tied to your fingers.

"Okay," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Okay, you can stay at my place tonight."

You pouted even more, fresh tears forming in your eyes “thank you” you said.

Matt felt his heart clench at the sight of fresh tears welling up in your eyes, your plump lower lip trembling slightly as you thanked him.

Without thinking, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingertips grazing your soft skin. "Hey, don't cry," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You don't have to thank me. I'm just... I'm glad I can help."

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening with emotion. "Let's get you home, okay?"

Matt stood up from the cold step, holding out his hand to help you to your feet. As your fingers brushed against his palm, he felt a jolt of electricity course through him, your skin soft and warm against his own.

He led you to his car, opening the passenger door for you and waiting until you were settled inside before closing it gently behind you.

The drive to his house was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from your direction. Matt reached over and took your hand in his, squeezing it gently as he navigated the dark streets.

As they pulled into his driveway, Matt felt a flicker of nerves twist in his gut. He had never brought a girl back to his house before, had never wanted to risk his parents asking too many questions.

But as he helped you out of the car, steadying you on your unsteady feet, he knew that having you here was worth the risk.

He led you inside, flipping on the dim lamp in the foyer. The house was quiet, his parents long since asleep upstairs.

He turned to you, his heart pounding in his chest as he took in your disheveled appearance, the way your skirt had ridden up your thighs, the slight sway of your step. "You okay?" he asked softly, his voice tight with concern.

You nodded “yeah just… i think i need to lie down”

Matt nodded, his concern growing as he saw how unsteady you were on your feet. "Of course," he said quickly, taking your hand and leading you upstairs to his bedroom.

"Here," he said softly, pulling back the covers for you. "You can sleep in my bed. I'll take the couch."

His breath hitched as he watched you struggle to remove your boots, your balance already compromised from the alcohol coursing through your system. Without hesitation, he stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your waist to steady you.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and concerned. "Let me help you with that."

He knelt down in front of you, taking one booted foot in his hands. His fingers brushed against your calf as he unzipped the shoe, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. He repeated the process with the other foot, setting both boots aside before standing back up.

"Better?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand remained on your waist, steadying you even though you seemed more stable now.

You nodded and his breath caught in his throat as he watched you slide your skirt down your long, shapely legs. He tried to look away, to give you some semblance of privacy, but he found himself utterly transfixed by the sight of your creamy skin being revealed inch by tantalizing inch.

You took off Matt’s jacket too and hugged yourself tightly as you looked up at him “can i have some pants?” you murmured almost shyly.

Matt swallowed hard as he took in your appearance - the way your long-sleeved t-shirt clung to your curves, the way your panties rode low on your hips, exposing the tempting expanse of skin above your thighs. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could feel the blood rushing to his head and other places.

"Uh, yeah," he managed to say, his voice slightly hoarse. "Just a sec."

He rummaged through his dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of his oldest, most well-worn sweatpants.

"Here," he said, his hand brushing against yours as he passed them to you. "These should fit you. I think."

He watched as you shimmied into his sweatpants. The sight of you in his clothes, surrounded by his scent, sent a possessive thrill through him.

The sweatpants were far too big on you, the waistband slipping down your hips.

"Thanks," you murmured softly.

You just looked at each other for a while before you looked down and grimaced.

He watched as you pressed a hand to your temple, your face paling slightly. "I think I'm gonna-"

But you didn't finish your sentence before you suddenly turned and stumbled towards the bathroom. Matt's heart raced as he realized what was happening, and he quickly followed after you, just in case you needed him.

Matt rushed into the bathroom just as he heard the sound of you retching violently into the toilet. His heart clenched with concern and he hurried to your side, gathering your hair back from your face with one hand while rubbing soothing circles on your back with the other.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmured, his voice low and calming. "I've got you. You're gonna be aight."

As your retching finally subsided, Matt helped you sit back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall.

