#the tides know our names

[jeneveuxrein]

mutual (AESPA Karina)

word count: 12.5K

(finished right before their comeback, but i'm a mess this month. anyhow, enjoy pls)

-- -- -- 

You couldn’t believe she’s gone. 

People talk about grief coming and going like the ocean on the shore, but to experience it firsthand like this, so suddenly with no warning whatsoever, feels like the tide pulling you in.

You didn’t want to be here. If you had the choice, you’d be on a plane to anywhere else, running away from reality instead of facing it. 

Your best friend, Kim Minjeong, died in a tragic hit-and-run accident. It hurts to say out loud. Let alone think. The worst part of it all, was that she was on the way to see you after living abroad for the past year. Guilt weighed on your shoulders, to the point where you were so close to falling off the rails, but you didn’t. 

You stare blankly at the portrait her family chose. It’s a photo you took one Christmas at the annual family party. Your parents, specifically your mothers, were close. The best of friends since university. They hoped you two would fall in love, and it was halfway a possibility—on your end. 

You couldn’t explain it as it was happening, realizing that the feelings brewing for Minjeong wasn’t how you felt for the other girl friends in your life. It was confusing, jarring, that by the time you understood what it was, she already had a boyfriend. 

It didn’t stop you from dating other women, but there was always that sliver of hope Minjeong would see you more than a childhood friend, that held you back from being committed. They noticed, which didn’t faze you since you weren’t looking for anything serious to begin with. 

You reserved those feelings for Minjeong, but now they’re pointless, unresolved, lingering, painful. 

A hand gently rests itself on your shoulder, snapping you out of your revere. You look up, and it’s Jimin. She gives you a soft smile, rubbing the spot enough to be soothing, comforting even. 

“We don’t have to be here. Our eommas said we could leave,” Karina says with the same smile still on her face. You don’t think you’ve smiled since you got the call, so it was confusing to see her smiling. 

(If you were in the right state of mind, you’d see through Karina, knowing she’s doing her best to hide how she feels.) 

You nod, and Karina extends her hand out. You let her pull you up, interlacing your fingers together. She drags you through the room, bidding farewell to the guests. They give their condolences, which irks you for some reason. These people didn’t know Minjeong the way you do, and you try letting go of Karina’s hand, but she keeps a firm grip. 

Once the cold air hits your face and the door slams shut, the mask cracks. She breaks down, falling into you as her knees give out. It’s almost reflexive how you encircle your arms around her, pulling her into you as you fight the tears threatening to spill. 

Karina was strong in front of people, but when it was around you, she was vulnerable, sensitive to her feelings and thoughts. She didn’t trust many, but she trusted you.  

“Jimin,” You whisper, voice cracking at the use of her real name instead of her baptismal name. “I’m here. What do you need?” 

Karina buries her face into your chest, sobbing as the emotions overwhelm her. You hold on tight, body immovable as you support her weight. 

(The thing is, Karina is your best friend too. You all were. An unexpected trio of childhood friends that had been through everything together.) 

After a few minutes, Karina takes a deep breath. She mumbles something you can’t quite make, and you softly ask her to repeat it. 

“Let’s get drunk.”

-- -- 

You slammed the car door shut, barely noticing Karina’s body flinch. She gave you a pointed look, rolling her eyes as she connected her phone to the bluetooth. 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing,” You muttered, starting the car the same time she chose a song. 

“Something happened and I’d bet you tteokbokki it has to do with Minjeong,” Karina teased, chuckling when she saw you pout. “Bingo, you owe me.” 

“I just don’t get what she sees in him, he’s a fucking ass.” The scene of Minjeong laughing at  what’s-his-face’s probably not funny joke left a sour taste in your mouth. “He’s not even funny.” 

“And you are?” Karina remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“You laugh at my jokes.”

“Because you are one.”

“Okay, ouch.” You reached for the volume, turning the knob to drown out her giggles. 

Once you pulled out of the parking lot, hitting the main road, Karina asked to get dinner together. You didn’t want to, but relented when she said it was her treat. To, you know, placate witnessing how Minjeong acted around her boyfriend. It was becoming a more regular thing these past few weeks, which may be partly your fault since you actively searched for her during breaks and in the hallway. 

You arrived at the small mom-and-pop shop around the corner from your house. By pure reflex, you walked around the car to open the door and Karina let you. 

It was a weird dynamic, even though it had always been platonic. At least, to you two. Minjeong would often call herself the third wheel when you were together, something that irritated Karina while you brushed the comment off. 

Your feelings stood with Minjeong and Karina was highly aware of it. You vented about them to her constantly. Minjeong’s new relationship had increased the pining tenfold. 

“You don’t have to keep opening the doors for me. People might get the wrong impression,” Karina said as she stepped out. 

“What? Who cares what people think. I’ve been doing this forever, to you and Minjeong.” You closed the door, gentler than when you left school. 

“People think we’re dating,” Karina grumbled after you covered her body with your jacket. “Stop doing that too!” 

You pinched her shoulder. “No,” Simply stating a fact. “If people think that, whatever. You know who I like anyways.” 

You continued walking, mainly to open the door for her again, but if you had kept her pace, you would’ve heard Karina’s defeated yeah unfortunately I do.

-- --  

“Why the fuck did you buy so much?” You groan, dropping the heavy bags on the coffee table. There’s a loud clunk and Karina slaps your leg as you collapse on the couch. 

“Can you not do that? I don’t want to clean up the glass if it breaks.” Karina glares, taking the bottles out along with the snacks. 

You mumble a half-assed apology, helping her set things up. You didn’t do much except for folding the plastic bags. Karina hands you a soju bottle that you automatically unscrew for her, exchanging it for another for yourself. 

You clink bottles before you take a healthy swig of the peach flavored soju Karina made sure to get. It’s your favorite, even though she always teases you for having the taste palette of a child. It goes down smoothly as it settles bitterly in your stomach. 

You sink into the couch even deeper, crossing your arms behind your head as you stare at the ceiling. Karina takes the bottles and places them on the table before she lets out a sigh. Your eyes follow her movements, arranging the chips and candies in an orderly fashion. It’s a habit of hers whenever she’s stressed, anything to keep her distracted so she doesn’t have to think. 

“Karina,” Your hand reaches out after she turns the bottles around again, making sure they face the same direction. “Come here,” You pull her into you, sliding your arm around her waist. Her body’s tense. It’s practically radiating off her, that you do what you know best—wrapping your other arm around until she melts into you. 

It takes a moment longer than usual. Not like you timed yourself in situations like this. You have always been perceptive of Karina’s feelings and moods, reading her like an open book while others found her difficult to talk to. 

(Well, for a shallow reason. Karina’s beautiful, gorgeous, a bombshell. Growing up, boys and girls thought she was intimidating based on that reason alone. She wasn’t, not in the slightest. You may have been biased since you’ve known her forever, but you didn’t think she was. A bit sarcastic with the right amount of kindness. Her being visually appealing was just a bonus.)

Karina doesn’t like physical affection, but she never had that issue with you. So it’s nothing out of the ordinary when she slots her head in the crook of your neck, body relaxing into the embrace as she throws her arm over your stomach. 

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Karina says quietly.

Your heart breaks all over again. You had been so wrapped up in your head that you neglected to be the support Karina needs. You may have lost the what if in your life, but she lost her best friend too. 

“I know,” You murmur, fingers tracing up and down her back. “It’s fucked.” 

“Who am I supposed to call when you’re being difficult?” It’s a joke, but it doesn’t sound like one as her voice cracks at the end. 

“Me. Just tell me I’m annoying.” You reassure her, pulling her in closer as you rest your cheek on the top of her head. 

“You’re annoying right now,” Karina huffs and you actually crack a smile. “I don’t know what to do next.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s strange, melancholic and whatever other word like that fits.” 

“What is?”  

“From now on, Minjeong’s only a memory.” 

-- -- 

You held your head low, avoiding the remaining students in the hallway as you walked out of the principal’s office. Your cheek hurt, but it was more embarrassing to make eye contact with someone for them to ask what happened if they didn’t know at this point. 

Once you made it outside, you beelined straight for the sidewalk. Your car was in the shop so you had no choice but to take public transportation today—of all days. It wasn’t an easy escape since you were shoved, knocking you off balance that you almost squared up again, but immediately dropped your fists when you realized who it was. 

“Karina, what’re you—” She shoved you again. You noticed Minjeong a meter away, eating ice cream. You pleaded for help, but her view was blocked with the wrath of Yu Jimin. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shrugged, acting as if you didn’t know what she was referring to. “Let me see your face.” Her hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at her. Her eyes widened when she saw the bruise on your face. 

One would think there would be some sympathy involved, yet here you were, getting physically assaulted by your best friend. You were glad there weren’t that many people loitering, but there were still a handful that could spark a rumor. 

“Jimin, enough,” Minjeong sighed, standing from the ledge. “Let’s just talk to him first okay? Stop hurting him.”

“No,” Karina said sharply, shaking her head as she prepared for another swing. “If he wants to get into a fight so badly, then we’re fighting right here.”

“Domestic disturbance,” Minjeong mumbled as she stepped in between you, effectively halting Karina from landing another hit. 

“Move.” It came out as a warning, but it didn’t scare Minjeong in the slightest. 

“Why did you get into a fight?” Minjeong turned her head slightly. Karina wouldn’t hit her. 

“What’re you even talking about?” Playing dumb wouldn’t get you anywhere, but it was better than explaining why there was a nasty bruise on your face. 

Minjeong sighed again, turning around completely to face you. “Ryujin told Yeji that she saw you basically beat up two seniors. The reason why, however, was unknown.” 

Look, you didn’t mean for it to happen. 

You were generally not a violent person, but you had a bit of a temper. Your mother put you in a bunch of activities growing up, like taekwondo and basketball, to keep you busy and ‘out of trouble’ as she liked to say. She didn’t want you to fall with the wrong crowd, but it wasn’t like that was possible with Minjeong and Jimin by your side. They kept you in check more than anyone else in your life.

You would argue that the only way to really get under your skin was if it involved said women, which was why you saw red when you overheard these two fucks talking about Karina so crassly as you were getting your things for practice. It was disgusting, and it pissed you off. The things they said weren’t appropriate, especially so out in the open. 

Naturally, you had to say something. They didn’t appreciate when you told them to shut up, going further to say that since they had seen you around Karina so much that you had to be fucking her and a lot of other things that you didn’t want to repeat–ever. 

Obviously not the fucking case, but you digressed. 

“We just got into it,” You shrugged, stepping away from Minjeong as she tilted her head, curious at your response. “Boys just being boys.” 

“You have a fucking bruise on your face!” Karina exclaimed, throwing her hands up in desperation. “Don’t use that fucking excuse.” 

“Oppa,” Minjeong crossed her arms, waiting for you to give the real reason. 

“They said some things and I put them in their place, that’s all.” 

“What could they have possibly said that they both needed to go to the hospital?!” Karina questioned. You could tell she was getting tired of your vagueness. “Ryujin ran to get Mingyu to pull you off, but by the time they made it back, none of you were there.” 

“Look, I don’t want to fucking talk about it,” You bit back with more attitude than you intended, but your face hurt and all you wanted to do was sulk and brood. 

“Too fucking bad,” Karina slid herself in between you and Minjeong. “We’re not going home until you fucking tell us why.” Minjeong carefully pulled her back, but Karina being as stubborn as ever wouldn’t budge. 

“You really want to fucking know?” Your emotions were getting the best of you. You didn’t want to do this now, maybe tomorrow or the day after, but you just needed to think about your actions. Though, if you were being honest, you’d do it again. 

“We’re still here, aren’t we?” Karina replied sarcastically, ticking you off more. 

“Fine, if you want to be a fucking child about it,” You let out a breath, rolling your eyes as you recount with as much detail as possible about what they said. How they wondered what kind of underwear she wore. How they just knew that she was a ‘freak’ so to speak in bed. How it wouldn’t be hard to ‘tap’ that ass, or whatever. Or how she’d easily give it up since the rumors of her sleeping with every guy were ‘apparently’ true. 

(As far as you knew, Karina had one boyfriend her entire life and she hardly went out on dates. If she did, it was always with a group of people.) 

“So there, that’s what they fucking said. Obviously I couldn’t just stand there and let them talk about you like that. I’m going home.” You ignored the way Karina’s expression softened and the way Minjeong’s mouth opened, slightly in shock. You didn’t want to tell either of them that you got into a fight because of Karina, but obviously said woman just had to get in your business. 

(Granted, okay, it involved her. But that was beside the point.) 

“Wait!” Karina called after you as soon as you walked through the school gates. 

You didn’t turn back. You kept on pushing. You were ashamed enough for getting suspended for the rest of the week, and your parents were going to have a field day. 

You just wanted to sleep at this point. 

You’d deal with Karina and Minjeong later. 

-- 

Later came as you were falling asleep. 

There was a knock on your door that startled you. You turned over, hoping that whoever was on the other side would leave. Your mother already went off on you for acting so recklessly, but by some cosmic force, your father actually supported your decision. He didn’t necessarily agree with violence and thought you would have handled it better, but he didn’t get on you as much as his better half. 

Instead of another knock, you heard the doorknob click. You forgot to lock it since you collapsed on the bed, exhaustion creeping in from the day. The door quietly shut before the bed dipped. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. You smelled her perfume as soon as she walked in. 

“Can we talk?” Karina’s voice came out softly. You didn’t move, staying as still as possible. “I know you’re still awake.” 

When you didn’t respond, you felt Karina pressed up against yours, an arm snaking around. 

“Karina, let me sleep,” You grunted out, scooting away. It was futile since she latched onto you like a koala, holding onto you like her life depended on it. 

“No,” Her head shook against your back, face nuzzling in between your shoulder blades. “I’m not leaving until we talk.” 

“Then goodnight,” You stated bluntly, trying to shrug her off. She held on tighter. 

“Fine, guess I’m sleeping over.” Karina let go. It didn’t take that long for you to realize she was likely sending a message to her parents that she’d be staying the night. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and your parents always welcomed her.

“You have a class early tomorrow.” 

“And I don’t care,” Karina said simply as you heard her place her phone on the nightstand. You sighed again, literally rolling off your bed and landing on the floor with a loud thud. “What? What’re you doing?” 

You pushed yourself up, noticing she wore your hoodie you had been looking for, but made no comment. “I don’t think either of our parents would appreciate finding us in bed together.”

Karina reached for your shirt, pulling you until you reluctantly end up on your bed again. “Do you think I care?” 

“Clearly not.” You muttered, resting your head on the pillow. You tried to get comfortable, closing your eyes, but you felt Karina’s gaze bore on the side of your face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Karina moved—annoyingly—until her leg brushed up against yours underneath the blanket. “Thank you,” She mumbled.

You knew what she was thanking you for, but you didn’t have the energy to get into it. You still wanted to sleep. 

It was just… 

You weren’t expecting to sleep next to Karina. 

--

Waking up early was normal, except the fact that you woke up this morning with an arm over your stomach. You almost freaked out, but quickly remembering that you fell asleep with an unrelenting Karina. 

You tried to move, but her hand bunched the fabric of your shirt. You tried again, but this time Karina woke up. She immediately let go, pushing herself up before profusely apologizing. 

“It’s fine,” You sat up, waving her off as you leaned against your headboard. You glanced at the clock, and it was still dark outside with the sun peeking through the curtains. “How’d you sleep? Sorry if I kept moving.” 

Karina mirrored you, sitting up while pulling the blanket. You noticed she removed your hoodie, shoulders exposed by a thin tank top that you had to look away out of respect. “I forgot you run really warm. I had to take off my hoodie in the middle of the night.” 

“Do you mean my hoodie?” 

“Other than that,” Karina didn’t acknowledge your question, “I slept fine.” 

“Cool,” You avoided looking directly at her. “You should leave. You have an early class today.” 

“Not until we talk about what happened yesterday,” Karina said stiffly, crossing her arms over her chest in your periphery. “Your father told me more about what happened.” 

You rolled your eyes, “It’s not a big deal. I’m not going to school the rest of the week so my mother is using that as free labor at the restaurant.”

Karina tugged at your arm, forcing you to look at her. Your gaze fell directly on her chest and you blushed. It was too early, and being this close to her didn’t exactly stop your body from reacting. You didn’t quite have a control on your hormones. You quickly averted your eyes to hers. “It is a big deal.” If she noticed you gawking at her chest, she didn’t comment. “You got into a fight because of me.” 

“Yeah and I’d do it again,” You shrugged, eyes looking everywhere else except her. “You don’t deserve that.”

“People are going to talk regardless,” Karina sighed, shaking her head. She had a point, but it didn’t mean you’d let that stop you if you heard it yourself. “I don’t care what people say about me, and you shouldn’t either.”

“I do. I fucking care if someone’s talking about you like that. It’s fucking—” 

Karina placed her index finger on your lips, shushing you, “You’re not going to be able to stop every single person that talks about me in that way. I’ve heard it. Yeji’s heard it. We’ve all heard it, but it doesn’t mean we throw a fist every time. Yeah it’s annoying, but it’s not worth the trouble. They could say whatever they want about me, but only the people I care about know the truth, right?” 

You hated to admit she had another point, so you relented. She poked your cheek, “Stop brooding. I appreciate you sticking up for me, but really, it’s okay.” 

“I’d do it again,” You pouted, crossing your arms. 

“Yes you’ve said that,” Karina chuckled, resting her head on your shoulder. 

You couldn’t help how you felt your friend down there reacted, stirring at the proximity of an attractive woman especially in your bed. You cleared your throat, needing to get away from the situation and into the shower—a cold one at that. 

Karina was your best friend and you had a crush on your other best friend. 

This was all too confusing. 

“Walk me home?” Karina asked innocently, unaware of your inner turmoil. 

You nodded, not trusting your voice, but ultimately jumping out of bed. “I’m going to shower first.” 

Karina waved you off, sinking back underneath the covers. 

Thank god you thought.

You had to remind yourself you liked Minjeong. You just had a natural reaction. 

(That was what you told yourself, ignoring the scratch behind your ribcage as you looked back at Karina with her eyes closed on your pillow.) 

-- -- 

Karina whines as you beat her again in Mario Kart. She had the bright idea to play after you finished another bottle of soju. 

“Why don’t you let me win?!” Karina whacks you over the head, causing you to drop the controller. “You’re such an ass.”

“You’re the one that wanted to play!” You glare, rubbing the spot. “It’s not my problem that you suck.” 

“Shut up,” Karina puts you in a headlock, catching you off guard as you struggle to get out. “Say sorry.”

“What are you, five?” Her grip tightens at the sarcasm. “Okay okay, I’m sorry!” 

Karina finally lets go, huffing as you glare. She grabs another unopened bottle, handing it to you without saying anything. You reluctantly open it, but not before taking a sip that she hits you again. 

“Jesus christ,” You mutter once you give the bottle. “My neighbors are going to think I’m being abused.”

Karina rolls her eyes before standing up. You ask where she was going, and she answers that she was leaving. “It’s getting late. I better leave to catch the last train.” 

“What?” You pull her back down before she could take a step. “Just stay the night. I’ll take the couch, you take the bed.” It’s a simple solution. You also don’t want Karina to leave yet. It’s been a while since you spent time alone together. 

Karina contemplates it for a moment, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, please stay,” You nod, tilting your head towards your room, “Go change into some of my clothes.” Adding with an easy smile, “Just like old times.”

Karina laughs, shaking her head shyly, “Do I get to keep a hoodie or two?”

“Absolutely not,” You deadpan, bursting into laughter a second later as she trots to your room. “You have more than enough!” You yell after her, shaking your head. 

It’s nice to be with Karina. Life has been busy, leaving little to no time to actually see each other. You hadn’t seen her in almost four months, and that was at her birthday dinner Minjeong planned. You texted here and there, but it was hard planning anything since she was in and out of the country. 

Your best friend is a model for high fashion luxury brands. And, well, you’re just you, living a relatively normal life. She had a completely different lifestyle that associated her with a bunch of people in an industry you weren’t familiar with. When she caught her ‘big break,’ you were nothing but supportive. 

Time was precious. Minjeong dying definitely taught you that hard lesson, so you’ll take whatever time you can with Karina before she’s off jet setting across the world again. 

You realize that you’re drunk. Not tipsy. Flat out drunk. You glance at the empty bottles on the coffee table, counting them as you wait for Karina to return. There’s a couple unopened ones, which you’ll drink and you’ll call it a night. You don’t have any plans tomorrow, but you also don’t want to nurse a hangover. It gets harder to bounce back and be a functional member of society.

It could’ve been five minutes or thirty minutes, but the moment Karina walks back to the living room, your brain short circuits. You have to consciously close your mouth, jaw clenching as you take in her appearance. You have to also bite your tongue to halt whatever thoughts you’re having. 

You’ve seen Karina wear all sorts of your clothes throughout the years. From shorts to pants to shirts to sweaters to jackets to whatever else was in your closet. You thought nothing of it before, but now you’re thinking everything of it. 

Her outfit choice isn’t anything crazy, and you’ve seen her wear something like this before—sort of. She took one of your shirts, that would fit just right on you, but because you have a bit of height on her, it’s completely oversized. The shirt falls just past mid-thigh, and you couldn’t remember if the shirt was that big on you. You say this outfit is sort of similar because she usually paired it with shorts or sweats, but not this time. 

All you see is skin, her skin, and you can’t help the way your eyes trail up her thigh, mind drifting if she’s wearing anything underneath. 

You pray to the universe or whatever god she believed it that she is, because even the thought of nothing has your soul needing to be cleansed of the sins crossing your mind. 

“Everything okay…?” Karina’s question snaps you out of you ogling her. 

You clear your throat, nodding your head, “Yeah.” The word comes out a lot rougher than you expected. “Yeah,” You repeat, hoping it sounded a lot smoother.

(It didn’t.)

Karina apologizes for taking so long, explaining she took a quick shower to freshen up, as she reclaims her seat on the couch. You keep your eyes up, forcing yourself not to look down at the exposed skin. 

“I didn’t even realize you were gone for that long,” You say sheepishly, bashfully looking away and you fuck up by looking down. The shirt’s still big on her, but it slightly slid up, showing more. 

“Okay ass,” Karina rolls her eyes, swatting her hand playfully on your shoulder. “Go change. You have to be uncomfortable in that.” She gestures to your slacks and dress shirt. You took the tie off once she challenged you to a race. 

You agree, standing, but not without ruffling her hair because you just want to annoy her. She curses at you as you walk away, dodging the couch pillow in the process. 

You choose something simple—black sweats and black shirt. You decide to shower too because your hair feels oily and you need to wash away whatever that was in the living room. A cold shower too. To cool your body from the soju. 

(That’s what you tell yourself anyways.) 

You don’t take too long, but as you’re getting dressed, you hear a shriek from the kitchen. You run out from the room to Karina fumbling with the stove and water rolling over the small pot. You quickly notice the flames growing with each drop of water, and instinctively rush over, wrapping a strong arm around Karina to pull her away. 

“Be careful,” You lightly scold her, shutting the stove off with Karina pressed against your side. “What were you doing?” 

“I was hungry,” Karina’s arms rest on your chest, shaking her head. “I was looking for ramyun since I know you always have a supply of them.” 

You roll your eyes, “I’ll grab it and make it for you.” You move to let Karina go, but she tenses in your arm. Your grip slackens, and there’s a wide-eyed expression on her face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

Karina’s mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. She glances down and you realize why she’s suddenly frozen in your arm. When you heard the commotion, you completely dropped what you were doing, as in, you didn’t put a shirt on because you thought she hurt herself.

Clearly rationale goes out the window if Karina’s involved. 

(It wouldn’t be the first time. 

More on that later.)

“I—uh,” You stutter and drop your arm awkwardly, grabbing a kitchen towel to wipe the surface. “Sorry. I’ll clean this up and put a shirt on and make us food. Sit on the couch or do whatever.” It came out rushed, dismissive, embarrassed that you couldn’t look her in the eyes.

Karina’s seen you without a shirt before, but for some reason… 

It was different. 

Really different. 

That you didn’t know what you were thinking or feeling. 

-- -- 

“Oppa!” Minjeong yelled, grabbing your wrist. “There’s no point, he already left. Just let it go.” 

“Fuck that. I’m going to beat his fucking ass.” You were upset. Actually, upset didn’t even describe it. You were livid. For a small woman, Minjeong was able to stop you, yanking your arm back to keep you from doing something stupid. “Minjeong, let go.” You said calmly, but you definitely weren’t. 

Minjeong sighed, rolling her eyes. She didn’t let go, tightening her hand, “You ‘beating his ass’ or whatever,” She mocked and that added fuel to the fire, “Isn’t going to do anything.”

“It’s Karina’s birthday. How the fuck is he going to break up with her on her birthday?” You spat, frustrated with how the night was turning out. 

“Jaewook’s an ass,” Minjeong emphasized, “We’ve known this. She knows this too. She wasn’t serious about him.”

“She’s fucking crying.” Your free hand gestured to where Karina was. Her face was buried in Yeji’s neck while Ryujin rubbed her back, consoling her. “Who the fuck does he think he is?” 

“Look,” Minjeong slowly released her hand, gauging that you wouldn’t go anywhere, “It doesn’t matter.” 

“It—”

Your childhood best friend cut you off, “It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. It was always going to happen, it just happened to be today. If you want to do something useful, go make Karina feel better.” Her hands gently rest on your shoulders, pushing you in said woman’s direction. 

“What do I even say?” You asked, suddenly uncertain how to do something you had done before.

Minjeong shrugged, a teasing smile tugged at the corner of her lips, “You know her as well as I do. Maybe slightly less, but I digress. Now go. She most likely wants to see you.” 

If it were any other time, you would ask what Minjeong meant by that. Given the circumstances, there was no time to elaborate. 

You walked up to the trio, and Yeji noticed you first, tilting her head curiously. Ryujin turned around, tapping Karina lightly on the shoulder that she did the same. 

“Um, hey.” You scratched the back of your head, a well-known habit you did whenever you were uncomfortable. “Can we talk?” 

Karina wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, nodding. Some telepathic conversation happened between her and Yeji, that she gave Karina one last squeeze before she took your hand in hers. 

You guided her through the crowd and out of the bar, the cool air from the night hitting your face. It oddly felt suffocating in there, but you rationalized it was because of the amount of people. 

This breath of fresh air was exactly what you needed. 

You walked a bit, away from the entrance of the bar with Karina’s hand still in yours. To anyone passing by, it would look like you were a couple. That happened a lot. Even your own friends (Minjeong included) thought you were secretly dating, but you and Karina vehemently denied such rumors. 

“I’m sorry for ruining the night,” Karina said softly, voice slightly raspy as you passed by a coffee shop. “I didn’t think I’d react like that.” 

You gave her a confused look, legs stopping on the sidewalk as you turned to face her. “Wait, why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Karina forced a smile, eyes looking down like she was being scolded by her parents. “I meant to end things before tonight, but with work, I haven’t been around.” With the recent signing with an agency, she had been traveling in and out of the country. You yourself had hardly seen her, only knowing what’s going on from Minjeong. “I just didn’t think it’d hit me this hard. Another failed relationship to add to my belt.” She said bitterly, biting her lip and you saw how hard she was trying to keep it together. 

Without much thought and since you were still holding hands, you pulled her into a hug. It took her by surprise as her arms stayed limply at her sides. You weren’t the same height anymore—at a least tall enough to rest your chin on her head—so Karina fit perfectly against you. Her body trembled, face burying into your chest, and you didn’t mind that there would be tear stains on your shirt. 

What you did mind was how she was feeling. She had always been hung up on dating once you graduated high school. Minjeong told her to just be patient while you never understood the sudden change. It wasn’t like finding suitors was hard for her, but you witnessed that keeping them was the problem. 

(A problem you couldn’t solve.)

“It’ll happen,” You mumbled, holding her tighter, “I don’t know when, but it will. If it makes you feel any better, Mina dumped me because I was, according to her, emotionally unavailable.” 

That comment made Karina giggle. She looked up, meeting your gaze, “But you are. You like Minjeong.” Something flashed in her eyes as she said that, but it was gone as quickly as it came. 

“Yeah I do,” You shrugged. “But I like you too. So if some punk like Jaewook couldn’t see how great you are, his loss.”

Karina’s arms wrapped around your waist, “Stop,” She whined, embarrassed at the sudden compliment. “You’re making me blush.” 

“Good,” You nodded. You didn’t know what you were going to accomplish by pulling her away from the party, but you were glad you did. 

“Wait,” Karina tilted her head back again, “You didn’t go after him right?” 

You gave a sheepish smile, “I may or may not have tried.” Karina slapped your lower back, followed by a small pinch. “Okay I tried, but Minjeong stopped me.”

“What have I told you about getting into fights? You never listen to me.” Karina huffed, unwrapping her arms before stepping backwards, crossing them over her chest. 

(You ignored how you wanted to pull her back in.) 

“I didn’t get into one,” You retorted, raising an eyebrow. 

“But you would have.”

“It would’ve been for you!” You reasoned as Karina started walking away, shaking her head. 

“I know,” Karina said once you caught up, shoving you off balance. “You’re still the same as when we were kids.”

“When it comes to you? Absolutely. That’ll never change.”

-- -- 

You place the tray on the coffee table. Two bowls of ramyun along with a plate filled with whatever sides you had. You even cooked an egg since you know that’s how she liked it. 

“Thanks,” Karina sends you a small smile, reaching for the utensils. 

It’s just a tad awkward. After the ordeal in the kitchen, you went to put a shirt on and prepared a quick meal. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to satisfy a drunken craving. 

You eat in silence, the only sound is the slurping of noodles and the occasional blowing to cool them. You’re at a loss for words because as much as you want to say something, your mind is elsewhere. 

It fell into uncharted territory, a place you didn’t know existed, hidden from you until you absolutely had to find it. You couldn’t figure out if that consciously or subconsciously, but all you know is that however you felt for Minjeong doesn’t compare to what you’re feeling for Karina. You can discern that it’s the same, but different. It’s more intense, more intentional, just more. 

(Maybe you’re just drunk, but don’t people say that when you’re drunk, it magnifies feelings you already have?)

You finish eating at the same time, awkwardly smiling before you stand to clean up. Karina doesn’t let you though, instructing you to relax since you did everything. “It’s only fair,” She says quietly. 

As Karina puts things away, you grab an unopened bottle off the table. You doubt alcohol will help you understand what exactly you’re feeling, but it’ll keep them at bay. 

(Or it won’t. Who really knows at this point.) 

Your body feels warm, especially your cheeks. You hardly pay any attention to what Karina’s doing, but keep an ear out in case something happens again. You’re lost in your thoughts that you don’t feel the couch cushion dip, but Karina’s arm brushing against your arm snaps you out. 

“You okay?” Karina bites her lip, that the thought she’s cute crosses your mind. 

“Ye-ah.” The word gets stuck, turning a one-syllable word into two. “Should we finish these, and then go to bed?” 

More alcohol sounds like a bad idea, but there isn’t anyone to stop you. Plus, you couldn’t let it go to waste. 

Karina nods, and you sense a question coming, but she doesn’t ask anything. She instead tells you a bit of her current project, somewhere in Paris, and how she just left without any warning. Her manager was pissed, but she didn’t care. She needed to return to Korea and be here for this. For you is what she meant, but you’d never know that. 

“Are they mad?” You ask out of curiosity. Karina barely spoke about her job with you so this would be the first time you hear it from her. 

Chuckling, “No. They understand where I’m coming from, and even if they took me off, I couldn’t care about it. This is more important.” 

What you heard was Karina being a good friend, a good daughter, to be there in this serious time, but you felt she meant that you were more important than her job. It could be your imagination, making something out of nothing. 

You are an important person in Karina’s life, but not that important. You didn’t see yourself as someone that had that much of a presence in her life. Maybe when you were younger, but as you grew up, you both had different friends. 

(But you had always been there for each other.)

Whatever weirdness that was there, vanished, poof. It was as if whatever formed wasn’t there, but you’d bet your life that it was. The moment passed, but you were stuck. 

The conversation shifts into something light, easy, blatantly ignoring the tension that hung over you as you spoke about your job and the mundanity of it. Karina listens. She always does with such attention that you had never seen her give anyone else. She hung on every word, eyes always on you as if you were the only two people in the room. 

You’re not keeping track of time as you talk. It’s easy talking about whatever crosses your mind without worrying about what you’re saying. Karina knows you, never judging but always quick to call you out when you’re wrong. You valued her opinion the most so you listened. 

“Where was Jennie?” The question catches you off guard, not expecting that name to come out of Karina’s mouth. They didn’t get along. Cordial for your sake, but you heard it from Jennie and Minjeong that they didn’t like each other. 

You thought they’d have a lot in common. They’re both models, so it made sense that they’d have something to talk about. They knew of each other, but never worked together. 

You also thought the first time they met, introducing Jennie to both Karina and Minjeong, went well. They seemed friendly, laughing a lot from what you heard. 

That was not the case. 

Minjeong said that Karina said that Jennie was not worthy of your time and attention as Jennie said that Karina liked you, pretty much in love with you. You didn’t know what she was talking about because you had never seen Karina that way nor had she ever acted like she saw you more than a friend. You had seen Karina in relationships, and how she was with them wasn’t like that with you. 

It was a point of contention in your relationship. Jennie accused you of using her to make Karina jealous. You called her delusional because there was no way Karina could ever see you that way, no possibility of that happening because your best friend was out of your league. Hell, you didn’t even play the same sport so there was no competition.

“Ah, well we broke up a month or so ago,” You say vaguely. You didn’t feel the need to go into detail about why. “It was mutual. Things just weren’t working out.” 

“What?” Karina turns to face you. “What does that mean?” 

What happened was Jennie was going away for longer and longer periods of time. You knew what you signed up for, but within the past few months, she’d take on more projects. You learned she was avoiding you after she saw you and Karina from a distance, as she said she had never seen you look at her like that. When you asked what she meant, she couldn’t explain it. She just said it was different, and you denied having any feelings for Karina, which she chuckled at. She agreed that maybe you didn’t, but she couldn’t bear to find out. 

You were stumped after she left, leaving you alone in your apartment, staring at the door. You didn’t know what to even say because Jennie had it so wrong. You liked Minjeong. 

Right?

You couldn’t let it rest. So you decided you’d tell Minjeong how you felt, to prove to Jennie that who you actually liked was Minjeong—not Karina, definitely not Karina. 

You would never know now. Minjeong was gone, and any chance of learning if she felt the same was impossible. The ‘what if’ kind of situation if things hadn’t happened the way it did. 

“Scheduling and all that,” You tell a partial truth, figuring getting into that right now would reveal something you’re not ready to admit. “I’m not hurt about it. It was easy to move on.”

(Would you ever move on from Minjeong? That question lingered in your mind.

Unless…)

Karina doesn’t believe you, but she accepts it, still saying I’m sorry as you finish what’s left in your bottle. You tilt your head all the way back and when you’re done, she’s doing the same. 

“Would you have ever told Minjeong how you felt?” Karina asks quietly, eyes focused on the bottle as her hands fidget. 

“I was going to,” You say simply as her eyes widen in surprise. You take that as a sign to continue, “I think after my last conversation with Jennie, I needed to know. I planned to tell her that day, but now it’ll just remain a mystery.” 

You aren’t prepared for the next words that come out of her mouth, “So pretend I’m her and tell me.” 

“Karina, what?” Shocked at how easily she said it, as if it was just telling her what day of the week it is. “What’re you saying?” 

“Tell me what you would’ve told her,” Karina paraphrases it, but it isn’t making sense why she’d suggest it. “What’s the big deal?”

“Uh, that’s personal,” You argue. She raised an eyebrow, calling your lie. She’s heard it all throughout the years, but this time, it felt like something you had to keep from her. 

“What’s different telling me now than all the other times you have before?” 

Karina’s right. 

It shouldn’t be different, but your gut tells you it is. That whatever you say now is actually meant for her. 

“Come on,” Karina continues, grabbing your wrist in her hand. “You telling me won’t change the outcome.” She’s not wrong, but it doesn’t feel right either. “Think of it as a way to get everything off your chest.” 

You hesitate. Your anxiety spikes. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you actually consider it. You’re scared that you’re going to say something you’re not prepared to admit. 

Emotions are high. Being drunk makes it hard to regulate them, let alone understand what you’re exactly feeling. And you go back to Karina’s current outfit, which doesn’t have you thinking clearly to begin with. 

It’s a split second choice, but you relent, deciding that whatever you’re feeling is how you truly feel. Maybe it’s the soju. Maybe it’s Karina. Maybe—ultimately—it’s a sobering realization that you’ve actually fooled yourself all these years. Jennie was right. 

You were—are—in love with the woman in front of you. 

But she’s telling you to confess how you felt about Minjeong when that never existed. Minjeong was still your best friend, but you quickly realize just how different your relationships with each woman were. 

Karina tugs your sleeve, breaking you out of your thoughts. She tilts her head, concern etching her eyebrows closer. “I mean you don’t have to. 

“I…” You trail off. “Okay,” Nodding, “I’ll tell you, but take me seriously.” 

“When do I not?” Karina smiles, nodding. She swings her legs up, causing your gaze to drift down, as she crosses one over the other. 

You couldn’t believe you’re doing this, but here goes nothing. You hope she doesn’t read between the lines for once. 

“So I have something to tell you,” You start because even though you rehearsed it a thousand times for Minjeong, this is the first time for Karina. You have no idea how to say it and your current state of mind isn’t making it easy. Her gaze is unwavering, adding more pressure. “I’m…” 

“You’re…” Karina gives you a soft smile, knowing where the sentence is going, but unknowing that this is to her. 

“In love with you,” You admit out loud for the first time and for yourself. You decide to keep it short because there’s just too much going on in your head. “I don’t have much else to say, but yeah, I’m in love with you.” 

Karina’s jaw drops, eyes squinting as you don’t say anything else. “That’s it?” 

“Well, yeah?” You didn’t feel the weight leave your chest the moment you said those few words. If anything, the weight got heavier, pressing harder. 

“There’s no way. You’ve told me way more than that,” Karina argues, scooting closer that her leg brushes yours. “You’re hiding something.” 

“What could I possibly be hiding?” You snap, moving your leg because physical contact is not what you need right now. 

“I don’t know,” Karina shrugs, “But there’s something you’re not telling me.” You couldn’t say much, so you stayed quiet. That was enough for further questions, or from your point of view, demands. “Tell me.”

“I told you I’m in love with you,” You say easier, more confidently, more sure. “What else is there to know?” 

“Present tense?” Stupid semantics. “You’re in love with me?” Karina points to herself, as if she’s clarifying your statement. 

What did you have to lose? Oh, that’s right, her. You never got to the what happens after part in your head since you were still comprehending what’s happening now. 

“Yes,” Here goes nothing, “I’m in love with you. I think it was always you, not Minjeong, that I actually had feelings for. You’re one of the best people I know and I’m grateful for you in my life. I’m starting to realize that if there’s anyone I’ve ever lost my mind for, it was you.” 

You look away, shy and embarrassed for saying all that. Karina stares at the side of your face, and you don’t know what she’s thinking. Your body feels warm, and you couldn’t blame the alcohol. The room’s quiet, tension thickening the longer she doesn’t say anything. 

“You’re in love with me,” Karina repeats, unsure that she has to say it to herself to make sure she’s not dreaming. 

“I mean, yeah, I think? I’m a bit drunk but you’re making me feel things I’ve never felt,” Biting your lip, “Maybe acknowledged is the better word.” 

When you look up, Karina’s lips catch yours and you light up. Your body goes from warm to hot, burning at the sensation of her. Her arms fall on your shoulders, steadying herself as she lets out a sigh against your lips. Body pressed against you as you sink into the couch. 

“You have no idea,” Karina breathes out, air hot on your lips, “How much I’ve wanted to hear that.”  

As you start to move your lips, Karina pulls away. You go to chase her, but her hands firmly keep you in place. Your body tenses, hands twitching at the need to have her close again, but you stay. 

“And if I loved you back? What then?” Karina asks, voice transforming into something you’ve never heard—or better, experienced. It sends a shiver down your spine, and she smirks as your jaw clenches. “Well?” 

“Do you? Do you love me?” You don’t recognize your own voice as the words leave your mouth. 

“You’re an idiot,” Karina leans forward and pecks you sweetly on the cheek. “Completely oblivious,” She murmurs against your skin, lips ghosting your ear. You lose it when her teeth nip at your earlobe. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.” 