"Feel better now?" he asked quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nodded and let out a chuckle “i’m never drinking again”

Matt couldn't help but chuckle softly at your declaration. "Yeah, I hear ya," he said with a wry smile. "Tequila has a way of sneakin‘ up on you like that."

His gaze lingered on your face, taking in the way your skin had lost some of its rosy hue, the way your eyes looked tired and sore.

"C'mon," he said softly, standing up and offering you his hand. "Let's get you back to bed. You need to sleep this off."

You nodded and let him lead you to his bed, sliding underneath the covers and letting him tuck you in.

Matt watched as you curled up under the covers, your eyelids already growing heavy. He stood there for a long moment, just taking in the sight of you in his bed, surrounded by his scent.

His heart ached with a fierce, all-consuming love. He wanted nothing more than to climb in next to you, to hold you close and never let you go. But he knew he couldn't. He had to be strong, had to respect your boundaries, no matter how much it killed him.

Instead, he left for the living room, sneaking one last glance at your tired body before closing the door on his way out.

a/n: guys part two!!! i don’t know if i love this as much but stay tuned cause i already got some ideas for part three where reader finds out about the photograph.

Lots of love,

Mats 💐

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mci-writing · 1 year ago

Text

My Life is Like a TeamStarkid Play, But Less Terrifying (Rise!Leonardo x Fem!Reader) 1/???

A/n: Hi. Just gonna preface a little with a general note that the reader is part alien. It is an integral part of the story for later and it will be brought up quite a bit. Just based on past tmnt iterations and their relation to aliens and space which Rise lacked up until the movie (and, even then, still lacked). The two songs used here are both from The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals: What Do You Want, Paul? and La Dee Dah Dah-Day respectively. I recommend listening to them so the flow of the scene sets a little better. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: language use, sexual references, musicals, some dark humor but like tastefully in a theater kinda way, this series is very reader-centric Word Count: 5.4k Kofi

Part 2

Fingers anxiously tap, tap, tap at a bedazzled binder, the label, ‘PLAY IDEAS’, is peeling at the corners. Teeth nervously nibble at the dry skin on the bottom of the owner’s lip, stopping when she inevitably draws blood again.

“If you keep gnawing away at your lip like that, you won’t have one left,” The voice next to her spooks her out of her trance, a soft gasp leaving her lips as she straightens. (Y/n)’s face quickly drops as Leo pokes her cheek, her (e/c) eyes meeting his shit-eating grin. The accompanying red-eared slider happily slides into the metal chair beside her, arms resting on the backs of the chairs beside him, “You’re worrying too much, senora. Your drama teacher would be insane not to use any of the spicy ideas brewing in that mind of yours.”

“I wouldn’t say spicy…” (E/c) eyes slide down to the binder between her fingers only for it to be snatched by three long and slender, green fingers. They follow to a smirking Leo, the mischievous glint in his eyes sparkling a little brighter as he shakes it to and fro, which he stops at the slight sound of a paper plausibly tearing, “Though, I won’t get to share them if you mess them up, Leon.”

He purses his lips, blowing through them and making that weird horse whining noise, as he sets it in his lap and flips through the pages (which all luckily seem intact, thank fuck). He stops occasionally to analyze a few, his exaggerated faces giving her no true hint of what he’s thinking. His humming with each page doesn’t help.

It’s not like the pages are anything special or filled with over-the-top, never done before ideas, but they at least provide an idea of where to take whichever play they decide to pick for the semester. It’s filled with mainstream big plays, with hopes that the big names will draw more of the student body to join, and plausible proposed budgets that the school’s faculty would easily agree with (going off of her mother’s industry metrics-). There were also margins and pages filled with mathematical equations estimating probable costs that only Donnie or a very determined and a little too excited drama student director would notice. Leo is more than positive they teamed up on it in some way.

He lingers on a few pages, which she assumes to be the more eye-catching ones or the few musicals he actually knows (courtesy of the girl next to him). She doesn’t miss him quickly moving past the big number pages and extra gibberish that only those in “the business” would understand. It’s a rare instance of him being completely silent as he analyzes the pages. It only heightens (Y/n)’s worries about the quality, but she distracts herself as she moves her (e/c) irises to linger on other details and aspects presented to her at this moment.

A good bit of his features are obscured by his admiral blue winter hat and matching sweater while his jacket hangs over her chair (she isn’t sure when he managed to put it there). Not even the most perceptive of people would pick up on the exposed parts of his face being reptilian shades of green in his current getup. Then again, she’s more than positive the turtles could very easily pass as people when they cover their shells (something she has bared witness to so often), especially in the melting pot of NYC. She does miss his crescent moons, hidden away by the felt of his hat, but it’s a small price to pay to avoid lingering questions. Without the shit-eating grin, his face is mischievous enough that you would assume he’s always up to something, which isn’t necessarily an off assumption, but (Y/n) just knows when the wheels in his brain are turning from years of experience.

“Alright, done!” (Y/n) doesn’t realize how close she is until his head turns to face her, the two mere inches apart from each other as opposed to the slightly bigger distance they had. It definitely throws her off a little, but Leo remains unphased as he continues, “Looking through this thing only proved my point further. You possess the sauce-”

“The sauce?” (Y/n) asks with a tilt of her head, somehow managing to take the binder back into her arms and holding it close to her chest, “What the hell is the sauce?”

“I have no idea! But Mikey’s used it enough times for me to confidently say that you have got it, whatever it is! Mama Celeste will be so proud, (N/n),” She’s now 100% sure he mistook Mike’s cooking speeches as some new lingo, but she’s not allowed to dwell on that for too long as she hears the voice of her drama teacher calling her to his office, “That’s your cue. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

She stands to her feet, taking a deep breath as she turns her attention to the office. She stares for a moment, feeling the nervousness creep up her spine as the binder in her hands gains thousands of pounds. With a shaky step forward, the deep pit in her stomach reminds her of literally everything hanging on her gaudily designed book. Of course, any other time she’d be reminding herself that any of the musicals they choose is alright and that any of her ideas being turned down isn’t the end of the world, but she can only focus on the fact that this is her senior year and anything going wrong feels like the end of the world to her.

She feels dizzy in worry, her throat going uncomfortably dry. Her breathing slows and, to any party outside her mind, she looks like a deer in headlights as she stands staring at the door. Her heart rattles in her chest-

“Heey, Mamacita! Chill out,” Green fingers settle themselves on (Y/n)’s shoulder, tugging her into Leo’s chest as a reassuring grin graces his features. Their cheeks touch as he stares straight towards the door, his fingers on his other hand softly gripping her chin and keeping her eyes on the door, “You know all the business insider secrets because of your mom. Don’t let them go to waste. Ya’ve got this, (N/n). Go in there and rock it like you know how.”

His words actually manage to calm her, her breathing evening back out as she slowly regains her confidence. The small feeling of nausea remains but is slightly tolerable now.

“Plus, as much as I love the laser light show idea for The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals, Hadestown will probably be a hands-down legend for this school with the right vocal lessons. But that’s just me.” Annnd now she knows his biases from her creative selections, “Knock ‘em dead, tigresa!”

He gives her a light push through the door, leading to her stumbling and falling on her ass in front of her teacher. He doesn’t pay her much mind, barely looking up from his paperwork.

“Ms. Brown. Good evening,” He gives her a bit of a hand wave before finally looking up, “Ready to discuss this semester’s play?”

“Yes, Mr. Sherma” She quickly stands to her feet, suddenly very self-conscious of her grotesquely decorated binder as she holds it to her chest, “Yes, I am. And, this time, I brought an idea book to explain my ideas a little better!”

He holds his hand out for it, delicately handling it as he brings it to lay on his desk. His fingers are nimbler than Leo’s as they open the pages, flipping through them with careful precision. His eyes linger longer, the scene playing out similarly to earlier.

He occasionally brushes the parts of his brown hair back, his eyes, tired but curious, scanning each and every detail. She’s reminded of some of her classmates joking about him looking like a Renaissance version of a particular Twitch streamer.