You’re about to respond when Karina places her index finger on your lips. You kiss it, eyes slowly meeting hers once you get to the tip. “Prove it.”

Karina’s expression darkens, and you’re fucked. It goes straight to your cock as it stirs underneath your sweats. “Let’s go.” She stands, taking you with her, “You’ll eat your words soon enough.” 

You want to eat her out, but you’ll see what she does first. 

Karina drags you to your room. A lot of thoughts cross your mind, and your imagination runs wild. You aren’t, however, prepared to be guided to sit on the chair across your bed. You typically used this piece of furniture as a placeholder for your clothes that you were too lazy to put in the laundry basket. It was in the bathroom, but some days, you were exhausted.

A finger tilts your gaze to meet Karina’s, heat shoots through your body. Her eyes are glazed over, hooded with lust as she watches you like prey. “I’ll show you,” She murmurs, “Watch me.” 

Her wish is your command as she slowly leans back, fingernail lightly scratching on your chin. She glances at your crotch, smirking at the pitched tent poking through. You weren’t small by any means, well above the average, that there was no way to hide it. 

“Keep your hands here,” Karina guides them to the arm rest, “Don’t move.” What she says, you do. She kisses you softly, tongue trailing against your lips. You groan when she pulls away, eyes filled with mirth. 

“You know…” Karina trails off, slowly walking backwards, “I’ve wondered what you’d feel like.” Her knees hit the bed, playfully laying down. “Especially after you slept with Yeji.” There’s a slight tinge of jealousy in her tone. 

It was a one time thing. Yeji wanted to get dinner after midterms, and you were the one willing while everyone else wanted to sleep. You didn’t know how it happened, but you ended up in bed with Yeji to blow off steam. Obviously Karina and Minjeong found out. The latter chuckled while the former gave you the cold shoulder for a whole week. She couldn’t believe you’d sleep with her best friend, and you didn’t see the big deal. You were single regardless of your feelings for Minjeong, you had needs. 

Karina props herself on her elbows, legs spreading that the shirt (your shirt) hikes up, exposing more and more of her skin. “She literally would not shut up about you for a week.” 

It’s a vague memory since it happened so long ago, and you remember getting teased by the group. You had no idea Yeji was so vocal about it. 

You watch the way Karina trails her finger down your shirt, pausing at the hem before you meet her eyes once again. “Naturally, I could not stop thinking about you for a week and then some.” Adding slowly, “She was very detailed.”

In a subtle move, her hand slips underneath, knees falling open like a book and you sharply inhale when the action confirms what you had been wondering since she walked out of your room. 

“Karina,” You growl, but you don’t move. She told you to stay, but your body is practically screaming to pounce. 

“Bet you weren’t expecting this,” Karina teases, eyes fluttering as she swipes a finger lightly through her folds. “I wasn’t expecting anything to happen, but… I’m glad I’m comfortable.”

Then it starts.

You’ve had thoughts about Karina before, especially as a teenager. Guilt washed over you anytime you thought of her like that. She was your best friend. It was slightly hypocritical to say since you could say the same about Minjeong, but there was something different about Karina. She was the type of girl you could never get close to. Untouchable in that sense, and it may have annoyed you whenever someone did get close to her in a way you never would. 

Until now. 

You watch, nearly holding your breath, as Karina touches herself. It doesn’t help your downstairs situation when her eyes are focused on you the whole time. You’re witnessing first hand how Karina pleasures herself, and you want nothing more than to be an active participant. 

“How you holding up there, buddy?” Karina teases, the whites of her eyes making a brief appearance as she rubs her clit. You don’t realize how hard you’re gripping the armrest nor do you realize how much your body leans forward to get a better view. “Yeji said you were thick.” Your cock practically throbbed at that statement. “I better stretch myself out, no?” 

It happens instantaneously. The moment Karina slips one finger in, she lets out the hottest moan you’ve ever heard. 

“Jimin.” You could spontaneously combust. 

“I’m, like, really tight,” Karina says casually, as if this could be said in typical conversation. “Be a good boy and let me see what I’ll be working with.” 

You nearly rip your sweats down, cock springing out from the confines of the fabric that was holding it together. You don’t miss the way Karina’s eyes widen nor do you miss the way she adds another finger, gasping before she draws out a moan.

“Okay,” Karina pants, staring intensely at your length. “Yeah, I’m going to need some help.” She raises her other hand, gesturing you to come join her on the bed. 

You kick off your sweats on the way over, leaving you naked from the waist down. The offending piece of clothing discarded somewhere on the floor as you kneel in between her legs. You’re salivating at the sight of her and all her naked glory. Her pussy’s shaved, clean, very well kept that your imagination called that. It did not, however, imagine how wet she would be. 

You dip your head, but Karina grabs your hair before you could do anything. A pathetic groan escapes your mouth and she laughs. 

“Hold on, lover boy,” Karina says coyly, tilting your head away. “I still want you to watch me.” 

“You’re a fucking tease,” You breathe out, mesmerized by the way she pumps her fingers inside her. Her walls are sucking them in, and you feel yourself leaking at the tip. 

“I have to, a little bit,” Karina pants as she grazes over her clit, “I’ve had years of this building.” 

Her pace quickens, which her shirt rides up, revealing her well-endowed chest. They’re not huge, but you wanted to see how they’d feel in your hands. 

Her back bows suddenly, pushing her breasts forward, letting gravity push them as her orgasm washes over her. You can’t help yourself, but your hand wraps around your cock, moaning as you finally give yourself some attention. 

“God,” Karina breathes out once her orgasm subsides, body relaxing into the bed. “Okay, none of that.” She flicks your forehead.

“Come on,” You pout, release your cock before you could do anything. 

“No.” Karina cups your jaw, trailing her thumb along your bottom lip. “Sit against the headboard.”

“Karina.” You’re flat out horny for the woman in front of you. Being in between her legs and not eating her out is a crime. 

“Do as I say,” Karina caresses your cheek, affectionately, sweetly, like she has you right where she wants you. 

You relent, huffing, but not without being a little shit as you blow against her clit. Her knees come together, trapping you there, at the sudden stimulation, body still sensitive from her quick orgasm. 

“Fuck you,” Karina groans as she pushes your face away. “Now go sit.” 

You crawl on your bed, momentarily pausing above Karina’s face. She watches you curiously, head tilting to the side as you slowly bring her into a chaste kiss. You don’t bother taking it further as her lips simply feel nice against yours. Though, her squirming beneath you has you smiling. 

You follow her directions, settling against the headboard with your legs wide as Karina turns over. She sits on her knees, calculating her next move, which results in her hand on your thigh. “You know…” Trailing off as her nails lightly trace over your skin. 

“Not again,” Your lungs have seemed to stop working as her hand moves closer to where you want her most. You have to force yourself to breathe. 

An airy chuckle falls from her lips as they turn upward. Her finger faintly touches your cock, causing your body to jerk. 

“So… Sensitive,” Karina states matter-of-factly. You hold your breath as she leans forward. Her breath ghosts your tip, that’s embarrassingly leaking. You almost want to push her head down, but you’re slightly scared she’ll stop if you don’t obey her orders. “You’re a lot… bigger up close. Maybe even the biggest? It’s hard for me to say.”

You’d rather not hear about Karina’s previous lovers. She has never told you about it explicitly. At least to what you would imagine she’d say to Yeji or Giselle. She doesn’t seem to pick up on the jealousy, and if she does, she doesn’t acknowledge it, continuing with this torture. 

Karina pushes herself up, face up close to yours that you’re realizing how beautiful she is. “What?” Her hand snakes around to your neck as her other rests on your chest. Her weight presses into you that you freeze when your cock brushes against her stomach. “Don’t look at me like that,” She laughs nervously, eyes darting away. 

“Hard not to,” You gulp, raising your arms to hold her waist. She tilts her head down just enough that her lips brush against yours. 

And a chord inside you breaks. 

You pull her body in, bringing your lips together as she moans softly into your mouth. Her tongue swipes on your lower lip, and you comply, granting her access fully. It’s all teeth and tongue, wrestling, fighting for dominance. 

Karina wins the moment a soft, small hand wraps around your cock. It catches you off guard, groaning into her as she slowly moves up and down. 

“Fuck,” Karina rubs her palm over the tip, collecting whatever’s leaked to spread all over your length. “I can barely wrap my fingers around you.”

You know. You feel it in the way she slightly squeezes, like she needs to get a better grip. It’s dizzying how she moves so fluidly with every flick of the wrist. You’re losing yourself with her lips moving easily, taking whatever you give her. 

You want to give her the universe at this point. 

“Can I?” Karina murmurs against your lips, picking up the pace of her stroke. 

“Can you what?” Your eyes roll back. 

“Put my mouth on you.” 

You groan again, nodding eagerly as she lowers her head. You’re entrance at the way her tongue sticks out, extending the slightest as she licks your tip. “Holy shit.” The first contact of her on you has you reeling. 

A pretty smirk paints her pretty face as she languidly moves her tongue over your length, not leaving any part untouched. It’s embarrassing how fast you feel yourself coming apart. You haven’t even had the full experience of her mouth around you—

“Fuck.” You spoke too soon because her mouth engulfs your tip that your hand shoots to her head, gripping her hair as you try to have some kind of control. 

By accident, or not, you push Karina’s head down, enough to the point where your cock hits the back of her throat. The action triggers her gag reflex, forcing her off. 

“Okay relax,” Karina says sharply after she gasps for air, a little bit of saliva sticking on her chin. “I think I’ll need to practice.”

“Then fucking practice,” You snarl, eagerly waiting for her to continue.

Karina shakes her head as she rocks to her heels, swinging a leg over yours. She’s suddenly seated on your lap, and her hips rock the slightest, pussy brushing over your cock. Your hands wrap around her waist, pulling her back. It elicits a gasp followed by a sigh as she rests her arms around your neck. 

“Later,” Karina’s hands slip behind her when you feel her fingers wrap around your cock, lightly slapping it against her clit. “I want this—”

“Condom!” You grip her body as she slowly lowers herself, a hot warmth engulfing the tip. 

“What?” A frustrated sigh leaves her lips as she raises her hips. You hold in the whimper as your cock leaves her body. “Why?” 

“I just want to be safe?” It lacks confidence, making it sound more like a question. 

“Eh?” She looks like she wants to rip your head off. She seemed very determined to get you inside her, to feel all of you, but you were taking the one thing she desired for. “You’re fucking weird, but I don’t care. You’ll let me take it off at some point.”

“Doubtful,” You say weakly, watching that same determination increase across her features. 

She’s going to ruin you. 

You reach into your nightstand, conveniently having a box of condoms ready. Karina rolls her eyes at the easy access, but hey, you have a healthy sex life and you didn’t need a bunch of little yous running around. 

Within seconds, you tear the wrapper, rolling the offending piece of material over your length. Karina scoffs, shaking her head, as you toss the trash on the floor. 

“You did that fast,” Karina mocks, shifting her hips back to the original position. “You’ll wish you didn’t put one on.” 

You’re about to make a crude remark, but Karina moves without warning, hand guiding your cock in the apex of her thighs. You feel the warmth radiating over the condom as her pussy wraps around the tip. 

“Karina,” Your hands grip her hips, steadying her. “You’re so tight.” You moan through gritted teeth. 

“My fingers aren’t that big,” Karina sighs at the intrusion. “Your dick, however, is.” 

The statement goes to the aforementioned organ and you can’t wait. You drag her down your length, bullying through her walls. The sensation overwhelms you, choking out a breath as she stops halfway. 

“It’s too much,” She’s trying to breathe, but a pained expression stops you.

You have to control your body, your hips, your hormones—everything. You want to lose yourself in her, which you’re just about there, but you care more about her comfort. 

“I could just eat you out or something,” You offer. Her pussy contracts at the statement, eliciting a moan. 

Karina shakes her head, teeth biting into her bottom lip, “No, I can take you. Just,” She breathes out, “Give me a moment.” 

You don’t want this moment to last for too long because your cock is throbbing, but you grin and bear it. 

You don’t want to admit Karina’s right, but your mind goes haywire at the thought of how this experience would feel without a condom. It’s a lot through the condom. 

“Okay,” Karina says more to herself, mentally preparing as she gently rocks her hips. The motion steals a sharp moan as she takes more of your length. “For fucks sake.” 

Your first mistake was looking at where you’re joined. The sight of half your cock being swallowed by her pussy has you at a loss for words. 

Your second mistake was your hips jerking upward, accidentally forcing her to take more of you. Her legs spread wider, welcoming the intrusion as she inches closer to the base. 

It takes a few more minutes and a few more rocks of her hips that she’s fully wrapped around you. 

Hot. 

Tight. 

Warm. 

You would like to say you have an extensive vocabulary, but you couldn’t find the words. You’re speechless, when you’re known to have a mouth. One of the things Karina finds the most annoying about you. She could never get you to shut up, yet she finally has—in the hottest way possible. 

“Bet you want to take off the condom,” Karina murmurs, teeth nipping at your jaw as your head slowly tilts back. Your body shives once her lips kiss your neck, tongue soothing whatever mark in its wake. 

“I don’t want to get you pregnant.” 

Karina chuckles, lips curling up against your skin, “It’s called birth control, a part of modern medicine. I’m safe, but it would be a thrill to find out if you could.” Her pussy tightens at her words, sending a shock through your cock that has your mind blank at the thought of that. 

“Karina,” You warn, hands tightening around her waist. The temptation is too great. The chances of her getting pregnant are low, but still. You couldn’t let your morals go, as much as you wanted to. 

Karina rips your shirt off, head slipping through before she haphazardly tosses it over her shoulder. You’re completely naked and her eyes devour your physique. 

“I knew you were fit,” Karina’s nails lightly trace over your abdomen, muscles flexing at her touch, “But I didn’t know you were this fit.” 

Your hips snap up once her finger brushes over her clit, jolting her body forward. “Stop with the teasing or let me just fuck—okay, okay.” She rolls her hips down, sending your favorite body part into sensation overload. 

“Watch me,” Karina commands softly and you comply, eyes watching her as the anticipation builds. Sweat drips down the back of your neck as she tugs her shirt off, flipping her hair over her shoulder. 

“You look so fucking pretty.” You stare at Karina in awe, struck by her beauty and, well, her bare chest. You’re on even playing fields, but you were still at her mercy. 

Karina smiles as she lifts herself slightly, dragging her walls along your length before dropping down. She lets out a breath, biting her lip as she repeats the motion.

Slow.

Deliberate. 

Intentional.

As if her one goal is for you to lose your fucking mind. 

You already lost it the moment you felt her warmth wrap around you, but this? This is different. 

You do as she says, watching her body move fluidly over you, working your length in and out of her body, ensuring that no part of her goes untouched. It’s damn near a spiritual experience that your arms lift to hold onto your hips, to make sure you aren’t dreaming, but she pins your arms above your head against the headboard. 

“No,” Karina says roughly, voice thick with want as her pace increases, hips undulating that has your body on fire. “I’m in control.”

“Jagiya.” The nickname slips out after a particularly jolting thrust. “Please.” You whimper, head tilting back hard against the headboard. There’s going to be a bruise, but you couldn’t care less. 

It’s difficult to pay attention to the pain when you have someone like Karina on top of you, doing the most ungodly and deprived things to you, as if she has something to prove. 

Karina’s pace gradually increases, forcing her to let go and tethering her hands on your shoulders, nails digging into your skin. The pain adds to the pleasure and you can’t help but moan after every thrust. 

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Karina says through her teeth, biting her lip to muffle her moans. “I wish you didn’t put the fucking condom on.” And you agree. You shouldn’t have, but you’re absolutely certain that you would not last if you felt all of her without it. 

“I’m sorry,” You mumble, hands finding her hips to guide her movement. “Do you want to—” 

Shaking her head, Karina breathes out, “No, too late. I’m going to—fuck.” 

Karina suddenly crashes her lips against yours, arms pulling your neck into her as she lets out a broken moan. Her body seizes in your hold, back arching that her breasts press against your chest. Then what follows has you gripping her hips tightly as her pussy tightens rhythmically on your cock. 

Her orgasm wracks through her body to you that you throw everything she has commanded of you so far out the metaphorical window. You finally take control, thrusting up into her body as she screams at the overstimulation. 

“C’mon baby,” You murmur, burying your face into her neck. “Keep going,” You goad, spurring her on as her body trembles. “Keep coming for me.” 

“God, yes,” Karina cries followed by a choked sob, slamming her hips against yours. “Yes, yes, yes,” She repeats like a mantra, a prayer to take her over the edge again. 

It’s all too much for you, that small pit in your lower abdomen growing. Your orgasm is right behind hers and by some divine intervention, you’re able to tell her. It triggers something because she suddenly lifts her body off, ripping the condom off before two hands wrap around your cock. 

“Cum all over me, you know you want to,” Karina says seductively, stroking her hands up and down over your cock. 

And you’ve been obedient from the start, why stop now? 

You explode without much warning, letting out the deepest growl as Karina aims your cock over her chest. Her face lights up once the thick ropes of your essence shoot out. It’s a lot, but it doesn’t deter her in the slightest. She welcomes it, even sticking out her tongue as a bit of it hits her chin. Your vision goes white, too overwhelmed with the intensity and pleasure flooding your body. 

“Jagiya,” You whimper, fingers circling her wrist as she keeps going. “It’s too much—fuck.” She eventually stops, leaving you fucked out and empty. You’re in a daze, not cognizant of what she’s doing. You moan, eyes shooting open when her lips place a soft kiss on the tip. 

Karina chuckles softly, shaking her head as a small smile tugs at her lips. She leans away, and you wish you had your camera nearby. It’s a sight to behold of you painted all over her body. It’s a mess, but what a beautiful one. 

“Next time,” Karina says lowly, eyes narrowing, “You’re going to cum inside me.” 

You agree like an idiot willing to risk everything for her. She giggles, rolling her eyes, since your ability to form a coherent sentence is limited. “Yes ma’am,” Is all you can manage to say with her still on top of you before your eyes close, heavy with exhaustion. 

The last thing you remember is Karina’s lips on your cheek, smiling as sleep inevitably takes over. 

-- --  

You wake up relaxed and content. For the first time since the accident, you see the light at the end of the tunnel and it’s all thanks to Karina. Sex aside, you’re more sure of how you feel and everything you ever felt for Minjeong was how you actually felt for Karina. 

You didn’t know how to broach the subject of you and her, but you were confident that you’d be able to. You were sure there would be arguments, but that was just how you spoke to each other. When it boiled down to it, you and Karina were more than understanding when the other was involved. 

(You wouldn’t admit it, but when it came to Karina, you took everything seriously.) 

You don’t notice it at first, but after scratching the sleep from your eyes, you realize that the other side of your bed is empty and neatly made. You vaguely remember waking up in the middle of the night to Karina nestled into your side before falling back asleep. 

Except for a folded note on the pillow. 

You sit up slowly, stretching the aches from last night’s activities before grabbing the small piece of paper. You figured Karina had to leave early, briefly remembering she had a flight back to Paris.

But as soon as you read the familiar handwriting, your heart sinks. 

Last night was a mistake. 

It shouldn’t have happened. 

I’m sorry. 

-- -- –

(i, too, am sorry. there will be a sequel tho, that much i can guarantee. when? idk, but thank you for reading, lolz)

[sweettu1ips]

PAIGE BUECKERS x FEM!READER

SYNOPSIS: A fall shattered her future, dreams slipping through trembling fingers—but in the quiet ache of recovery, love reveals itself. Not in grand gestures, but in the steady presence of Paige, who has always been home.

WARNING(S): -ish, angst ⋮ yelling ⋮ argument ⋮ ACL injury ⋮ pain ⋮ crying ⋮ reader feeling lost(ig) ⋮ kissing ⋮ fluffy towards the end ⋮ ACL recovery ⋮ friends to lovers ⋮ emotional ⋮ slow-burn(ish) ⋮ kind of shit writing :/ ⋮ i'm not sure if i'm missing anything...

WORD COUNT: 9.2k [Here's a pretty long one before I start writing the series <3]

| MAIN MASTER LIST |

ONE SECOND, I WAS IN THE AIR—suspended between gravity and glory—the ball in my court, the championship within reach.

The lights above gleamed like stars, burning bright against the cavernous arena, the roar of the crowd swelling like a tidal wave, pushing me higher, willing me forward. 

Every muscle in my body coiled with purpose, years of training condensed into this single, breathless moment. This was for us. For my girls, who bled beside me in every grueling practice.

For coach, who shaped me from raw talent into something unstoppable. For every person who had ever screamed my name, believing I could be something more than just a player.

And then the next second, it was as if time twisted, crueling and unrelenting. 

Time did not just slow; it fractured. The moment of collision ripped through me like a lightning strike, sudden and merciless.

My body twisted midair, momentum stolen, limbs flailing before the ground rose up to meet me. But it wasn’t just a fall. It was a crash, a brutal, unforgiving descent into agony.

The court was not hardwood beneath me; it was steel, unrelenting, and I crumpled against it like a marionette with its strings cut. Pain detonated through my body—sharp, blinding, all-consuming. 

A firestorm in my knee, a searing knife twisting in my hip, a sickening pop I both heard and felt.

The scream ripped from my throat before I even realized I was the one making it, raw and jagged, swallowed by the gasps in the crowd, the shrill of the referee’s whistle, the frantic shouts of my teammates.

 But none of it was louder than the relentless pounding in my ears, the deafening rhythm of my own heartbeat, slamming against my ribs like it wanted out. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end.

Tonight was the night. One of the biggest games of the season–– the Big East Championship. The night we were supposed to take everything we had bled for and make it ours.

And yet—here I was. Not sprinting down the court, not lifting the trophy, not standing.

Just lying there, my fingers digging into the polished wood, as if I could anchor myself against the inevitable.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

The pain wasn’t fading. It was swelling, spreading, sinking into my bones like venom. My knee was twisted at an unnatural angle, the joint already ballooning, throbbing, pulsing with heat. My hip screamed in protest when I tried to move, sending shockwaves of white-hot agony racing up my spine. And then there was the fear—the cold, creeping dread settling in my chest, suffocating, paralyzing.

Because this wasn’t just a fall.

This was something worse.

Something that could rip basketball from my grasp. Forever.

The world around me blurred, colors bleeding together, faces twisting in and out of focus like smudged paint on a canvas.

My chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths, my fingers twitching against the slick hardwood as if I could claw my way back to before. Before the fall. Before the pain.

Before the moment my entire world began to slip through my fingers like sand in an unforgiving tide.

A hand pressed against my shoulder—firm, steady, yet trembling at the edges.

Coach.

His voice was a muffled hum against the static in my ears, but I could hear the strain in it, the forced calm he was trying to wield like a shield. I didn’t need to see his face to know. 

He was scared.

I blinked hard, my vision swimming in and out of clarity, and through the overhead glare, I saw them. My team. My girls. Their faces frozen in horror, hands clasped over their mouths, eyes wide with something I had never seen in them before—helplessness. 

They were warriors, fighters, the kind of players who clawed and scraped and pushed through anything. But now, they stood frozen, as if moving might shatter what little hope remained.

The trainers were there now, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. Hands hovered over me, assessing, measuring, calculating the extent of what I already knew was devastating.

“Where does it hurt?” one of them asked, but it felt like a cruel joke.

Everywhere.

The answer sat heavy on my tongue, but I couldn’t force it past my lips. My knee throbbed violently, a deep, bone-deep ache that spread like wildfire, the joint swollen, stiff, unnatural.

My hip burned with a pain that rooted itself into my spine, anchoring me to the floor in agony. But worse than all of it—worse than the physical destruction—was the creeping, soul-crushing certainty that this was it.

This wasn’t just a sprain.

This wasn’t just another injury to ice and shake off.

This was something bigger. Something worse. Something that could take everything from me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the noise, the panic, the sheer, unbearable weight of it all. But I couldn’t ignore the way the stretcher was brought onto the court.

I couldn’t ignore the hush that fell over the crowd, the way thousands of voices had shrunk into silence, waiting, watching, knowing what I wasn’t ready to accept.

The trainers moved carefully, methodically, but even the slightest shift sent a fresh wave of agony rolling through me. I bit down hard, tasting copper, my nails digging into my palms, a futile attempt to ground myself in something other than the pain.

And then—Paige.

I didn’t see her at first. I felt her. The familiar presence before I even heard her voice. Then, suddenly, she was there, pushing past the others, dropping to her knees beside me, her fingers brushing against mine in a whisper of warmth. Her touch, the only thing in this moment that didn’t hurt.

Her eyes locked onto mine, stormy and wild, brimming with something fierce, something unbreakable.

“I’m here,” she breathed, voice tight, shaking. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time since the fall, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, she did.

Her touch was a lifeline, delicate but unwavering, as if her fingers could draw the pain out of me, pull it from my skin like a curse unspoken.

I clung to her, the rhythm of her breath syncing with mine, a soft, fragile beat in the chaos of the world spinning around us. 

Her presence was the anchor in a sea of doubt, the only thing keeping me tethered to something solid, something real. But even that wasn't enough to quell the storm raging inside me.

"Hey," Paige whispered, her voice steady, but there was something raw underneath it, something jagged that cut through her carefully controlled words. "Look at me. You’re going to be ok, alright?" 

I could see the way her lips trembled, the way her hands were clenched tight around mine, as if she feared that if she let go, I might disappear. And in a way, I understood. Because in that moment, I felt like I was slipping.

Like the very core of me was being pulled apart, thread by thread, until I was nothing but a collection of broken dreams and what-ifs.

The stretcher came, the cold, unyielding metal frame beneath me sending a shiver through my body, and with it came the realization: this wasn’t a bruise I could ice away. This wasn’t a sprained ankle that would heal in a few weeks. 

The look in the doctor’s eyes when he glanced at me told me everything I needed to know.

They couldn’t say it yet, not with so many people watching, but I saw the truth there. A diagnosis, a future that wasn’t certain, a career that might slip away in a single, cruel breath.

“You’ll be alright,” I heard Paige say again, her voice barely a whisper, but it wrapped around me like a cloak, warm and tight.

The words burrowed deep inside me, sinking into the wound of my heart, and for a moment, I allowed myself to let go of the panic, of the fear that gnawed at the edges of my mind. 

For that fleeting moment, it was just the two of us, her breath mingling with mine, her presence filling the empty spaces where I used to believe in things like certainty and control.

I couldn’t feel my leg anymore, the numbness creeping in like the dark, but the pain in my chest—a hollow, aching emptiness—was enough to consume me whole. I had built my life on this game. 

On the rush of the court beneath my feet, on the ball in my hands, on the endless hours of practice, sweat, and sacrifice. And now, as I was lifted away from everything I had ever known, I wondered if I would ever feel whole again.

The stadium lights, once brilliant, now seemed like distant stars, fading and flickering as I was carried away, as if the universe itself were dimming in sympathy with the crushing weight on my soul. The cheering, once deafening, now felt like an echo from a life I could no longer touch. 

My dreams, so close they had once seemed within reach, were now drifting further away with every inch the stretcher moved.

But then, I felt her hand again, pressing against mine, warm and steady. Her fingers intertwined with mine, a promise, a tether to something I could still hold onto.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said, her voice strong now, like a steady current cutting through the storm. “You’re not alone in this. I’m right here.”

Her words were a balm to the raw, open wound inside me. But the truth was, no one could take away the fear. The cold, gnawing fear that my future in this game, the one thing I had known for so long, was slipping through my fingers like smoke.

I closed my eyes, my heart beating slow and heavy in my chest, and for the first time, I let myself lean into the warmth of Paige’s presence.

Her hand was the only thing that kept me from shattering, and in that brokenness, I allowed myself to believe—if only for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, I could rebuild.

We would rebuild. Together.

Together.

Togeth-

To-

“Y/N?” 

“Y/N.”

Paige’s voice slipped through the static, sharp enough to cut through the fog wrapped around my mind. My head felt heavy, thoughts sluggish and tangled, like a radio caught between frequencies—just white noise and fleeting, incoherent signals. 

I barely registered the crease in her brows, the slight part of her lips, the way she hovered, waiting.  

“I was asking what you wanted for dinner,” she repeated, her voice softer now, laced with something careful, something that tread lightly.  

Her words reached me slow, like sound traveling through water, distant and warped. 

My gaze flickered, landing on the deep blue of her eyes, then the soft parting of her lips. I caught the quick flick of her tongue, the way it glossed over her bottom lip before disappearing again. 

Something about the motion anchored me, pulling me just enough from the haze to remember I had to answer.  

I blinked. Tilted my head slightly.  

“Mexican— please.” The word tumbled out, weightless, thoughtless.  

Paige lingered, watching me, waiting for something more. I gave her nothing. Just turned back to the window, to the blurred streaks of streetlights smearing gold across the glass. 

The world outside moved, but I felt detached from it, like I was watching from behind some invisible barrier.  

She sighed. It was soft, almost imperceptible, but I caught it.  

She thought I was tired. Or maybe that’s just what she told herself.

Brent Faiyaz murmured through the speakers, his voice smooth, weaving into the quiet like silk. The hum of the car, the occasional flick of the turn signal—it all blended together, a background score to the silence stretching between us.  

Paige broke it first.  

“Talked to Macy today.” She kept her voice even, dipping her toes into cold water. Testing. “told me you made some pretty great progress at therapy.” 

A quick glance, then a nudge against my arm, something light, something meant to pull me in.  

I rolled my eyes instead. Kept them fixed on the moving world outside.  

I could feel her waiting. Expecting me to say something.  

I did.  

“What is this?” My voice came out flat, edged with something bitter. “You keeping tabs on me now? Counting my steps, measuring my progress? Waiting for me to finally catch up?” A dry, humorless laugh.

 “Bad news—I haven’t gone anywhere in the past 10 months.”  

The air in the car shifted. Grew heavier. Paige’s grip on the wheel tightened.  

“You know that’s not what I meant.”  

I didn’t respond. But my gaze—it drifted.

Down, down, to the brace wrapped around my right knee. The one I had worn like a second skin since the accident. 

The one that screamed at me every time I moved wrong. A reminder. A weight. A sentence I hadn’t been given the choice to serve.

My fingers curled into my palm, pressing deep, grounding myself in the sting. Paige noticed. She always noticed.  

Her eyes flicked toward me, then to my hands—tense, unmoving. Her right hand left the console, found mine, threading our fingers together with ease. Like it was natural.

It was.  

It had been, for a while now.  

"Hey," she murmured, softer this time. "Don't let yourself think that just because you hit a bump in the road, you don’t matter. Don’t—don’t ever let that shit get into your head, alright? Because you’re still in this, whether you think so or not." 

I swallowed, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in my throat.  

She didn’t get it.  

10 months. 10 months of feeling trapped in the same aching cycle. Wake up. Pain. PT. More pain. Nothing changed.

I had pushed, forced myself through every damn exercise, through every stretch, through every stair climbed and weight lifted. And still—I was stuck.  

It felt like being locked in a room with no doors, no windows. Just walls that kept closing in, pressing tighter, leaving just enough air to exist but never enough to breathe.  

And at night, when the world was quiet, when the weight of it all sank into my bones, I could still see it.  

The accident.

The moment my body folded wrong, the sickening pop, the way pain swallowed me whole before I even hit the ground.

The way the sky blurred—too bright, too vast—as the sounds of the game faded into white noise. Hands on me. Voices I couldn’t recognize. The panicked rush of the ambulance.  

The surgery.

Sterile lights. Cold air against my skin. A mask over my mouth, the slow, creeping pull of anesthesia dragging me under. Then—darkness.  

The first day of PT.

The first time I tried to move and failed. The sharp, unforgiving pain that shot through me like a live wire. The way my body refused to listen. The way my therapist had smiled at me, patient and kind, telling me it would take time. That it was a process. That I had to trust it.  

But trust was hard when every step felt like a battle I kept losing. 

Behind all of it, lurking beneath the surface, was something heavier. The articles. The ones that used to paint my story in bright, bold letters, capturing every slam dunk, every game-winner, every moment that made me feel like I was on top of the world.

 But now, they only reminded me of the cracks, the moments where I stumbled, where my body couldn’t keep up with the force of my ambition. 

The whispers. The ones that echoed in locker rooms, in hallways, in the stands. They used to ask when I’d get drafted, when I’d make it to the next level.

Now, they barely spoke my name. It was as if I was just a ghost on a paper trail, slowly fading away. 

The expectations.The ones that used to drive me, that pushed me harder, faster, until every second of the game felt like life or death.

Now, they were suffocating, bearing down on me, reminding me of what I was supposed to be, not what I had become.  

And underneath it all, the weight that felt the heaviest—the fear that I was being left behind. Everyone else was moving forward.Everyone else seemed to be finding their place, their rhythm, their future.

 But me? I was stuck in this moment, this place, where I didn’t matter anymore. 

I could feel it, like a knot in my chest. The chance to get drafted was no longer just a dream—it was a distant possibility I couldn’t touch. It felt like I was watching from the sidelines, a shadow on a game I used to play in.  

I couldn’t shake it. The thought that I was slipping through their fingers, just another name, another headline that would eventually fade into the past.

 Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them all moving forward, without me. 

I saw the clock ticking, louder and louder, as if it was counting down to a time when I was no longer relevant.

Paige’s thumb brushed against my knuckles, slow and steady, pulling me back to the present.  

“I know it’s been hard,” she murmured, voice threading through the quiet like the first crack of dawn against an endless night. “I know you feel stuck. But you’re not alone in this, Y/N/N. You never have been, and you never will be.”

Her words hung in the air, fragile, like the last leaves of autumn clinging to their branches before the wind came to take them.

I stared down at our joined hands, at the way her fingers curled around mine—gentle, warm, steady. A tether in the storm.

I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to.

But belief was a fickle thing, slipping through my fingers like sand, impossible to grasp no matter how tightly I tried to hold on.

“Right,” I muttered, the word slipping past my lips, hollow, weightless. I exhaled slow, deep, as if trying to empty my lungs of something heavier than air—something that had settled deep inside me, thick and unmoving.

My teeth grazed the inside of my cheek, sharp against soft, the dull sting grounding me for just a moment. My jaw clenched, a quiet rebellion against the emotions pressing at the edges of my ribs, waiting to spill over.

Instead of letting them, I turned back toward the window, watching as the world blurred past in streaks of amber and shadow, a silent film playing at a speed I couldn’t match.

And then—her grip.

Slightly tighter. Once. Twice. Three times.

A rhythm. A pattern. A pulse against my skin.

She always did that. And I always wondered why.

"You think this is just about your knee?" Geno’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, sharp and unforgiving. "No, kid. This is about you. About that damn wall you keep building between yourself and the game. Between yourself and the people trying to help you."

I sat there frozen, my pulse thrumming in my ears, my arms crossed so tight it felt like I was trying to hold myself together. His words struck like a match against dry wood, igniting something volatile inside me. 

My chest was tight, my jaw locked, my breathing uneven. I wanted to fight back, to tell him he didn’t understand, but I knew the second I opened my mouth, the weight of everything I’d been carrying would come spilling out.

"You don’t get it—"

"Oh, I get it just fine." Geno stepped closer, his presence towering, his voice like thunder rolling low in the distance, a storm waiting to break. "You’re pissed. You’re frustrated. You feel like the universe dealt you a bad hand, and now you gotta crawl your way back to where you were. And instead of taking the help, instead of trusting the process, you’re making it harder for yourself."

The air felt thin, my lungs refusing to expand fully. My fingers dug into my arms, nails pressing crescent moons into my skin. I needed to hold on to something, anything, before I shattered.

"You think I want to be like this?" My voice came out sharp, like broken glass, words slicing at the edges of my teeth. "You think I want to wake up every damn day feeling like I’ve lost everything? That I have to fight just to move like I used to? To watch everyone else move forward while I’m stuck in the same place?"

I was unraveling, the seams fraying, every emotion I had buried beneath exhaustion and frustration clawing its way to the surface.

Geno let out a slow breath, measured, but his gaze stayed locked on mine, unyielding. "No one’s saying it isn’t hard, Y/N. But you? You’re the one making it unbearable."

The words slammed into me like a body check. I flinched—barely—but he caught it. He always did.

"You think the weight of all this is yours to carry alone, but it’s not. You have people who want to help you, who believe in you, who see more in you than just this injury. But instead of trusting them, instead of trusting yourself, you’re shutting down. You’re keeping yourself in this prison of doubt and anger, and the only one suffering for it is you."

My vision blurred for a split second—not with tears, but with the sheer force of everything I’d been trying to suppress.

The articles. The scouts. The draft. The future I had spent my entire life chasing, now dangling just out of reach, taunting me.

Because what if I never reached it?

What if I clawed my way through the pain, through the rehab, through every grueling day of physical therapy—only to come up short?

The thought had been haunting me for months, a quiet, insidious whisper in the back of my mind.

What if you never get back to who you were?

What if you’re just… done?

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat thick and immovable. "It’s not that easy."

Geno’s expression softened for a fraction of a second before the steel returned, unwavering. "No. It’s not. But you’re making it impossible."

The silence between us was thick, weighted with everything left unsaid. I could still hear the echoes of that moment—the sharp crack of impact, the way the world had wrenched sideways as I hit the ground. 

The crowd’s roar had died in an instant, replaced by a suffocating stillness, a beat of eerie quiet before panic surged through the air.

I could still see the blur of the stretcher, the sterile white of the hospital room, the forced smiles on my parents’ faces—strained, trembling at the edges, unable to mask the fear in their eyes.

I could still feel it.

All of it.

And the worst part? It hadn’t stopped feeling like that moment.

Like I was still on the ground. Still watching everything I had worked for slip through my fingers.

Suddenly the air in Geno’s office felt suffocating, thick with the weight of words I wasn’t ready to hear.

The walls felt closer than they should have, the fluorescent light above casting a harsh glare over the desk between us.

"You don’t understand," I whispered once more, my voice barely there, fragile like glass threatening to shatter under pressure.

Geno tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady, unrelenting. "Then make me." His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. "Or better yet, make yourself get it. Because if you don’t? If you keep fighting the wrong battle, Y/N?"

He shook his head once, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch between us like a chasm. "You’ll lose before you even step back on that court."

And that—that—was the part that scared me the most.

Because deep down, I knew he was right.

I could survive the rehab, the pain, the grueling hours of training. I could take the blood, the sweat, the exhaustion. But losing myself? Losing the game—the only thing I had ever truly known, the only thing that had ever made sense?

That was a different kind of pain entirely.

The weight of it sat on my chest, heavy, suffocating, clawing its way up my throat. I couldn’t lose myself. But the fear of losing everything I had worked for—it clung to me, ghosting over my skin like a warning, like a whisper of what could come.

The protection of being the greatest player on the court was no longer in my hands.

The realization was devastating.

My breath was shaky, uneven, as I pushed back from the chair. My legs felt unsteady, my head light, but I stood.

My eyes burned, the tears I had spent weeks—months—trying to hold back brimming at my waterline, desperate to fall. I wouldn’t let them. Not here. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.

I turned on my heel, fingers curling around the doorknob. I needed to get out. I didn’t want to hear any more, didn’t want to face the truth that Geno had shoved in my face like a mirror I couldn’t look away from.

But when I pulled the door open, my stomach dropped.

They were there.

KK. Azzi. Sarah. Ice.

And Paige.

All standing just a few feet away.

The hallway was eerily quiet, but the way their faces fell, the way their eyes flickered with something between concern and hesitation—I knew they had heard everything. Well, more like the yelling.

My breathing stuttered, my chest rising and falling too quickly. Tears I had barely been holding at bay slipped past my lashes, hot against my skin, and I hated it. Hated how exposed I felt. How raw.

I turned my back to Geno, my vision blurring as I wiped at my face roughly, as if scrubbing the emotion away would make it disappear.

But when my gaze met Paige’s—that soft, worried expression, the way her brows knitted together, the way her lips parted as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know how—I felt something snap.

I stood frozen for a second, caught in the weight of her stare, the quiet understanding that sat between us like something unspoken, something fragile.

I shook my head, as if shaking myself out of a trance.

I pulled my hoodie over my head, the fabric swallowing me whole, a pathetic attempt to disappear, to make myself small, to push them all away.

And then, without a word, I walked past them.

Didn’t know where I was going, but I just kept going.

The world around me blurred—faces, voices, the rush of movement all melting into a distant hum.

The neon signs above the storefronts flickered weakly against the night, their glow swallowed by the thick, humid air that clung to my skin. Even at this hour, UConn’s campus still pulsed with life. 