The only time it’s obvious which ones he’s interested in is when he looks over the proposed budget pages a bit longer than others. He hums and mumbles, not shy from making noises of displeasure at certain pages. She’s pretty positive she hears him mumble ‘cringe’ at some point.

(Y/n) awkwardly sits in one of the many chairs in his office, her fingers lightly tapping against her knees while her feet make little kicks. Her brown orbs glance around the room when she feels she’s been looking for too long. Various awards line the walls, some for students whose names she recognizes and others she’s maybe heard in passing. She recognizes a few of her own, not fighting the small smile that comes to her lips at the acknowledgment of her work of the past few years. The walls are also decorated with pictures throughout the years of performances and practices past as well as the occasional goofy memory, some a little hard to make out with the dying light of the assorted lamps.

“This… idea binder is full of interesting ideas, Ms. Brown, but they don’t tell me what you specifically want to do,” Mr. Sherma sighs as he closes it. His blue eyes meet her brown ones, an intensity behind them that she can’t read, “Each page has a lot of detail and potential, but none scream with desperate want, you know?”

She grows nervous, feeling herself start to sweat under his gaze. She tosses his words around in her mind, but it doesn’t make it much clearer, “What do you mean by that, sir?”

“What do you want, Brown? Tell me what you desire to see. Your deepest intent, Brown,” She feels herself flinch when he suddenly stands, her back pressing deep into the chair as he leans forward and sings at her. She never knows what to expect from her drama teacher, but the operatic sounds that leave his mouth aren’t it, “What do you see for this production? I’m looking for someone with strong ambition, someone to sell their specific vision, someone to share with precise precision their thoughts. ‘Cause I want you to want… To want!”

She’s thrown off further once he begins walking around his desk. He stops once he reaches the front, comfortably leaning against the mahogany with little disregard for its old and thin nature. He crosses his arms over his chest as he stops, looking down at her, “So what do you want, Ms. Brown? What’s the one concrete goal that motivates all your actions?”

(Y/n)’s lost at his sudden questions, her head naturally tilting as she stares back at his determined gaze with equal confusion. Her face scrunches up, eyebrow lifting. He doesn’t elaborate, again, so she doesn’t even know how to begin to unpack all of what he’s pushing for.

“I don’t think I have one of those?” She finally manages to wrangle up, giving her teacher another one of her nervous, closed-eye smiles.

He remains quiet for a moment, staring her down for a bit. She opens her eyes once she realizes he hasn’t said anything, awkwardly maintaining eye contact as he doesn’t exchange immediate words. She can feel a grimace starting to form while his face remains stony.

“Well, then, how’s anyone supposed to sympathize with you, Ms. Brown?”

“Huh? I don’t know…” Her mouth gapes open at that, but she quickly closes it to think of literally anything she could plausibly list. Most of her current goals involve catching criminals and living to make another day? Understanding her powers a little better and maybe her family heritage some? But those aren’t necessarily things many of her peers could relate to and sympathize with, at least, not in the way she has to deal with her goals. She thinks hard about some common goals that most high schoolers have, “I want what anyone wants…?” She thinks really, really hard, “Money, a partner? Kids, someday, maybe?”

Mr. Sherma nods his head at that, turning to face his desk. (Y/n) relaxes a bit, thinking that maybe, just maybe, that would be the end of it-

HE JUMPED ON THE DESK?!?!

“What the fuck?!”

“I want you to want, Brown! A girl so vague just can’t be trusted! Something you pine for, maybe someone who keeps you lusted. I’m just a boss, I’m not an idea guy! I hire you kids to keep our plays ripe. But if you can’t pin the point that’s in the skyyyyy!”

He starts to dance with ease, ignoring the resistance of his desk’s legs as he does a smooth spin in the middle of the surface. His footwork is delicate, fancy, even. (Y/n) finds it hard to even focus on what’s being sung at her as her eyes glide behind his movements. He stops in the center, sliding to his knees and pointing his right index finger in her direction while his left-hand rests on his chest “Then I want you to want, to want!”

“Sir?!” She can’t fight the laugh in her tone as she calls out, equally amused and heavily confused at this turn of events. She literally can not pinpoint why in the known universe he is singing at her, especially this song of all things, but she can’t lie and say she isn’t severely entertained.

“D’you know what I want for myself? I’ve waited for so lo-ong to tell somebody else,” His tone drops, becoming more somber as he manages to rhythmically set himself down from his desk. He grabs the picture of his wife off his desk, his head tilting as a fond look comes to his eyes, “Carol, my wife, you’re my muse, my source of light. Carol, my love, I want you to choke me out at night…” He plops himself down into his chair, longingly staring at the photograph of his wife, “I want you to choke me… I want you to choke me… I want you to choke me while I jerk off… I want you to choke me while I… jerk off.”

(Y/n) sits up at those words, a discomfort settling in the pits of her stomach and sinking further down. She doesn’t fight down the look of shock in her eyes at the admission, nor is she able to stop the noise of confusion she makes, “Um, sir-,”

Without missing a beat, Mr. Sherma presses the call button on his office phone, the beep loudly sounding through his small office. He leans over, a dazed look in his eyes as he stares forward, “Melissa, get my wife on the phone for me.”

(Y/n) quickly gathers her bags, reaching for her idea binder, “Mr. Sherma, I think I should leave-,”

“No, (Y/n), I want you to hear this,” He tugs the binder closer to him, not sparing her a glance as he adds, “If you leave, you’re fired.”

It rings a bit before Mrs. Sherma answers, “Carol! Yes, everything’s fine, I promise. I just wanted to tell you something…,” He freezes, his dazed expression growing horrified as he stares forward, past the expansion of the messily decorated walls of his office into the inner turmoil of his request weighing on him, “I, uh, I forgot what it was… Maybe someday I’ll remember. Goodbye…”

It remains quiet after that. (Y/n)’s gaze remains downtrodden as she contemplates and processes how she was thoroughly traumatized by the shame of her drama teacher, but also not surprised by his antics. Mr. Sherma, however, was mentally suffering with his inability to tell his wife his deepest desires…

She looks up in time for her (e/c) pools to meet with despair-ridden shades of blue, the latter widening as Mr. Sherma rises to his feet and dances around his desk.

“Ms. Brown, now you know what it is to want!”

“I want to go home!”

“It consumes a man with a passion to drive the primary plot,” His verses speed up as he ignores her pleas, “So take up yoga or improv classes. Volunteer at shelters or twitch to the masses.”

(Y/n) takes her gathered bags while he’s distracted.

“There’s gotta be something to keep my hands off you. Off youuu”

She manages to slip around him and grab her binder, holding it close to her chest.

“‘Cause I want you to want!”

“I’m gonna get some… coffee? Do you want anything?” (Y/n) manages to ease to the door, her hand struggling to get a good grip on the door.

“No, I need you to want!”

“How about an iced caramel frappe? Nothing better-,” The door magically opens for her just as her hand gets a good grip on the door. It drags her forward, causing her to lose her balance.

“And if you don’t want…” He freezes, taking a deep breath before releasing the highest note he’s hit that (Y/n) has ever known him to, “We’re throughhh.”

A soft donk sounds as her forehead meets a hard plastron. Scaly, strong arms wrap around her waist, holding her up. She isn’t surprised to find Leo above her with his signature, though more slightly confused than usual, grin. She raises her hand as she shrugs, nudging her head towards their exit and grabbing his hand to drag him through it, “Have a good rest of your evening, Mr. Sherma!”

As the two leave, they hear her teacher call out for her, hitting one last high note as they push through the auditorium doors. It only encourages (Y/n) to pick up her pace, leading the turtle through the halls toward the exit.

Leo is rightfully confused, especially when (Y/n) doesn’t elaborate on it in the slightest.