Groups of students spilled onto the sidewalks, their laughter and chatter weaving into the distant wail of sirens and the rhythmic hum of cicadas.

No one noticed me.

No one saw the way my shoulders curled inward, the way my breath hitched unevenly in my chest.

The farther I walked, the quieter everything became.

My hands clenched deep inside the pockets of my hoodie, fingers curling into fists.

The fabric was rough against my knuckles, grounding me in something tangible, something real. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, heavy and uneven, drowning out the world around me.

I didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t think. 

Then, suddenly, I was here.

The gym.

Its towering structure loomed before me, untouched by time, yet somehow different—colder. The doors groaned on their rusted hinges as I stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of sweat, aged wood, and the faint metallic tang of dust.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, flickering like dying stars, casting long, distorted shadows against the polished floor.

I stood there, still.

The court stretched before me, vast and empty, its boundaries marking the space where I once felt whole—where every movement had purpose, where my body knew exactly what to do before my mind even had to think.

Now, all I felt was the crushing weight of everything I’d lost.

A presence loomed above.

Geno.

Watching. Silent. Measuring.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. I knew that.

But my feet had brought me anyway.

Like they always did.

Like they always would.

My gaze flickered to the sidelines, where a lone basketball rested against the edge of the court. Its once-vibrant orange hue was dulled with time, scuffed and worn, its grooves filled with dust. It looked abandoned. Forgotten. Just like me.

I bent down to pick it up, fingers brushing against the rough surface. The weight of it settled into my palms—familiar, yet foreign. Like holding a memory that no longer fit the shape of who I was.

A past version of myself lingered in this gym, in these walls, in the phantom echoes of sneakers squeaking against polished wood.

 I used to belong here. This court had once been my second home, a place where I moved without thinking, where my body knew exactly what to do before my mind had even caught up.

But now?

Now, it felt like a cage.

A cruel joke. A reminder of every second, every minute, every month that had slipped through my fingers while I sat on the sidelines, watching.

Ten months.

Ten months of physical therapy.

Ten months of rehab.

Ten months of stretching, icing, strengthening, pushing—only to feel like I was standing still.

They told me healing wasn’t linear. That progress took time.

But what if I had wasted all this time just to end up exactly where I started.

I swallowed hard, exhaling sharply. Then, I moved.

Dribble. Dribble. Dribble.

The sound cracked through the empty gym like a heartbeat—mine, erratic, desperate. I gripped the ball tighter, fingers pressing into the seams, trying to anchor myself to something real. Something solid.

One step. Two steps. Pull up. Shoot.

The ball clanked off the rim.

My breath stuttered, the sound scraping against the silence.

Again.

One step. Two steps. Pull up. Shoot.

Short.

The sound of failure echoed through the hollow space, wrapping around me, sinking into my skin.

What’s wrong with me?

I used to make this shot in my sleep. I used to move without thinking, without questioning, without this crushing weight of doubt pressing into my lungs.

Now, nothing felt right.

Not in the way I jumped. Not in the way I landed. Not in the way I breathed.

The brace on my knee squeezed like a vice, a silent reminder, a whisper in the dark: You are not the same.

And I knew that. God, I knew that.

But I was so tired of waiting.

Tired of time moving like a glacier, of watching the world spin without me, of clawing at progress only to feel it slip through my fingers like sand.

I wanted to be back.

I needed to be back.

But what if—what if when I finally got there, I wasn’t enough?

What if I had lost her—the version of myself who soared, who dominated, who had no fear of falling?

What if I was chasing something already gone?

I pushed harder.

Faster.

More.

The court blurred beneath me, my body moving on pure defiance, on the raw ache of desperation. My lungs burned, sweat slicking my skin, my vision tunneling to the basket—because if I just made this shot, if I just did this one thing, maybe—just maybe—I could prove to myself that I still belonged.

But then—

I misstepped.

The world tilted.

Gravity seized me in its merciless grip, and before I could catch myself, I was falling. Again.

My body collided with the hardwood, the impact reverberating through my bones, but the sting barely registered. Because the real pain—the kind that burned beneath my ribs—had already settled in.

I wasn’t the same.

I wasn’t the same.

And maybe—I never would be.

Footsteps rushed toward me, quick and urgent.

"Y/N!"

Paige.

Her voice cut through the thick silence, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

She crouched beside me, her presence warm and unwelcome, hands reaching, hovering, like she didn’t know if I’d let her touch me. "What the hell are you doing?"

I let out a sharp breath, turning my face away. "I’m fine."

"No, you’re not." Her voice was gentle but unyielding. "Seriously, Y/N/N—"

"I’m fine!"

The words came out too sharp, too raw, slicing through the space between us. I shoved her hands off me, a final push, a desperate attempt to keep her at arm’s length.

Paige froze, hurt flashing across her face before she quickly masked it.

I groaned, dragging a hand through my hair, my breath coming too fast, too uneven. "God, Paige!" My voice cracked, splintering under the weight of something I wasn’t ready to name. "Why can’t you just—leave me alone? For one fucking second?"

She didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

And that only made the anger rise higher, hotter, burning through my veins like wildfire.

"All you’ve done these past months is get on my ass!" My voice wavered, but I couldn’t stop. "Tellin’ me what I need to do, how my progress is going, how I should be feeling. Just—just stop!"

"Y/N..." Her voice was quiet, but it held so much weight. "I’m just trying to help."

"Help?" I repeated, sarcasm lacing my words. "Is that what you’re calling it? 'Cause it sure as hell doesn’t feel like help. It feels like... like I’m some fucking project, and you’re the goddamn teacher, making me jump through hoops to prove I’m worth something."

Her brows pulled together, frustration flickering in her eyes. "Because I know you’re trying! I know you’re putting in the effort. But you’re the only one who can’t see that. We want you back, Y/N. We need you back. But you’re so afraid of failing, you don’t even wanna try more."

I let out a hollow laugh, empty and bitter, the sound barely resembling something human.

"What else do you want me to do, Paige?" I snapped, my voice raw, my throat tight. "You think I’m making this harder for myself?" My breath hitched. My vision blurred. "You think I’m not tired? Tired of feeling so useless? Tired of feeling so stuck while all of you are out there, playing, living, moving forward—"

I swallowed thickly, my pulse roaring in my ears.

"I have been fighting." My voice trembled. "But nothing—nothing is fucking working." My shoulders sagged, the exhaustion settling deep in my bones.

"I’ve spent the last ten months working my ass off to get back to who I was. But what if I never do?"

The words hung between us, thick and heavy, raw and real.

Paige opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Silence pressed down on us, suffocating.

Then, suddenly, I was moving––pushing myself up, turning away.

"Where are you going, huh?" Paige’s voice was louder now, tinged with desperation. "Nothin’s gonna do you any good if you’re just gonna go back to your dorm and feel sorry for yourself."

The moment the words left her mouth, regret flashed across her face.

Instantly, everything stopped.

I stood there, my back to her, my fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.

She didn’t mean it.

I knew she didn’t.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady, even as the weight of it all threatened to pull me under.

"I never asked for your help, Paige."

And with that, I walked away.

Again.

It was another Wednesday. Another grey morning that bled into the warmth of the afternoon, stealing a touch of brightness into the dullness of winter.

 Late January had no business feeling this warm, yet there it was, a surprise sunshine pushing through the clouded sky.

 A slight breeze played with the edges of my jacket, tugging at me in gentle reminders of the world continuing outside my small bubble of frustration.

I hadn’t spoken to Paige since last night… since the words I threw at her like stones, sharp and unwarranted. I could still hear them echoing in my mind.

Practically telling her to fuck off.

 It felt like a jagged thing to say, even now. I had no right.

I knew I shouldn’t have said it. I knew that, but the frustration in me boiled over—too much, too fast. She didn’t deserve that.

Especially not after everything she’d done for me.

I couldn’t even count the nights she’d stayed up with me when the pain from my surgery made sleep impossible.

The nights where she curled up on the floor beside my bed, her hand resting lightly on my wrist, grounding me when the discomfort turned unbearable. When I got frustrated—at the limitations, at myself—she never snapped, never told me to get over it.

She just listened.

The endless drives to and from physical therapy, even when I wasn’t able to offer her any thanks, because my knee was a constant reminder of my limits.

When I’d been too bitter to acknowledge her efforts, when I sat in silence, fuming, she never wavered. 

She would just let the music play softly through the car speakers, her fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel in time with the beat. Letting me exist in my anger but never letting me sit in it alone.

Paige had been nothing but patient, kind, and steady. She had shown up—again and again.

When I lashed out, when I pulled away, when I made it impossible for anyone to get close—Paige stayed. She pushed when I needed pushing and gave me space when I needed air.

She brought me my favorite snacks, even when I refused to eat, leaving them on the table without a word. She sat with me through the rough nights, playing old movies on her phone when I couldn’t sleep.

She learned how to tape my knee properly when I complained that the physical therapists always did it too tight.

She carried my bag when the weight of it pulled too much at my shoulder. She made jokes, teasing me just enough to make me forget—if only for a moment—how much everything hurt.

And I had the audacity to act like she was the problem. Like she was in my way.

The regret curled up at the edges of my chest, cold and insidious, a reminder of just how unfair I had been. How blind..

But the words… they’d slipped out, a careless storm of resentment, clouding everything. And now, here I was—silent in my guilt, unable to shake the weight of what I had done.

I sighed deeply as I glanced into the vanity mirror, the soft hum of the Bronco’s engine cooling into stillness. The reflection staring back at me was no different than usual. 

My hair was simply braided, strands falling loose in a few places, and my UCONN sweatshirt, the one I’d worn so many times, hung comfortably over me like a second skin. 

I adjusted the brace on my knee, a reminder of everything I had gone through, and grabbed my bag, my phone, my lifeline.

The parking lot outside the facility was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of other cars coming and going. I could feel my nerves gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. And then, across the lot, to my left, there she was.

Paige.

Leaning casually against her black Jeep, arms crossed, eyes gazing off into the distance, lost in thought or perhaps waiting for me. I stopped. My breath caught. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not now. Not after what had happened.

My heart skipped a beat in a way it never had before. It wasn’t just the sight of her—it was the fact that she was here. Standing in front of me, even after last night. Even after everything.

I furrowed my brows, walking toward her slowly, hesitantly, as if I weren’t sure whether I was moving toward her or away from the uncomfortable mess we’d made.

"You’re here."

I muttered the words under my breath, a small disbelief lingering between us. 

Paige looked at me with that soft, half-smile that could always make me feel like everything was going to be okay, even when I didn’t feel like it. "When have I ever missed any day of your PT?"

Her smirk seemed almost like a challenge, but also a quiet comfort. I shifted on my feet, looking anywhere but directly at her.

But, I knew better. Paige wasn’t just here because of that. There was more to it, something unspoken, yet too heavy to ignore.

The words I wanted to say felt too large, too complicated to voice, and the silence settled between us like an unsolvable puzzle.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, barely above a whisper, a soft curiosity edging into my voice.

Paige uncrossed her arms, letting them drop to her sides, and sighed, a long exhale that seemed to carry all the tension she’d been holding onto.

She turned away for a moment, looking toward the distant horizon, her fingers twitching at her sides. When she turned back, she seemed more vulnerable than I had ever seen her, eyes searching mine as if she were weighing something in the space between us.

"Because I realized that you’re right."

She paused, swallowing hard, and I felt the ground shift beneath my feet, the weight of her words settling heavily in my chest. "I have been on your ass..."

Guilt flooded through me, sharp and biting. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, holding back the emotions that were rising too quickly. She didn’t deserve my frustration.

"Paige," I started, but she was quicker, cutting me off with a softness that disarmed every defense I had left.

"But because I care about you," she continued, and the world seemed to stop for a heartbeat, the air thickening with the gravity of her words. "And I love you."

Her hand found mine, delicate and warm as she slid her fingers between mine, grounding me in something familiar, something safe. My heart tripped over itself, a sudden skip that sent a confusing wave of emotion through my chest.

I love you wasn’t new. I had said it a thousand times before—both to Paige and to others. Yet now, with her hand in mine, it felt different. It was a deeper pulse, a deeper truth.

Paige continued, her voice lower now, carrying an apology wrapped in care. "And because I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have said that shit to you yesterday."

The weight of her words settled over me, washing away the sharpness of the argument. Sorry.

It was a small word, but it held so much. She didn’t have to say it. She didn’t owe me an apology. But there it was, hanging in the space between us, an offering I didn’t know I needed until now.

I looked at her, and everything inside me stilled. The guilt that had knotted in my chest began to loosen, though it lingered, hanging like the last drops of rain after a storm.

I felt the pulse of her heartbeat against my skin, felt the truth of everything we had shared and everything that was still left to be said.

In the quiet that followed, I squeezed her hand gently, offering something I couldn’t yet say aloud.

My heart still raced, uncertain but softening. And in that moment, everything else—the anger, the argument, the walls we had built—felt like echoes in the distance.

We were here, together, standing in the light of this new, fragile truth.

The world around us seemed to blur, melting away like the early morning fog caught in the sun’s embrace. The faint hum of cars in the distance was a muffled memory, drowned out by the beating of my own heart.

The warmth of her touch seeped into my skin, spreading through me like a slow fire, awakening parts of me that had long been dormant. Every breath I took felt deeper, more intentional, as if we were both waiting for the next breath, the next word to break the silence.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke, our bodies suspended in that fragile space where everything is too big to express and too important to leave unsaid.

The world felt slower, gentler. The sun was still climbing, its rays now stretched wide across the parking lot, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror the tension between us, but there was something tender in the way the light fell.

As if the day, too, was waiting for us to choose the next step.

I shifted my weight, my fingers tightening around hers. A small gesture, but it felt like I was offering something I wasn’t sure I had—my trust, my willingness to try again.

The ache in my chest softened just a fraction, though I couldn’t help the flicker of uncertainty that lingered in my stomach.

Was this real? Would we ever be the same after last night?

I opened my mouth, but the words I’d rehearsed in my head for hours felt inadequate, too small for what was swirling inside me. I wanted to apologize, but I didn’t know how to make up for everything. How could I?

“I’m sorry,” I finally said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue, but necessary. I didn’t even know if it was enough.

But I needed her to know—needed to feel like I was trying, like I was reaching for something beyond the anger, beyond the frustration. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that.”

The guilt crept back, cold and insidious, curling up at the edges of my chest. I could feel it there, a constant reminder of how much I had hurt her, even though all she had ever done was try to help me. Try to love me.

Paige’s thumb brushed softly over the back of my hand, grounding me once again. Her gaze softened, the sharpness of earlier giving way to something warmer, something more vulnerable.

She was here, and she was willing to meet me where I stood, even after everything.

“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in it was enough to stop time. “I know, and I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was… like I was smothering you.”

“You weren’t,” I said quickly, shaking my head, hating the way my own words had made her feel. “Paige, you were just—” I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down my face before dropping it. “You were just looking out for me. You always do.”

Paige let out a dry chuckle, her tongue running along her bottom lip. “Yeah, well… maybe I need to chill out a little,” she admitted, and then met my eyes again. “But I just—” She sighed, shaking her head. “I just hate seeing you struggle. I know how hard this has been for you. And I didn’t wanna let you go through it alone.”

I swallowed hard, her words settling deep into my chest.

“I know,” I whispered.

Paige stepped closer, just slightly, but enough for me to notice, enough for my body to respond before my mind could catch up.

“I meant what I said,” she continued, her voice softer now. “I care about you. And I love you.”

My breath hitched. I knew this feeling—it was familiar, something safe, something that had always been there between us, unspoken but present. So why did hearing her say it make my stomach twist?

 I forced a small chuckle, trying to lighten the air before it swallowed me whole. “You act like we don’t always say that, P,” I murmured, shrugging. “We say it to Azzi and the girls all the time.”

Paige tilted her head slightly, studying me in that way that always made me feel like she saw more than I was willing to give. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah,” she said, voice almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something careful, deliberate. “But do you feel like this when you say it to them?”

I blinked, caught off guard. My breath hitched before I could stop it.

Paige had never said anything like that before—not so directly, not so openly. My mouth opened. Closed. My throat felt tight.

The air between us shifted, something unspoken crackling in the space where our fingers touched. Paige must’ve noticed, because she let out a small, knowing breath, her amusement laced with something softer, something more dangerous.

“Yeah,” she murmured, glancing away for the briefest moment before her eyes found mine again, steady and sure. “That’s what I thought.”

My heart slammed against my ribcage, a sharp, unmistakable rhythm.

Her fingers curled just a little tighter around mine, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I was still breathing.

She sighed, breaking the tension slightly. “Look, I know we fight,” she admitted. “And I know you’re stubborn as hell.”

A small, breathy laugh escaped me, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle of her own.

“But I also know you,” she continued, a little more serious now. “And I know that when you push people away, it’s because you’re hurting. And I don’t care how much you fight me on this, Y/N—I’m not going anywhere.”

I felt my chest constrict, emotion creeping up my throat faster than I could swallow it down.

Paige smiled then, small but warm. “So,” she murmured, nodding towards the building behind me, “are we gonna stand here all day, or are you actually gonna let me walk you in?”

I huffed out a laugh, rolling my eyes. “God, you’re annoying,” I muttered, shaking my head as I turned on my heel, my hand still in hers.

Paige grinned. “Yeah,” she said, tugging me along beside her. “But you love me for it.”

And, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t argue.

The tension between us began to dissolve like mist in the early morning sun, and I could feel the space between us closing, slowly, like the tender stitches of a wound trying to heal.

Paige spoke again, a teasing lilt in her voice. “You’re the best player on this team—maybe even on the same level as Michael Jordan.”

I rolled my eyes despite the smile etching on my face. “Ok, now that’s reaching.” I laughed.

Paige laughed too, her laugh sweet and familiar, but then she shook her head, her expression softening. “Alright, that’s not the point!” She nudged my arm.

She hesitated for a second, as if choosing her words carefully. “Look, I know it doesn’t always feel like you’re getting anywhere. I know how frustrating it is to work your ass off and still feel stuck. But, Y/N, that doesn’t mean you’re not growing. You’re not just a great player—you’re one of the hardest-working people I know. And you know what happens when someone like you keeps pushing, even when it’s tough?”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Enlighten me.”

Paige smirked. “They don’t just get better. They come back stronger, smarter—more unstoppable than they ever were before. So yeah, maybe you don’t feel like you’re at your peak right now. But that doesn’t mean you won’t be. And when that happens? Michael Jordan better watch his back.”

I let out a breathy chuckle, shaking my head, but the warmth spreading through my chest told me that her words had landed exactly where they needed to.

Something about the way she said it—the quiet certainty in her voice—made my heart clench. She didn’t just say things to make me feel better; she meant them.

And that realization hit me like a wave, pulling me under before I even had the chance to catch my breath.

My gaze drifted from her deep blue eyes to her lips—soft, perfect, slightly parted as if waiting for something, for me.

My heartbeat stuttered, a rapid, uneven rhythm against my ribs.

Before I could overthink it, my hand moved on its own, fingertips grazing the sharp line of her jaw. Her breath hitched, a subtle intake of air that sent warmth rushing through me.

Slowly, I tilted her face down to mine, closing the space between us, and then I kissed her.

The world around us blurred, faded into nothing. There was no noise, no expectation, just the quiet press of her lips against mine—soft, warm, achingly familiar yet entirely new.

It was slow, unhurried, like the moment had always been waiting for us to catch up to it.

I could feel everything in that kiss—the way her lips moved against mine, tender but sure, the way my hands trembled slightly where they held her.

She tasted like something sweet, something comforting, and yet there was a fire beneath it, a spark igniting deep in my chest. The way she melted into me, the way her fingers curled ever so slightly against my waist, sent a shiver down my spine.

By the time we pulled back, I felt lightheaded, breathless in a way that had nothing to do with oxygen. Paige’s eyes searched mine, something unreadable flickering across her face before her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. 

“I love you,” I murmured, the words tasting different now—deeper, more honest than they had ever been before.

Paige’s smile widened, and she squeezed my hand gently. “I love you, too.” Her voice was steady, but there was something raw in it, something that made my heart flutter. “And I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

I nodded, unable to find the right words to say back. What could I say? She had already given me everything I needed to hear.

I didn’t need grand gestures or promises that we’d be perfect. I just needed her to stay—to show up, like she always had.

She pulled me into a hug, and I let myself fall into it, the warmth of her body pressing against mine, grounding me.

In that moment, I could feel the weight of everything that had been said and unsaid—everything that had hurt and healed—begin to settle in a place where I could finally let go.

I breathed her in, the familiar scent of her hair, her skin, mingling with the cool air around us. The sun, now higher in the sky, warmed my face as I closed my eyes.

The world outside continued, but in this moment, everything felt still, everything felt possible again. The past was never going to be perfect, but we could make the future ours, one step at a time.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was finally ready to move forward, with her by my side.

Paige smiled knowingly. “You’re already incredible, Y/N. And I can’t wait to see the player—the person—you’re becoming.”

My heart fluttered, an unexpected rush of emotion tightening in my throat. I looked away for a moment, trying to play it cool, but Paige caught my chin gently between her fingers, guiding my gaze back to hers.

“And just so we’re clear,” she added, her voice a little softer now, “no matter how good you get, I’m still totally claiming credit for hyping you up first.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the grin spreading across my face. “Obviously.

© sweettu1ips.tumblr 2025 do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[wordsmithic]

unpopular opinion but with the new tide of Greek mythology stories and retellings, Greek Cultural Sensitivity Readings are absolutely necessary. We are in 2024, with thousands of fics and retellings out there!! How is this not a thing yet?? There's vast improvement one can achieve by working professionally on their text with a Greek. I've seen it so many times!!

Also, duh, I'm offering the service BUT I want you to know that the situation with the inaccuracies of SERIOUS works is so dire that initially I didn't even do it for money. As a writer I just wanted to... fix things, to set a new standard for writers and the industry that sells us the most heavily Americanized pop-culture material and passes it as "authentic vibes of Greek mythology". (And of course there were writers who wanted to do right by their story and they had reached out to me. So kudos to them as well!)

Okay, but why does Cultural Sensitivity Reading make a vast difference and it's not just smoke and mirrors?

As a Greek, I am tired of well-meaning writers and authors butchering very basic elements of my culture. It's not their fault exactly, since they were raised in another culture with a different perspective. And nobody clued them in on how different Greek culture is from theirs, so writers sometimes assume that their culture is the default and they project that into ancient Greece. (Even published professionals like Madeline Miller have written "UK or US in antiquity" (with a very colonialist flavor) instead of writing "Ancient Greece". (Looking at you, Circe!)

Even writers who researched a lot before coming to me still had a lot of misinformation or wrong information in their text, easily verifiable by the average Greek. Again, not their fault. They can only access certain information, which does not include Greek scholarly work and scientific articles that DO offer valuable context.

Translation, accuracy, and meaning: If you ever wondered what a word means or how to pronounce it, here's your chance! There are Greeks like me who are knowledgeable and have a keen interest in antiquity and they will be able to read and compare ancient texts, and dive deeper into the work of Greek scholars regarding those texts.

If you want to create new words, you can do that as well! (It doesn't always work, but we can try. Greek is a really rich language and has a word about everything) If you use existing words, I can help you separate reality from fantasy in the context of your story.

(Do not assume we Greeks are ignorant of our heritage, or that we don't know how to research! Our archaeology sector is huge and archaeological museums are closer to most of us than your local Target is to you)

I guarantee there are things you never thought about Greece and the Mediterranean - from the ancient to the modern era. Sprinkling elements like phrases, types of interactions, customs, songs, instruments, dances, etc , into your text will make your text absolutely rich in culture.

Names matter!!! The genders of the names matter, diminutives matter (If I see one more "Perse" for Persephone I will claw my eyes out along with a few thousand Greeks), naming traditions matter!!! In many cases you should not even use a diminutive!!

You will be able to write about a foreign culture easily! Because of the continuity of Greek culture, you can even write a few more recent Greek elements to fill in the gaps. I can make sure they are not mismatched, and they will complement your ancient setting. I have observed a few things I didn't know we had since antiquity, but they make sense because our land has certain characteristics.

Non-Greek writers often miss the whole context of Greek culture! Do you know how Greek respect towards deities and parents looks like? What tones we use when we talk to our elders? When to use honorific plural - if your setting is more modernized?

Oh, and please let's avoid caricatures when describing Greeks?? (even fantasy Greeks) There can be heavy exotisation and odd descriptions of Greeks, as if we are another species. Even in published works. For many western writers it's difficult to catch, unfortunately.

The whole process is actually way easier than you think. You send me a text, I make notes and then we have some discussion on your vision.

It's always okay to seek guidance from the locals! You are not "guilty" when you admit you don't know! How can you know if you don't ask?? You can't imagine what relief and "πάλι καλά!!!" I read/see from other Greeks when I tell them another foreigner is using me for cultural sensitivity? Greeks want you to seek help and will NOT shame you for it!

(On the contrary, you have no idea how many eye-rolls Greeks do when they see a blatantly wrong thing in a story... Which has happened pretty often for many years now. Can we do better as an industry?? Please???)

You can send me a personal message to share your story, or ask what this whole cultural sensitivity thing is all about, or ask about what I have done so far and how I can help. But for the love of all that's good, don't let your story be another "generic greek myth retelling"! And don't let others sell you their generic greek myth retellings!!

[shaiyasstuff]

the marriage contract | rafayel

synopsis : When your mom said, “Come out for dinner.” You expected just a normal meal, filled with laughter and your mom’s usual sarcasm. Not her dropping an atomic bomb on you—she already signed your marriage to the playboy of the century, the Lemurian Heir.

content : comedy, fluff, implied smut, arranged marriage!au, model!reader, rich heiress!reader, wealthyaf!rafayel, and just, rafayel being rafayel

writer’s note : i had so much fun making this oml I wanted to make this like a rom-com (full of sarcastic undertones and jokes that this fic shouldn’t even be taken seriously)

“You’re getting married to the Lemurian heir.”

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Surely, you misheard. It’s the only reasonable explanation.

Maybe it’s the soft clink of silverware, the low hum of jazz from the restaurant speakers, or the fact that your mother said it like she was commenting on the weather.

She flips the menu with one manicured hand, as if she just told you the risotto was good tonight.

A beat passes.

Then another.

“What??” you blurt, half-standing in your seat so suddenly that your thigh bumps the table and nearly sends your water glass toppling.

Your mother doesn’t even flinch. “Sit down. You’re drawing attention.”

“I am attention,” you hiss through gritted teeth, hastily steadying the glass and sinking back into your chair. “What do you mean, I’m getting married? To who?”

“I literally just said—to Rafayel. The Lemurian heir. Don’t make me repeat myself, darling. It’s exhausting.”

You stare at her, your mind screeching to a halt like stilettos on marble. Rafayel.

You know that name. Everyone knows that name.

Playboy. Arrogant. Insufferable.

That Rafayel.

You’ve seen his face plastered across magazine spreads—smirking, shirtless, probably whispering lies into someone’s ear.

He’s the definition of a tabloid headline.

A scandal waiting to happen.

The man has an entire section on social media dedicated to his worst quotes, and a separate one for his abs.

You, a model with a rising career and a deep love for routine, green tea, and sanity, are apparently now contractually obligated to marry the human embodiment of chaos.

“No,” you say flatly.

Your mother finally glances up, her brow lifting with polite disbelief. “No?”

“No,” you repeat, more firmly this time. “I’m not marrying a man who once got banned from a yacht party on his own yacht.”

“That was blown out of proportion,” she replies, waving a dismissive hand. “He was merely expressing himself artistically.”

“By setting fire to the dessert table?”

“Flambé is fashionable now.”

You gape.

“This is a joke,” you say, reaching for your phone. “Is this one of those weird publicity stunts? Did he put you up to this? Is there a hidden camera—?”

“It’s real,” she cuts in, her voice cool and clipped. “And finalized. Our lawyers signed the agreement yesterday. The ceremony is in a month. Try not to look so surprised; this sort of thing used to be standard practice among noble houses. We’re just… reviving tradition.”

You press your fingers to your temples. “We own resorts, Mom. Not kingdoms.”

“Same thing these days,” she murmurs, glancing at the wine list.

You pause. “Wait. Is he even okay with this?”

Your mother’s lips twitch. “He said—and I quote—‘She’s pretty. I can work with that.’”

You nearly fall out of your chair.

“He can work with that?!”

“That’s what he said, yes. I found it charming. Shows he’s open-minded.”

“Mom,” you say, through what you’re sure is a burgeoning aneurysm, “he’s been photographed with a different woman on his arm every week.”

“And now he’ll have just one,” she replies, taking a sip of her water. “Progress.”

You stare at her, chest rising and falling like a storm tide. “I don’t even know him.”

“Perfect,” she says. “No baggage. A clean slate.”

You inhale sharply, about to launch into a very eloquent monologue about autonomy and personal choice when your phone buzzes. You glance down at the notification—and freeze.

Unknown Number.

You free tomorrow at 4? Let’s get this doomed romance started. I’ll bring flowers. Or bribe you with dessert. Whatever works.

You don’t even have to ask who it is.

Your mother looks immensely pleased with herself. “He got your number from his assistant. Isn’t that romantic?”

You turn your phone over and look at her, horrified. “This is blackmail.”

“No,” she says. “This is high society.”

She flags the waiter with a perfectly timed smile.

Meanwhile, you lean back, mind spinning with visions of silver-haired smirking heirs and one very unwanted bouquet.

So this is how it starts.

An arranged marriage.

With him.

You’d rather fight a swarm of seagulls in six-inch heels.

But still…

You glance at the text again, at the cheeky way he signed it off.

—R.

Trouble.

Wrapped in silk and flames and smirking punctuation.

And somehow, despite yourself, the corners of your lips twitch.

Just a little.

—•

Rafayel is attractive, no doubt.

But it’s his insufferable playboy attitude that really irks you.

The door swings open, and there he is—leaning against the frame like this is a cologne commercial, not your new apartment.

One hand in his pocket. Shirt slightly unbuttoned.

Expression set to come hither, like he didn’t just waltz in fifteen minutes late to your very first meeting as an almost-married couple.

“Didn’t know models kept such tidy homes,” he says, gaze trailing over your minimalistic living room. “Where’s the chaos? The broken champagne glasses? The disgruntled photographers?”

“Where’s the punctuality?” you shoot back, arms crossed.

He grins, sharp and unapologetic. “You’ll learn I like to make an entrance.”

“Maybe next time make it through the door on time.”

He steps in, unbothered, and takes a casual look around like he owns the place.

He probably does.

His family has enough wealth to casually purchase countries, let alone condos. He flops onto your sofa, long legs stretched out, hands behind his head.

“So,” he says, eyes flicking to yours, “how do you want to do this?”

You blink. “Do what?”

“This whole marriage thing.” His voice is smooth like honey left too long in the sun—sweet, but dangerous.

“We pretending to be in love for the cameras? Sneaking off with secret lovers behind closed doors? Scheduling monthly dinners so our families don’t throw a fit?”

Your nostrils flare. “That’s your idea of marriage?”

“It’s the practical one. Less risk of broken hearts. Or broken dishes.”

“Thanks, but I’m not interested in being one of your PR arrangements.”

“Ouch,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “And here I thought you were the soft-spoken one.”

“Not when I’m being married off like a parcel.”

There’s a beat of silence, and for the first time, something flickers across his face. Not mockery. Not amusement.

Something quieter. Maybe even guilt.

“I didn’t ask for this either, you know,” he says, eyes drifting to the window. “My family’s been trying to clean up my image ever since I lit that cake on fire.”

You raise a brow. “So the rumors were true.”

He smirks. “Technically, the flambéed cherries caught the tablecloth.”

“Very dignified.”

He chuckles. “You should’ve seen the flames. It was glorious.”

Despite yourself, a laugh nearly escapes.

You clamp it down. Hard.

“We’re not doing this,” you say, shaking your head. “I need rules. If we’re stuck with each other, there needs to be rules.”

“Rules?” he echoes, as if the word is foreign.

“Yes. Boundaries. Expectations. Terms and conditions.”

“Like a contract?” he asks, amused. “How very unromantic of you.”

“Call it self-preservation.”

He sits up, intrigued. “Alright then. Lay them on me.”

You grab a pen and your planner from the table—because yes, you’re that person—and start scribbling. He watches, bemused.

You hold it up.

Rules of Engagement

1. No touching.

2. No flirting.

3. No overnight guests.

4. Shared public appearances only when necessary.

5. No falling in love.

Rafayel whistles low. “Number five. That one hurts.”

“It’s for both our sakes,” you say firmly. “We don’t do feelings.”

He leans forward, taking the paper from your hands. His fingers graze yours. You pretend not to notice.

“Fine,” he says, folding it neatly and slipping it into his coat pocket. “But if you break a rule first, I get to choose the honeymoon destination.”

“We’re not having a honeymoon.”

“We are now.”

You open your mouth to argue—but stop. Because somehow, he’s already standing, heading for the door like he didn’t just derail your entire week.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“To buy toothpaste. If we’re living together, I’m not sharing yours. I draw the line at dental hygiene.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Leaving you standing in your spotless living room, rules in hand, reality crashing down around you.

You’re engaged to Rafayel. Heir of the Lemurian dynasty.

Public menace.

Serial heartbreaker.

And now, your flatmate.

You sigh and flop onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.

Rule Number Five echoes in your mind.

No falling in love.

Easy enough.

Right?

—•

You’d like to clarify—this is not a date.

You were tricked. Lured.

Bribed with lunch and the vague promise of an stress-free afternoon.

Also, he said dessert was on him, and you, tragically, are only human.

So now you’re walking beside Rafayel, trying very hard not to look like someone who willingly spends time with a lilac-haired demon in designer sunglasses and a smug attitude.

Which is difficult, since he keeps flashing that perfectly calculated I-don’t-care-but-I-look-good smile.

“People are staring,” you mutter.

“They’re always staring,” he replies breezily. “The key is to give them something worth photographing.”

As if summoned by his own ego, a girl in oversized glasses practically skids to a stop in front of you.

She clutches her phone like it’s a sacred relic and looks between you and Rafayel like she’s about to faint.

“Are—oh my god—you’re—can I—?”

“Of course,” Rafayel says, already tilting his head for optimal lighting.

The girl shoves her phone toward you. “Would you mind taking a picture of us?”

You blink. Smile. Take the phone. Absolutely do not roll your eyes.

He drapes an arm over the girl’s shoulder, leans in with that practiced grin, and you snap the picture—twice, because she begs for one ‘candid’ and Rafayel, never one to waste an opportunity, dips his chin like he’s starring in a fragrance ad called Sins and Champagne.

“Thank you!” she squeals, bouncing away.

You hand his sunglasses back wordlessly.

“What?” he says as you start walking again. “It’s good PR. Plus, she’ll post that with some ridiculous caption like ‘he’s even hotter in person’ and we’ll both benefit.”

“From your cheekbones?”

“From my brand,” he corrects, slipping the glasses back on. “You should try being nicer to my fans. Builds character.”

“I have character,” you mutter. “I just choose not to market it on sidewalks.”

You arrive at a rooftop café—his pick, obviously.

Something about the natural lighting and imported oysters.

You’d been hoping for sandwiches. Maybe fries.

This place looks like it charges extra for butter.

The waiter seats you, and Rafayel slouches into his chair like he owns the skyline. “Order whatever you want,” he says, tossing the menu aside. “My empire can afford it.”

“Oh good,” you say sweetly. “I’ll take the most expensive dish and two of whatever you hate.”

He laughs—actually laughs.

Not the smug kind. Not the flirtatious chuckle.

A real, amused sound that makes you pause, just for a second.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says.

“Let me guess. You thought I’d be some breathless heiress desperate for your attention?”

“I was hoping for breathless,” he says, smirking. “The desperation was optional.”

You flick a sugar packet at him. He catches it.

The food arrives—too pretty to eat, but you dig in anyway because being around Rafayel burns calories in emotional energy. A few bites in, the conversation unexpectedly… shifts.

“I hated it growing up,” he says, sipping his wine. “The pressure. The expectations. Every move watched. They groomed me like I was some… polished statue to roll out at galas.”

You arch a brow. “So naturally, you set things on fire.”

He grins. “Exactly. They wanted a prince. I gave them a wildfire.”

You study him, fork paused mid-air.

For a moment, he’s not the Lemurian Heir. He’s just a guy raised in a glass cage, throwing stones for fun and freedom.

“What about you?” he asks. “You’re not exactly low-profile either.”

You shrug, suddenly more relaxed than you expected. “Modeling wasn’t supposed to be a career. I did a few gigs to annoy my parents. Then I actually liked it. Go figure.”

“Why did it annoy them?”

“They wanted me in finance,” you deadpan. “Crunching numbers. Marrying someone boring with a yacht and a title. Instead, I wore latex on magazine covers and dated a drummer who spoke exclusively in song lyrics.”

He chokes on his wine, laughing. “You’re full of surprises.”

“So are you,” you admit. “Unfortunately, most of yours are lawsuits waiting to happen.”

He leans back, watching you with an unreadable expression. “You know, you’re different when you’re not trying to strangle me with your eyes.”

“And you’re tolerable when you’re not being a narcissist.”

There’s a pause.

A comfortable one, oddly enough.

The sun’s lower now, painting his purple hair in warm light.

For a moment, the city noise fades and it’s just the two of you, seated between who you were and who you’re pretending to be.

You don’t swoon.

You just… notice.

Briefly.

He reaches for the dessert menu.

“Rule-breaker,” you say.

He smirks. “I promised you dessert, didn’t I?”

You raise a brow as Rafayel waves down the waiter like he owns the establishment—honestly, at this point, he probably does.

“You realize ordering dessert is a clear violation of Rule Number Five,” you say, watching him flip the dessert menu like he’s reading War and Peace.

“Rule Number Five was about feelings, not fudge,” he says, without looking up. “Unless you’re telling me a slice of tiramisu is going to make you fall in love with me.”

You level him with a look. “You’re not my type.”

He grins. “Not yet.”

The waiter returns, and Rafayel orders two desserts without consulting you.

You don’t even protest.

You’re too full and mildly annoyed and slightly curious what dessert a Lemurian heir thinks will ‘win’ a lunch date that was never a date to begin with.

“Why do I get the feeling you do this often?” you ask, drumming your fingers on the table. “Lunch with models. Public flirting. Slow seduction via sugar.”

“I don’t do public flirting,” he says, affronted. “It’s vulgar. My seduction strategy is much more refined.”

“Oh, forgive me.” You roll your eyes.

“You’re forgiven,” he says smoothly. “Though you should know—this is the first time I’ve taken someone to this place.”

You snort. “You expect me to believe that?”

He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand, smile still present but softened around the edges. “Actually… yes.”

Something in his voice changes—just a shade quieter, a little more honest.

“I usually avoid these places,” he continues. “Too many cameras. Too many expectations. But I thought maybe… this time, it could be different.”

You pause.

Not because you’re swooning—obviously—but because you weren’t expecting him to say that.

And because it’s unnervingly close to something real.

“I didn’t think you were capable of sincerity,” you mutter.

He shrugs. “I fake a lot of things. But not everything.”

You look at him for a long moment, unsure what to do with the sudden shift in temperature.

He’s still smirking, still smug—but there’s something else underneath.

Something quieter. Like even he doesn’t know how to hold it properly.

The desserts arrive, thankfully breaking the moment.

Yours is a delicate slice of pistachio cake with honey drizzle.

His is a dramatic tower of chocolate and edible gold leaf because of course it is.

You pick up your fork.

He watches you. “What?”

“You ordered this just to show off.”

“I ordered it to see if you’d smile.”

You almost choke. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs again, biting into his mountain of sugar and ego. “You’re always so put together. All edges and clever comebacks. I wondered what you’d look like if you actually enjoyed something.”

You stare at him, stunned.

And, annoyingly… flattered.

Which is worse.

“You’re exhausting,” you say.

“And yet, here you are.”

You do not dignify that with a response.

Instead, you take a bite of the cake—and damn it, it is good. Soft, rich, and just the right amount of sweet.

You glance at him and catch him watching you like he’s won something.

“I’m not impressed,” you lie.

“Of course not,” he says, licking chocolate from his fork. “That’s why you’ve finished half your plate in two minutes.”

You narrow your eyes. “You are a menace.”

“I’ve been called worse. Usually by people who later invite me back.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He laughs again—deep, genuine—and you hate how easily it fills the space between you. Hate that, for one stupid second, you don’t hate being here.

That the sun feels warmer, the silence feels easier, and the sarcasm feels more like a shared language than a wall.