“Are we going to talk about that orrrrr?” He attempts to nudge, his hands coming up and crossing behind his head. He leans back into the hold, his eyes never leaving her form as they walk the streets of the neighborhood around the school.

He feels his breath hitch when she turns to him, undeterred by the grimace on her face when the light escaping from the sun’s rays meets the color of her eyes. He hears her response, but he finds himself more focused on her mannerisms as she animatedly fumbles through explaining what went down. Her (h/c) hair bounce with every step, just as animated as her, but still relatively deflated from the exhaustion of her instructor and the heavy plush of her pink winter hat.

“This almost was not worth giving up my shift for,” She finishes, bringing her fingers up to her lips to breathe on them. A pout takes place on her plump lips as she digs in her jacket pockets, slipping her gloves on, “He started singing about wanting and wants when all I want now is to make back the tips from Run of The Mill. We didn’t even pick anything because of his weird song!”

Leo finds himself only able to nod as (Y/n) continues to grumble the rest of her rant. He had only really heard the last bit of what was going on, but that was due to him deciding to investigate after hearing some weird screeching and shouting. He didn’t actually expect to find her being held hostage by her singing teacher, but it aligned pretty well with the few things he’d heard about Sherma from (Y/n) and April. Even now, he feels the man is something unreal entirely.

He takes the binder out from between her armpit while she’s distracted, her ramblings turning into muttered gibberish that he can very much still understand. He starts flipping through the pages again, his face softening as he stops on a page of distracted doodles he hadn’t noticed on his first run.

(Y/n) was no artist, by any means, but she was damn good at creating a scene of stick figures. Some showcased plausible blocked scenes and others were silly little things like a chibi version of herself squashed under a rock labeled ‘Drama’ in her fanciest cursive or exaggerated versions of their friend group doing severely ambiguous poses.

As he goes to flip to the next page, the hums of people on the street reach his ears, but his companion has stopped her ramblings. She’s stopped altogether, staring ahead with a bewildered look.

“Carolers caught your attention, (N/n)?” He asks as he looks up from the book to her, a smirk dancing along his lips as the quip readies itself from his brain cells, “You can’t judge them too harshly for being a tad bit pitchy, y’know. Not everyone can hold a note by ear.”

The teasing was worth it, especially with the deadpanned expression she gave him in response. However, she shakes her head as her thumb and index finger grip his chin, pulling him down to her level. Their faces are mere inches apart and Leo can all but feel all the warmth spread through his face, “They’re all perfectly dancing in sync.”

He doesn’t exactly process her words, his eyes going smaller as his lips form an O shape, “What?” The words do slowly jog back up with his brain processing, laughing at her statement, “I’d expect them to be dancing in sync if they’re all caroling. Would be a little embarrassing if they put a whole dance together and all ended up doing their own thing-,”

“No, Leo,” Her fingers turn his head forward as she speaks. Her hold is firm enough to keep him there, yet soft enough that he doesn’t feel like his skin is gonna tear off as she directs him, “Look at them all in sync. Everyone…”

And just like she said, everyone on the street had been humming and dancing in sync to the same tune. No one seemed to be a pitch-off or a step out of line as they filled the streets of midtown New York.

“Holy shit…,” He mutters out, eyes the size of saucers as he takes it all in, “Was there some block party announced that we don’t know about or something? Flash mob, maybe?”

“For it to be this big, impossible,” (Y/n) mumbles back, releasing her grip on his chin as she also continues to take in the sight of the sea of bodies.

“Yeah-yeah-yeah!”

The crowd separates down the middle, continuing to shimmy and sway in tandem. A lone girl remains, bundled up in a big puffer jacket with a green vest over the top of it. Her right hand rightly grips a clipboard and the recycle sign on the left breast of her vest is just barely visible through the crinkles of the uniform. She’s suddenly belting out words, the widest grin on her face as she bounces for a few beats, fist happily pumping in the air as she perfectly centers herself between the crowd.

“Just a typical day, that’s got me feeling in a beautiful way. No rhyme or reason,” She starts, pointing at some random person in the crowd, “We could sing a duet, dance a style or two. Or I’ll make you a bet, just a smile will doooo.”

She does flawless chaines before going into a sly, Italian fouetté. The duo flinches at the precision, their eyes trailing her moves. It really does nothing to give them context, but they can’t really complain when they’re already so enthralled.

She ends by raising both hands towards the air, feet spread as she belts to the sky, “Sometimes I just wanna shout on top of roof and mountaintops. All the world is paved in goldddd.” She lowers her hands as she holds the note out, tossing her clipboard off into the crowd somewhere. She places her now free hands on her hips as she walks along the lines of the crowd, hips bumping to the beat of the music, “Yesterday was retroactive, got myself a new perspective. I strut it up and down the road.”

“If the fighting climate change gig doesn’t work, she’d totally rock Broadway,” Leo comments perfectly between verses as they get a little closer to the action on the streets.

The girl stops her strutting right behind them, both arms resting on one of their shoulders, “So I throw out my worries and my old skin away,” She gives them both a little shove forward, nodding her head before doing a pirouette en dehors, “Doing what I want to do on this la dee dah dee daaaaaaay!”

Both teens stumble with (Y/n) catching herself by setting her feet on the pavement and Leo grabbing his arm as she’s steady. The girl stops spinning as she holds out the note, the folks in the surrounding area joining in midway through. The crowd begins to form a circle around the girl, Leo, and (Y/n), joining hands as they skip around them for a bit before changing directions and skipping the other way.

“La dee dah dah, la dee dah dah, la dee dah dah day!”

“La dee dah dah day!” The crowd releases their hands in exchange for clapping on the beat, perfectly moving their hands in tandem with one another. High right, high left, low right, low left which each other word of the chorus and clapping on every word for each straight ‘La dee dah dee day’

The girl gives them both a high five before running out of the crowd as the circle disperses. Everyone on the street continues to hum and step on beat.

(Y/n) and Leo turn to each other, equally dumbfounded at the event transpiring around them. They still somehow manage to remain in the middle of the chaos, even as they attempt to weave through the crowd in search of the nearest manhole cover.

“What the fuck was that?” (Y/n) finally asks, turning to the blue-clad turtle as he fixes his ruffled clothes to hide himself a little better.

Neither are really watching where they’re going when Leo accidentally bumps into a homeless guy on the street. He panics, straightening the guy before he can teeter much, “I’m so sorry, sir,” He quickly begins searching his pockets, “Here, let me see if I have any-,”

“Hey, man that’s cool,” The guy happily replies with a smile, seemingly ignoring the change that jostled out of his tin can, “‘Cause I may not have a home, but that’s way okay. ‘Cause I prefer to roam the streets all day.”

He sings in the same cadence as the girl from before. The crowd of people turns towards them, doing the heel-toe around them on the beat to the song, every other row going the same way while each row in between goes a different way.

“The world is my house, the dogs are my food,” A small dog scampers past, “Oh, look— a new blouse!” He lifts a newspaper from off the street, his face lighting up as he runs past them, “And a new trash can tooooo!”

(Y/n) steps closer to Leo, his arm immediately going for her shoulders and pulling her closer until she’s flush against him. Her hand immediately grips his jacket in an attempt to pull him closer. They’re unable to keep their eyes off of him and both are a little too petrified to move from where they stand. The guy skips around them, raising his hands into the air and lowering them the longer he circles.

“I used to want to kill them all while high on bath salt zombie drugs and snacking on a dead man’s face,” He stops and stares at them for a little too long, his glare shifting around to every person dancing around them as he does a little, slow spin in place. He stops before a bright smile lights his face, “But that just feels like yesterday! This song takes all the pain away. My politics and house views changed.” He does a little dancy dance to emphasize his point, “Dancing on the concrete used to hurt a lot, but now I got new feet and this jam’s just way too hot!”