And maybe you let yourself relax. Just a little. Maybe you let your smile slip out, crooked and fleeting.

Not because of him, of course. Because of the cake.

Definitely the cake.

—•

Three weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since your life turned into a weirdly expensive soap opera.

Three weeks of shared living arrangements, awkward press appearances, passive-aggressive coffee orders, and one increasingly complicated non-relationship with the Lemurian heir.

It’s not like you’re counting, of course.

You just happen to know how many times he’s left his socks in the hallway.

Or how many times he’s fallen asleep on the couch after some late-night meeting, suit jacket draped over the armrest like he’s auditioning for a melancholic perfume ad.

You’ve settled into a rhythm. Of sorts.

Which is exactly why the shift—when it happens—feels like slipping on a patch of black ice in heels.

It starts with a knock on your door. Not the loud, arrogant kind Rafayel usually delivers when he wants to borrow something—more like annoy you.

No, this one’s soft. Hesitant.

You’re already annoyed.

“Yes?” you call.

The door creaks open.

He steps in, a little more disheveled than usual.

His tie is gone, shirt half-buttoned, hair a wind-tousled mess.

You blink. “Did you get in a fight with a hurricane?”

“Dinner ran late,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Some board meeting with my uncle. Lemurian politics. Very thrilling stuff. Would’ve invited you, but I figured you’d rather stab yourself with a breadstick.”

“You’d be correct.”

He doesn’t leave.

You glance up. “Something else?”

He hesitates. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

Ah. So that’s what this is about.

You slide your phone out and wave it. “I was working.”

“You left me on read.”

“I didn’t realize I owed you a response to ‘Is the curry still in the fridge or did you emotionally eat it all?’”

“That was a serious question,” he mutters. “I had a long day.”

“And I’m not your personal food tracker.”

His brows knit, and for the first time, the familiar teasing spark isn’t there. Just quiet frustration.

“You’ve been shutting me out lately,” he says. “Every time we talk, it’s like I’m… irritating background noise.”

“Maybe because you are.”

He flinches—just barely. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

There’s a beat. You think maybe he’ll walk away. But instead, he does something worse.

He sits on the edge of your bed.

“I’m trying here,” he says, voice low. “I know I’m not… easy. Or conventional. Or whatever it is you want. But I show up. I stay. I’m not out there making headlines anymore, I’m here—with you. And sometimes it feels like you’re still waiting for me to screw up.”

You cross your arms, defenses rising on instinct. “Don’t act like you’re some martyr. You signed the same contract I did.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect to actually like you.”

That stops you cold.

The air goes still. Your heart trips over itself. You hate that it does.

You laugh—short, sharp, sarcastic. “Well, that’s your mistake.”

He stares at you. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This. Pushing me away. Acting like none of this matters.”

“Because it doesn’t,” you snap. “Because the second I start thinking maybe you’re not the egotistical headline I assumed—maybe you’re real, and messy, and sincere—you’ll remind me exactly why I should’ve kept my distance.”

He’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is softer.

“Has someone hurt you like that before?”

You look away.

“That’s not your business,” you say, but it sounds thinner than you meant it to.

He nods slowly, like he hears what you didn’t say.

“Well,” he says, standing, “I’m not here to be another person who lets you down. But I’m not going to spend the next six months proving I’m harmless just because you’ve decided I’m a walking red flag.”

“Don’t worry,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

He exhales.

And for the first time, you see him really tired.

Not in the usual I partied too hard way.

In the I don’t know what else I can say way.

He turns to leave. Stops at the doorway.

“For what it’s worth,” he says without looking back, “I didn’t touch the curry. Even after the board meeting. Because I thought maybe… you’d want to share it.”

And then he’s gone.

The door clicks softly behind him.

You stare at the space he left behind.

Empty plate. Empty room.

And for the first time, your chest feels just a little too full.

You don’t move for a while.

The room feels quieter without him in it. Like his absence took something with it—heat, maybe. Or air.

You stare at your phone for a moment, then at the door.

Then at the fridge.

Dammit.

You find him where you always seem to, sprawled on the couch like he owns the universe, remote in one hand, eyes half-lidded.

The TV is on, muted. A documentary about space or fish—hard to tell.

He doesn’t look up when you step into the living room, barefoot, bowl of reheated curry in your hands.

“I didn’t come to apologize,” you say flatly.

“Didn’t think you did.”

You hold out the bowl. “You were right. I ate half. But I saved enough for two.”

He glances over.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

He takes it anyway, and for a while, you eat in silence.

Shoulder to shoulder on the couch, knees brushing. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just shared proximity. Shared food. Shared silence.

And yet.

“You don’t really like curry, do you?” you ask after a moment.

“I like that you made it.”

You glance at him, only to find he’s already watching you. The light from the TV flickers across his face, casting shadows across the sharp line of his jaw. His silver hair is tousled, eyes softer than they have any right to be.

You look away first.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That.”

“Looking at you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels like you’re trying to see me.”

“I am trying to see you.”

You set your bowl down on the coffee table, suddenly tense. “Don’t.”

He leans back, mirroring your posture. Still close. Still too close.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says softly.

You laugh—dry and a little bitter. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“I think you’re afraid of what it might mean to actually trust me.”

The silence stretches like thread pulled taut.

And then—softly, so softly—you ask, “Why are you trying?”

It’s not sarcastic.

Not accusatory.

Just quietly, achingly sincere.

He pauses.

“I don’t know,” he says after a beat. “Maybe because this—you—is the first thing in my life I didn’t win by being charming or rich or reckless. Maybe because, for once, I want something that doesn’t come easy.”

Your chest twists. You hate how much you feel it.

You shift, meaning to stand. Or move. Or just get some space.

But then he catches your wrist.

Not hard. Not demanding. Just… there.

You freeze.

His fingers are warm against your skin. His touch gentle. Uncertain, even.

Your eyes meet.

The moment hangs.

And there it is—that unbearable closeness. That electric, breath-stealing almost.

You hate that your pulse stutters.

That your throat goes dry. That something unspoken curls beneath your ribs like smoke.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he murmurs. “Not unless you want me to.”

You swallow.

Hard.

And then, deliberately, you pull your hand away.

His face doesn’t fall—but you see the flicker of something retreating. The door he cracked open quietly swinging shut again.

You stand.

Smooth your hands down your shirt like it matters.

Like it helps.

“I’m going to bed,” you say.

He nods. Says nothing.

You make it halfway to your room before you stop.

“Rafayel.”

He glances up.

“Thanks for saving me half the curry.”

His mouth twitches. “Anytime.”

You close your door gently behind you, back pressed against the wood, heart pounding a little too loudly in your chest.

You didn’t swoon.

You didn’t.

But god, you almost did.

—•

It starts with a harmless visit.

Or at least, that’s what Rafayel tells himself when he shows up at the studio, hands shoved in his coat pockets, sunglasses perched like armor, and a single iced coffee balanced in the other hand.

The assistant at the front desk gives him a look that says oh god, it’s him again—but hands him a visitor’s pass anyway.

He doesn’t know why he came.

He just… wanted to see you.

Maybe bring you coffee.

Maybe tease you about how serious you get during fittings.

Maybe catch another one of your rare, unguarded smiles when you’re not being ‘the model’ or ‘the reluctant fiancée’ or whatever it is you pretend to be when you’re not curled up beside him eating leftover curry.

But then he sees you.

And you’re not alone.

You’re smiling—laughing—with some guy who’s tall and objectively handsome in a ‘men’s fragrance ad’ kind of way.

Shirt unbuttoned just enough for it to be indecent.

He’s standing too close, helping adjust a clasp on your dress, his fingers brushing the back of your neck.

It’s innocent.

Of course it is.

Rafayel knows that.

But logic is no match for jealousy.

He turns around before you can see him, coffee forgotten on the edge of a table, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache.

When you get home that night, the first thing you notice is the silence.

The second is Rafayel.

He’s sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, arms crossed, eyes dark.

And glaring.

No sign of the boyish, playboy grin that he usually dons.

You blink. “Hi?”

No answer.

“Okay,” you say slowly, dropping your bag by the door. “Did someone die or did you burn another diplomatic dinner?”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move.

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

“I came by your shoot today.”

That stops you cold. “You what?”

He uncrosses his arms, pushes off the counter. “I thought I’d surprise you. Bring you coffee. Be supportive, or whatever it is couples are supposed to do.”

Your heart stutters. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

He’s pacing now, hands raking through his hair.

You’ve never seen him like this—tense, clipped, frustrated in a way that’s not performative.

“I saw you,” he says. “With him.”

You blink. “Who—? Oh my god. Leo? The other model?”

“Is that his name?” Rafayel snaps. “Fantastic. Now I know what to engrave on the urn.”

You stare. “You’re jealous.”

“No,” he lies. Terribly.

You blink again, slowly. “You thought something was going on?”

He says nothing.

You fold your arms. “Seriously? You’ve been photographed half-naked with actresses for years, but the moment a guy helps me zip a dress—”

“It’s not the same,” he growls.

“Oh? Because I’m supposed to be the good one?”

“No,” he says, stepping closer now. “Because you matter.”

The words hit like a punch.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“You matter,” he says again, softer this time. “And I hate that I care. I hate that I see you smile at someone else and feel like I’m about to lose something I never even had.”

You can’t speak.

“I didn’t want to fall for you,” he says. “But here I am. Completely wrecked.”

Silence.

It stretches between you like a live wire.

And then you say the stupidest, bravest thing you’ve said since this whole arrangement started.

“Then kiss me.”

His eyes widen.

“Rafayel.”

You step closer. “If you mean it. If you’re not playing. Then kiss me.”

A second passes.

Then another.

And then he does.

He surges forward like a man starved for something he didn’t know he needed, hands cupping your face, mouth crashing into yours with enough heat to burn.

It’s not sweet.

It’s not careful.

It’s weeks of tension unraveling in one breathless, heated pull.

You gasp against him, fingers fisting in his shirt.

He presses you back against the wall, lips trailing down your jaw, your throat, before coming back up to kiss you again, slower this time.

Deeper.

Like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours.

“No more rules,” he says.

You nod, dazed. “No more pretending.”

He laughs, breathless and shaky. “God, I’m in so much trouble.”

You kiss him again.

Because yes—so are you.

And you don’t care anymore.

Your back hits the bedroom door.

You don’t remember walking there.

Or maybe he carried you.

Or maybe time just folded in on itself the second you kissed him.

Either way, the world’s a blur and he’s the only thing in focus.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice husky, lips brushing your jaw.

You smirk, breathless. “Is this the part where you ask for written consent?”

“I like to be thorough.”

You curl your fingers in the front of his shirt and tug. Hard. “Consider this my signature.”

“Very professional,” he murmurs, leaning in again.

His kiss deepens—hotter now, lazier.

Like he’s savoring it.

Like he has all the time in the world to learn the shape of your mouth and exactly what makes your breath catch. His hands find your waist, thumbs sliding under your shirt like he’s tracing a map.

“You know,” he murmurs against your lips, “I expected you to resist a little longer.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, come on. I’m irresistible. It’s in my genetics.”

You laugh—actually laugh—while he fumbles with your top, cursing under his breath when it gets stuck halfway over your head.

“You undress like a man who’s never taken a bra off without summoning a priest,” you tease.

“It’s a complicated mechanism!”

“Is it though?”

You reach back, unhook it yourself, and toss it onto the lamp. He pauses, visibly impressed.

“Show-off.”

“Amateur.”

He grins—wolfish, cocky, entirely himself—and you hate that it only makes you want him more.

The bed hits your knees.

Then you’re down, tangled in sheets, heat blooming across your skin like wildfire. Rafayel moves like he’s memorizing you with his hands, like he’s collecting data for some unholy research project titled Ways to Ruin Her on a Tuesday Night.

And okay, fine, you’re definitely not not enjoying it.

“You’re staring,” you murmur as he hovers above you, breath uneven.

“I’m admiring.”

“Same thing.”

“Not when it’s you.”

For once, the sarcasm fades. Just a flicker.

Because the way he’s looking at you right now—like you’re something rare, something his—makes your chest ache.

You reach up, fingers tracing his jaw. “You’re so smug.”

“You like me smug.”

“I tolerate you smug.”

“Mm.” He kisses your collarbone. “Let’s see what else you tolerate.”

What follows is a blur of heat and friction and whispered curses—mostly yours.

He’s infuriatingly good at this. Predictably. And yet, somehow, every touch feels more like discovery than performance.

No games.

No roles.

Just him. Just you.

And the sharp, dizzying ache of something that might be real.

Later, when you’re tangled together under your ruined sheets, the room heavy with silence and post-storm warmth, he says, “You know I’m never letting you go now, right?”

You hum against his shoulder. “Good thing I’m contractually obligated to stay.”

He snorts. “Romance. Alive and well.”

You grin. “Just wait until I start stealing all the covers.”

He laughs quietly, arm tightening around you.

And for the first time since this whole mess began, you think, maybe this won’t end in flames.

Maybe, just maybe, you’re already home.

—•

You wake up to an empty bed.

For a second, it feels normal.

The way sunlight filters through the curtains, the warmth lingering on the sheets, the scent of something distinctly Rafayel—cologne, mischief, and sandalwood.

But then the silence registers.

And the fact that his side of the bed is cold.

You sit up, heart doing that annoying thing where it tightens even though nothing is technically wrong.

You find him in the kitchen.

Leaning against the counter, mug in hand, hair mussed, jaw tense. He’s staring out the window like he’s waiting for the apocalypse or a dramatic soundtrack to kick in.

“Hey,” you say, voice still rough with sleep.

He doesn’t look at you.

You pad in barefoot, wrapping one of his shirts tighter around your body.

“I checked the mirror,” you add. “Still stunning. You can stop brooding now.”

Nothing.

That’s when the dread creeps in.

“Okay. Are we pretending last night didn’t happen? Because I’ll need time to emotionally detach from the blanket fort we made with our bodies.”

His jaw clenches.

You stop teasing.

“What happened?”

He finally looks at you.

And it’s not the same look he gave you last night—hungry and tender and slightly awed. This one’s guarded. Cold around the edges.

“You got a call.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“From Leo.”

You frown. “The model?”

He nods once. Tight.

“Oh my god, are you still on this?”

“He called you babe.”

You stare. “He calls everyone babe. He calls his cat babe.”

“You smiled.”

“I smiled?”

“You were different with him.”

You set your mug down with a sharp clink. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

“I let myself believe it,” he says, voice low. “That this was real. That maybe we weren’t just playing house until our families got what they wanted. But maybe that’s all this is. A beautiful lie.”

You freeze.

It’s not what he’s saying—it’s what he’s not saying.

It’s the fear in his eyes. The old wound resurfacing in a prettier suit.

“You think I’d sleep with you, laugh with you, fall asleep in your arms—just for show?”

“I don’t know,” he says. And that’s worse than if he’d said yes.

The silence feels colder than his words.

You exhale shakily. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust myself,” he corrects. “I’ve ruined everything good I’ve ever touched. Why would this be any different?”

Your voice is quiet. “Because I’m not them.”

He looks at you like he wants to believe that.

But can’t.

Not yet.

“I need air,” he mutters.

You move aside as he brushes past.

The door closes behind him.

And for the first time since all of this started—since the first headline, the first sarcastic quip, the first rule scribbled in your planner—you feel completely and utterly alone.

Hours pass.

You don’t call.

You don’t text.

You want to.

God, do you want to.

But some stubborn part of you—some still-bruised fragment—refuses to be the one to chase him.

If he wants to walk away from this, from you, he can.

You’ve survived worse.

Right?

…Right?

—•

The door creaks open just past midnight.

You’re on the couch, pretending to read a magazine.

You don’t look up.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Then.

“I’m an idiot.”

You flip a page. “We agree on something.”

“I panicked.”

You close the magazine.

He steps further into the room, looking wrecked. Hair windblown, shirt rumpled, regret in every inch of him.

“I saw something that scared me,” he says. “And instead of asking, instead of trusting you, I lashed out.”

You stand, arms folded. “You think that fixes it?”

“No,” he says. “But maybe this will.”

He pulls something from his pocket.

Your planner.

The one with the Rules of Engagement.

He opens it, flips to the page with your old list, and crosses out the last rule.

“No falling in love,” he reads aloud. Then draws a thick, dark line through it. “Too late.”

Your heart skips.

He looks up at you. “I’m in love with you.”

It’s not smooth. Not polished. Not smirking or smug.

It’s raw.

Vulnerable.

Terrified.

You cross the room slowly.

Take the pen from his hand.

And next to where he crossed it out, you write, “Me too.”

When you look up, he’s already pulling you into his arms.

This kiss isn’t fire—it’s gravity.

Like you were always meant to fall.

And finally, finally, you stop fighting it.

—•

The wedding is in three days.

The guest list is ridiculous.

The venue is twice as ridiculous.

There’s a seven-tier cake named after constellations and an entire chandelier that had to be flown in with a crane.

And you? You’re on the windowsill, veil forgotten, staring at your phone like it might offer clarity.

It doesn’t.

The door creaks open behind you.

You don’t look. “Nice of you to show up.”

“Thought I’d be mysterious,” Rafayel says. “You know. Add drama.”

“You’re late.”

He steps beside you. “I was going to call it off.”

That gets your attention.

“What?”

“The wedding,” he says. “I didn’t want you marrying me out of obligation.”

You stare. “I wasn’t.”

“I know. But I panicked. Because this is the first time I actually care what someone thinks of me.”

He pauses.

“I love you,” he says. “And it scares the hell out of me.”

You take a slow breath.“I choose you, Rafayel. Not for the headlines. Not because I have to. But because somehow, you’ve become the only place I feel like myself.”

He looks like you just handed him the stars.

The wedding was pure chaos.

Too many cameras. Too many roses.

Rafayel’s suit shimmers ever so slightly—he claims it’s subtle.

A drone nearly crashes into the flower arch during your vows.

But none of it matters when he squeezes your hand and says, loud enough for the world.

“I choose you. No matter how many rules we break.”

You can’t help smiling.

“Even when you leave your socks everywhere?”

There’s laughter. There’s confetti. There’s a signature cocktail named after your first public argument.

You slip away from the reception to breathe, heels dangling from your hand.

Of course she finds you.

Your mother, dressed immaculately, holding a champagne flute like it’s part of her anatomy.

“I told you so,” she says, smug as ever.

You groan. “Seriously, Mom?”

“I told you you’d like him,” she says. “Eventually. Once you got over your tragic taste in musicians.”

You stare. She sips. And walks off, victorious.

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself.

Then Rafayel appears—tie undone, hair a little messy, smile all soft edges.

He holds out his hand.

You take it.

And just like that, everything falls into place.

“Do you like curry now?”

“No.”

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 1)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Grinding, Dry-Humping, Premature Ejaculation, Coming Untouched, Switch!Jayce, Rough Kissing, Biting, Shower Sex, Angst, One Bed

Notes: I love my pathetic son Jayce, so I needed to make him just a bit wetter and sadder for… reasons. This is a two-parter, because it was looking too heavy as a one-shot and the second part still needs a bit more attention. I need to stop having too many multi-chapter projects at the same time before I go insane. Anyway, enjoy ❤️!!

(Chapter 2/End)

You tap your fingers on the wooden countertop, trying to remain calm despite the growing pressure inside your skull.

“And you're sure there's not a single other room left ?” you ask with a tense smile, your teeth grinding against each other almost audibly.

The receptionist gives you yet another blank stare. She's hardly older than seventeen, probably helping out her parent's business, and clearly not paid enough to care about whether or not you stay or go.

“No, ma'am, there are no other rooms available for the duration of your stay,” she repeats robotically. It's as if you've been stuck in the same dialogue tree for half an hour with a badly programmed NPC. “We're a family-owned business, and we only have ten rooms available at once. Your reservation was for a single bedroom, not two.”

The exaggerated sound of her slowly chewing gum is driving you insane. “She's just doing her job’, you have to remind yourself. It's not her fault, you know that; plus, if there's anybody to blame, it's Jayce.

You turn towards the culprit in question, large shoulders slightly slumped and eyes escaping your glare. Pathetic.

“Seriously, Jayce?” you state in disbelief. “I asked you to do one thing for the trip.”

Jayce visibly takes offence to that, raising one stupidly large hand in objection:

“That's not fair, I was also taking care of bringing the prototype!”

“And I signed us up to the conference,” you hiss back. “I prepared our lecture. I got our bus tickets here and back. I made our itinerary for the whole three days. I even wrote down where we could go to bring back souvenirs for Sky and Viktor!”

You point an accusing finger at him, tapping it against his chest:

“The only thing I wanted you to take care of was the fucking motel. And you couldn't even do that right!”

He throws up both hands in exasperation, rolling his eyes. If there wasn't a minor in the same room, you'd have no qualms about punching him.

“Fine, alright, I messed up, what do you want me to say? ‘I'm sorry I'm such an idiot'?”

You exhale in frustration, throwing him one last resentful look before turning back to the receptionist: “Yeah, that would be a good start”, you scoff under your breath.

He makes a dramatic groan of annoyance behind you, like this entire situation isn't his fault.

The Academy barely gives you enough budget to attend two national mechanical engineering conferences a year. You had originally planned to go to this one with Viktor, specifically because of its location: nice and remote, the air fresh and relaxing, the few roads leading to the major cities surrounded by millennial trees and mountain peaks. The perfect place for a spark of romance to ignite between the two of you.

Unfortunately, Viktor had already scheduled a weekend seminar on the exact same date as the conference. Sky, your fourth and youngest lab partner, wasn't equipped enough to help you present all the complex features of the university's mechanical arm project. Only one other person could.

Jayce fucking Talis, and his magical ability to never do anything right.

“We'll just get our money back and find another place to crash,” he argues, walking up next to you to the counter, resting his weight against it; it creaks disapprovingly. “It doesn't have to be a whole thing.”

“I'm sorry sir,” the teen flatly interjects, still smacking the gum between her brace-clad teeth. Squish, squish. “But we require cancellations to be made 24 hours prior to the reservation. We cannot reimburse you as per the politics you have agreed to on our website.”

You'd probably get more interactive answers from a chatbot. Jayce kneads the lines on his forehead, his practiced megawatt smile starting to crack from fatigue. The girl stares at him with neither sympathy nor sadness; she brings her lips together to form a small pink bubble, letting it burst after a few seconds. Pop.

“Okay, you know what,” Jayce sighs in defeat, “I'll pay for our rooms somewhere else. It's on me. As an apology.”

This would be an excellent time to not subtly sneak in a remark on how he's always using his parent's money to get himself out of the messes he's created, but the teen speaks up again before you get a chance to:

“Sir,” she adds with her irritatingly nasal voice. “You should know the only other motel in the area only accepts new reservations until 9 pm.”

She nods pointedly towards an old grandfather clock on the wall, and the two of you look at it in sync: it's 9:06.

Now you're genuinely hesitating between strangling her or Jayce.

“You really know how to make a guy feel better, huh?” Jayce attempts with a weak laugh, the plastic smile crumbling a little further.

She only gives him a vacant gaze.

Your legs are aching from the long ride in the overcrowded bus, and the arduous walk to the motel with half the disassembled prototype on your back. You've been dreaming of laying down on a bed for the last three hours, and even if another inn was open nearby, you doubt you'd have the will to carry everything there.

“I don't care anymore,” you sigh, massaging the side of your temple to relieve some of the built-up tension. “I'm exhausted, and we need to rest if we want to be any good tomorrow morning. We'll just figure it out upstairs.”

Jayce makes a non-committal sound of agreement; if you had more energy, you'd angrily ask him if he has any better ideas he'd like to share. But you don't, so you just focus back on the unexcited receptionist. Ironically enough, the letters on her cropped shirt spell ‘GOOD VIBES ONLY’.

“We'll take the room,” you conclude, worn out.

The teen barely blinks as she inputs something into her old computer, the vintage monitor buzzing unpleasantly before she hands you two scratched keycards mechanically.

“Room 207. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay at Grizzly Country Motel,” she deadpans.

You mumble a thank you, but she either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore it in favour of going back to her cell phone, like your entire interaction had been nothing more than chasing away a couple of flies.

Jayce at least has the decency to grab both your luggage and his before you both head towards the stairs; if he’s got all those muscles, he might as well put them to use. You feel a pang of annoyance at how easily he carries the bags that you struggled to hold the entire day.

“Don't you think it's weird when they say ‘we’?” he mumbles pensively as you go up the stairway. “It's like everyone who works at a hotel is in a hivemind.”

You can't even find the will to look back and glare at him.

“No, Talis, I was actually thinking about how I'd fix all the problems you've created,” you reply drily.

You reach the second floor, knees buckling. Room 201, 202, 203…

“You'll just take half the bed and I'll take the other half,” Jayce pipes up from behind you, grunting as he pulls the last bag up. “We'll put a pillow in the middle. It'll be like nothing even happened.”

Oh, to be in the mind of Jayce Talis, where the universe is so fucking simple and accountability is a myth.

You hate how he always has an answer for everything, like it’s all so easy for him. You've fought hard to reach this point — to earn your place in the Academy, to be seen as a true scientist, breaking through barriers in a field where women remain the minority. It’s taken blood, sweat, and tears, years of effort that people like Viktor and Sky understand and respect.

Room 204, 205, 206…

But for Jayce Talis, it’s all sunshine, rainbows, and candy-colored skies. His family owns one of the largest metallurgy companies in the country, and has stocks invested in some of the biggest steel producers on the globe. He’s never had to work a single day in his life to put himself through school, never had to sacrifice anything for his dreams. You don’t think there’s a single thing he’s ever actually had to put effort in: he barely studies and still aces all his classes, hardly puts any care into his appearance, yet always looks like he’s out of the cover of the Times’ 50 Most Desirable Men. It’s infuriating to an unspeakable degree.

Room 207.

You tap one of the keycards on the handle, letting out a small sigh of relief when the mechanism beeps joyfully. Today hasn't been ideal, but at least, you're only a few feet away from a soft, comfortable bed.

You open the door, walking in with little decorum. It's small and bare, as you expected: a single window dulled by years of exposure, a box TV taken straight from the nineties, a dingy light fixture barely illuminating a greyed-out wallpaper of a forest scene, and…

“Talis,” you pause. He almost bumps into your back, fumbling with the bags in his arms.

“What?” he asks in confusion, peering over your shoulder. “Oh,” he simply says when he sees the issue.

“Talis,” you repeat slowly, trying to maintain your tone even, despite how badly you want to scream. “This is a single bed.”

Indeed, not only is there only one bed, it's evidently sized for a single person. It's ridiculously tiny. It doesn't take a genius to see that with someone of Jayce's stature, you'd have to practically sleep on top of him if you wanted to share the bed.

“Wait, I swear I asked for doubles for both of us-” he protests immediately.

“It's fine,” you cut him off, despite it being the exact opposite. The headache is getting worse, and you don't feel like arguing with him any more than you already have. “I'll take the bed tonight, and you take the floor, and we alternate tomorrow.”

Jayce puts all the bags down on the carpeted floor, visibly dejected.

“Again, I'm really sorry about this,” he mumbles, and even though you can tell it's genuine, it doesn't make you feel any better. Every ambigious prejudice you might have had against him has just confirmed itself: he’s a spoiled mama’s boy, who isn’t able to navigate the real world alone, and who’ll simply cry when he messes up things for everyone else.

“Whatever,” you grumble, sitting tiredly on the edge of the puny bed that groans painfully under your weight; it doesn't even have the decency to be comfortable. “Just means I'll have to take care of everything if we ever do symposium together again.”

He looks like a scolded puppy, unmoving, eyes avoidant, his large frame blocking the doorway. Jayce is extremely talented at making people pity him, with his huge citrine eyes and perfectly rosy cheeks. It almost makes you hesitate before adding the next words, but bitterness takes the upper hand: “This is the kind of mistake Viktor never makes.”

He doesn't reply.

You can tell that hurt him just as much as you intended with the way his body slightly curves inwards, his fits visibly clenching inside his pockets. Well, good. He's old and smart enough to know actions have consequences. He's supposed to be your partner, not a child you're babysitting.

“I'm…gonna go take a shower,” he hesitantly adds after a few tense seconds. “I'm still sweaty from the bus ride. Is that… okay with you?”

You shrug with disinterest; you know you’re just being petty now, but thinking of everything that could have been, had it been Viktor on this trip and not him, is leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Fine by me. I'll take mine right after.”

He waits a moment, like he's expecting you to add something else; maybe extend the olive branch. When you don't provide, he sighs, making his way to the bathroom door and closing it behind him.

You let your body fall back on the mattress with a heavy ‘oomph’. It's not as uncomfortable as it first seemed; it's firm, but the covers are soft, and the single pillow feels nicely fluffed. A couple might actually be pretty cozy in this bed, one body on top of the other, their libs entangled lovingly. It could have been you and Viktor.

Viktor.

Viktor, and his honey-coloured eyes. Viktor, and his teasing smile that makes your heart skip a beat. Viktor, and the way his long fingers twirl in his chestnut hair when he's focused, the way he absentmindedly licks his bottom lip when he's lost in thought. Viktor, and-

“Hey, um,” Jayce's booming voice from the other room interrupts your reverie. “C'mere for a sec?”

You groan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you pretend he isn't there, he'll disappear all on his own.

“No, seriously,” he insists.

No luck. You get up lethargically, cursing the man under your breath.

“Left side with the red is hot, right side with the blue is cold, Talis,” you ironize. You open the door to the bathroom to see him standing in front of the shower door, thankfully still fully clothed. “Do you need help opening the shampoo bottle, too?”

He glares back at you in annoyance:

“Fuck off. Look.”

He nods towards a paper sign you hadn't noticed tapped on the glass panel, amateurishly plastified with a clear file folder.

[PLEASE DO NOT USE THE SHOWER MORE THAN ONCE A DAY. 10 MINUTES OF HOT WATER PER ROOM]

Well, you were wrong. Jayce Talis isn't just a forgetful idiot with bad luck.

He's a fucking curse.

“The room and the bed, I could forgive,” you start, fuming. But the shower?!”

“How was I supposed to know?!” he yells back melodramatically. “You told me to find something cheap to not go over budget!”

You shove him in frustration, only getting more annoyed when it doesn't make his stupidly huge body move a single inch:

“I didn't mean you should book a fucking dumpster!”

A loud, pointed knock echoing from beyond the bathroom wall silences you both.

Delightful. The neighbours can hear everything.

You move a step away from Jayce, the width of the bathroom not allowing much in terms of distancing.

“Sorry,” you mumble under your breath. You aren’t, but it's that or getting kicked out of the only open motel in miles for a noise complaint. “Yelling isn't gonna lead us anywhere. You can take five minutes, and I'll take the other five. It's gonna be short, but that's probably the best we can do.”

He at least has the decency to look appreciative, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“I can give you the whole ten minutes, to apologize. This is my fault,” he admits. It’s always like this with him, as if his never-ending self-pity cleanses him of any possible wrongdoing. You despise that.

“And have you stink up the whole place smelling like a football locker room? No way,” you scrunch up your nose. Just by sharing a workspace with him, you know Jayce has the hygiene skills of a teenage boy who thinks Axe body spray and cologne make sweat magically vanish; the sheer power of the unholy combination would keep you awake all night.

“Or…” Jayce trails on for a few uncharacteristically long seconds. He's usually more the type to say things before reflecting on them, but he's pinching his lips tightly, clearly hesitant about what he's going to add next. “…We could share the shower?”

You look at him with an expression frozen between incomprehension and disgust: “What?”

“I mean, it's big enough for two people to stand without touching,” he quickly justifies, raising his hands innocently. “I could take the flexible hose, and you'd just go under the showerhead. That way we'd both get ten minutes!”

He's using the overly excited voice he takes on whenever he's giving someone his sales pitch for a new, stupid idea he's had. It might work wonders on most, but you know better than to fall for it.

“So you're that desperate to see me naked?” you sneer.

“I'm trying to be helpful here!” he complains.

If you're being honest, it's not that bad of an idea. The shower is small in width, but it's quite long, making it a very viable option for two people to use at once. If you manoeuver everything right, it'll almost be like you're taking a long, nice ten-minute shower on your own.

“Fine,” you capitulate, making sure to enunciate the word painfully slowly so he knows you're not doing it out of the kindness of your heart. “But if you tell anyone this happened, especially Viktor, I'm cutting off your balls and using them to-”

“Yeah, got it, wouldn't want Viktor to think you like me,” he taunts mockingly, puckering his lips in a false kiss at the other man's name.

It's the first time you've agreed to an idea from Jayce, and you're already regretting it.

“Just shut up and get in the fucking shower,” you spit out, going back to the main room without sparing him another look. “Face the wall and call me when you're done. There’s no reason for this to be weird.”

—

He’s hard.

Very obviously and undeniably hard.

Jayce has been splashing his face with cold water for the last few minutes, to no avail. He's tried every technique he can possibly think of: running in place, breathing exercises, imagining his abuelita naked, nothing is working.

The only thing he can visualize is your body, completely bare in that shower, only a few inches away from his. The water pouring down from your hair to your shoulders, to your breasts, and then alongside the curves of your thighs, and your ass-

“Shut up,” he mumbles to himself in the empty bathroom.

It's not a secret to anyone that Jayce likes you. Neither is it a secret that you're utterly uninterested and only have eyes for Viktor, except perhaps for Viktor himself. It's kind of unfair how two-thirds of Viktor's lab partners are in love with him. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get it, and that his eyes never lingered on that little mole above Viktor's lip for longer than they should have. But damn it, he wants you. He wants you to want him. Is that such an unfair thing to ask for?

You've got so much fight, so much fire in you, and he gets dizzy off the smouldering look in your eyes whenever you disagree with him. And disagree, you do: he wants to use lithium batteries, you want to use sodium. He wants to focus on reducing energy intake for the prototype, you want to focus on adding new components to it. He offers to order pizza for the group after a long day of work, you'll hear of nothing but sushi.

It drives him insane, but less in a way that makes him despise you, and more in one that makes him angrily rub his cock raw every night at the thought of that angry pout on your lips.

“-ayce! You alive in there?” comes your voice from the other room. He groans in frustration. This is a spectacular disaster in the making, and he's sitting front and center for it.

He's made his own bed and now he has to lie in it.

“You can come in!” he yells back with a noticeable crack in his voice. Not a great start.

His heart skips a beat when he hears the door creak open and close. The rustling of clothes being taken off one by one, the sound of pants dropping on the tile floor, and the unmistakable click of a bra being unhooked.

The door to the shower slides, and he feels you enter the confined space. It's ridiculous how close you are to him; he can smell the sweat off your skin, the faded scent of your perfume. His cock gives a small twitch and he glares down at it in betrayal. ‘Not now!’

You don't say a word as you turn on the faucet, the old plumbing in the walls hissing slightly before water starts to pour down on the both of you. He's not usually one for the cold, but it's refreshing, washing away the feeling of stickiness on his skin. He hums under his breath in delight; maybe it'll actually just be an awkward but relaxing shower, in the end.

The temperature rises slowly but surely, from cool to tepid, tepid to lukewarm, and then… it stops. He waits a few more seconds, throwing a discreet glance behind him to find you haven't fully turned the faucet on the hot side.

“Could you… put it warmer?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“It's plenty warm enough as is,” you reply flatly.

Now you're lying just to go against him; it's barely any warmer than if he was bathing outside in the lake.

“Why would you even fight for the hot water if you're not gonna use it?” he mumbles.

You moan dramatically in complaint: “Fine, princess, I'll bump it up.”

He sees your hand reach for the faucet, grab it… and bring it less than a centimetre closer to the warm side.

“Seriously?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, seriously, now start washing your greasy hair before there's no hot water left at all,” you scold him, like he's nothing more than a snivelling toddler, and not a man twice your size.

Alright, enough is enough.

“What are you-” you protest at his sudden movement, his bicep pressing up against your shoulder.

“I'm turning the hot water on so I don't die in here,” he snaps back, trying to get a feel for the faucet while still looking away from you for the sake of modesty.

“Absolutely not, stay on your side!” you admonish him angrily. You attempt to push him back, pointedly refusing to look in his direction as you blindly slap his arm away. “Wait, Jayce-”

It happens too fast for either of you to figure out what's happening. One minute you're back to back, a respectable distance from one another, and the next you've both slipped, his arms boxing you into the narrow side of the shower with your legs bumping together.

Your eyes are locked into his for a few long, painful seconds. Neither of you are moving. You're trapped in a precarious game of jenga, where you can't even see which parts can safely be removed without you collapsing on each other.

“Whatever you do,” you exhale slowly. “Don't look down.”

You visibly regret your words as soon as you say them; you must have forgotten it’s Jayce you’re talking to.

He immediately looks down.

You put an arm up over your chest with an indignant yelp, and he quickly defends himself:

“Why would you tell me to not look down? That's like saying ‘Don't think of an elephant’!”

You're staying silent, your lips into a tight line, but he's certain you're thinking of an elephant right now. He smiles boastfully and you shoot him a deadly glare, before looking away to the side. It's the first time he's ever seen that awkward little blush on your cheeks without the conversation being about Viktor. That's a win in his book.

“It's fine,” you repeat once more like a broken record, and it’s definitely more meant to reassure yourself than to keep up a pleasant conversation with him. “I'll just… squish back against the wall while you close your eyes, and I'll direct you back to the other side. No problem.”

You sound less convinced than he's ever heard you before. He must have succeeded in turning the faucet to the side during the whole debacle, because the water has grown noticeably warmer, clouds of steam starting to form in the air. The atmosphere inside the shower is shifting ever so slightly.

He doesn't want to move.

He doesn't want to close his eyes.

The colour of your cheeks has grown darker from the heat, your lips slightly parted around every audible respiration.

“Would you wanna stay like this… if it was with Viktor?” he asks breathlessly.

You look back at him with genuine confusion, and he's honestly just as surprised as you are.

“What?”

“I…” It's getting harder to think. All his blood is rushing south, leaving him dangerously light-headed. What is he saying? “I… asked if you'd stay like this if it wasn't me in the shower. If it was Viktor.”

Your frown deepens. Your eyebrows always do this cute little thing where one furrows just slightly more than the other, but he's never gotten to observe it from this close. He lets his thoughts travel into dangerous territory. Do you wear that same expression when you're on your knees, sucking some other guy off? Would you look like that for Viktor?

“I don't see how that's relevant,” you retort harshly, but your gaze is elusive. You can't hide from him, not when his face is merely inches away from yours.

“Humor me,” he requests again.

“Fine, yeah, I would! Are you happy now?” you snap, eyes locking back into his with fiery resentment.

You're embarrassed.

He's never seen you rattled like this before. The energy in the shower is electric, now, coursing through his veins like a drug. ‘There will never be another moment like this’, the voice in the back of his head provides, syrupy sweet. It’s without a doubt the worst idea he’s ever had in his life, but he can’t stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

“I could show you what he's into,” he almost whispers, the deafening sound of water hitting the ceramic flooring almost too loud for him to hear himself.

He knows that you've heard him with the way your eyes widen, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I mean, guys, we talk,” he explains, the words now coming out of him like the rambles of a madman. He’s in too deep to back out: it’s sink or swim. “About the stuff we like, the stuff we dream about. I could tell you what he's told me, and you can practice. On me.”

An eternity passes before you speak again, mouth just barely agape. But you're not yelling at him. You're not slapping him in the face. In fact, you're not even frowning; the expression you’re wearing is oddly vulnerable and open, like you're seeing him in a different light than you ever have before.

“You're fucking gross, Talis,” you breathe out slowly. “You really think I'm that easy?”

This*,* whatever this is, is so fragile he’s scared of shattering it by being too loud. Like he’s talking to a wild animal.

“I don't,” he promises in a low voice. “But I think you're smart, and dedicated, and you wouldn't let an opportunity to know something so personal about Viktor pass you by.”

The steam has fully blurred the glass panels around the both of you, and it feels like you're inside one of those snow globes Jayce's mother used to bring back for him from her travels when he was a kid. It's weirdly ethereal, warm and cold, frozen out of any known space and time. He’s never heard you stay silent this long, and the anticipation makes his throat burn.

“Fine,” you finally say. “But if you tell anyone-”

“Yeah I know, you'll cut my balls off,” he lets out with a small laugh, slightly delirious. He's half convinced he's dreaming. “Are we good?”

You nod without a word, shifting your head to the side slightly to avoid his gaze. He hesitantly brings a hand to your chin, holding it like you're made of glass. You don't recoil at his touch, so he gently presses it upwards, making you look at him again.

“Viktor likes it when people kiss him softly,” he smiles shyly, his heart beating as loudly in his chest as it did for his very first kiss. It’s like he’s watching a movie, like none of it is truly real. He closes the gap between the two of you slowly, waiting for you to pull away; but you don't. Your lips meet his, and it's everything he could have ever wanted.

You taste of rainwater and cherry chapstick. You’re soft in the way described by jazzy love songs, smooth and electric, a puzzle piece that just feels so unbelievably right. He wants to wrap his arms around you, hold you so tight this never has to come to an end, leave marks on your skin no shower could ever get rid of.

But he doesn't. He can't.

This is a fantasy that’s only animated by mutual gain. It’s not the climax of a romance film where the hero finally gets to kiss the heroine under the rain.

But God, does he want to pretend it is.

You pull away first, and he doesn't miss it: the millisecond where your eyes open and you look at him like he's the one you want to be kissing. The almost imperceptible moment where you're still imagining you're kissing Viktor and not him, where your irises shine brightly with so much happiness and love.

But it's already gone, like it never even happened, and you quickly wipe your lips with the back of your hand. You’re not in a beautiful London street amid a gentle downpour with your soulmate: you’re in a cramped shower in a motel, with a guy you don’t even vaguely care for.

“You should shave your stubble. It's annoying,” you mumble.

‘Viktor doesn't have one’, the sentence heavily implies. It stings, but he's not about to back off just from that either. Not when he's been given a chance like this.

“Viktor also likes it when kissing is a bit of a fight,” he adds, sounding much too eager and desperate for his own liking. “Biting, tugging hair, that kind of stuff.”

It's not a lie, per se; he's only ever seen Viktor kiss someone once, when they were undergrads. It was an end-of-semester party, and Viktor had had way too many vodka red bulls for a man of his stature and health. Jayce had found him on a couch, limbs entangled with a stranger who seemed equally as drunk, and absolutely devouring their face off.

Viktor had asked him to never let him near caffeinated cocktails again the next morning.

You look slightly skeptical, analyzing him for any signs of deception; it looks as though you find none, because you're the one who initiates this time, and there you are, the fiery woman he's fallen head over heels for.

You're going to war on him, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, savagely shoving your tongue in his mouth, one hand entangled in the hair at the back of his head while the other ferociously holds his throat in place, nails digging into his heartbeat. He responds eagerly, letting you mistreat him, encouraging you with muffled groans.

It hurts, and he wants it to never end. He can taste blood in his mouth, the metallic tinge making him dizzy, and he's so hard he could cum if you just touched his dick with a finger. He whines pathetically when you break the kiss for air, disoriented, a strand of saliva connecting you both still.

“A-aouch,” he can only manage to say jokingly.

You lean back against the tile wall, slightly breathless; you wipe away drops of red on your lip, smudging them down towards your chin, the look of a feral animal in your pupils. He feels his already rock-hard cock twitch. Hot.

“This is about what Viktor likes, not what you like. Toughen up, Talis,” you spit back.

Before he has time to formulate a reply, you're back on him, and now he's incapable of stopping himself from humping your thigh like an animal. You don't refuse him or push him away, even mercifully angelling your hip to the side to give him easier access. There's nothing but you, all over him, inside of him, tearing him apart and putting him back together. It's absolutely pathetic, and he knows it, but he can feel his release arriving in the pit of his stomach. He's wanted this for so long, there's just no way to delay it anymore.

It only takes a few more seconds before his orgasm hits him hard, the wave of pleasure making his whole body still as a plank, while you're still sucking harshly the vein on the side of his neck. He cries out once, broken and wanton, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.

He comes down from the high in time to see the last of his cum painting your hip white before it gets washed away with the water. You detach yourself from him unceremoniously, putting some distance between your bodies with a frown.

“Did you just…?”

There's no room for pretending here. He's just had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life from nothing but a fucking kiss from you. It's like he's a teenager all over again, face redder than a tomato and eyes escaping yours guiltily.

“You came. You came by just making out with me,” you repeat, visibly caught halfway between incredulity and mockery.

“I just haven't gotten laid in a while, that's it!” he justifies vehemently. He needs to change the topic quickly, or you’ll never let him live this down. “I'm always busy at the lab doing the paperwork you always skip out on!”

That thankfully seems to take your attention away from his premature accident; he's never been so grateful for your short temper.

“Seriously? You’re going to bring that up right now?” you bark, shoving him in the chest angrily.

He can still turn this around. He might not have much control over his first release, today ridiculously so, but he's been blessed with excellent stamina and a very short recovery period. Jayce is good at selling himself with speeches, and even though you're usually immune to anything that comes out of his mouth, he's willing to cheat this once and use the one chink in your armour he knows about.

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed,” he tempts you in a tone of indifference.

Your silence speaks volumes; he's got you again. Yes, it's incredibly manipulative, and when this is over he's going to spend hours turning over in his bed and despising himself. He’s always believed in doing things the fair way, the right way, and that one day he’d manage to lower your defences and etch a place into your heart all of his own merits.

But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

What kind of man does that make him?

That’s a thought he’ll just have to keep for later.

Taglist Darlings: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, @urfavlarry , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth

[choszen]

★ — il capitano.

il capitano x florist! reader.

GENRE: smut.

WARNINGS: NSFW. capitano smut. masturbating. fantasizing.

SYPNOSIS: the fatui harbinger, il capitano, had been visiting the flower shop for months now. he never engaged in small talks with you, only scanning the selection of flowers in sight, and only coming by to buy bouquets of flowers. whenever you would hand him the arrangements, he would place a lot of mora on the table and would take his leave in urgency. you often found yourself wondering why never speaks, and why he always appeared to be in a hurry.

MINORS DNI ❕

CAPITANO was in haze. looking deep into those angel eyes was dangerous, especially when the said eyes were shining so brightly. it sent butterflies fluttering in the pit of his stomach, however, the captain couldn't find it within himself to look away. he didn't even want to. he felt as if his soul had been trapped in this angel's eyes forever, and that the angel was holding him captive with just a look.

“good morning, captain. you're here again!” you smiled, “which flower will you buy today? the usual? we have many lovely ones at our store.” your voice was like the music of angels, it was as melodic as the singing angels.

the first among the eleven fatui harbingers, a god amongst men, his name alone was enough to cause fear in everyone who heard it. so, why aren't you afraid of him? why aren't you shaking in fear? why don't you cower under his power? why are you staring at him with a soft smile that graced your face? what makes you believe that you can be safe around him? no one can truly be safe from the harbingers. he could easily squash you between his fingers, he knows how, but he wouldn't... why should he? he doesn't intended to hurt a girl like you, he has other things planned for you that would bring him joy. “... peonies, and lilies.” capitano spoke, voice low.

his eyes, dark and intense, tracked your every movement like a predator hunting its prey. each subtle shift of your form sent ripples through his composure, and he could feel his fist clenching tightly, the knuckles whitening as he battled against the rising tide of his desires. his control over his desires had always been difficult to come by. in the depths of his mind, the captain wonders how you'll scream his name out loud, how he will feel when he finally have his member inside of you. your body is meant for him, only his. the more he observed the way your casual clothes hugged your body, the more his thoughts wonders on how you will look without those, however, capitano pushed these these thoughts aside before they grow any bigger. now is not the time nor place for such thoughts.

“we're very lucky that you're visiting our humble shop. here are your peonies, and lilies.”

as capitano placed the stack of coins upon the counter, he didn't spare a single glance at you, his urgency propelling him swiftly away from the moment away from you. upon reaching his office, he slammed the door shut with a resounding thud, locking the door behind, ad immediately sank into the embrace of his desk chair. he leaned his forehead against his palm once he placed his helmet at the table. your scent, mixed with a sweet and delicate perfume was still lingering on his nose. the sound of your laughter still echoes in his ears, the way you smiled at him, the sound of your voice, everything about you captivated his senses as his breath hitched with desire. he wanted you to be the one to quench his flames– his growing desire.

there was a painful erection underneath the pants that he wore. he needed to relieve the pressure, the ache that was building up inside of him, and it wasn't long before capitano's hands began to fumble with his belt and once he unzipped his pants, the impressive bulge that grew more beneath his underwear was revealed. he couldn't hold himself anymore. he had spent so much time working on getting his arousal under control, yet, there it was, begging to be taken care off. ah, you should be the one pleasuring him right now, not himself. the point of his dick— his tip, kicked his stomach when he recalled your sweet scent, the way your hands brushed on his when you handed the bouquet. his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. he couldn't even tell whether he wanted to cry or laugh at the same time. his cock pulsated, growing harder and harder with every passing moment he was left alone with his thoughts.

can you even handle him? will he even fit inside you? his body is huge, his length is immense. he was big. he knows you can take him, capitano's length is for you to take only. his cock was veiny, twitching and already dripping with pre-cum as it was waiting to be touched. the thought of wrapping your lips around his cock made his mouth fell, his chest moving up and down, and sweats appearing on his forehead. he had never felt so aroused before but at the same time his hands were clammy, shaking and itching to touch himself now. the sudden feelings of capitano's fingers in his dick caused him to let out a small groan, there was a mixture of excitement and arousal flowing in him right now and all he could think of was you.

capitano had his head rolled back with a slight groans escaping through his lips, it has been a long time since he felt this pleasure again as he wrapped his lengthy digits on his cock, moving up and down in such pace. “ah~” he breathed softly, the sight of him stroking himself had turned him into a horny animal. he gripped onto his cock tightly and increased his movements, moving his fingers faster while moaning louder than usual. “t-the things... you do to me... y/n..” capitano mumbled between moans, brows ceased in arousal as he continued to stroke his cock with his thick calloused fingers. in that moment, the captain longed for your hands to caress him, fantasizing your gentle fingertips running over his warm flesh. how divine it would be to give in to your warmth, and feel your soft touch engulfing him in a cocoon of comfort and intimacy. the mere thought of your hands wrapped around his length, ignited a longing desire within him. what a relief it would be, to trade the solitude of his own touch for the blissful sensation of your fingertips.

his eyes rolled back in sheer ecstasy, each moan escaped his lips and grew louder, louder, louder. the captain's head fell heavily onto the polished table, his hands still clenching fiercely around his throbbing member, as if that grip could tether him to the world of sanity. no people should ever come close to making capitano cum so hard, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. the throbbing sensation that came with each hard and fast stroke, coupled with the increasing heat spreading throughout his whole body. “ah~ y/n... what did you do to me..?” the captain moaned aloud, his voice whiny from the intensity of his pleas. his face, once nonchalant, was now covered in shades of crimson. capitano’s mouth were open, moans and hot breath coming out. there were beads of sweat cascading down his forehead. his eyes rolled back in bliss at the overwhelming pleasure wrapped around him. he was utterly lost, unable to contain the soft whimpers and loud moans escaping his lips.

it didn't matter to capitano that the noise might alert others. his heart was beating like crazy, the feeling of being being inside you, your soft walls, made him lose all restraint on his self and he was whispering your name. capitano had never felt anything like it before. he knew you were the reason for his desire but the idea of telling you that, of showing you his love and passion, seemed too impossible and unreal. “m-my dear angel... forgive me for fantasizing about you...” his words sounded so weak. capitano closed his eyes in pure bliss. “let me make amends for my sins, my angel. please...” he begged, opening his eyes only a slit. the captain's fist were now full of cum as he stroked his shaft over and over again, his breath haggard and his chest heaving. he was going crazy and there was nothing he could do to stop it, nothing to distract him from the feeling coursing through his veins and setting him ablaze from the inside.

capitano could feel his climax approaching and his breathing became heavier and quicker. “...fuck..” he gasped, closing his eyes as he pushed against himself with his fist. “i will make you mine... y/n, my angel..” his legs trembled, his muscles twitched, his teeth were clenched. his eyes drifted shut as he surrendered his cock to the sensations of his own juices leaking down his member and fingers. he didn't know how long he had been doing this, but his body betrayed his exhaustion.

he stared at his swollen cock, and his own cum, watching the last few drops of cum dripping out of the top before it fell on his lap. what a waste. you should've been here to swallow all of it, to taste the most succulent thing that he had been saving for you, to taste every drop of it. he wanted to see your pretty mouth devouring the liquid substance of his own ejaculation.

[elryuse]

I'm sorry, Can I Be Yours

Winter X Male Reader

Tags : Childhood Friends, Friends To Lovers, Kiss, Teasing, Fluff, Virgin Sex, Creampie, Good Ending?

The School bell blared, jolting me out of my reverie. I scanned the emptying hallway, searching for Winter's familiar pearly blonde hair. My stomach clenched when I spotted her surrounded by her posse, their laughter echoing down the corridor. Winter, the girl who used to chase butterflies with me at recess, now seemed like a distant star, dazzling yet untouchable.

It wasn't always like this. Back in elementary school, Winter, or Minjeong as I called her then, was the new kid, a shy sparrow adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces. I, the self-proclaimed schoolyard ambassador, had swooped in, determined to be her friend. We were an unlikely pair – me, the rambunctious chatterbox, and her, the quiet observer with eyes that held galaxies within them. But somehow, it clicked. We built sandcastles that defied the tide, shared scraped knees and ice cream cones, our laughter echoing through the playground.

High school, however, had cast a long shadow over our friendship. Winter blossomed into an ethereal beauty, her smile lighting up every room she entered. Admirers swarmed around her like bees to a rose, and her schedule became a whirlwind of student council meetings, dance practices, and social gatherings. I, on the other hand, remained comfortably obscure, content with the company of my camera and a well-worn book.

The distance wasn't physical, not yet. We still sat together at lunch, a forced routine amidst the chaos. But the easy conversations, the comfortable silences, those had become a distant memory. Now, an awkward tension hung between us, a chasm filled with unspoken words and longing glances that pierced my heart.

One afternoon, at the usual lunch table, Winter was surrounded by her usual crowd, their voices a flurry of excitement about the upcoming school festival. I stole a glance at her, my heart sinking at the coldness in her eyes, a stark contrast to the warmth that used to reside there.

"Hey, Winter," I began hesitantly, my voice barely a whisper above the din. "They were talking about volunteers for the photography booth at the festival. You know I take a decent picture or two."

A flicker of something, maybe annoyance, crossed her features before she schooled her expression into a polite smile.

"Oh, right," she said, her voice devoid of its usual enthusiasm. "Yeah, maybe you can help out. Hana mentioned you were good with that camera of yours."

The casual dismissal stung. Hana? We hadn't discussed the festival, and the way Winter phrased it made it seem like it was Hana's idea, not mine. I forced a smile, the bitterness clinging to my tongue.

"Sure," I mumbled, pushing my untouched lunch tray away. "Just let me know what needs to be done."

The rest of the lunch break passed in a blur of forced conversation and stolen glances. As the final bell rang, I gathered my things, the weight of our strained friendship heavy on my chest. Winter barely acknowledged me as she swept out of the classroom, leaving me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Was this the end of our story? The question echoed in the empty classroom, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between us.

The following week, a new face appeared in our homeroom class. A girl with long, flowing black hair and a face that could launch a thousand ships, but her posture screamed timidity. She shuffled in, her eyes downcast, avoiding eye contact with the sea of curious faces. The usual welcoming chatter died down, replaced by a tense silence.

As the teacher droned on about expectations and school policies, I couldn't help but steal glances at the new girl. Her name was Lee Seo-Ah, according to the attendance sheet. Unlike Winter, who captivated the room with her mere presence, Seo-Ah seemed to shrink into herself, disappearing into the background.

A pang of sympathy stabbed at my heart. I remembered all too well the awkwardness of being the new kid, the crushing loneliness of trying to navigate unfamiliar territory. Winter, once the shy newcomer, had effortlessly blossomed into the center of attention. Seo-Ah, on the other hand, seemed trapped in a shell of her own making.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, the usual flurry of introductions and small talk began. But Seo-Ah remained isolated, a solitary island amidst a bustling sea. I couldn't just stand by and watch.

Taking a deep breath, I approached her desk, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs. "Hi, I'm Y/n," I said, offering a friendly smile. "Welcome to our school."

Seo-Ah looked up, startled, her eyes wide and filled with a flicker of surprise. For a moment, she didn't speak, then a shy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"H-hi," she finally mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm Seo-Ah. It's... nice to meet you."

Her shyness was endearing, a stark contrast to the usual boisterousness of the classroom. "Seems like you're new here," I continued, hoping to ease the tension. "Anything I can help you with?"

Seo-Ah hesitated, then bit her lip. "Well, I'm a bit lost. I don't know where my next class is."

Relief washed over me. "No problem at all. I have the same class next. Let me show you the way."

As we walked down the hallway, Seo-Ah spoke in hushed tones, her words punctuated by long pauses. She told me she was from Busan, a coastal city known for its seafood and beaches. She loved art, particularly painting, but was too shy to join any clubs.

I listened intently, offering words of encouragement and pointing out landmarks along the way. To my surprise, Seo-Ah slowly began to open up, her voice gaining a hint of confidence. By the time we reached her next class, a hesitant smile played on her lips.

"Thanks, Y/n," she said, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"No worries at all," I replied, a genuine warmth spreading through my chest. "Welcome to the group, Seo-Ah."

Perhaps, in helping Seo-Ah find her way, I had also found a way to bridge the growing distance between myself and Winter. After all, kindness, like a pebble tossed into a still pond, could create ripples that reached far and wide.

A couple of weeks flew by in a whirlwind of activity. During lunch breaks, I found myself gravitating towards Seo-Ah, her infectious laugh and bubbly personality a welcome change from the strained atmosphere I shared with Winter. We'd discuss everything under the sun – from her passion for painting to the latest K-pop group she was obsessed with. Slowly, her shyness melted away, replaced by a comfortable openness.

One afternoon, at the usual lunch table, Winter caught me engrossed in a conversation with Seo-Ah. Her expression was unreadable, but a flicker of something, maybe jealousy, crossed her features for a fleeting moment before she masked it with a polite smile.

"Looks like you've made a new friend, Y/n," she said, her voice cool and detached.

"Y-yeah," I replied, trying to keep the awkwardness at bay. "Seo-Ah just transferred from Busan. We get along pretty well."

Winter simply nodded, her gaze lingering on Seo-Ah for a beat too long before she turned away to continue her conversation with Hana. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a stark contrast to the easy banter I shared with Seo-Ah.

During that week, I discovered another one of Seo-Ah's talents. While helping her unpack her art supplies after school, she pulled out a sketchbook filled with breathtaking landscapes and portraits. My jaw dropped in awe.

"Wow, Seo-Ah, these are amazing!" I exclaimed, flipping through the pages. "You're incredibly talented."

Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Thanks, Y/n. I actually joined the art club this week. They seemed really nice."

A surge of excitement coursed through me. "That's fantastic! Maybe we can even work on some projects together sometime. I'm in the photography club, and we're always looking for new angles and perspectives."

Her eyes lit up. "R-really? That sounds awesome!"

Over the next few days, Seo-Ah and I spent our free time bouncing ideas off each other. We'd discuss light and shadow, composition, and the emotions a photograph or painting could evoke. With her, there was none of the awkward silences or unspoken expectations that had infiltrated my relationship with Winter. It felt… easy, comfortable.

Meanwhile, the distance between Winter and me continued to widen. Our conversations were short and superficial, filled with long pauses and forced smiles. I missed our late-afternoon talks, the way we could just sit in comfortable silence, knowing each other's thoughts without needing to speak them. But Winter was a whirlwind of student council meetings and social gatherings now, leaving me feeling like an outsider peering into a world I no longer belonged to.

One Friday afternoon, while Seo-Ah and I were discussing camera settings in the library, Winter approached our table, her face etched with a forced smile.

"Hey, Y/n," she said, her voice clipped. "Just wanted to let you know there's a student council meeting this evening. You're… welcome to join."

Her words felt like an afterthought, an obligation rather than an invitation. Seo-Ah, sensing the tension, chimed in.

"Oh, a student council meeting? That sounds important. You should definitely go, Y/n."

Winter's smile faltered for a second, then she straightened her shoulders. "Yeah, sure," she said, her gaze flickering to Seo-Ah before darting away. "See you guys later."

As she walked away, a knot of frustration tightened in my stomach. Was I missing something here? Did Winter feel threatened by Seo-Ah's presence? Or was it simply a case of her being too busy with her own things to acknowledge our dwindling friendship?

Stepping into the student council meeting room felt like entering a different world. The air crackled with nervous energy, students flitting around finalizing decorations and posters. Minjeong, usually radiating icy efficiency, seemed to have a vibrant life of her own here. Her voice, sharp and clear as she addressed the room, held an undeniable power.

I found myself an empty chair at the back, feeling strangely out of place amidst all the organized chaos. The topic of the meeting – the upcoming school fireworks festival – was a whirlwind of budgets, logistics, and safety regulations. Hana, Minjeong's ever-reliable vice president, rattled off numbers with laser focus, while Minjeong herself managed the discussion with a firm but encouraging demeanor.

As the meeting progressed, I stole glances at Minjeong. The fierce, focused leader I witnessed was so different from the quiet girl who had been my best friend. A pang of longing crossed my chest for those simpler times. Then, our eyes met.

Caught off guard, Minjeong's gaze flickered for a moment before she looked away, a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. A shy smile tugged at the corner of her lips, a fleeting glimpse of the girl I knew beneath the student council president facade. The warmth of that smile sent a jolt through me. Was there still hope for us?

Suddenly, Hana's voice cut through my contemplation. "So, who's up for grabbing some pizza after this? We've still got hours of work to do before the week's out."

A chorus of groans and cheers filled the room. Minjeong chuckled, a soft sound that seemed foreign on her focused face. "Sounds good, Hana. But make it quick, alright? We don't want to be here all night."

As the meeting wrapped up, the room buzzed with newfound energy. Students piled into a corner, chatting excitedly about pizza toppings and movie plans. I hesitated, unsure of my place in this world.

"Y/n?" Minjeong's voice caught my attention. She stood at the front of the room, her gaze hesitant but inviting. "You coming to pizza night?"

The question hung in the air, a test of the fragile thread that still connected us. My heart pounded in my chest. This could be a step forward, a chance to bridge the gap that had grown between us. Or it could be a painful reminder of how far things had changed.

I looked at Minjeong, her eyes filled with a nervous anticipation that mirrored my own. Taking a deep breath, I offered a smile, the same shy smile we used to share in elementary school.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice a little rough around the edges. "I'd like that."

A genuine smile, bright and unreserved, broke across Minjeong's face. It was a small step, a single word in a long conversation, but for the first time in weeks, a flicker of hope ignited within me. Perhaps, amidst the chaos of student council meetings and new friendships, there was still a place for us, for the bond we once shared.

Stepping into the bustling pizza parlor, I was greeted by the aroma of melted cheese and bubbling tomato sauce. Minjeong's friends, a vibrant bunch I only recognized from school hallways, were already digging into their slices, their laughter a welcome counterpoint to the tense atmosphere of the meeting earlier.

Minjeong, perched at the end of a long table, her cheeks flushed with a hint of nervous excitement, spotted me. A radiant smile broke across her face, chasing away the serious leader persona from before. She patted the seat next to her, a silent invitation.

As I settled in, a chorus of curious glances and playful nudges fell upon me. A girl with sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin leaned forward.

"So, Y/n," she began, her voice dripping with friendly interrogation, "how long have you known our Minjeong? Spill the secrets of your epic friendship!"

A wave of heat flooded Minjeong's cheeks, her cheeks turning the color of the pepperoni slices on the table. She mumbled something inaudible under her breath, burying her face in her pizza slice. I chuckled, the sound warming the air.

"Well Actually," I said, taking a bite of my own pizza, "we go way back. All the way back to elementary school."

A collective gasp escaped the group. Stories of elementary school crushes and childhood sweethearts circulated with wide-eyed wonder. Seeing Minjeong squirm under the spotlight only endeared her to me even more.

"She was this shy little thing," I continued, my voice filled with a smile, "always hiding behind her art folders. I just decided she needed a friend and dragged her into all sorts of adventures."

Minjeong peeked at me over her pizza slice, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of shyness and amusement. My heart stuttered in my chest. Even after all this time, her gaze still held the power to send butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"And did those adventures include falling head over heels for each other?" one of the guys piped up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The question hung heavy in the air. A long silence stretched, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation. I met Minjeong's gaze, a silent conversation unfolding between us.

"I…," I hesitated, taking a deep breath. "The truth is, Minjeong has always been special to me. Ever since that first day in elementary school, there was something about her. Her quiet strength, her kindness, her way of seeing the world through those incredible eyes."

Minjeong's entire face turned crimson, her lips forming a silent "wow." The rest of the table, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, remained silent, their eyes shifting between us with anticipation.

"And you, Y/n?" Minjeong finally managed to whisper, her voice barely audible. "Do you still feel the same way?"

"More than you know," I said, my voice sincere. "Seeing you all grown up, this amazing leader everyone admires… it just makes me realize how much I care about you."

The moment stretched, charged with unspoken emotions. Then, with a roar of approval, Minjeong's friends erupted in cheers.

"Oh my god, you guys are perfect for each other!"

"Finally! It was about time someone confessed!"

Minjeong, overwhelmed by the sudden outburst, hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with a mixture of shyness and laughter. My own heart pounded with a mixture of hope and disbelief. Could this really be happening?

As the cheers subsided, a shy smile peeked out from behind Minjeong's hands. Looking at me, her eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher. Was it fear? Joy? Relief?

"Well, Y/n," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "It seems like you spilled the biggest secret of all."

I grinned, leaning closer. "Only the one I felt was most important."

The rest of the night was a blur of happy chatter, shared stories, and stolen glances. The seeds of doubt I'd harbored for weeks began to fade, replaced by a warm flicker of hope. Perhaps, amidst the changing tides of high school, our childhood connection could blossom into something more. As we walked home under the soft glow of the streetlights, a comfortable silence settled between us, a silence that spoke volumes more than words ever could. Maybe, just maybe, our story wasn't over yet.

As we strolled away from the pizza parlor, the streetlights cast soft yellow pools on the sidewalk. The air was thick with the unspoken words that hung between us. Finally, Minjeong broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper.

"Y/n," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you… hate me?"

The question struck me like a physical blow. Hate her? The girl who had been my closest companion, my confidante? It was a ridiculous notion.

"Why would I hate you?" I asked gently, my voice laced with concern.

"For everything," she mumbled, tears welling up in her eyes. "For how I treated you these past three years. For being so cold and distant."

I stopped walking, turning to face her. Minjeong's face was illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Minjeong-Ah, listen to me," I said, cupping her face in my hands. "You were focused on school, student council, all those responsibilities. It's natural. You've become this amazing leader, kind and strong. I could never hate you for that."

She shook her head, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "But you must have felt so alone. Like I replaced you."

"It wasn't like that," I assured her, wiping away the stray tear with my thumb. "It just… it's a shame we drifted apart. I miss the talks we used to have, the silly jokes, the shared dreams."

A sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in my chest. Tears soaked through my shirt as she held onto me for dear life.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," she cried, her voice muffled against my chest. "I'm such an idiot. Seo-Ah is great, and I'm happy she has a friend, but… but you're different. You've always been different."

My heart ached for her, for the pain she had unknowingly inflicted. "Seo-Ah's a friend," I said, stroking her hair soothingly. "But you, Minjeong… you're so much more."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching mine. "More?"

"We grew up together," I continued, my voice soft. "We shared secrets, dreams, a lifetime of memories. Seo-Ah may be a new chapter, but you… you're the whole book."

Tears streamed down her face, each one a silent apology. "I-i messed up," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "The thought of losing you to someone else… it scared me to death. But I was too scared to admit it, too scared to even talk to you."

Understanding dawned on me. Her coldness, her distance, it was all a misguided attempt to protect herself from the possibility of losing our bond. The irony wasn't lost on me – her actions had almost achieved the very outcome she feared.

Enfolding her in a hug once more, I whispered into her hair, "It's okay, Minjeong. We can start over. Together."

Her body trembled against mine, a mixture of relief and hope washing over her. The night was filled with apologies, whispered confessions, and the bittersweet promise of a new beginning. We walked hand in hand, not as childhood friends, but as something more, something that transcended labels. We walked, not just towards her house, but towards a future we would write together, a future where communication replaced silence, and where the warmth of our friendship could finally blossom into something beautiful.

The walk to Minjeong's house felt different under the soft glow of the streetlights. The air, once thick with unspoken words, now crackled with a nervous energy, a budding promise. As we reached her doorstep, the weight of the emotional rollercoaster we'd just been on settled in.

Minjeong, sniffling and wiping away the last of her tears, looked at me with a mixture of vulnerability and hope. "Would you… would you like to stay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Staying the night at her place felt like venturing into uncharted territory. Was it too soon? Yet, the thought of leaving her on such a vulnerable note felt unbearable.

"I… I don't know," I stammered, unsure of the protocol for such a situation.

Tears welled up in her eyes again, threatening to spill over. "Please, Y/n," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

My resolve crumbled. How could I say no to those tear-filled eyes, to the raw vulnerability she was displaying? "Okay," I sighed, offering her a weak smile. "I'll stay."

Relief washed over her face, a radiant smile replacing the tear tracks. She fumbled with her keys, finally unlocking the door and ushering me inside.

The familiar scent of her home, a mixture of lavender and something vaguely sweet, instantly transported me back to our childhood sleepovers. As I entered her bedroom, the floodgates of nostalgia opened.

The walls were adorned with a tapestry of our shared history – a photo of us grinning goofily at a carnival, a drawing we'd made together during a rainy afternoon, a faded ticket stub from that time we snuck into a movie. Every picture, every memento, whispered of a friendship that had weathered storms, unspoken yet understood.

A choked sob escaped Minjeong's lips as she noticed my gaze tracing the memories on the wall. "It's… it's like a museum in here," she sniffled, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

I walked over to her, my heart overflowing with a cocktail of emotions. "It's beautiful," I whispered, reaching out to touch a photo of us on our first day of elementary school. "A reminder of everything we've been through."

Minjeong's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. As if making a sudden decision, she began to slowly undress, her movements filled with a nervous anticipation.

Shock momentarily paralyzed me. "Minjeong-Ah?" I stammered, unsure of how to interpret her actions.

She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with a newfound courage. "Y/n," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "I know this might seem crazy, but… all this time, all I ever wanted was you."

The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken desires. Before I could respond, she leaned in, hesitantly at first, then with a growing sense of urgency. Her lips met mine in a kiss that was both tentative and filled with a desperate longing.

It was a kiss that tasted of tearful apologies, unspoken confessions, and the bittersweet joy of a rekindled connection. In that kiss, we bridged the gap of lost years, the unspoken words replaced by a silent promise of a future we would write together.

Pulling away, breathless and a little dazed, we stared into each other's eyes. They held a newfound depth, a reflection of the emotions we had shared.

"Minjeong-Ah," I finally managed to breathe, my voice thick with emotion. "I… I thought I'd lost you."

"Me too," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of joy. "But we're here now, Y/n. And this time," she continued, a determined glint in her eyes, "I'm not letting go."

Hearing those words, I immediately kissed her again. This time with so much passion and hunger to love her even more. minjeong share to play with my tounge,Something that I didn't know she would ever learned.

"M-minjeong-Ah.. You're so pretty". I blurted out, My words of praise basically flies out on its own. Minjeong blushes, Before planting another kiss to my lips. Her soft and plump lips, a cushion to my own.

"I-i want to try it... I-i want to do it with you Y/n". Minjeong blushes, Her hands touching the entrance of her now wet pussy. I blushed deeply, Not expecting that we'll come this far.

But I now know, that we are meant for each other. We both loved each other. I promised, I would never let her down anymore. I would love her with all of my heart.

"I-i'm putting it in Minjeong-Ah. Tell me if it hurts okay"? I gently caresses her face. As I started to slowly thrust my dick into her pussy, Minjeong immediately moaned, Her body trembling, as her hole started to widen, and not long after that. I have successfully inserted my whole dick deep into her pussy. As her hymen broke, Blood soon come out. I panicked, Asking Minjeong if she's alright.

She seemed to be trembling, and crying. I tried to pull back. But minjeong yelled "Noo.. Don't pull it out... I-i can handle it".

I hesitated, I didn't want this experience to hurt her. I explained it to her, that she doesn't need to force herself, and we can take it slowly. But to my suprise, Minjeong push me back, before straddling me.

"No.. No.. I want this.. I need this... Please don't leave me Y/n... I can handle this.. So please... caressing my face let me pleasure you". I immediately blushed hearing those words coming from her mouth. In the end I nodded, Letting her know I'll do it.

Minjeong started to move her hips slowly, Adjusting to the pain and pleasure that her body is currently having. And after a while, She finally found her pace and started to move faster and faster. We both moaned at how good this feels, And I just can't help but to admire her fit body, and her beautiful pair of tits.

"I-i know it's not the biggest... B-but.. Please love them". Minjeong blushes, as she turns her head around. I giggled before planting a kiss to her tits. Admiring them for how perfect they were. Mineong immediately smiled, Before planting another kiss to my lips.

After a while, I felt like I was near to reach my orgasm. As I saw Minjeong Continue swaying her hips, Something took over me and I gently put Minjeong into a missionary position. Minjeong legs immediately craddled surrounding my body, as her legs tightened. Her hand gripped the back of my body, As I kept on kissing her heck.

"Y/n!!! Y/n.. I'm close.. Fuck.. I'm so close..". Minjeong cried, as The pleasure was too much for the both of us. I told her that I'm also close.

"Shoot it inside me... I-it's okay... I want it..".

"W-whatt! No we can't... It's too dangerous minjeong... I'll shoot it outside".

"Noooo.. Please... I want your cum... Please... ".

As minjeong kept begging, and as I closely reached my limit. I can't help but to shoot my seed deep within her womb. As I did this, Minjeong moaned and tightly held me. Our body trembled in pleasure, and we finally reached our euphoria together.

After panting a while, We both Chukled before kissing each other for the last time, as we finally fell asleep. We held each other close, our bodies radiating a warmth that chased away the chill of the night. The room filled with the sound of our gentle breaths and the soft thudding of our hearts, a symphony of rediscovered love and a promise of a future where childhood friendship could finally blossom into something beautiful and everlasting.

Sunlight streamed through the window, painting golden stripes across Minjeong's face. She stirred, a sleepy smile curving her lips. Glancing beside her, she found me still nestled in the sheets, the events of last night replaying vividly in her mind. A blush crept up her cheeks as she remembered the passionate confessions and rekindled love that had blossomed under her very roof.

"Y/n," she whispered, nudging me gently. "Time to wake up. We don't want to be late for school."

I groaned playfully, pulling the covers over my head for a moment longer. "Five more minutes?" I mumbled, the warmth of the sheets and the memory of Minjeong close beside me making it hard to leave.

She chuckled, a sound like wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze. "Not a chance, sleepyhead. We have a whole day of classes and stolen glances ahead of us."

Her words were a sweet melody to my ears. Sitting up, I stretched, my gaze lingering on her. "Thank you, Minjeong-Ah," I said, my voice husky with sleep and unspoken emotions.

"For what?" she asked, tilting her head.

"For everything," I replied, cupping her face in my hands and leaning in for a soft kiss. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes of the renewed connection we shared.

The morning unfolded in a whirlwind of hurried breakfasts, stolen kisses in between brushing teeth, and nervous excitement as we walked to school together, hand in hand. As we reached our classroom, I was met with a concerned Seo-Ah, her eyes wide with worry.

"Y/n!" she exclaimed, rushing over. "Where have you been? I texted and called you a million times; I was scared something happened!"

My heart twinged with a pang of guilt. Seo-Ah's genuine concern warmed me, and I realized how much I valued our friendship. With a sheepish grin, I turned to Minjeong, taking her hand in mine.

"Seo-Ah," I began, my voice laced with a newfound confidence, "there's something I need to tell you. Minjeong and I… we're a couple now."

Seo-Ah's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of sadness flitting across her face for a fleeting moment. But then, a genuine smile bloomed on her lips.

"Oh wow," she said, her voice filled with unexpected joy. "Congratulations, you two! I always thought you had a special connection."

Relief flooded me. I was worried how Seo-Ah would react, but her understanding and well-wishes warmed the air.

The rest of the day was a blur of excited whispers from classmates, stolen glances across the classroom, and the thrill of a newfound love. After school, Minjeong and I decided to celebrate. We walked hand-in-hand down a street lined with cherry blossom trees, their delicate pink petals showering us like confetti.

"This feels like a dream," Minjeong whispered, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"A dream I never want to wake up from," I replied, squeezing her hand.

We stopped at a quaint ice cream shop, the aroma of sweet waffle cones wafting through the air. We ordered our favorite flavors, sharing bites and laughing like children. As we savored the cool treat, I realized that sometimes, the most unexpected detours lead us to the sweetest destinations.

Looking into Minjeong's eyes, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within them, I knew that our story was far from over. It was a story of friendship, of rediscovery, and of a love that had weathered the storms of time and finally blossomed into something beautiful. And as we walked into the sunset, hand in hand, with the promise of forever etched in our hearts, I knew this was just the beginning of our happily ever after.

The End

A/n : Hey Guys, Elryuse here. just want to say, This is probably one of my favorite stories/fics that I've ever written so far. The characterization of Winter/Minjeong really fit in this story. But I have to say, Justice for the Seo-Ah man. Initially, In my first draft of the story, Seo-Ah would be a contender for Winter, However while I was writing, I think this is for the best. So I settled for her losing quicker in the story.

And I wanted to apologize to some of you guys, who have requested for a fics, But I'm currently focusing my priority for my ko-fi fans and for people who ordered fics personally. But don't be sad, I would still definitely do some of your requests y'all. Hope you enjoyed this story guys. 🤗

[azzibuckets]

Hey!! I was wondering if you could write a fic of Azzi being at Paige’s families lake house? Idk if you saw the photo or not but I feel like this could be a cute fic!

seven years in the works [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: something little to tide you guys over while i work on my next series! masterlist

word count: 700? idk

“You fit in so well.” Azzi’s looking at the sunset, admiring the way the soft pinks and blues cast a haze over the lake, but the warmth of hands sliding across her stomach and the weight of a chin on her shoulder makes her turn around and stare at something she thinks is even more beautiful.

“Hmm?” she murmurs, not quite understanding what her best friend is talking about but not really caring when she looks like this. Paige is in a simple red shirt, hair messily tied into a low bun, but the way the falling sunlight brings out the blue in her eyes and the glimmer in her smile has her wondering if this could be their forever.

“With my family,” Paige specifies, hands roaming across Azzi’s body and pulling her body closer. “They love you, you know.”

“What can I say?” Azzi smirks. “I guess all Bueckers have a thing for me.”

“And you’re gonna be one soon.” Paige smooths Azzi’s hair out of the way before starting to kiss a trail down the younger girl’s neck, smirking to herself at how Azzi shivers at the contact. Azzi giggles, hands snaking her way into Paige’s hair before she registers what exactly her girlfriend’s just said. “Excuse me?” she says indignantly, letting go of the blonde and taking a step back. “You’re taking my last name.”

Paige looks mildly offended. “But my nickname is Paige Buckets.”

“Well, Azzi Bueckers just doesn’t sound right.”

Paige grabs Azzi’s wrist, desperate for physical contact after only a few seconds of separation. “What about Bueckers-Fudd?” she offers.

Azzi grimaces. “That would be kinda long on the back of our jerseys.”

“We could keep our own last names?”

Azzi scowls, a dark look overtaking her face. “You might as well return the ring.” Paige opens her mouth to start another round of arguing, but they’re called into the house before she can say anything. The family’s gathered in the den watching a movie, and Paige plops down, easily pulling Azzi down onto her lap before the younger girl can even blink.

“Paige,” Azzi says. “There’s open seats.”

“Don’t care.” Paige’s face is already buried into the fabric of Azzi’s sweater, her hold on Azzi’s hips tight. “Want you.”

“I’m 6 feet tall, I’m not sitting in your lap.”

“5’11, but okay,” Paige cackles. But she adjusts Azzi’s legs so that only the upper half of her body is lying on the older girl. Looking down at Azzi’s face, she smiles, running her fingers gently along her scalp. “Better?” Azzi hums, grabbing Paige’s hand to fold it with hers and bringing it to her mouth for a kiss.

“You guys make me sick,” Paige hears one of her cousins remark, but she’s not sure which one because she doesn’t look up from Azzi’s face. She only sends a middle finger in their general direction, earning her a slap from her best friend.