“La dee dah dah day!” The crowd around them all lift their hands to the sky as they sing the chorus again, waving them to the beat with a small step every other note, “La dee dah dah, la dee dah dah, la dee dah dah day! La dee dah dah day!”

(E/c) orbs spot an opening, her mind counting each beat it opens up. She steps away from Leo a bit, getting a grasp on his arm as her narrowed eyes keep a close watch on her path of escape. Her compadre starts looking through his pockets again, a grin on his face.

“I have literally no idea what’s going on here, but this is so cool!” He manages to pull out a five, happily setting it in the homeless guy’s tin can, “That’s all I’ve got for right now, but I’ll totally keep more cash on me in case I run into you guys again tomorrow.”

“Leo, come on,” She manages to pull him through the crowd just in time. It’s almost comical how easily she tugs him along through the rows of dancing New Yorkians, “This is the second dance number I’ve been forced to sit through today-,”

They continue to weave through the crowd, the clear street beyond the dance mob seemingly beyond their fingertips. (Y/n) keeps a strong grip on Leo as she leads the way, while he remains amazed by the group's movements around them.

Just as they reach the end, the girl from before lands in front of them. She’s regained her clipboard, which now rests tightly in the palm of her hand. She takes a deep breath before she sings out a call, “Do you wanna save the planet?!”

“Of course, you want to save the planet!” The crowd calls back, freezing in place to stop and look back at her.

“Do you wanna save the planet?!”

“Well, there’s just one way you can do it!”

“By singing a song!” Without warning, the girl begins cartwheeling toward the center of the crowd as they sing back at her. She stops a moment to sing with them, “Singing along!” Before immediately going back to her cartwheels. The crowd goes back to singing the chorus as she does, every other row overlapping with the other

“La dee dah dah, la dee dah dah, la dee dah dah day!” With each row she cartwheels by, the ensemble turns back towards the center. They continue to repeat it a few times, changing the lyrics up just as she hits the last row, “La dee dah dah, la dee dah dah, la dee dah dah day… Away…”

The girl does a flip in the air as she reaches the center, landing on her feet perfectly with her arms raised in the air and her clipboard intact between her fingers. She lowers herself to rest on one knee, belting out one final, “La dee dah dah”

Each row of the crowd falls to their knees one after the other aligned with each word she sings. It’s almost creepy how synchronized their moves are. They finish the song off in unison with a final, “Day!” Everyone holds the position for a few beats before getting up and moving along with their day like nothing just happened.

The two remain standing there after watching all of that happen, equally confused and mesmerized by the events that just transpired before them. Leo is by far more amused than (Y/n). He turns to her with a knowing grin as he takes in her face.

Her mouth is held open, has been since the girl cartwheeled and flipped back to the middle. Her eyes, while not the size of saucers, hold an intrigued gaze in them. Her grip on Leo’s arm loosened in the midst of that, her hand now limply resting on his inner forearm as opposed to tugging it forward.

“You’re gonna catch flies, (N/n),” Leo teases, his index finger hooking under her chin and slowly pushing it upwards. Once her mouth closes, he tilts her chin up towards him and their eyes meet. He doesn’t fight back his grin like he does the warm feeling in his cheeks and she doesn’t miss the way it rises as he catches sight of the soft flush in her cheeks, “You wish your classmates were that in sync.”

She huffs as she walks ahead of him into the alleyway, waiting for the streets to clear before pushing the manhole cover aside. She sits against the entrance, looking at him a little annoyed, “Yeah…”

She jumps down into the sewer hole and activates her flight ability just in time to float to the bottom. Leo climbs down not too far behind her, touching the pavement a few minutes after.

#leonardo x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #rottmnt leonardo x reader #leo x reader #rottmnt leo #rottmnt leonardo #leonardo hamato x reader #leo hamato x reader #leonardo hamato #I don't usually go here whoops #the next part will be out as soon as possible or something #will eventually be crossposted on ao3 and maybe wattpad #will do hc singing voices if asked (pls ask me I have many thoughts)#once I hit 3 chapters of this I'm making a masterpost I promise

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