“Azzi, come play Fortnite with us,” one of the younger ones call out.

“She can’t, she’s busy,” Paige tells back, pressing a soft kiss to the wrinkle on Azzi’s forehead, but Azzi only rolls her eyes. Pushing off Paige, she gets up and saunters over to the little kids. “Sure I can,” she agrees. Paige grits her teeth, deciding to follow after the girl.

“Come on, guys,” Paige pleads. “You guys played with her at the lake for hours this morning. Aren’t you tired of her?”

“Don’t be so selfish,” Drew reprimands his sister. “You get her for nine months a year.” He grabs Azzi’s hand and pulls her down into one of the beanbag chairs, offering her a Wii controller. Azzi takes it, shooting Paige a sly grin that she knows will get her in trouble later but hey.

Paige glowers at her little brother. “I can put you in a plane right now and send you home, don’t even play.”

“Don’t talk to Drew like that,” Azzi defends, turning to the 11 year old to dap him up.

“Bruh,” Paige complains. She sidles up to the beanbag and tries to plop herself down next to Azzi, but gets shoved to the floor instead. “You’re too big,” Azzi laughs before turning her attention to the TV screen. Sulking, Paige gets up from the floor, rubbing her butt and looking for something to do.

“You’re so pussy whipped,” Lauren informs her cousin once Paige makes her way into the kitchen. “But I understand. Azzi’s amazing.”

“I’m not making you one of my bridesmaids anymore,” Paige mutters.

Lauren tosses Paige a sparkling water. “When you gonna pop the question?”

“Azzi wants to focus on college, so definitely not until after she gets drafted. Even then, I’m not sure. I don’t want to distract her during her rookie year, you know?” Paige glances at Lauren, and even though Paige is always poised and confident, her cousin knows her too well, can detect the nerves underlying her voice.

“Paige.” Lauren runs a soothing hand across Paige’s shoulder. “If you keep letting outside stuff dictate your decisions, you’re never gonna get married. If you love her, then ask her.”

Paige rubs a hand across her face. “I just wanna make it perfect. She deserves it.”

“I’m being 100% honest when I say that you could propose to her at a McDonald’s and that girl would still look at you like you’re the moon and stars and everything beautiful in this world.”

“But don’t.” Paige and Lauren turn around at the same time. Azzi’s leaning against the doorway, but she pushes off to press a kiss against Paige’s nose. “Don’t you dare propose to me at a McDonald’s.”

Paige blushes furiously. “How much of that did you hear?”

Azzi grins. “Enough.” Lauren takes that as a signal, and she leaves the room, giving the two their privacy. “Hey.” Azzi cups Paige’s face in her hands, tilting her chin so that they’re making eye contact. “I mean, this has been, what, seven years in the works? Don’t stress about it.”

“I know, I just-” Paige is cut off by a kiss to the lips, and when Azzi pulls away there’s that dazed look in her eyes she always gets whenever Azzi touches her.

“I told you, I don’t need you stressing out over me. You already have so much shit going on. I’m supposed to be your safe place. Okay?”

“Okay,” Paige concedes. Azzi presses another chaste kiss to her lips. “You gonna go back to playing Fortnite now?”

“Nah.” Azzi tilts her head outside. “Wanna catch the last of the sunset?”

Paige’s answer is immediate. “Anything you want.”

[circeyoru]

Shadow and Void _ Part 7

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Enemy Monarch!Reader]

Arc 1: Part 1 ― Part 2 ― Part 3 Arc 2: Part 4 ― Part 5 Arc 3: Part 6 ― Part 7 (here)

“You need to be stronger. Successor of Ashborn.”

“Can’t you call me by name?” Jinwoo’s breath was practically fanning your face.

“I might. But the point is you need to be much much stronger.” You looked away as you pressed yourself against the wall to create some form of distance as much as you could.

“Why so sudden?” Jinwoo smirked as he played with your hoodie’s hood string.

“Igris can talk when he’s a higher rank.”

“Is that all?” He pulled on the string to pull you closer to him.

“... No… But… Can you please give me my space back?”

“If I did that, who knows where you’ll disappear to.” His eyes glowed at the thought. Before, when he was done tending to Hae-In, he couldn’t sense you anywhere, just like the Monarch of Frost. Not even Igris answered where you could be, nor Beru.

“You were busy with Hunter Cha anyways.”

“So Hunter Cha could be called by name, but I don’t have that favour? Are you saying you disappeared because you were jealous?”

“You wish. Now… Back up already!”

Jinwoo backed away and raised his hands in surrender. That flustered look on your face was enough for him to be satisfied, so he let you off the hook for now. Pinning you against the wall proved to be an excellent intimidating tactic, among other things. 

You sighed, finally getting your much-needed space. You fixed your clothes to avoid his burning gaze. Clearing your throat, you told him, “The Monarchs of Frost, Beast, and Plagues are aiming to kill you, and they are coming for you soon. You’re in dire need of strength.”

Jinwoo raised a brow at you. “And you know this how?” 

“There was a gathering among the Monarchs. I disappeared because I wasn’t on Earth but in a space you couldn’t reach. Two Monarchs backed away from the murder plans and I was gone before they could ask for my assistance.” You answered, your gaze landed on him as you voiced your thoughts and plans aloud to solidify it. “And my choice is to aid you, protect you from the Monarchs, and support what you stand for. Know that I’m doing this for Ashborn.”

Though it was because of Ashborn that he gained your support, Jinwoo will take what he can get. In time, you’ll stay because you want to.

Jinwoo nodded at the information, “Right. There are a few dungeons I can raid. Igris and Beru are close to levelling up as well.”

Your bare feet lifted, and you hovered in the air with a misty aura around you. With your arms crossed, you said, “I’m not saying this because you’re strong enough, but you need to level up your strongest soldiers to counter the Monarchs. In a snap,” Your fingers snapped to make a point, “Your army would be wiped out, and you’d be left to fend off at least three Monarchs.”

“What if you aided me?” Jinwoo eyed you, recalling your description from the system. “Wouldn’t that turn the odds in our favour?”

“It will, if you were an actual Monarch.” You raised a finger in the air, pointed at him and made smokey figures similar to the Monarchs. “Right now, you still have a human body. If you were a mere vessel and Ashborn was in control, I could help. But now that you’re a successor, you have to cross the boundaries of human and become a real Monarch to receive my full support.”

Confusion was written all over Jinwoo’s face, “I am the Shadow Monarch though.” 

You sighed, “You don’t get it now, but I think you will in time.” You massaged your forehead, “How do I explain this… Oh.” You snapped your fingers again, “What you have now is the Monarch of Shadows title, you also have some degree of powers from Ashborn. But! You don’t have every quality. My ability to turn the tides of war is best with a Monarch, like Sillad the Monarch of Frost.” You waved your hand at the smoke figures to make them disappear, “You get it now?”

Jinwoo’s deadpan face said it all. “No.”

Knocking came at Jinwoo’s door and he went to answer it, revealing his sister, “Hey, time to eat, and bring your girlfriend too.”

“I am not his girlfriend! For the record, I’m genderless!” You proclaimed, but Jinah had already left after delivering the message. You pouted and complained that it was just this vessel that appeared too feminine. 

“Please bear with it. Otherwise, I have no idea how to explain why you’re with me.” Jinwoo sighed, turning his back to you to hide a growing smile. 

“You don’t need to. I can just disappear and return home when you deal with private human matters.” You shrugged, “Besides, I won that little bet so I can have my private time back.”

Jinwoo opened his door and pushed you out by your back, “Too late, you’re coming with me. You can handle my mother if you want, I’ll just sit this one out.”

You shivered, “No way… It’s a universal law not to mess with mothers. I’ll stay for dinner just this once.”

As you walked on your own, you missed the way Jinwoo’s face lit up with a smirk and followed behind you with his Shadows watching the entire scene from his shadow.

In the beginning, it was awkward for you to sit and enjoy food with Jinwoo’s family. It had been so long since you last ate with humans like this, in a home with a family setting instead of some restaurant where human chatter was everywhere around you. All while you were in a quiet corner enjoying your meal with your phone. 

Jinwoo’s mother, Park Kyung-Hye, was quite the conversation starter. She welcomed you to the table and tried to make you more comfortable. Asking mundane human questions that you would have found it hard to answer if not for the time you spent building your perfect vessel and your days in human society. During this harmonious time, Jinwoo and Jinah would contribute to the conversation and you caught Jinwoo sneaking food into your bowl when you were busy talking. 

When you glanced over at him, he merely smiled, so you either looked away or continued chatting. Call it a trap to earn your sympathy or gain your favour. Whatever it was, it worked. Because now you see Jinwoo’s family as a must-protect as well. 

For the next few days, Jinwoo had been clearing dungeons incredibly fast. As you had suggested, he let his Shadow Army handle everything while he watched. Meanwhile, you have been preparing your gift for Jinwoo as you know his time to be the true Monarch is near. As much as you dread it, you can’t stop the will of Ashborn; you can only honour his choices. 

“Bellion, prepare the army to welcome your new lord.” You spoke to the Grand Marshal while seated cross-legged on a misty throne with your eyes closed, your hand in a prayer motion and your back leaning forward a bit.

“Have they finally passed your strictness? Honourary Sovereign.” Bellion asked with an air of amusement but also disbelief.

“Don’t call me that after you meet the successor.” You hissed. You never found it fitting to be the second in command after the stunt you pulled. Though, preserving and protecting Ashborn’s army against the other Monarchs till his return was the least you could do to atone, now it will be passed onto Jinwoo to reign over. “And yes, the supposed vessel is accepted as the successor in my eyes.”

Bellion chuckled, “That is a relief to hear. It would be hard to leave your side and fight against you had you remained hostile to my new lord.”

Yes, even in the end, if you didn’t do anything to return Ashborn’s army, the said army would still go to Jinwoo. There was no stopping the succession, and you can’t fight against an immortal army of the strongest Monarch, no matter how great your skills may be. How you ended up accepting Jinwoo, you have no idea. One thing you know is that you have now accepted him as a person and not as a piece of a larger game.

“Please be patient a while longer. Even after I opened the Gate, you won’t be able to cross over just yet so as to not upset the balance of the world.” You warned ahead of time. “I’ll place a barrier at the entrance so none can come out or go in.”

“I will relay your word to the rest.” Bellion spoke in earnest. “Monarch of Void.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for all you have done for My Sovereign and all of us.”

You flinched at the sincerity, but a smile formed on your face nonetheless. “I’m undeserving, but I’ll accept it.”

“You have changed.”

“You think so?” Your eyes opened, and your surroundings warped till you appeared on the roof of a high building. You looked up into the sky and clapped your hands together, then opened up like you were drawing a semi-circle in front of you. A miniature Gate formed and spread bigger and bigger with your movement until it covered a large area. 

Elsewhere, Jinwoo and Thomas both flinched at the presence of the Gate you had just created. They shared a look of acknowledgement and controlled fear as they looked out the glass window. On the street, people stopped what they were doing and stared up at the sky. Some marvelled, and some were horrified at the sight. 

You smiled at your handy work, “I feel the same way, and it’s not so bad.”

Note: And that's it! I'll spoil a bit for what I planned for the next arc and dun dun dun~~ Love is in the air~ Hehe~~ Manhwa readers (and I expect that to be the majority if not all of you cause how else are you following this story), I think you should have some idea~~ Wink wink~~

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

My Works: MASTERLIST *(regarding requests, check the Masterlist to see if it’s opened or not and other info related before sending one. Thanks.)

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[theseinfernalangels]

Need You Now - Brennan Sorrengail

Synopsis: The thing about surviving near-death experiences is that you’ll always remember them vividly. For you and Brennan, unfortunately, that’s just about every other night.

(WARNING for night terror-esque flashbacks and something akin to a panic attack from both characters. Take care of yourselves, lovelies.)

A/N: Finally something for our Lieutenant Colonel! Sorry it had to be kinda angsty, but I made a list of ideas for myself and this is just something that I feel like writing right now. I am a Brennan girl 4 lyfe.

Running. Running is all you can do. All you can afford. In this place, with these people, the only way to keep yourself alive is to run.

Blood roars in your ears, runs down your arms, but moves what feels so sluggishly through your veins. It’s not natural. You’re running faster than the wind can blow, but your heart ceases to beat. That shouldn’t be possible. None of this should be possible. You glance down before pausing in your steps entirely.

You cannot feel the blood rushing through your veins, you realize, because all of it is gushing from a gaping, gorey wound in your stomach, the red essence seeping into your flight leathers like a rising tide and drowning your senses.

Your mouth doesn’t move, but you hear a high-pitched shriek ring through your ears followed by a feral roar that echoes throughout your mind.

“Saintly One!”

Falling. All you feel is yourself falling, falling, falling into a pit of inky darkness as your senses are choked and wrung with a coppery, metallic scent.

There’s blood. So much blood. All you can see, smell, taste is –

Your thoughts are cut off by another ear-splitting roar.

“Wake up, Saintly One!”

It’s dark. It is so very dark, but it is not black. It’s wine-red, the color of –

“He needs you now! Awaken!”

He needs you now —

He needs you now —

He needs you now.

 ⋆｡°✩

You jerk awake with a sharp gasp, your lungs heaving and gulping down the air they so desperately need. Sweat drips down your brow, and your trembling hands flit around for something to grab hold of – someone to grab hold of.

Brennan. You need Brennan.

You flip yourself over, searching frantically for the familiar head of russet curls that graces the pillow next to yours every night. Of course, he is right next to you, but he too is twitching restlessly in his sleep.

He needs you now, too.

You watch as Brennan lets out a small whimper of pain and fear – so much unlike the man you’re now used to. That sound can only mean one thing, though: He’s reliving the Battle of Aretia for the thousandth time, up to the moment where he’d gone completely limp and pale as death in your arms.

Your heart races, and you feel tears burning at your waterline, but you’re used to this routine now after so many nights of mutual terror. You suck in a breath, hold it for a moment or two, and then exhale shakily.

“Bren,” you whisper faintly. “Brennan. Wake up.”

The trembling man does not stir, but his quiet whimpers increase to hushed murmurs of nonsense. Your heart twists at the sight. During his waking hours, Brennan is the strongest man you’ve ever seen, both in body and in spirit. He’s an absolute powerhouse, but when he’s at the mercy of his own memory…You feel like you’re watching a child hiding from a thunderstorm.

“Brennan,” you try again, a little louder. You reach a still-shaky hand over to his panicked form; you hesitate for a moment, your hand paused mid-motion above his body. You don’t want to scare him further, but you know after years of this that a simple call of his name most likely won’t work.

You suck in another breath, hold it, exhale, and lightly trace a finger over one of his biceps. “Brennan.”

Immediately, he jolts upright with a sound that sounds like a choked scream and whips towards you, hackles raised and eyes narrowed as if he’s staring in the face of an enemy. You slowly withdraw your hand and keep your gaze level with his stern look, fear clouding the edges of his irises.

“It’s just me,” you whisper, your voice still quivering from the sheer intensity of your own nightmare. “Just another stupid dream again.”

You both stare at each other for a few more moments, your chests heaving in an uncanny rhythm that has almost been perfected with the amount of times this very situation has happened. Brennan blinks a few times, his eyes slightly glazed and unfocused.

“It’s just me,” you coax him, slowly opening your arms to show him that you’re unarmed and safe. “Just me, love. You’re safe, Bren. You’re alive.”

A few more beats pass before his form deflates and he sighs softly, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looks back down at you, still sprawled on the bed, before slowly lowering himself into your arms. His head comes to rest silently right next to yours. You tuck yourself into him and run your thumb up and down his forearm.

“Easy,” you murmur. “Breathe. In four, hold four, out four, remember? You wanna do that with me?”

His eyes struggle to find yours for a second, but he eventually succeeds and nods once. His fingers clumsily clasp yours, and the next ten minutes consist of the two of you tangled in each other, finding your lost breath and grounding the both of you back into reality.

Some time passes before he finally speaks, his voice hoarse from disuse. “C’mere, angel.” He lightly grasps your waist and hoists your body on top of his, wrapping his strong arms around you and tucking your face into his chest. Your ear rests right on top of his heart, which still pounds furiously, but not enough to frighten you. His calloused fingers dip into your hair, running through the strands absentmindedly. It grounds the both of you at once; your weight presses into him, and his fingers rub against your scalp in a way that seems unnecessarily gentle.

It doesn’t take any words between the two of you to know that both of you had the same recurring dreams as usual. Brennan takes a few more seconds to breathe before he speaks again.

“How long were you awake before I woke up?”

Your eyes feel heavy, so you shut them without protest. You focus on his slowed breathing for a second before you respond.

“Maybe a minute or two. Couldn’t tell.”

He swears softly under his breath before you feel yourself moving again, your body sliding against his until your head is by his shoulder. His lips, slightly dry from dehydration, brush against your temple lightly.

“”M sorry, angel,” he soothes you, rubbing little figure-eights into your back. “You alright? No pain?”

When the nightmares first started, you’d sworn to him that you could feel the phantom pain of a knife in your gut where the original wound had been, even though it was Mended not long after you’d received it. Brennan, the sweetheart, would always press his hand to your stomach to show you that there was no wound to heal – no wound at all, save for a jagged scar on your abs.

You make a small sound of disapproval. “No, I…” You falter when you taste something warm and metallic in your mouth, a faint sting throbbing at your mouth. You freeze, eyes snapping wide open. 

Blood. All you can see, smell, taste is –

Your panicked thoughts are cut off once more when Brennan’s hand sweeps under your chin, his fingers brushing against your skin as he lifts you out of the crook of his neck. His amber eyes meet yours again, and then soften once he glances at your mouth.

“Oh, angel,” he sighs, swiping his thumb against your lips. You feel a warm sensation flow through you before the sting ceases. You’d bitten your lip open, you realize; probably sometime during your nightmare, trying to muffle your terrified noises out of pure habit. And your boyfriend, like the good man he was, Mended it for you.

You dab at your mouth lightly, your arm now smeared with a dark, coppery stain. “...Thanks.”

You lay back down; you barely pay any mind to the blood in your mouth as Brennan resumes his previous ministrations to calm your racing heart. The two of you go quiet again. For such a terrifying night, this has honestly been one of the more okay scenarios. You wince as you remember the night a few months ago where Brennan had coaxed you awake, and you responded by punching him in the face.

“It is better to remember the humorous times over the scariest ones,” you hear your dragon, Sciath, rumble softly. “I apologize for rousing you so abruptly, Saintly One.”

You make a little noise in return. “No,” you reply, “I’m glad you did. I’d rather have one of us awake to get the other out, you know?”

You pause. “I’m sorry if I woke you up, Sciath.”

The dragon makes a little motherly tutting noise. “Come now,” she chides. “We’ve gone over this. It is not your fault any more than it is the Restored One’s. I was awake, anyway.”

Brennan’s fingers graze your waist. “Sciath?”

You hum in confirmation. “Yep. Marbh?”

He shakes his head. “Bastard is still asleep. I think he’s used to me by now.”

You laugh softly, grateful for a less-than-frightened moment among all this chaos. “That makes two of us.”

A beat. Four beats. Eight.

Brennan hums and smooths your hair over with a practiced palm. “No talking about it?”         You sigh, dipping your head further into his neck. “Nope.”

You can almost hear him smile. “Got it.”

There’s no use in talking about what went on in both of your minds. The two of you had woken up like this so many times that it became easier to guess what you both were dreaming about, what you relived constantly in your memory.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to fall back asleep,” you mumble. You feel absolutely exhausted, and you feel sluggish, but there’s no way for you to fall back asleep so easily when all you can see when you close your eyes is red, red, red.

“Me either,” he murmurs, his breath hitting your temple. “You just wanna lay here for a bit, angel? See what’s going on outside later?”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

You’d trade a lot to never have to live like this; to wake up screaming, drenched in sweat, writhing in pain that doesn’t even exist while your boyfriend does the same right next to you.

You would not, however, trade anything for the way he holds you – strong and tight against his chest, heartbeat now strong and steady, his fingers sinking into your hair like it’s second nature – not for the world, and then some.

[arc-misadventures]

The Big Guns

A hoard of Grimm cone charging down a hill at a duo of two hunters. Jaune Arc, and Coco Adel stared at the hoard with mild annoyance as they came baring down on them.

Jaune: Aaaa hell… Just when I thought we were done with them.

Coco: Shit! I’m dry! I used the last of my ammo on the last batch!

Jaune: You’re out?! What do you do when you’re out of ammo?

Coco: Then I take out the big guns~!

Jaune watched in stunned amazement at the cold confidence as she braced for the oncoming, Grimm hoard, and in the moment his mind was made up, and he knew what he had to do next.

Jaune: Coco… if we make it out of this alive… Will you marry me?

Coco: …

Coco: A-A-Are you serious…?

Jaune: A hundred percent serious. Cross my heart, and hope to die. An, Arc’s vow serious. If we make it out of this alive, will you marry me, Coco Adel?

Coco: W-Where’s this coming from. You’re my number one guy pal! Y-You’re not really interested in marrying me… right…?

Jaune: Coco, the sexual tension between the two of us hasn’t been broken into an affair of unbridled lust because of our mutual respect for one another. But, we both know we’d go at it like starving man at a banquet if one of us just said the word.

Coco: That’s true…

Jaune: And, being with you has been the best part of my life so far, and if I could stay with you into the future, I would be the happiest man alive. And, honestly when I was asked what I thought my future would hold for me, I thought of you by my side. I didn’t ask it of myself, you were right there besides me the whole time. So, what do you say, Coco; Marry me?

Coco stared at, Jaune for a moment before she grabbed his armour by the top of his breastplate, and pulled him down for a searing hot kiss filled to the brim with passion, lust, desire, but above all else, love.

The stayed lip locked for, but a moment but, it was a moment that felt like an eternity. Coco, pulled away with love filled eyes as she stared up at her knight.

Coco: Gods I’ve been wanting to do that for years.

Jaune: Should I take that as a yes then?

Coco: Yes, I will marry you. And, if we have a daughter, her name will be, Mocha.

Jaune: Damn, I wanted that to be my pet name for you. But, Mocha Arc sounds really good.

Coco: Fuck, that would have been a good pet name.

The two turned to face the tide of, Grimm coming barreling down the hill at them, a mere hundred yards , and closing fast.

Coco: Jaune…?

Jaune: Yeah?

Coco: I love you.

Jaune: I love you too.

The duo spared one side eyed glance before they ran, and met the charge head on.

They had a Fall wedding.

[sweettu1ips]

PAIGE BUECKERS x FEM!READER

SYNOPSIS: Two souls, separated by time, find their way back in a quiet moment, where unspoken words flicker like stars between them, a promise that they were never truly apart.

WARNING(S): fluffy ⋮ reunion ⋮ reader is brunette ⋮ not seeing/ speaking to Paige for three years ⋮ tension ⋮ slow-burn ⋮ childhood friends-to-lover ⋮ readers last name is LEXINGTON ⋮ changed Paige's siblings names for a good reason but her parent's names remain the same ⋮ FYI, I'VE NEVER BEEN TO MARTHA'S VINEYARD. THEREFORE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S THERE. ALSO, MOST PLACES ARE MADE UP HERE :)

WORD COUNT: 16.7K ( another long one :p )

| P. TWO ⋮ WOTVB SERIES ⋮ MAIN MASTER LIST |

MARTHA'S VINEYARD—an island suspended in time, steeped in golden summers and salt-laced laughter, a sacred place woven into the fabric of the Bueckers and Lexingtons.

 It was never just a destination; it was a ritual, a tether, a second home built not of walls and roofs but of traditions and tangled histories. Every year, without fail, we returned—drawn back by something deeper than obligation, something stitched into our very marrow. 

A legacy carved from decades of sun-drenched Julys and twilight bonfires, from fathers who once met as high school boys and forged a brotherhood strong enough to span generations.

Except, I hadn’t set foot on its familiar shores in nearly three years. Three summers lost to the unrelenting tide of distance, of duty, of a life that had gradually reshaped itself into something unrecognizable. Washington—the state of endless pines, of mist and mountains, of cold rain drumming against my dorm window—had claimed me.

 College had swallowed me whole, my days consumed by the relentless pursuit of knowledge, my nights tangled in the exhaustion of work and deadlines. The thought of leaving, of carving out time for something as indulgent as nostalgia, had always felt impossible.

Until now.

Because Wren would not have it.

"If you don’t show up to my wedding, I’ll come to Seattle myself and drag you down here."

The words, scrawled in bold, unwavering black ink, were etched at the bottom of the invitation box—the one that held the ultimate question, poised to demand my presence: Will you be my Maid of Honor?

Three years. Three years since I had last seen the Bueckers, the people who had once been as constant in my life as breath itself. But most of all—three years since I had seen her. Paige.

The others, I had managed to hold on to in some way or another—occasional messages, late-night check-ins, moments stitched together with just enough care to keep the thread from snapping completely. But Paige and I? We had unraveled. And it was my fault.

Once, she had been my shadow, or maybe I had been hers. Two girls moving in synchronized rhythm, seamlessly intertwined, never questioning the certainty of each other’s presence. But distance is a cruel, insidious thing. It starts slow—missed calls, unanswered texts—until one day, you wake up and realize the silence has settled in like an old tenant, comfortable and unchallenged.

I had gotten too busy with life. Too caught up in the deadlines, the obligations, the relentless forward motion of everything. Until, before I even knew it, the space between us had stretched too far to reach across.

We had gone from next-door neighbors in Minnesota, where our lives bled together in a seamless blur of backyard games and whispered secrets, to existing in entirely different worlds. 

She was in Connecticut, chasing the dream she had been born for, carving her name into UConn’s legacy one game at a time. 

And I—thousands of miles away in Washington, buried beneath textbooks and the intricate calculations of an engineering degree—had let the days slip through my fingers like sand, until Paige was nothing more than a memory softened at the edges.

And now, I was going back.

Back to the island where our laughter still echoed in the dunes, where our past selves still lived, preserved in the salt-stung air. Back to the place where it had all started.

But the question lingered, heavy and unspoken:

Would we still know each other?

The summer sun dripped gold through the open sunroof, sinking its warmth deep into my skin, coaxing a slow, lazy heat that stretched through my limbs. 

The salty breeze curled through the car like an old friend, thick and briny, laced with something sweet—maybe the distant scent of waffle cones from the ice cream shop or the faint perfume of beach roses growing wild along the shore. 

The road hummed beneath the tires, the distant cry of seagulls weaving through the melody of Surf Curse thrumming from the speakers.

Martha’s Vineyard.

A place stitched into my bones, etched into the softest parts of my childhood, my adolescence, my becoming. 

A place where salt clung to bare skin, where the air was always rich with the scent of melting sunscreen and freshly brewed coffee, where the rhythm of the waves was a constant lullaby, steady and unchanging. 

It had been three years, yet as I drove these familiar streets, it felt like no time had passed at all. And still, everything had changed.

Everyone had arrived yesterday—well, not quite everyone. Wren had insisted on a week of just us, just like old times, carving out a pocket of quiet before the storm of the wedding swept through.

 No chaos, no rehearsals, no distant relatives lingering like ghosts at the edges of the house. Just us. The way it had always been.

Except this time, Carson—the man who would soon be my brother-in-law—was folded into that sacred space, a new presence settling into the history we’d built here.

And me? I was late. A day behind.

A crumpled UW sweatshirt lay forgotten in the back of the rented Bronco, abandoned in favor of the striped blue tube top clinging to my sun-warmed skin. 

My hair, heavy with the day’s heat, was twisted into a claw clip, though a few stubborn strands had slipped free, framing my face in loose waves. 

The weight of exhaustion pressed into me—seven hours of travel, a ferry ride that rocked me into something close to sleep, the ache of a body that had spent too much time folded into cramped seats and airport terminals. But it didn’t matter now.

I was here.

I slowed as I passed the places that had once been second nature, my gaze tracing their outlines like reading the pages of an old, beloved book. 

The little bookstore, its sun-faded awning drooping slightly at the edges, its wooden sign still creaking softly in the breeze. The café with its sprawling deck, where people sipped iced coffee and watched the world pass by, their faces kissed by the golden light of late afternoon. 

The weathered ice cream shop, where Wren and I had once pressed sticky fingers to the glass, deliberating between flavors as if it were the most important decision of our lives.

And then—there it was.

The Honeycomb Garden.

It stood just as I remembered, its cream-colored façade softened by years of salt air, its windows spilling over with cascading blooms in every shade imaginable. A riot of color, a symphony of scent.

 Every summer, without fail, my mother, Wren, and I had made this stop—a quiet ritual, an unspoken promise. We would step inside, breathing in the floral air, fingers trailing over delicate petals as we searched for the perfect bouquet to bring home. 

The scent of it would fill the beach house, settling into its walls, marking the official start of summer.

I pulled onto the curb, the tires crunching softly against the pavement, and turned off the engine. The absence of music made the world feel suddenly still, the only sounds the distant cry of gulls and the faint hum of life moving around me.

With a sigh, I stepped out, stretching my arms overhead, letting the tension slip from my body as the sun pressed hot and unyielding against my skin. 

The breeze carried the scent of flowers and saltwater, a combination so achingly familiar that it made something in my chest tighten.

The little brass bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside, a sound so deeply ingrained in my memory that it sent a shiver down my spine.

And then—

“Well, if it isn’t little Y/N!”

Kristy’s voice rang across the shop, warm and rich with familiarity, as if no time had passed at all.

She stood behind the sage-green counter, her green eyes crinkling at the edges as she set down a bundle of pale pink peonies. The scent of them curled through the air—delicate, sweet, tinged with something almost honey-like.

“Miss Kristy.” I grinned, stepping forward just as she rounded the counter, her sunflower-printed sundress swaying gently with each step. White sandals. A brown apron dusted with tiny petals. The same, yet different.

“Oh, my dear,” she sighed, her arms opening before I could say another word.

The hug was tight, the kind that settled deep into the bones, the kind that felt like home. She smelled of lavender and sun-warmed earth, of afternoons spent here, hands buried in stems and petals. I held onto her just as tightly, letting the moment stretch.

Her hair, once long and cascading over her shoulders, had been cut into a neat bob, silver strands glinting in the light. She pulled back slightly, her hands resting on my arms as she studied me with an almost motherly softness.

“How have you been?” she asked, eyes searching mine. “It’s been, what? Three years?”

I nodded, exhaling a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah… a long time, huh?”

My gaze flickered around the shop, tracing every familiar corner, every vase overflowing with fresh blooms.

As if anything had changed.

As if everything had.

Her smile unfurled like the petals of a morning bloom, soft and familiar, her laughter laced with warmth as her fingers lingered in a gentle squeeze against my elbows. 

Fine creases gathered at the edges of her eyes, a quiet testament to years of sun and salt and soft, knowing glances. She studied me once more, head tilting slightly, the corners of her mouth tugging upward in that effortless way only she could manage.

“A little too long,” she murmured, a teasing lilt threading through her words, though there was something wistful beneath it. “Look at you! I think that Washington rain has washed away your sun-kissed glow.”

I huffed a small laugh, rolling my eyes even as I reached up instinctively to push back a loose strand of hair. “Unfortunately,” I admitted, a breath of a chuckle escaping me.

And then—something shifted. A flicker of recollection sparked in her gaze, her brows arching in sudden remembrance as her ears seemed to perk up.

“Oh! I just remembered—”

She released me, already turning on her heel, her sundress swaying with the movement. The scent of her floral perfume—jasmine and something faintly citrus—whispered through the air, lingering even as she disappeared behind the counter.

Her voice, ever honeyed and rich with familiarity, carried through the small shop, weaving through the blooms and filling the space with its warmth.

“Your mom placed an order yesterday—well, last night, actually,” she called out, her tone softening as she rummaged for something unseen. “Your dear brother was supposed to pick ‘em up.”

A knowing pause.

I could almost see the amused tilt of her head before she even emerged.

“But, I’m sure he’s still asleep.” A quiet laugh followed, a sound like wind chimes caught in a summer breeze.

My gaze flicked to the old clock mounted on the wall, its delicate hands frozen at 12:14 PM. My lips pressed into a thin, bemused line.

“Yep. Definitely still asleep.” I exhaled, shaking my head with a small smirk.

Miss Kristy reappeared, carefully cradling a bouquet wrapped in brown kraft paper, her fingertips gently smoothing over the edge as if the flowers themselves deserved the kind of tenderness only she could give.

It was so my mother.

A sunlit embrace of yellow dahlias and crisp white begonias, the colors as familiar as home itself. I reached forward, drawing the bouquet closer, my fingers brushing against the delicate petals as I traced the softness beneath my touch. The scent—fresh, bright, subtly sweet—bloomed in the air, stirring something deep in my chest.

Miss Kristy let out a knowing chuckle, shaking her head with a sigh.

I glanced up at her, hesitating for just a moment before clearing my throat.

“Uh—actually…” I started, shifting my weight slightly. “Do you maybe have any purple tulips?”

Her head tilted, her brows knitting together in quiet surprise.

“No lilies today?” she mused, her voice touched with curiosity, knowing well that lilies were my usual choice.

I smirked, shrugging. “Gotta expand my taste, right?”

A breath of laughter passed through her lips, the kind that was light and effortless, like the rustling of leaves in a soft breeze.

“Well,” she mused, tapping a finger against her chin, “I believe I have some tucked away in the back. I don’t think I’ve put them out yet.”

With that, she turned, vanishing once more into the depths of the shop.

The air seemed to hum in her absence, thick with the scent of blooms and the weight of nostalgia pressing gently against my ribs. I leaned an elbow against the counter, my fingers grazing the rim of a nearby vase as I waited, my gaze sweeping over the kaleidoscope of flowers before me.

Even after all this time, even after three years away, this place still felt like an inhale after a long-held breath.

Miss Kristy emerged from the back, her presence as effortless as a petal drifting on a summer breeze. She cradled the bouquet in her arms as if holding something sacred, her fingers gently adjusting the delicate stems before offering them to me with a warm, knowing smile.

“Ah! Here you are,” she hummed, her voice carrying that familiar lilt of affection. She tilted her head, the corners of her lips curling as she reached down, pulling a sheet of brown kraft paper from beneath the counter. “Just the tulips, sweets?”

I nodded, the scent of the shop thick around me—roses in full bloom, the crisp, green sharpness of eucalyptus, and the soft, honeyed whisper of baby’s breath. The air felt heavy with nostalgia, pressing against my ribs in a way that made my chest ache.

“Yes, please,” I murmured, slipping my hands into the deep pockets of my linen pants, fingers brushing against the leather of my wallet as I moved to fetch it.

But before I could pull it free, the warmth of Miss Kristy’s hand settled over mine—gentle, firm, a touch that spoke of quiet insistence. I stilled, glancing up to find her shaking her head, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

“This one's on the house, dear,” she said, her voice soft but resolute, a grin tugging at her lips. “A welcome home gift.”

I blinked, caught somewhere between gratitude and protest, my brows furrowing as I opened my mouth. “What—no—Miss Kristy, I can’t—”

But she leveled me with a sharp, playful glare, the kind that had the power to silence even the most stubborn of arguments. I shut my lips so tightly they barely parted when I exhaled.

“No buts,” she said, her tone firm, her gaze unwavering. “I insist.”

“Miss Kristy—” I tried again, shaking my head, the start of another argument forming at the tip of my tongue.

And so it began—the back-and-forth, me refusing, her countering with the patience of a woman who had won this battle many times before. A well-worn dance, choreographed by years of familiarity.

But in the end, I caved.

With a sigh and a slow, yielding smile, I raised my hands in surrender, cradling the dahlias in one arm. “Fine,” I exhaled, the breath leaving my lips like a quiet breeze. “But next time, I’m paying, m’kay?” I arched a brow at her, my voice teasing but lined with sincerity.

Miss Kristy chuckled, shaking her head as she carefully handed me the tulips, their petals soft as silk beneath my fingertips. She turned to tidy the counter, momentarily distracted—and that’s when I moved.

With careful precision, I tucked a crisp $30 bill beneath the register, sliding it out of sight just as she turned back.

“Alright, off with you now,” she teased, waving a hand as if shooing me away.

I grinned, stepping backward toward the door, my hands full of blooms, my heart full of something unspoken.

“See you later, Miss Kristy.”

But just as I pushed open the glass door, her sharp intake of breath reached me, followed by a voice laced with exasperation.

“Y/N Lexington!”

I turned back just enough to catch her incredulous expression, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the money beneath the register.

But by then, I was already slipping out onto the sunlit pavement, my laughter bubbling up like champagne, light and airy, carrying on the breeze.

“Bye, Miss Kristy!” I called over my shoulder, quickening my pace as I hurried toward the waiting bronc, my feet barely touching the ground.

Through the shop’s wide windows, I caught one last glimpse of her, standing behind the counter with a mix of amusement and feigned frustration painting her face.

The moment felt so fleeting, so tender, like a whisper of summer wind through the trees. I hadn’t even realized how much time had slipped through my fingers until I glanced at my phone, its screen glowing with missed calls and unread messages—most of them from Wren and my mom, though Amy and Lilly had their fair share, too.

Lilly’s texts stood out.

“dude hurry.”

A second one, only minutes later:

“ur moms goin’ crazy ‘cause ur not answering ur phone.”

I sighed, shaking my head as I finally slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar worn leather cool against my palms. The scent of salt lingered in the air, seeping through the cracks of my rolled-down window, mingling with the distant echoes of seagulls and crashing waves. 

I turned the key in the ignition, the soft rumble of the engine grounding me as I set off toward the place that had lived in my memories for far too long—the beach house.

The drive felt surreal. Every turn, every street, every landmark was steeped in nostalgia. The docks stretched out into the water, boats rocking gently against their moorings, their white sails like ghosts against the cerulean sky. People bustled along the boardwalk, laughter spilling from sun-kissed lips, the scent of fried seafood and sunscreen thick in the air.

And yet, as much as I drank in the familiarity of it all, my mind wandered elsewhere.

To her.

The way she used to chase the waves, shrieking as the cold water lapped at her ankles. The way the freckles on her nose darkened in the summer sun, how she always smelled like coconut lotion and salt. The sound of her voice, soft but sure, teasing but kind.

God.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away as I rounded the final corner. The beach house stood before me, untouched by time yet somehow different. The long driveway stretched ahead, gravel crunching beneath my tires as I slowly pulled in.

And then—before I could even shift into park—chaos erupted.

The front door burst open, figures spilling out onto the porch like a tidal wave of familiarity.

First, Wren, right on my mom’s heels, her dark curls bouncing as she ran. Then my dad, his usual calm expression cracked open with relief. And behind them, the Bueckers siblings—Diego, Lilly, and Reece—all pushing past one another, racing toward me.

Except for one.

A certain Bueckers kid was missing.

A certain blonde who had been haunting my thoughts more and more with each passing day.

Before I could fully process it, the younger ones broke into a full sprint, feet pounding against the sun-warmed planks of the porch, their laughter spilling into the thick summer air like a song I hadn’t heard in too long. The sound wrapped around me, sweet and familiar, tangled with the scent of salt and sunscreen, of grass crushed beneath bare feet.

"Y/N!"

I barely had time to draw a breath before they crashed into me—a tangle of limbs and warmth, their bodies colliding with the force of a rippling wave, pulling me into the undertow of their embrace. Arms wove around my waist, my shoulders, my back, each squeeze desperate, filled with the kind of unspoken longing that only distance could create.

“Woah—Jesus,” I gasped, stumbling back a step, their collective weight nearly knocking me off balance. My laughter burst out, breathless and tangled with disbelief.

Diego—who had once been small enough to balance on my hip—was now pressing his face into my ribs, arms banded tight around my middle as if afraid I might disappear again.

 Lilly, my little shadow, was suddenly face-to-face with me, her chin digging into my shoulder, her embrace unrelenting, as if trying to pour every ounce of her missed time into this single moment.

 And Reece—once my short, scrappy sidekick—stood taller than me now, his arms hooked firmly around my back, his grip solid and steady, grounding me in the weight of their presence.

I pulled back just enough to take them in, my hands grasping their shoulders, my fingers brushing over the sun-warmed fabric of their t-shirts, the scent of ocean air and childhood summers clinging to them like something sacred. My chest ached with the sheer force of it—of them, of this moment, of home pressing itself back into my bones.

I let out a shaky laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “What the hell have y’all been eating while I was away?” My eyes darted between them, scanning their faces, trying to reconcile the past with the present. “Seriously—growth hormones? Miracle-gro?”

Lilly giggled, her smile wide enough to crinkle her nose, swiping at her sun-drenched cheeks. “We missed you, dummy.”

Diego nodded so fast it made his dark curls bounce. “So much.”

Ryan smirked, clapping a hand against my shoulder, his grip firm, steady. “Took you long enough to get here.”

I swallowed hard, something warm and unshakable swelling in my chest, curling around my ribs, settling deep in my bones.

"Yeah," I murmured, glancing past them—past the porch, past the gently swaying wind chimes, past the years I had spent away.

"I’m home."

As soon as the words left my lips, something deep within me exhaled—like the tide finally surrendering to the shore, foam-kissed waves melting into the sand after being held away for too long. 

The weight I hadn’t even realized I was carrying settled, dispersing into the thick summer air, where the scent of salt and sun-warmed cedar clung like a second skin.

But before I could fully sink into the feeling, my mother’s voice cut through the moment, warm but edged with that familiar exasperation—the kind laced with love, the kind that had followed me through childhood like a shadow.

"Alright, alright—let her breathe, for God’s sake."

The younger ones groaned but obeyed, their arms unraveling from me with reluctant slowness, like they feared I’d disappear if they let go too soon. 

Diego lingered the longest, his small hands gripping the fabric of my shirt at my waist, fingers tightening as if committing the moment to memory before finally, with a deep breath, stepping back.

And then, there she was.

My mother stood poised on the porch, arms crossed, the setting sun catching on the fine lines near her eyes—the ones carved from years of laughter, worry, and love. Her lips were pressed together, and for a second, it looked like she was about to scold me, but then I saw it—relief, warm and brimming, pooling in the depths of her deep brown eyes like a tide held back too long.

Beside her, my father stood in his usual ease, a lopsided grin stretching across his face. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his faded cargo shorts, as if keeping them there would stop him from pulling me into a hug too soon. 

He rocked back slightly on his heels, his gaze steady, as if reassuring himself that I was really standing here.

And Wren—Wren stood slightly apart, just behind them, arms loosely folded, her expression unreadable at first. But I knew her too well. I knew that tilt of her head, the way her eyes traced me like she was searching for something beneath the surface. 

Wren never just looked at people—she saw them. And right now, she was seeing me, reading between the lines of my posture, my expression, the way my fingers twitched at my sides.

She always saw too much.

I swallowed hard, the weight of it all pressing into my ribs—the porch where barefoot summers had stretched endlessly, where late-night whispers and childhood laughter had been carried off by the wind. 

The people who had filled those summers stood before me now, their faces aged by time but still achingly familiar. 

The scent of salt and sun-warmed cedar curled through the thick, golden air, wrapping around me like an embrace from the past, like something stubborn and unyielding, something that refused to be forgotten.

My mother was the first to move, stepping forward with a slow shake of her head, her expression wavering between exasperation and something far more fragile. Like she was still convincing herself I was real, flesh and bone and not just some distant memory come home to haunt her.

"You didn’t answer your damn phone, Y/N." Her voice cracked, just barely, a thin fracture in the frustration she was trying to hold together.

Guilt crept in, pooling at the edges of my relief. "I know, I know—I got caught up, I—"

I didn’t get the chance to finish before she was pulling me in, her arms a fortress, steady and unshakable, the same way they had always been. The scent of lavender and sun-warmed cotton enveloped me, the press of her fingers threading through my hair, resting at the nape of my neck—gentle, familiar, grounding.

"Next time, answer," she murmured, her voice muffled against my hair, the edges of it frayed with worry. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

A lump formed in my throat, thick and aching, but I forced a smile, my grip tightening around her. "I promise."

She lingered, holding on like she wasn’t quite ready to let go, like she was memorizing the feeling of me in her arms. And then, with a deep breath, she stepped back, her warmth slipping away just as my father pulled me in.

"It's good to see you, kiddo," Dad murmured, pressing a kiss against my temple. His hug was quick but firm, the solid press of his hand against my back grounding me in a way words never could.

 The rough warmth of his palm ruffled my hair, the same way he had when I was twelve—like no time had passed at all, like I had never really left.

And then there was Wren.

She stood apart from the others, her arms folded loosely across her chest, her weight shifted onto one hip, exuding a quiet confidence as if she had all the time in the world. The sunlight caught the engagement ring on her finger, making it gleam like a promise forged in the warmth of the summer day.

 But her eyes—they were a different story. Deep, knowing, unblinking, they scanned me, tracing over every detail as if she were piecing together a puzzle. It was as though she was measuring the gap between the person I had been and the person I had become, silently assessing if the two still fit together, if the distance between them could ever be bridged.

The silence stretched between us, thick and humming, something unspoken pressing against the spaces where words should have been. I felt it in the way her brow pinched, just slightly. In the way she tilted her head, assessing, calculating.

I exhaled sharply, rolling my eyes. "You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna say hi?"

Her lips twitched—barely, a flicker of movement that almost didn’t happen. "Hi."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Unbelievable."

And then, finally, finally, she moved.

The space between us closed in an instant, and when her arms wrapped around me, it wasn’t hesitant or delicate. It was solid, effortless, the kind of hug that wasn’t just a greeting, but a homecoming. Like the last few months hadn’t stretched between us at all. Like time had simply been waiting for us to meet again.

Her voice was muffled against my shoulder, dry but warm. "Welcome back, dumbass."

A breathless laugh escaped me, and I clung to her a little tighter, grounding myself in the familiarity of it all. "Missed you too, asshole."

But when I pulled back, something tugged at the edges of my focus, something missing. My gaze flickered past her, searching—the porch, the doorway, the lingering stretch of golden afternoon light spilling across the wooden steps. My chest tightened as my eyes swept over the familiar scene, looking for a silhouette that wasn’t there.

Wren exhaled before I could even ask. "Beau’s still asleep."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "Figures."

Even if I already knew.

Still, my search didn’t stop there. My eyes kept moving, scanning past my parents, past the younger ones still tugging at my arms, past the way the wind chimes trembled in the soft, salt-tinged breeze.

Wren saw. Of course, she did.

Her fingers curled briefly around my wrist—a quick, fleeting squeeze—before she let go. "She’s, uhm—out."

That was all she said.

And yet, it was enough to make my stomach twist, enough to make something settle, heavy and wordless, between us.

I nodded slowly, a quiet acceptance neither of us acknowledged out loud. "Right."

Wren offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her chocolate brown eyes.

I returned it anyway.

There would be time for that later.

For now, I was home. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

The heat pressed against my skin, thick and insistent, as though the sun itself were trying to melt me into the pavement. The air, heavy and sultry, wrapped around me like a thick blanket—saturated with the earthy scent of freshly cut grass and the faintest trace of sea salt, still lingering in the breeze. 

The world felt too much, too alive—too vibrant. The cicadas hummed a constant, vibrating chorus in the trees, their song loud enough to pulse beneath my ribs. The wind, playful and mischievous, fluttered through the hanging chimes, making them sing a hollow, tinny tune that scraped against the air. 

My siblings' laughter echoed in my ears, sharp and bright, filling the space, forcing itself into every corner of my consciousness.

But underneath it all, there was something quieter. Something heavier. A pull deep in my chest, like the last remnants of a storm settling inside me. 

It was a weight I couldn’t shake—one that clung to me with the same stubbornness as the heat, pressing down on my ribs, curling tight around my heart. The world swirled around me, but that feeling remained, persistent and unrelenting.

I shoved it down.

For now.

Reece and Dad were already at my car, moving with ease, pulling my luggage from the trunk. Diego, still a little small and determined, stood beside them, his tiny hands gripping the handle of my suitcase like it was the most important thing in the world. 

I watched as he tugged, his face scrunching up in concentration, muscles straining with the effort—but the bag barely shifted. He planted his feet firmly, giving it another go, a little grunt escaping his lips. Still nothing. The suitcase refused to budge, stubborn and unmoving in his grip.

I couldn’t help it—I bit back a smile.

"Hey, kid," I said, my voice soft but carrying as I stepped toward him, my uggs sinking slightly into the cool earth beneath me. "Think I’m gonna need your help with something way more important."

Diego's wide, innocent eyes flicked up to meet mine, a trace of confusion flickering across his face, like he wasn’t sure if he had heard me right. But the warmth in my tone seemed to settle his doubts, and after a beat, his gaze followed mine toward the passenger seat.

There, wrapped in brown paper, was the bundle of dahlias and begonias—their yellow faces turned toward the sky, their delicate petals whispering with the wind. It was a humble bouquet, nothing extravagant, but it had a beauty in its simplicity.

I nodded toward it. "I need someone very responsible to bring in the flowers. Think you can handle it?"

The shift in his expression was immediate. His eyes widened, and for a split second, I saw the world shift beneath him—he was no longer just the little brother trying to carry my bags. No, now he was entrusted with something precious. He stood taller, his chest puffing out like a proud little rooster, his grin spreading from ear to ear, so wide it almost swallowed his face.

"I got it!" he declared, voice rising with determination, his tiny hands reaching for the flowers with a reverence that made my heart ache a little. His fingers curled gently around the stems, lifting them as if they were made of the finest porcelain. His steps were swift, purposeful, as he marched toward the house, the bouquet cradled against his chest like a secret he was eager to protect.

I watched him go, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It felt good—no, it felt right—seeing him so proud of something so simple. I reached out, ruffling his dark hair as he passed, the motion soft and affectionate, the way I’d always done. "Good job, kid."

He didn’t hear me, already lost in his mission, but the light in his eyes was all the thanks I needed.

Turning away, I grabbed my duffel bag, the weight of it familiar and grounding, and threw it over my shoulder. 

My fingers brushed the cool metal handle of the suitcase next, and I tugged it free from the car, dragging it along the gravel with a small grunt. As I glanced up, I saw Reece effortlessly lifting the last of my luggage, one hand gripping the handle, the other tucked casually in his pocket as if the suitcase weighed nothing at all.

I smirked, raising an eyebrow. "See you’ve been hitting the gym, huh?"

His grin grew, smug and self-assured. "Yeah, Paige’s been on my ass about going with her." His voice was easy, but I could feel the undercurrent in the words—the way he said it like it was no big deal, but I knew better.

My stomach tightened, a knot forming as her name echoed in my mind. Paige. Just the mention of her sent a ripple of something cold through me. Something I couldn’t quite place, but I could feel it clawing at the edges of my thoughts.

I tried to shake it off, forcing a chuckle as I shifted my weight. "I bet she has."

Reece didn’t seem to notice the shift, his smirk never faltering as he hoisted the luggage with ease. "It’s been good for me," he said with a casual shrug, like it was a normal part of his day.

But as the words hung between us, a sudden heaviness descended. It was in the way he didn’t break eye contact, the way he said her name—so effortlessly, so naturally, like they were in sync, like they were the same.

I swallowed, the tightness in my throat only slightly noticeable as I forced myself to look away.

Dad’s voice called out from the porch, cutting through the tension like a knife. "Is that all?"

Reece, still not picking up on my unease, shot back with a grin. "Nah—got the whole wardrobe in here."

I rolled my eyes and smacked him on the arm. "Real funny, ass hat." My voice was light, but my heart was still beating a little too fast, a little too hard.

Reece only chuckled, stepping aside as I shut the trunk with a resounding thunk. The sound echoed in my chest, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had closed too. Something softer, quieter—something I wasn’t ready to face.

Even as I turned toward the house, my mind was still spinning, and one name refused to let go.

It gnawed at me, even though I didn’t want it to.

I swallowed again, trying to push it down, trying to move forward. There was no point in asking Wren now. Not yet. I had just gotten back. I didn’t need to unravel everything all at once.

But something in me ached to know.

Maybe I would ask her later. Maybe I’d ask when the house wasn’t so full, when everything wasn’t so loud. When the air didn’t feel so heavy.

But for now, I would carry this weight in silence. For now, I was home. And maybe that would be enough—for now.

Following Reece into the house felt like stepping into a dream that had been patiently waiting for my return. 

The moment I lifted my gaze, the weight of time pressed against my ribs—not in a suffocating way, but in a way that filled my chest with something warm, something deep, something that whispered, You are home.

Martha’s Vineyard had a way of making the past feel alive. The air was thick with salt and sun, the scent of distant tides curling through the open windows like an embrace. It had been too long, but nothing had truly changed.

 The house stood just as it always had, unwavering in its quiet elegance, its cream-white wooden walls kissed with a hue of baby blue, a color that carried the scent of summer mornings and childhood mischief.

As I stepped over the threshold, nostalgia wrapped around me, tangible as the sea breeze outside. I could almost hear the echoes of my past self—barefoot and reckless, sneaking down these very stairs with Paige at my side, hushed giggles breaking through the night as we slipped out the door, hearts hammering with the thrill of escape. 

The beach had been our sanctuary, the bonfires our altar. 

Some nights, it had been just the two of us, feet sinking into cool sand, waves curling against the shore like a secret whispered between old friends. Other nights, the firelight stretched across miles of coastline, casting flickering shadows over dancing figures, smoke and salt mixing in the air as music pulsed through the dark.

I could still taste the saltwater taffy we had stolen from the pantry at ungodly hours, could still feel the rough wooden railing beneath my palms as I sat on the porch, legs swinging idly while Paige teased me about some long-forgotten crush.

 The ghosts of those nights still lingered here, tucked between the wooden planks, hidden in the corners where moonlight once pooled at our feet.

The house itself breathed with life. Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, golden and endless, illuminating everything it touched—the polished floors, the delicate lace curtains, the picture frames that still lined the walls, frozen moments capturing laughter, love, and the stories of those who had walked these halls before me. 

Some frames adorned the staircase, their glass glinting beneath the Cape Cod sun, reflecting back faces I had memorized like scripture.

And just beyond the glass, past the rolling green lawn, the ocean stretched out like an old promise. The blue of it was sharp enough to make my chest ache.

A burst of laughter broke through the air, pulling me back to the present. In the living room, Diego and Lilly were locked in some fierce, ridiculous competition, their playful bickering weaving through the house like background music. 

The familiarity of it brought a smile to my lips, but it was only when movement caught my eye that my heart truly swelled.

Amy.

Emerging from the staircase, her short blonde hair swaying as she descended, the same radiant smile that had welcomed me a thousand times before now stretched wide across her face.

"You’re finally here!" she beamed, voice thick with warmth, with the kind of love that had always felt like a second home.

"Mama Amy!" The words tumbled from my lips before I could help it, my feet moving before my mind could catch up. In my excitement, I nearly tripped over my luggage, but I didn’t care. I closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, launching myself into Amy’s waiting arms.

The embrace was tight, fierce—years of love, of shared history, of something deeper than blood but just as binding. I buried my face into Amy’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla and sun-warmed linen, the scent of comfort, of long talks on the porch, of arms that had held me through both laughter and heartbreak.

"Ugh," I groaned dramatically, squeezing tighter. "I missed you so much."

Amy chuckled, smoothing a hand over my hair the way she always had. "Missed you more, sweetheart. It’s been too quiet without you around."

And I knew she meant it. Because Amy had never just been Paige’s mom—she had been mine, too. A second mother in every way that counted. Just as my own mother had been to Paige and Lauren, Amy had been there for me. 

Through heartbreaks and triumphs, through childhood scraped knees and the sting of growing up too fast. Through every moment that mattered.

Amy pulled back just enough to cup my face, her blue eyes searching mine with something soft, something knowing. "You doing okay?"

I swallowed.

I wanted to say yes.

I wanted to mean it.

But for now, I just nodded, letting the warmth of Amy’s touch and the weight of her arms settle the ache in my chest.

Because for the first time in a long time, I was finally here.

“Where’s Bob?” The words left my lips as I stood in the golden haze of the late afternoon, my voice threading through the air like the familiar melody of an old song. 

The walls of this house had heard that name a thousand times before, whispered in the quiet of early mornings, shouted over the sound of waves crashing in the distance.

Amy turned to me, her face warm, crinkled at the corners from years of sun and laughter. She smelled like salt air and vanilla, the scent of summers past clinging to her like a second skin. Her arms, still wrapped around me, gave one final squeeze before she pulled away, her fingers lingering for just a second longer.

“He just left actually–– went out grabbing groceries with Paige and Carson,” she said, her voice light with the ease of routine. “You know how it is, the ‘Grocery Gang’.”

I nodded, already picturing the scene—the three of them wandering through the tiny, sun-warmed market, their hands brushing against fresh produce and wicker baskets, arguing over whether to get the sweet or unsweetened iced tea. 

Time had a way of shifting, folding new people into old traditions, stretching and reshaping what once felt immovable.

“And Josephine?” I asked, tilting my head slightly, the name slipping from my tongue like a question wrapped in longing.

Amy exhaled softly, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to make it this time. Work’s been keeping her tied up.”

A quiet pang settled in my chest, the kind that only comes when someone is missing from a place they’re supposed to be. 

Josephine had become a fixture in our summers, as much a part of this home as the scent of cedar and sea spray, as the laughter that drifted through open windows at dusk. She was more than just Diego’s mom—she was a guiding presence that filled the spaces left by time and distance.

“Hopefully, she gets to join us soon, though,” Amy added, her voice threaded with hope.

I smiled, a knowing curve of my lips, and nodded. “Yeah, hopefully.”

Before I could sink too deep into the thought, I hitched the strap of my duffle bag higher onto my shoulder. “I’m gonna put my stuff in my room real quick.”

“Oh, lemme help you,” Reece’s voice emerged from the kitchen, thick with something sweet.

I turned just in time to see him wiping his sugar-dusted fingers against the fabric of his shorts, his mouth still full, his blue eyes dancing with mischief.

I arched a brow. “With your sticky hands?”

He scoffed, utterly unbothered, rolling his eyes with a dramatic huff. “Please, these suitcases probably cost twenty bucks. It ain’t that special.”

My lips parted in mock offense. “Excuse me—seventy dollars, actually.”

He snorted, already reaching down to grab a handle, his fingers curling around the worn leather with practiced ease. “Still not that special.”

Our words bounced between us like skipping stones over water, light and effortless, the kind of back-and-forth that had been carved into our bones over the years.

Amy chuckled softly as she watched us, shaking her head before slipping into the kitchen, disappearing into the soft hum of a home alive with movement.

And then, like a wave crashing against the shore, I felt it—that scent.

It curled through the air like an embrace, thick with warmth, wrapping around my senses and pulling me under. Smoky embers and charred wood, the unmistakable scent of barbecue, rich and golden. Beneath it, something briny, something fresh, the perfume of the sea woven into the promise of a meal made with love.

My stomach twisted in quiet longing as Reece and I drifted toward the kitchen, the weight of our bags shifting against our bodies. He carried two suitcases with ease, the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort, while I adjusted the duffle on my shoulder, my fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of my own luggage.

And there, bathed in the golden glow of the evening sun, was my mother.

She moved through the kitchen with effortless grace, a quiet symphony of motion. The counters were covered in an array of ingredients—chopped vegetables glistening under the soft kitchen lights, meats marinating in deep earthenware bowls, the air thick with the rich scent of herbs and spices.

“Whoa,” I murmured, pausing at the doorway, my eyes sweeping over the spread before me. “What’s this? A royal banquet?”

Mom hummed, rinsing a bowl of potatoes beneath the steady stream of water, a small smirk playing on her lips. “We always celebrate the first night back here,” she said, matter-of-factly, as if I should have known better than to question it.

And she was right. How had I forgotten?

The first night back in this house was never just another night. It was a ritual, a way to stitch ourselves back into the rhythm of this place, to remind each other that no matter how much time passed, no matter how far we had gone, we always found our way back—to the same table, the same laughter, the same love.

Reece and I shared a look before making our way up the staircase, our steps in sync as we climbed toward the familiar. The wooden steps creaked beneath us, a sound so ingrained in my memory that it felt like a song I had once known by heart.

As we walked, our conversation drifted between the past and present—what had changed since I had been gone, what had stayed the same. Reece filled me in on everything, from the small, meaningless updates to the ones that mattered. Who was dating who, who had left for school, what pranks had been pulled when I wasn’t around to witness them.

It was easy. It was effortless. It was home.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself sink into it completely.

As we ascended the staircase, the wooden steps creaked beneath our weight, whispering their quiet welcome, a sound so familiar it felt like an embrace. The second floor unfolded before me, and a warmth bloomed in my chest, thick and golden, like sunlight filtering through salt-kissed curtains on a summer morning. 

Four doors stood before me—three bedrooms, one bathroom—each a vessel of memory, of laughter and whispered secrets, of childhood dreams spun from the innocence of five-year-old hearts. One door, set apart from the others, belonged to Wren. Or at least, it had, until she decided she had outgrown it, trading in its small comforts for one of the bigger rooms on the far side of the house. 

Now, it belonged to Lilly, and with her, it had taken on a new heartbeat, a new rhythm, though echoes of Wren still lingered in its corners.

The other two rooms, side by side, ours. Mine and Paige’s. A stake we had claimed long before we understood what permanence meant. Our names, scrawled across the wooden doors in glitter—Paige’s in regal purple, mine in a bright, childish pink—still shimmered under the dim hallway light. 

The banners we had made with tiny hands, glue sticking to our fingers, had stood the test of time. A declaration. A promise. That no matter how much we grew, how much the world outside changed, these rooms would always be ours.

My feet carried me forward before I even realized I had moved, instinct guiding me to my door.

"Y/N’S SURF SHACK"

The words greeted me, bold against the white-painted wood, pink glitter still clinging stubbornly to its surface despite the years that had passed. Around them, seashells and surfboards danced in a scattered collage, hearts pressed between them like unspoken love. And there, beside the banner, a stick-figure drawing of two little girls—one blonde, one brunette—etched in messy crayon strokes, their hands clasped together in the way only best friends could.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I pressed my palm against the cool metal of the doorknob, fingers curling around its familiar shape. With a soft twist, I pushed the door open.

The scent hit me first.

Coconut and ocean salt, like sun-warmed skin after a day spent diving beneath rolling waves. The air felt untouched yet lived-in, the kind of space frozen in time yet waiting, patiently, for my return.

Everything was exactly as I had left it.

The walls, painted in a soft white-cream with an accent of baby blue, mirrored the sky just before it kissed the horizon at dusk. Sheer white curtains billowed gently in the breeze, whispering secrets carried from the sea. 

The queen-sized bed sat pressed against the far wall, its wooden headboard adorned with delicate fairy lights, their glow faint in the fading daylight. 

A thin string stretched across the wall above it, polaroids clinging to it like fireflies, snapshots of summer days and stolen moments.

Framed pictures and art I had carefully chosen lined the walls, pieces of my soul scattered across the room in colors and strokes.

 Beside the bed, matching white nightstands stood like sentinels, their surfaces home to trinkets, forgotten books, and memories encased in glass frames.

 In the corner, a hanging egg chair swayed slightly, as if remembering the weight of my body curling into it, book in hand, lost in worlds beyond this one.

One side of the room bore the evidence of my greatest love—the ocean. Surfboards leaned against the wall, their colors faded from years of salt and sun, each one holding the memory of a perfect wave, a fall, a triumph. 

Among them, nestled between the wooden planks, were plants that had somehow survived my neglect, their green leaves stretching toward the light like they, too, belonged here.

A white dresser stood against the opposite wall, cluttered with the remnants of my life—a stray bracelet, a half-burned candle, a forgotten letter folded neatly beneath a smooth sea stone. Above, the ceiling fan spun lazily, stirring the air like an exhale, slow and deliberate.

And there, resting on the bed as if it had never moved, was my white bunny Jellycat. Nestled between a sea of throw pillows, its soft body slightly worn, the fabric stretched in places where tiny hands had clutched it too tightly in the night. It was a relic of comfort, of childhood fears soothed beneath the weight of moonlight and whispered reassurances.

But what caught my breath, what stilled my heart for a fraction of a second, was the vase.

Sitting atop the white nightstand, its glass surface catching the golden light, was a bouquet of pink lilies. Fresh, their petals unfurling in delicate, blushing curls, the fragrance wrapping around me like an embrace. 

Paige. 

She had been in here, had left them for me, had remembered.

Beside the flowers, a framed photo—Paige and me at ten years old, laughing mid-collapse, her arms wrapped around my shoulders as I struggled to keep us both upright. Frozen in time, our joy immortalized behind the glass.

My throat tightened.

It wasn’t just a room.

It was a time capsule. A love letter to every version of myself that had lived here, every laugh, every tear, every whispered confession made to the walls in the dead of night. It was a place untouched by time, yet full of it.

With a deep breath, I stepped inside, letting the warmth of home settle into my bones.

I step inside, and the past comes rushing at me like a tide—thick with the scent of salt, sunscreen, and a life I only get to touch for a few months out of the year. The air is heavier here, humming with old laughter, sunburned memories, and the echoes of a childhood that still clings to the walls.

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

Reece’s voice rumbles from behind me, steady and familiar, grounding me before I drift too far into nostalgia. I turn just as he sets my luggage down with a soft thud, his towering frame still as solid as ever, a quiet presence that never changes.

I smile, reaching up to ruffle his light brown hair like I always have, my fingers tangling in the strands before giving his back a firm pat. “Thanks, big guy,” I murmur.

Reece chuckles, a low sound, then nods once before heading downstairs, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floors, fading into the heartbeat of the house.

And just like that, I am alone.

The silence is thick but not empty—never empty here. It hums with something alive, something waiting, like the house itself is breathing me in. I let my eyes wander, drinking in every detail that tethers me back to this place. 

The soft cream walls, still sun-bleached from the years. The desk by the window, cluttered with forgotten trinkets and sand-dusted notebooks. The faint scent of vanilla and sea salt, a perfume of the past that lingers in the fabric of the curtains.

But it’s the balcony doors that call to me the loudest.

Drawn like a thread being pulled, I cross the room, fingers finding the cool brass handles as I push them wide open. The ocean air rushes in, crashing into me with its salted breath, thick and alive with the weight of summer. It fills my lungs, clings to my skin, wraps itself around me like an old friend.

God, I missed this.

The view is the same—always the same—but it never loses its magic. The dunes stretch long and golden, their tall grasses swaying in rhythm with the wind.

 Beyond them, the ocean sprawls endlessly, a restless blue that shifts with the sky, a shade I have never quite been able to find anywhere else. It’s a short walk to the beach, but from here, I can still hear the waves, the endless push and pull, whispering their secrets to the shore.

And if I listen even closer, I can hear voices drifting through the warm air.

Dad’s voice, deep and steady, carrying over from the pool where the grill sizzles. The smell of barbecue mingles with the ocean breeze, thick and smoky, curling through the air like an unspoken invitation. Wren is probably beside him, leaning against the railing, making some dry remark about his technique. The sound of their quiet laughter stirs something deep in my chest—a longing, a warmth, a knowing that this is home.

I linger there, drinking it in, before finally stepping back inside, leaving the doors open just enough to let the breeze follow me in.

My eyes drifted back to the lilies. 

Soft pink, delicate, arranged with a kind of thoughtfulness that makes my chest ache. They sit on my nightstand in a glass vase, petals still dewy, as if they’ve only just been placed there. And beside them, a small folded note, edges slightly curled.

I already know who it’s from before I even touch it.

The handwriting—the careful curves, the way the ink presses just a little too hard in certain letters—it’s unmistakable.

I exhale a laugh, barely more than a breath, as I pick up the note, my thumb brushing over the familiar scrawl.

"Welcome back, princess."

Princess.

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch into a smile despite myself. It started as a joke—an affectionate tease that Paige threw at me when we were sixteen. I had hated it at first, wrinkled my nose every time she said it, but over time, I stopped fighting it. Maybe because, deep down, I started to understand why she called me that. And suddenly, it didn’t bother me at all.

With a sigh, I let the note flutter back onto the nightstand before collapsing onto my bed, limbs splaying out in a careless starfish position. The sheets are crisp but familiar, the comforter slightly cool from being untouched. My childhood bunny still sits among the pillows, a little more worn, a little more forgotten, but still here—like a ghost of who I used to be.

I close my eyes.

Let myself sink.

The house breathes around me, the sounds outside blurring into a lullaby—the hush of the waves, the distant laughter, the cicadas singing in the heat. My body is heavy, my mind slipping somewhere between wakefulness and dreams.

Until—

“What’s up, stranger?”

The voice is deep, loud, and entirely too close.

A sharp burst of sound that shatters the quiet like a hammer to glass.

I jolt upright, heart slamming against my ribs as my eyes fly open.

“Jesus—” I hiss, my pulse still racing. “You scared the shit out of me, dipshit.”

Standing at the foot of my bed, grinning like a damn menace, is Beau.

My eighteen-year-old brother, taller than I remember, his shoulders broader, his hair sun-lightened and messier than ever. His grin is all teeth, mischief crackling in his dark brown eyes like a brewing storm.

Before I can react, before I can even think—

He launches himself onto the bed.

A solid weight, knocking the breath out of me as he crashes down, arms wrapping around me in a ruthless, smothering hold.

“Beau—” I wheeze, squirming under him.

“C’mon, you know you missed me,” he says, his voice muffled against my shoulder before his arm snakes around my neck, locking me into a chokehold.

I let out a strangled noise as he ruffles my hair with merciless enthusiasm, tangling the strands I had only just managed to tame.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I grumble, trying—and failing—not to smile.

He just laughs, completely unbothered, still holding me captive in his vice grip.

And then—

“Are you two seriously wrestling already?”

I don’t need to look to know who it is.

Wren leans against the doorframe, one brow arched, arms crossed, exuding her usual brand of effortless cool. The kind that makes it impossible to tell whether she’s amused or exasperated. Probably both.

Beau scoffs, rolling onto his back beside me, arms behind his head. “You jealous or something?”

Wren snorts. “Yeah, totally. I just live for the sight of you two rolling around like a couple of feral dogs.”

I sit up, running a hand through my now thoroughly wrecked hair. “If you’re gonna be in here, at least shut the door. You’re letting all the air out.”

Wren shrugs but does as she’s told, kicking the door closed with the heel of her foot. “So, now that the princess has returned, does this mean we’re getting into trouble tonight, or what?”

I smirk, stretching out my arms in an exaggerated yawn. “Depends. How much trouble are we talking?”

Beau grins, eyes gleaming. “The kind that gets us grounded for the rest of the summer.”

And just like that—

The house feels alive again.

Buzzing. Humming. Crackling with something electric.

And as I sink into the moment, into the warmth of them, I realize just how much I missed this.

How much I missed them.

The clock on my nightstand read just past three in the afternoon, the soft hum of the ceiling fan above stirring the warm summer air in lazy circles. The room still smelled faintly of salt and sunscreen, but now, layered on top of it, the familiar sweetness of coconut and vanilla clung to my skin. 

My body was warm from the shower, my limbs still heavy with the kind of drowsy comfort that came after hot water and quiet solitude. The moisturizer I had lathered onto my legs made my skin impossibly soft, and my damp hair left cool, damp trails against the bare skin of my shoulders.

I had taken my time getting ready, slipping into a white floral tank top, the delicate fabric whispering against my skin. 

The spaghetti straps sat gently on my shoulders, the V-cut dipping just enough to hint at something softer, a tiny satin bow sitting at its center like an afterthought. The mini skirt hugged my waist, airy and light, the hem brushing against the tops of my thighs with every movement.

As I stood in front of the open balcony doors, the humid air wrapped around me, thick with the scent of the ocean and the distant smokiness of the barbecue still sizzling downstairs. 

The world outside stretched endlessly—rolling dunes, scattered wild grasses swaying lazily, the sun dipping lower in the sky, gilding the horizon in honeyed gold. And then—

Then, my eyes found her.

Down at the dock, standing alone, her blonde hair caught the wind, rippling like a flickering flame that danced in defiance of the vast, endless blue stretching before her. Paige.

The sight of her struck something deep in my chest, a slow, painful ache unfurling like a frayed thread that had somehow found its way back into the fabric of my heart. 

Three years. Three whole years. 

And yet, there she stood—still Paige. Still effortless. Still radiant in that quiet, impossible way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

Her back was to me, but I couldn’t help but drink her in. The sun kissed her skin with a warmth that seemed almost unnatural, casting a soft glow that made her look as if she had been sculpted from light itself. 

I couldn’t help but trace the way her shoulders held a tension, something unfamiliar but familiar at once—a guarded kind of grace. 

It was in the way her white cropped tank top draped over her, the gentle curve of her form visible beneath the fabric, as if time had shaped her in ways I hadn’t quite expected.

 The soft lines of her silhouette, the subtle shift in the way she moved—everything about her spoke of the changes that had taken place, the growth that had come with the years. 

And yet, beneath it all, she still carried the essence of the girl I had once known.

She looked unreal, like something conjured from the depths of a dream I had long buried, but now it resurfaced, flooding my senses with the pull of what had once been.

Before I could second-guess myself, before I could drown in the weight of everything I hadn’t said, my fingers clenched into my palm, and I let out a slow, steady breath.

And then I moved.

The comb in my hand was forgotten, dropped onto the bed as I turned and stepped out of my room. My bare feet moved swiftly across the wooden floors, past the open kitchen where Mom and Amy stood talking, their conversation a gentle hum I didn’t bother to decipher. 

Past the living room, where Beau and Diego sat hunched over the screen, their game of Black Ops 6 filling the air with gunfire and shouted curses. Past my dad, still tending to the grill, his deep voice carrying over the sound of sizzling meat.

And then, out the back door.

The moment my sandals touched the grass, the heat of the afternoon pressed against me like a second skin. The air felt heavier out here, thick with nostalgia and something dangerously close to regret. I stepped onto the sand, the fine grains shifting beneath my soles, sinking slightly with every step.

 Each movement felt surreal, like I was caught between past and present, like I was walking toward something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

But Paige was still there.

Still standing at the edge of the dock, still lost in whatever thoughts had her so still.

I hesitated at the dock’s entrance, the worn wooden planks creaking beneath my weight as I stopped. Three years. Three years of silence, of missed calls, of never showing up, of pretending the ache in my chest wasn’t real.

What the hell was I even supposed to say?

Hey? Sorry I haven’t texted you? Sorry I never called? Sorry I didn’t show up to any of your games? How have you been?

It all sounded stupid. Useless. Like trying to patch up something that had already been burned to the ground.

I swallowed hard, my hands tightening into fists at my sides, trying to steady myself against the wave of uncertainty. But then—

I exhaled. Released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

And I stepped forward.

The wooden planks were warm beneath my sandals as I slowly made my way down the dock, each step feeling heavier than the last. My heart pounded against my ribs, but my voice was steady when I finally spoke.

“Well, if it isn’t Paige ‘Buckets’ Bueckers.”

My voice was soft, careful, as if saying her name too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between us.

I saw it then—the way her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, the way her breath hitched in the split second before she turned around.

And when she did—

Paige blinked at me, lips parting, her blue eyes wide with something I couldn’t quite place. Disbelief? Shock? Maybe something else, something deeper.

“Y/N.”

My name left her lips like an exhale, like she wasn’t sure if she was really seeing me.

And for a moment, neither was I.

The world stilled.

For a moment, all I could hear was the soft, rhythmic lapping of the water against the dock, the distant hum of my father’s laughter mingling with the sharp sizzle of the grill, the occasional cry of a gull overhead as it circled lazily in the sky.

But everything else—the voices, the background chatter, the weight of three long, aching years—fell into a quiet hush as I stared at her.

Paige.

Her name echoed in my mind, a long-forgotten tune that had once filled my world but had gone silent, tucked away in the shadows of time. I hadn’t allowed myself to sing it in so long.

She was standing there, barely a few feet away, but in that moment, it felt like an entire lifetime stretched between us, the distance palpable and heavy, a gap carved out by silence and time.

The afternoon light bathed her in gold, casting a warm halo around her as it played across her form, highlighting every sharp and soft angle of her. 

The light kissed her skin with a gentle reverence, turning her into something almost too perfect to be real. Her blonde hair, now slightly longer than I remembered, swayed with the breeze, each strand catching the sunlight like delicate threads of spun silk, glimmering in the golden haze. 

Her skin, kissed by the sun and glistening with a natural glow, held that kind of effortless radiance that made her look ethereal, as if she existed just a touch beyond the realm of ordinary, like she wasn’t standing on the same plane of existence as the rest of us.

She had always been beautiful.

But now, standing before me after all this time, she was breathtaking in a way I wasn’t prepared for, in a way that pulled at something deep inside of me.

Her white cropped tank clung to her, the fabric stretching slightly over her body, accentuating the defined shape of her shoulders, the gentle curve of her waist. I noticed how her abs had become more defined, the subtle ridges of muscle drawing the eye, a quiet testament to her discipline, the years of hard work that had shaped her. 

The pink cotton shorts, soft and simple, sat comfortably on her frame, riding up slightly when she shifted, the pale color contrasting against her sun-brushed skin, which seemed to shimmer in the fading light.

But it wasn’t just how she looked—it was how she felt. How her presence, standing so close yet so far away, pressed against me, filling my senses with something indescribable, something deep and untouchable. 

A feeling I couldn’t quite name, but one that seemed to pull at me, to unravel something inside me I had long since sealed away.

She blinked again, her lashes fluttering as she looked at me, lips parting ever so slightly, like she wasn’t sure if I was real, if I was really standing here before her after everything.

“Y/N,” she said, my name rolling off her tongue, hesitant, almost fragile. It lingered in the air like something both familiar and foreign, a whisper of the past—so soft, so careful, as if she were afraid it might break in her mouth.

Something inside me twisted at the way she said it. Like it was a ghost of something she had tried to forget. The syllables clung to the space between us, heavy with unspoken things, things that had been buried under the weight of years and distance.

I swallowed, my throat tight, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to close in around me.

“Hey, Paigey.” My voice was softer this time, almost like a confession, an apology wrapped in a single word. The unspoken weight of everything I couldn’t say pressed down on my chest, making each breath feel too heavy, too sharp.

Paige exhaled sharply, a breath she had been holding, and then—just for a second—her expression cracked. It was subtle, but I saw it. A flicker of vulnerability, of something that had been hidden away for far too long.

I saw it in her eyes. The hesitation. The quiet hurt buried beneath layers of time. The way her gaze wavered, searching for something, something she had lost but couldn’t quite let go of. And the silent question that seemed to hang in the air between us, unanswered and aching.

Where the hell have you been?

I didn’t know what to say. Three years was a long time. Too long.

I had missed things. So many things.

Her games, where she had probably looked just like this—strong, radiant, untouchable under the stadium lights, the spotlight making her seem like she belonged to a world I could only watch from afar. 

I had missed the way her sweat would glisten, the quiet intensity in her eyes as she locked in on the basket, the way her body moved with a grace that seemed both effortless and powerful all at once.

I had missed the late-night drives we used to take just to feel the wind in our hair, the hum of the car engine our only companion as we talked about everything and nothing. Our laughter getting lost in the rush of the road, the shared silence feeling like something sacred, as if the world outside didn’t matter as long as we were together.

And I had missed the way she used to lean against me during movies, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but still warm, still trusting. Like I was something safe in a world that never seemed to stop moving.

And I had just—disappeared.

I had allowed the silence to stretch like an endless chasm between us, the emptiness widening with each passing day until it became something insurmountable. 

Something that now loomed in the background of every thought, every memory, a weight I didn’t know how to lift. I had let the space between us grow into a void, an ocean of time and distance that felt impossible to cross. But in this moment, none of that mattered anymore.

Because she was here.

And so was I.

The air between us buzzed with a strange, quiet tension, and for a heartbeat, the years that had slipped by seemed to vanish. All that was left was her and me, this lingering proximity that felt both foreign and familiar at once.

“Your hair got longer,” she finally said, her voice softer now, almost as if she were afraid to break the fragile moment between us. But even in its quietness, it was steady, certain.

I blinked, feeling the flutter of warmth in my chest, and my fingers twitched at my sides, a nervous tic I hadn’t realized was still there. 

She remembered how it used to be—how my hair used to fall just past my collarbones, how she would absentmindedly tug at the ends when her hands had nothing to do, braiding small strands while we sat in the back of my dad’s truck, our eyes fixed on the endless sky above us, tracing constellations we had named ourselves.

“Yeah,” I murmured, my voice a little thick. “Figured it was time for a change.”

She hummed, a sound that felt like it reached into my chest and held onto something fragile. Her gaze lingered on me, just a fraction longer than necessary, like she was tracing the lines of me, mapping the girl she had once known but had somehow lost.

A gust of wind swept past us, tossing loose strands of her hair around her face. 

I couldn’t help but watch as the soft tendrils danced in the air, framing her face with a wild, untamed beauty that made my heart stutter.

 For a split second, a reckless urge surged through me, one I couldn’t ignore: to reach out, to brush the hair from her face, to tuck it behind her ear the way I used to, to erase the space that had grown between us, to make everything feel like it once had.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I clenched my hands into fists, the muscles in my arms tightening as I fought the impulse. I rocked back slightly on my heels, the weight of the moment pressing down on me, heavy and intense, and I wondered if I would ever stop aching for the ease of things that had once been.

“How’ve you been?” I asked, the question feeling ridiculous the second it left my lips. It sounded hollow, an echo of the distance between us, something that could never bridge the gap of those years.

Paige let out a quiet laugh, breathy and short, like she didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. It was the kind of laugh that hinted at something deeper, a history that still lingered between us, unspoken.

“Oh, you know. Winning championships. Breaking records. Carrying the team on my back.” She raised an eyebrow at me, the corner of her lips curving upward in a playful challenge. “Not that you’d know.”

I winced, a sharp sting of guilt pricking my chest. I deserved that.

“I saw,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed fragile, like they might break apart before they even fully formed. “I kept up, Paige. I—” I hesitated, my tongue suddenly thick, tripping over the weight of things left unsaid. “I just—”

Couldn’t be there. Didn’t know how to come back. Didn’t know if I was allowed to.

The silence between us thickened, but only for a moment, before Paige studied me with a quiet, knowing gaze, something flickering behind her eyes like a door left ajar, teasing me with the possibility of what had been. Then she let out another breath, shaking her head with a soft, almost melodic chuckle.

“Still the same,” she murmured, almost to herself, the words like a secret shared between the wind and the sea, something private that no one else would ever understand.

I frowned slightly, an unfamiliar discomfort settling in my chest. “What do you mean?”

She glanced at me then, her eyes catching mine for the briefest of moments, and for the first time since she turned around, she smiled. It was small, faint, barely-there—but it was real, and it struck me with the force of a forgotten memory resurfacing.

It did something strange to my chest, a feeling I couldn’t name.

Paige shrugged, her gaze drifting away again, toward the horizon where the sky and the water met in a seamless blur of blue—a vast, endless expanse that seemed to stretch on forever, the edges fading into the unknown.

“You always sucked at talking about feelings.”

The words hung in the air, like a teasing melody that both mocked and understood.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I exhaled a quiet laugh, the sound almost a release, a soft surrender to the moment.

“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice tinged with something close to regret. “Guess some things never change.”

A pause settled between us, but it wasn’t as heavy this time. It wasn’t drowning in the silence of old wounds or the weight of unspoken apologies. It was just—there. A soft, comfortable space, neither awkward nor charged, but simply open. A breath waiting to be taken.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something that could be rebuilt.

Slowly.

 Piece by piece.

 Step by step.

The air between us felt like a canvas—thin, stretched tight, and full of potential but still waiting for the first stroke of color. The weight of three years hung in the space between us, but the longer we stood there, the more that weight seemed to shift. The silence, once thick and suffocating, had softened. 

I was still acutely aware of the tension in my chest, the way my heart beat a little faster with every stolen glance at her.

She was a lot taller than me now. I hadn’t remembered that. Or maybe I’d tried to forget.

Paige used to call me short stack when we were kids—her nickname for me that always felt so casual, so comfortable. She’d ruffle my hair in the most aggravating way, making me bat at her hands like I could do something about it. 

Now, standing next to her, I was aware of how much space she occupied. How much taller she stood, her head just above mine. I felt small in comparison, my body pressed into the earth below while hers was a towering figure in the light, radiating strength and presence.

She was still Paige—my Paige, in a sense—but now, she seemed like someone else entirely.

Without thinking, I took a step forward, then another, until I was standing at her side.

She didn’t look down at me at first. Her eyes were still fixed on the water, the movement of the waves gentle against the wooden pillars of the dock, creating a rhythm that I could almost lose myself in. 

The scent of saltwater mingled with the faint trace of sunscreen and the smell of her perfume, something light, floral, and citrusy, like the warmth of a summer day that you never wanted to end.

For a moment, I just stood there beside her, unsure if I should speak or if the silence would be enough to say what I wanted. She had always been good at filling the quiet—her voice, warm and steady, had a way of cutting through the air like a summer breeze, making everything feel just a little lighter.

“I’ve missed this,” I said softly, the words coming out before I even realized I’d thought them.

Her lips quirked slightly, and I couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes softened when they flickered toward me. “What, the dock? The ocean?” She gestured to the expanse of blue stretching out in front of us.

I nodded, swallowing a lump that had risen in my throat. “Yeah. The beach, the salt air. All of it.” My gaze drifted over the water, catching the way the sunlight bounced off the waves, giving them the shimmer of liquid glass. “It’s like nothing’s changed, and everything has, too.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “You’re not wrong. It’s strange, isn’t it?” Her voice was quieter now, almost like she was talking more to herself than to me. “It’s all the same, but it’s not. I don’t know.” She fell into a silence, her hand brushing absently at her shorts, and for the first time, I saw her hesitate.

I took a breath, trying to gather myself, the weight of the years apart pressing against my ribs. It felt like there was so much I wanted to say, but I didn’t know where to start. 

So instead, I let my fingers drift to the edge of the dock, brushing against the smooth wood, and I glanced up at her. “How’s the team? And your dad?” I asked, my voice a little stronger than before, like I could find something to hold onto in the conversation.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Dad’s good. Still grilling at every chance he gets. The team’s... well, the team’s on fire. You should come see a game sometime.”

“Yeah?” I raised an eyebrow, watching her as she spoke. There was something about the way her eyes lit up when she talked about it, a fire I had never seen before. It was like she had become this new version of herself—this incredible version of herself—and it both amazed and terrified me.

“Yeah. I’ll get you tickets.” She said it so casually, but there was a soft vulnerability in the offer that made me pause.

“I’ll take you up on that,” I said, a little more sincerely than I’d intended.

There was a long stretch of silence again. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, not anymore. In that moment, standing there next to her, the world seemed a little bit quieter. We both seemed to exist in the same space—still, a little bruised from the time apart, but in a way, finding our footing again.

I didn’t expect what happened next.

Without warning, Paige turned toward me, her arms slipping around me in a tight hug, pulling me into her chest so suddenly I barely had time to react. The warmth of her skin against mine sent a shiver through me, not from cold, but from something I couldn’t name.

 Something heavy and familiar, something that wrapped itself around my chest and squeezed. Her body was solid, strong, a safe presence I hadn’t realized I’d been craving all this time—an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

For a second, I was frozen—shocked by the sudden closeness, the feeling of her heartbeat against my own. It was as if time itself had slowed down, and I was caught in the suffocating rush of emotions I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. 

My breath caught in my throat, my chest tightening. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed this—the simplicity of being held by her, the steady rhythm of her presence. It was like coming home after being lost for far too long.

But then, slowly, I wrapped my arms around her, my head resting on her shoulder. The sensation was overwhelming in its intimacy, as if every part of me was yearning for her to stay, to never let go. It felt so natural, like we were two parts of the same whole, as if we’d never been apart. 

There was no awkwardness, no question of where we stood—just the softness of her touch, the unspoken understanding between us, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down, yet strangely light in the comfort of her embrace.

“God, I missed you,” she muttered into my hair, her voice rough, as if the words had been locked away for too long. The warmth of her breath against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, but it wasn’t cold—it was like I had just exhaled after holding my breath for years. 

Her fingers tightened around me, almost like she was afraid I would slip away again, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, felt the fragile nature of this moment—how everything was hanging by a thread, yet it felt like the most real thing I’d ever experienced.

I closed my eyes, pressing my face deeper into the fabric of her shirt, the familiar scent of her and the ocean mixing in the air, filling me up like a memory I hadn’t known I was starving for. 

There was something about the way she held me, something so sure and certain, that made everything I’d been running from feel distant, like it didn’t matter anymore.

 “I missed you too,” I whispered, and it was the first time in years I’d said it without hesitation. The words felt right, like they’d been stuck in my chest for far too long, and I was finally giving them the space they needed to breathe.

The hug lasted a moment longer than either of us probably expected, but neither of us pulled away. I wasn’t sure what exactly we were trying to hold onto—whether it was the memory of who we were, or the hope of something more—but in that moment, I didn’t need to know.

 I just needed to be here, to feel her against me, to acknowledge the truth that had been buried beneath layers of time and distance. We didn’t need words; the silence spoke louder than anything else.

When she finally pulled back, there was a softness in her eyes—something raw and unguarded that she hadn’t shown me before. 

Something fragile, like she was allowing herself to be seen in a way she hadn’t been in years. She stepped back, but her hands lingered at my shoulders, grounding me in this moment, anchoring me to the now. 

And I let her—because in that moment, I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to forget what it felt like to be close to her, to be hers.

“So,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, like she was still catching her breath from the hug. “What now?”

I didn’t know. I didn’t have all the answers.

But for the first time in a long time, I was okay with that.

The space between us felt like a warm memory, alive and trembling, like the soft afterglow of a sunset that refuses to fade into darkness. I stood there, lost in the weight of her hug, letting the quiet stretch, not feeling the need to rush through the moment. 

A part of me, deep down, knew that everything in this instant—this reunion, this fragile reconnection—was not something to be hurried. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I didn’t want to push for anything more. 

No questions. No answers. Just this. The feeling of her arms around me, the heat of her chest pressed against mine, the solid, familiar rhythm of her breath. It was a lullaby, pulling me into a place of peace I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.

Then, as if the universe had decided to drag us out of that perfect stillness, a voice pierced the moment.

“Y/N! Paige!” Wren’s voice called, the sound of her hand waving from behind the dunes, a small speck of movement in the distance. “Mom needs you both to start on the fruit salad!”

I groaned, the simple, mundane reality of life sliding back in. My shoulders sagged a little in exaggerated defeat, the world’s little interruptions making their presence known. But despite it, I found myself smiling.

 Not at the fruit salad request, but because Paige’s laughter had tickled the edges of my consciousness in that moment, a sound so familiar, so rich with joy that it had the power to shift the air around us.

"Coming!" I yelled back, my voice trailing on the breeze.

The sound of her laugh rang in my ears, and only then did I notice the weight of her gaze. It was like the sun lingering in the late afternoon, never fully setting, just casting a soft, golden glow that made everything feel brighter, more alive. 

Her eyes were still locked onto mine, and I couldn’t ignore the way it made my chest flutter, my pulse quickening with the unspoken energy that passed between us.

“What’s so funny, weirdo?” I teased, my lips curling into a smirk as I leaned into her lightly, swatting her shoulder.

Her eyes lit up, and the sound that escaped her lips wasn’t just laughter. It was a sigh of relief, a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding in for years. “Nothin’, just good to have you back.”

Those words—so simple, yet the weight of them crushed me in the gentlest way. She didn’t just say them; she breathed them out like a confession, something tender and unspoken that swelled between us. 

The warmth that settled in my chest spread through me, curling through my ribs and wrapping around my heart, coaxing a smile out of me that I couldn’t fight.

I bit my bottom lip, and for a fleeting moment, I noticed the shift in her gaze. Her eyes followed the movement of my teeth grazing against my lip, and the air between us seemed to hum with something heavier, something that hovered just beneath the surface. 

Her lips parted, a soft breath escaping as she almost seemed to lean toward me without realizing it. It was a fleeting thing, but it made my heart stumble in my chest.

"Missed me that much, huh?" I teased again, my voice low, like I was trying to mask the sudden flutter of nerves that rose up inside me.

Paige rolled her eyes, but there was a sly smirk playing at the edges of her mouth, a soft exhale slipping past her lips. "Shut up," she said with affection, nudging me with her shoulder.

But there was something more in the way she looked at me, something deeper. She wasn’t just laughing with me—she was laughing at the unspoken history between us, the distance we’d traveled, the time we’d lost, and yet still, here we were. 

Standing together. The weight of it was overwhelming, almost intoxicating.

“Let’s go before Ivy yells at us,” Paige said, her voice light but with an underlying softness that made me want to linger longer, just to savor this moment.

She slipped her arm around my shoulders with an ease that made everything feel natural again, like nothing had changed between us. The simple act of her hand resting on me felt like a reassurance, a promise. 

She pulled me with her, our footsteps sinking into the sand as we walked toward the house, the sound of the ocean still whispering behind us like a secret only we could hear. The weight of her presence next to me, her warmth so close, made everything else feel distant and faint.

 It was like the rest of the world could fall away and leave just the two of us, standing in this perfect moment.

“Hey, Paige,” I said after a beat, the words slipping out before I could stop them, “you ever think about how much we used to talk about everything? When we were kids, I mean?”

She glanced down at me, her smile softening, her fingers tightening just a fraction around my shoulder. “Yeah,” she replied quietly, a small, almost wistful sound to her voice. “It feels like a lifetime ago, huh?”

I nodded, the weight of the years that had stretched between us settling in like an anchor dragging at the edges of my heart. “Yeah, a lifetime ago.” The words fell from my lips, soft and heavy, filling the space between us like the last trace of a dying star—bright and distant, but still burning with a warmth that threatened to pull everything back into its orbit. It was a strange sensation, standing there with Paige once again. 

Her eyes held something I couldn’t quite name—something familiar, like the echo of a song that had been forgotten until it suddenly returned, flooding everything with its old, comforting tune. There was a spark in her gaze that lingered, just long enough for the air around us to shift. 

A fleeting moment, yet profound in the way it made my chest tighten, made my breath catch.

Maybe it was the warmth of the evening sun casting long shadows on the sand, or the quiet, unsaid words passing between us, but I had a feeling—just for a moment—that we were somehow picking up where we left off. 

No time had passed. No hurt, no distance. Just the two of us standing in the middle of it, as if we had never been apart.

I glanced over at Wren, who stood a little farther down the path. Her eyes were locked onto us, and though she was pretending to busy herself with something, the way her gaze lingered for just a second too long felt like more than idle curiosity. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips—one that almost seemed teasing, as if she knew something we didn’t, something that was left unsaid. 

A secret shared in a look, between friends who had lived through more than their fair share of things, and maybe even seen things we weren’t ready to acknowledge yet.

We continued our walk, the ground soft beneath our feet, each step pulling us closer to the kitchen. Paige, with her arm still draped over my shoulders, had a quiet confidence to her now, a steady rhythm in her walk that mirrored something deeper between us. Her presence felt like a blanket wrapped tight around me, keeping the cold at bay.

 We didn’t need to say much. It was in the comfortable weight of her hand resting against my back, in the way her fingers brushed my skin, almost absentmindedly, as if we had never been apart. I could feel the pulse of her every step beside me, and for the first time in years, the noise of everything else felt muffled, distant.

As we reached the kitchen, I noticed the familiar hum of home—the warmth from the oven, the rich scent of dinner filling the air, and the ever-present sound of Mom tapping her foot in a rhythm of mock impatience. 

She stood by the counter, arms crossed, looking both like she was about to scold us for something and yet, there was an unmistakable softness in her eyes when she saw us together again. “Took you two long enough,” Mom remarked, her voice light but laced with something more affectionate.

Paige and I exchanged a quick glance, that look of shared amusement passing between us, as if the absurdity of it all—after everything, the distance, the time apart—had led us right back to this moment. 

Together, in this space, we fit just like we always had. Life had a funny way of pulling people in different directions, of pulling you so far apart that it felt like you could never find your way back. Yet, here we were. Back where we began. 

And, for all the uncertainty of life and the time that had passed, one thing was clear: no matter the years or the space between us, the quiet connection we shared remained, untouched. It was unshaken and whole, like the roots of a tree, deep and steady beneath the surface.

Amy, with her usual gentle smile, added, “Good to see you both again.” Her voice was soft, an undertone of warmth threading through her words. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed hearing it—how much I’d missed her presence, too. 

The familiar clink of utensils and the soft rustling of things being prepared around us made the moment feel almost surreal. Wren’s eyes flickered back to us for just a moment before she turned to help her mom with the preparations, her fingers brushing the fruit in front of her with a kind of practiced ease.

As I moved toward the counter to grab the fruit, my fingers brushed against Paige’s for the briefest second. The touch, so small, yet it carried a charge, a kind of electric shiver that shot up my spine, leaving the back of my neck tingling. I almost didn’t want to pull away. Neither of us did. 

It was as if we both knew what this touch meant—the gentle brush of skin, soft and fleeting, but steeped in a thousand unspoken words. In that brief moment, we were suspended between the past and the present, between the things we’d shared and the things we had yet to discover. There was a heavy silence between us, a truth neither of us needed to say aloud.

 We both felt it. The truth of our history, of how much we had meant to each other, and how the years apart hadn’t erased that bond.

 It was still there, in every lingering glance and every slight touch. For the first time in so long, I felt a strange kind of peace settle in my chest.

I didn’t know where this would lead, what we would become, or how much of us would ever truly change. But in that moment, standing in the kitchen with her—with Paige—I felt certain of one thing: we had never truly been apart. Not really.

Footsteps creaked against the wooden flooring, and Carson walked into the kitchen, his familiar presence filling the space. 

He was a little disheveled, his shirt untucked and his sleeves rolled up as if he had been upstairs doing something, but the sight of him—so effortlessly at home in this space—made me smile.

 I hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever, not like this. Wren’s fiancé. The one who had always been like a brother to me, the one who had grown up with us in the house, alongside Wren. Even now, he stood there with a grin that had never changed, a grin that made him seem just a little bit younger than he actually was. It was the kind of smile that made everything feel familiar again.

“Look at you two,” Carson said with a teasing tone, his eyes flicking between Paige and me. “Thought you’d be hiding somewhere, away from all the family chaos.”

Wren rolled her eyes, her smile softening as she threw a quick glance in Carson’s direction. “We just got here, give them a break,” she said, though the amusement was clear in her voice.

Carson moved to stand next to me, his hand clapping me lightly on the back, his way of greeting me. It was always like this, a brother-sister relationship that had never wavered. There was a certain comfort in it—no pretense, no time wasted on small talk. 

Just the ease of a connection that had been forged long ago and was as solid now as it had ever been.

“How’s life treating you, kid?” he asked, his voice light and teasing, but there was a certain softness there, too.

I shrugged, leaning into the warmth of the conversation. “Same old, same old. And you?”

“I’m alive,” Carson said with a laugh, his usual self-deprecating humor in full swing.

As the conversation continued around us—Mom making sure we were all helping, Amy gently pushing everyone to contribute—I felt that old, comfortable rhythm returning. 

The kitchen, bustling with life and voices, felt like home in a way it hadn’t in years. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. But with every word, every shared laugh, and every passing touch, I realized it didn’t need to be. We were here. Together. And that was enough.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 TAGLIST: @jadasogay @paige05bby @unadulteratedcyclepaper @bueckers2fudd

© sweettu1ips.tumblr 2025 do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[xprakzif]

puppy love

chris sturniolo

pairings: chris x fem!reader (unestablished)

warnings: fluff/angst, cursing, none really

summary: chris doesn’t know how to express his feelings and now she thinks he hates her.

chris always seemed to have that narcissistic persona. any girl who came across him knew better than to try it, even if they attempted to get at him, he was quick to let it known he was uninterested. so why was he acting like this with her?

he didn’t even know. nick was great at making new friends, and she just happened to be at the same beach at the time they were. the triplets, along with nate, traveled to a smaller town that was typically quiet but had beautiful views and landmarks.

they were driving around until they spotted the rather empty beach. they walked along the tide talking for what felt like hours. they honestly lost track of time, and direction.

walking their way was a girl, she looked majestic in the sunset that made her skin glow. she wore a light pink bikini underneath a crocheted sweater that only covered her top half. in her right hand was a baby pink retractable leash, leading down to a small, harnessed, yorkie puppy that started to run up to the boys. she was ethereal, to chris atleast.

“look- maybe we can ask her how to get back to the car?” nate pointed to her, she was busy enjoying the sunset and didn’t notice them, until the dog began to bark.

“shhh, kiwi-“ she finally saw the group of boys coming up to her, gaining anxiety. usually people wanted to meet kiwi, she hoped that’s why they approached her.

“hi- oh!” nick started to speak until kiwi interrupted, barking in a high pitch while she struggled to get closer being pulled back by the pink harness.

“sorry, she’s friendly- she just wants you to pet her,”

matt wasted no time in bending down to greet the giddy puppy wagging her tail at the attention. he cooed and scratched at her fluffy ears.

“cute.. um this is gonna sound crazy, but we kinda lost our car-” nick explained.

“we aren’t from around here, my names nate” he interrupted nick, deepening his voice. chris was only watching, he’d never been so quiet before. even he realized.

“..okay, im y/n. where’d you guys park?”

“it was small lot in front of the surf shop building, when you get off the main road?” replied nate.

“oh- i parked there too! i can show you guys, we were just heading back home.” chris was surprised she had walked all this way, he was unaware that they were only walking for 40 minutes.

she was set in between matt and nick, walking ahead a bit to lead them. matt was eyeing kiwi the entire time. she noticed him walking close to her paying attention to everytime kiwi sniffed the sand or tried to drink the slow tide that came by.

“here,” she handed off the leash to him, gaining a huge smile in return. “don’t lose my baby, please.”

within the 40 minute walk back to the lot, nick made most the conversation, getting to know the girl. once again, chris realized how quiet he’d been. so did everyone else.

“here we are, this your van?” she pointed to the empty parking lot with only her car and theirs.

“yea, thank you so much. we honestly would’ve been deserted if it wasn’t for you- can i get your number? i’d love to hang out sometime!” the boys filled the car while nick stood outside with his new friend.

“of course!” she waited for him to pull up a new contact and verbalized her information. “i’ll see you, drive safely!” and with that she patted the drivers seat of her black toyota signaling kiwi to hop in, and went home with more than she came for.

meanwhile, the van was chaotic. matt and nate up front singing a song that came on, while nick interrogated chris.

“whats up with you? you haven’t said a word since we met y/n.”

he knew it too. he didn’t understand it thought. “i don’t know.. i’m fine.” nick could usually tell if he was lying, but this time it was unreadable. he let him off easily and went on his phone to text her about hanging out soon.

flashing forward to present day, chris had his mind made up. it all made sense why he acted that way. it was like his soul attached to her. he must stay focused though, so he denied, denied, denied.

she was at the triplets home. madi and nate were there too.

“we should make trevor and kiwi meet!” she suggested to matt who was laying next to her on the couch. his eyes lit up with kiwi cuddled to his chest.

“y’all are so obsessed with these dogs.” chris took a seat next to her listening in and placing his can of pepsi on the coffee table. his heart raced a bit when she looked him in the eyes. his remarks always came out defensive and ignorant. he couldn’t help it, he wasn’t used to this feeling and couldn’t make it obvious.

her on the other hand, thought he hated her. she grew aware of his personality but hers was naturally flirty and extroverted. he knew this as well. she was friendly with everyone. how was he supposed to know if she felt the same way?

“are you jealous that i like kiwi and trevor more than you?” she smirked. those eyes were the ones that made him nervous. the ones that drew him in every time.

his breathing caught in his throat, “nah..” he shook his head and reached for his drink to hide the smile plastered on his face.

she had an effect on him she had no idea about.

“so trevor’s going back to your parents during the tour..” she started indicating an idea that made matt excited and chris irritated. her and matt had a bond that was different from the others. they had a lot in common, something chris grew jealous of and tried to prevent in anyway possible.

it was his own fault though. he decided to stay quiet and let his fear of rejection control him. that could’ve been him in that position.

“absolutely not. we’re not bringing the dogs on tour, y/ n.” he assured sternly.

she shifted in her seat to face him, “chris! come on, i’ll be there to take care of them while you guys work, madi will be there too! right madi?” she motioned to the girl who was sat at the table with nick.

“don’t even try!” chris stated before madi could even speak.

“what’s wrong with that, i love kiwi and trevor!” madi disagreed with chris from the table.

“see its two against one!”

“three!” matt mumbled with kiwi licking at his face.

“don’t you want me to be happy?” she pouted and widen her eyes to tease him. he did want her to be happy, he was just being an asshole.

he looked into her eyes, the ones that made him fall too hard for her. almost stunned and lost for words he looked away, “whatever, fine.”

she squealed and hugged him tightly, shocking him in the process.

this was going to be a very long tour.

“okay- wait what if they fight?” she was holding kiwi tightly in her arms covered by a comfy sweater. they were currently loading the tour bus, situating their bunks, and trying to introduce the dogs.

matt was sitting on the floor with trevor in his lap.

“you said she was friendly with other dogs,”

“she is.. i just don’t want them to fight!” she gave in and sat on the floor with kiwi. chris came onto the bus to see what was going on. they had disappeared into the bus moments ago without telling anyone.

he stopped in his tracks and observed the scene.

she finally let kiwi down, sniffing the floor of the new area and approaching the other small dog. trevor did the same, eventually they began to smell each other to get familiar.

she spared a glance at matt who smiled in return. chris noticed this, his heart sank a bit. did she like him? he thought.

soon enough, kiwi and trevor were playing together after kiwi licked his nose.

“aww they love eachother!” she cheered and scooted forward to hug matt. a grunt was heard by the two, chris didn’t know he did that out loud.

“oh- chris, look!” pointing at the puppies, “let’s have them married.” she was playing around, he wasn’t having any of it.

“yea, we’re about to start moving so can you guys move?” once again, he didn’t mean for it to come off so abruptly. she frowned and picked up kiwi, pushing past him to get to the seats, trevor trailing behind her.

“dude, why you being so rude to her?” matt was genuinely curious, but it came off defensive. he loved her, but only as a friend. not like chris did.

“i’m not..” matt was about to just walk away, but he spoke again, “i just- matt?”

“yeah?” they stared at eachother.

“i think i’m in love with her.”

matt cheesed widely in excitement, chris took it the wrong way.

“no- you can’t tell her!”

that wasn’t even on his list, “i won’t. i’m just happy you can admit your feelings for once.” patting his brother on the shoulder and going to sit with the others.

in the bus, she sat next to madi. they were giggling at trevor chasing kiwi in a circle. nick was across from them scrolling through tiktok.

chris walked in, seeing the beautiful smile on her face light up the room. everyone noticed he walked in, he was more focused on her.

she glanced at him, the smile fading a bit.

“we’re moving, everyone sit! we don’t want any accidents.” a voice called out from the front of the bus, most likely the driver.

chris sat next to her on instinct. there was obvious tension.

“madi, look at this” nick motioned for her to sit next to him which she did. leaving the two to sit alone.

chris wasn’t one for apologizing, he wasn’t sure how. he had to say something though.

“you glad we brought the dogs?” that was his way of apologizing?

she was very forgiving to say the least. there’s been worse things he’d say to her. some of which made her go cry in the bathroom.

“very..”

silence. besides nick and madi scream-laughing across them.

“so- um, which state you most excited to see?” he was trying anything to start a conversation.

“oh- probably florida, i loved visiting there when i was younger,”

he didn’t know that though, he never took the time to get to know her for real. not like matt or nick did.

he was starting to hate himself for it. why couldn’t he just express himself correctly? it was a struggle for sure.

the bus made it to their first stop. everyone got out to stretch, matt and y/n letting the dogs use the bathroom.

they were away from the group, far enough for no one to hear their conversation.

“i’m so happy we brought them,” she started

“me too, not happy about this part though” he cringed at the sight of trevor using the bathroom that he would have to clean up.

“um.. can i ask you something?” she was comfortable enough with matt to have deeper talks, this was something she couldn’t get out of her mind.

“of course,”

she took a deep breath, “is chris like, mad at me.. or something? ever since we met he acts as if he hates me, do you see it too?”

after what chris told him earlier, it made sense. “no, no he doesn’t hate you,” he wasn’t sure how to word it in a way that wouldn’t out his brother. “that’s just how he is, but trust me he doesn’t hate you. we love you, y/n”

“i love you guys too.” his words were comforting, she felt some sense of relief. matt was always sweet to her, it was easy to get close with him. her mind still wandered to chris, there had to be more, right?

the rest of the ride was relaxed, for most of them atleast. madi and matt were asleep in the bunks, nick was sitting on a seat using his laptop.

chris was in a bunk, trying his best to sleep but his brain was wide awake. he didn’t know how he would manage going on tour with her, spending everyday with her, all with her being oblivious to his feelings that he couldn’t even let out correctly.

she was in the same room as nick, her head on his shoulder watching his skills as he edited a video for his business.

“hmm, i think i’m gonna go lay down before i go insane. you coming?” he shut the computer.

“i will in a minute..” she wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep this entire trip.

nick nodded and slid the door to the bunks open. she sat for a second, looking out the window to the starry sky blurring past. the lights were off leaving the only light casting from the window to dimly shine in the bus. the door slid open behind her, it was probably nick forgetting his phone before he left.

“y/n?” she turned to see the silhouette of chris.

she gulped unable to speak. “what you doing up?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” she said while he sunk into the spot next to her.

“can’t sleep..”

“me neither, are you nervous about performing?”

“why would i be?” he barked. there it was again.

“chris, am i supposed to read your fucking mind?” she even shocked herself, she was fed up with his attitude.

“i wish you could, maybe then you’ll understand how stupid you are!”

“seriously what’s wrong with you? why do you act like you hate me?!” she was a little too loud.

“what the hell is going on?” nick came from the sliding door, he hadn’t went to sleep yet and heard her shouting.

“nothing- mind your business!” nick looked like he was ready to tear chris apart.

she felt her face heat up, her eyes began to water. she got up and stormed to the back of the bus letting the tears flow. she couldn’t hold back.

“you better go apologize to her chris! i swear i’ll ruin this whole tour for you! if you have a problem with her than say that, she’s our best friend, even if she’s not to you.” he lectured him knowing how he treated her. everyone knew, they just didn’t see why.

chris sat there silently while nick went off. he didn’t even bite back. nick just stood there with his arms crossed waiting for chris to speak, move, anything.

“your right..” he whispered.

“what was that?”

“i said your right, damn.”

“that’s what i thought. now get to moving, i wanna go to bed, in peace!” nick emphasized. he waited for chris to get up and head to the back, following behind to go back in his bunk.

chris hesitated before sliding open the door to the back area of the bus. he heard sniffles from the other side, it felt like nick punched him in the chest before going to bed. he wasn’t aware he made her cry.

stepping into the small room, he saw her barley lit up from the moonlight and occasional passing car.

she looked up to see him, worried and a bit embarrassed. worried he would yell at her again. she didn’t like that he could make her crumble with such ease.

“y/n..” she hated when he said her name.

he sat next to her on the leather seat that was less spacious than the ones up front.

“don’t cry.. i-i’m sorry, okay?” he shocked himself making his body heat up. she wiped her nose with the soft sleeve of her sweater and turned to him.

“i don’t hate you, i don’t. i’m sorry for treating you wrong, i promise i’ll stop, okay?”

she nodded, feeling a smile creep on her puffy lips.

even in the dark, her smile lit up the room. he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and she embraced him tightly around his torso.

he loved the feeling. it was this easy? he thought. the flame grew with every second they touched, he wished it could last forever. but she pulled away and he craved it all over again.

“cmon, you need to sleep.” she got up indicating she was going to sleep before stopping. “goodnight, i love you.”

that. that almost broke him.

he knew it was platonic, she said it to all of them.

“goodnight.. i love you too.” but he meant it differently. she wouldn’t know that though.

“rise and shine, campers!”

kiwi and trevor were having a barking match trying to get to each other being too scared to jump off the bunk and waking everyone up.

“too early for you to be this energetic” madi groaned to nick while hopping down from her bunk.

“girl it’s 10am! we have a few hours till our first show!” nick exclaimed making his way off the bus. madi followed him.

the crew stopped to get breakfast before heading to the venue of the day.

“matt,” she poked at the sleeping boy in his bunk. “matt! wake up!”

he groaned, “what? where are we?” shuffling in the sheets.

“get up, we’re getting food. and you have to let trevor out!”

“it’s fine, i got it” chris came almost out of nowhere and picked up the small dog with the leash already in his hand.

her and matt both glanced at eachother confused before matt layed back down. she rolled her eyes playfully, her attention going back to chris who struggled with putting on the harness.

“trevor- stay still!”

she giggled and helped him after finishing with kiwi. maybe he was going to change after all.

“it’s time boys!” the triplets were at the venue backstage. they waited for the opening act to finish performing so they could go on.

“5 minutes till show time.” the crew member advised them to get ready to go on stage.

madi and y/n were backstage hyping them up. “you got this, you’ll do great! love you, have fun!” she hugged matt and nick as they left the stage room with madi, leaving her and chris alone.

“are you ready?”

he nodded and fixed his hair under his cap. “how do i look?”

“ugh, you never change, do you? you look fine!” she joked, smacking him on his chest. “okay, now go! they’re waiting for you!”

“alright, i’m definitely not stalling..”

“chris, you’ll do great! i love you so much, i’m so proud of you!” she was referring to all of them, but he took it personal. she embraced him in a hug- he was stunned. why couldn’t he move? something took over him, he just stared at her.

“i love you.” he whispered.

“good luck, chris.” she turned to grab kiwi from the floor, did she hear him?

“i love you, y/n.” he said it louder this time.

“i heard you, hun..”

he grasped her hand lightly before she could bend down to pick up her dog, making her face him. looking him in the eye.

“no, i don’t think you did- i love you.”

her expression was lost. “..what?

he couldn’t stop saying it. “i love you, y/n,” but he finally said the right one.

“i’m in love with you.”

can y’all tell i love animals yet or no

idk but tell him part three should be out soon stay tunedddd xoxo

[filmsmakkari]

Part of Her World 𓇼

rhaenyra targaryen x mermaid! oc

Summary: A mermaid princess finds the only person who understands her in a princess from another world

Word count: 3.5k

CW: None!

A/N- I use a character name for this because it was easier for me to write but it can still be read as an x reader because that's what I had in mind writing it! I am seriously considering making this a series saurr let me know if you'd be interested!

Above the thrashing, powerful waves of the deep blue sea, a ship headed by a golden dragon cut through the tides like a swordfish. 

Rhaenyra Targaryen's hair blew wildly around her face in wild silver waves as she overlooked the sea from the side of the great ship. She was in the midst of her betrothal tour- a humiliating ritual where she sailed from house to house and offered herself up like a piece of meat to the great lords.  The young princess desperately longed for freedom, and here, during these quiet moments, alone on her ship, she felt that she could get a mere taste of it. At night, when she was meant to be getting the proper amount of beauty rest for a royal princess, she would sneak out and watch the sailors in their evening merriment. Drinking and singing shanties. Life at sea gave them freedom. Total control over their lives and fates. No one was forcing them to dress up like dolls and present themselves to bidders. Rhaenyra truly longed for the same.

As she should, a light sprinkle began to drop from the air. Rhaenyra didn't acknowledge the way the raindrops glazed her face, wishing the sea would swallow her whole.

"You should go inside, princess," the profoundly irritating voice of Ser Criston Cole cut through the soft music of the rain, disrupting Rhaenyra's peace. "I imagine the weather will only get worse as we approach the Stormlands."

"I am not made of sugar, Ser Criston," Rhaenyra said, exasperated. "I will not be washed away with the rain."

"Of course not, your grace, but in fact you are our princess. You must be protected and kept in perfect health at all times. Now, if you please," Ser Criston tried to pull her to her chambers, but she shrugged him off.

"What if I do not want to be as my father is, Ser Criston?" asked Rhaenyra. "Complacent. Too afraid to take risks, cut off from the rest of the world. What if my desire is to fly to the edge of the Narrow Sea on Syrax and find new ways  to better our kingdom. The world advances while we remain stuck in the days of the conquest."

"It does not do well to live in fantasies, princess. Now that you've come of age, your responsibilities lie at home. Your father expects it of you."

"Yes, for me to remain cooped away in that castle in isolation and fear forever. I can't live like that. I can't explain it. Perhaps it's the blood of the dragon making me restless. But even now, I can't help but feel that there's something here calling to me.

"Princess—" a violent bump abruptly interrupted the white cloak. The knight and the princess both turned. In the distance, they could see a dark cloud highlighted with thunder and lightning.

The captain noticed at the same time. "Storm coming in fast, all hands on deck!" The first mate parroted the message, and the entire ship descended into chaos. Sailors rapidly climbed the mast, desperately cutting the lines, as the first mate rushed to the helm and furiously spun the wheel, attempting to guide the ship away.

"We need a lifeboat for the princess, immediately!" Cole shouted at the deckhands, pulling Rhaenyra by her arm. 

Rhaenyra watched as lightning struck the mast, and fire quickly spread across the deck. Her eyes widened at the catastrophe. Deckhands rapidly cut a lifeboat free, tossing it into the water for the young princess. 

"Hurry, your grace!" Cole attempted to shove Rhaenyra into the boat, but she would not go.

"No! The sailors and my ladies first!" She broke free and ran, shouting like a mad woman for all the men and her ladies in waiting to board the lifeboats themselves. The sailors didn't need to be told twice, and though they attempted to encourage her to join them, she refused, searching for every soul aboard to make sure they'd escape safely. 

"Madeline!" Rhaenyra shouted her lady's name. The small girl was curled up in a corner, holding Rhaenyra's little dog, Meria. 

"Princess!" Madeline yelled, relieved. 

"Come! Quickly come!" Rhaenyra grabbed Madeline and pulled her across the burning deck. Avoiding the masts as they crashed down and the canons as they rolled from side to side. Rhaenyra helped Madeline rise to the rail and jump, the dog still in hand. Rhaenyra watched as the pair hit the sea. The violent waves separated them. While Madeline was quickly pulled aboard a lifeboat, Myria lingered behind, desperately paddling to get to the boat. Rhaenyra panicked, but suddenly, it was like a gravitational force took hold of the dog and pulled her to safety. If it hadn't been a life or death situation, Rhaenrya would have pondered how it happened. However, given the circumstances, she quickly took it upon herself to climb onto the rail. But just as she was about to jump, the entire ship turned on its side, and she fell backward into the black sea.

All she saw was fire. Her lungs filled with water as the sigil of the mighty House Targaryen burned. A flash of purple. And then it all went dark.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

Children of the sea do not have tears. It is that fact, perhaps, that separates the merfolk from the humans. Long shimmering tails and siren songspells aside, the simplest divider was that when humans were hurt, they wept. But when the young royal princess of the Carinae Sea, which humans called the Blackwater Bay, was upset, all she could do was swim for hours around her gilded cage of coral and cowrie stone. 

Princess Lerína angrily swam through the seaweed drapes that kept her grotto hidden from all others. Her powerful tail thrust behind her, creating a shining kaleidoscope of purple and blue. As she frustratedly sat down on the large rock on the ocean floor she'd made into her little sofa, her long black hair, a mass of braids and flowing curls decorated with shells and pearls,  cascaded around her head, irritating her further.

"He just doesn't understand, I don't have to see things the way he does!" she said angrily to Flounder, her childhood companion. 

The princess and the little fish had just been scolded by her father, King Oceanus, for spending time on land.

The day had started a happy one. Lerína had managed to escape the watchful eye of Kunle- the crab majordomo her father had assigned to watch after her, met up with Flounder and gone to find Scuttle- her seabird friend- to show him her recent human finds. Her latest favorite was what he called a Dinglehopper, used to create an aesthetically pleasing hairdo. She'd returned to the castle smiling, saying hello to every shark who made up her father's kingsguard and humming sweet songs. However, the day turned sour when Flounder accidentally mentioned to her father, King of The Seven Seas, that she'd been spending time on the surface again. Her father had done what he always did. Yelled, waved around that trident of his, and said that of every problem in the sea, she was his most troublesome. He'd given her the usual reminder that she would soon be married to a noble merman and that her fixation on the human world would not make her a more desirable bride. Bringing up how humans butchered the queen, however, was an unusual low blow. The reminder of her mother's fate sent shivers down Lerína's spine.

Now, as she was sitting in her grotto, the one place she had to herself, she pondered her father's words. Looking around, she took in the beauty of her human treasures: the shimmering little gold coins she'd found in a pouch lost in a kelp forest, the countless books written in a human language she couldn't understand, and the gold sphere with two glass ends that made everything bigger she'd just found that very day. 

Lerína chuckled dryly. "I just don't understand how a world that makes such wonderful things could be so bad. I just wish I could learn more about them. See them dancing, walking around on those… what do you call them?" she asked, gesturing to her fins.

"Feet!" Flounder responded joyfully.

"Oh, right," Lerína smiled. "Up there, they just walk and run wherever they want! Wandering free, without the constant eyes of crab babysitters and shark guards watching their every move. Tides, I wish I could be part of that world." Lerína looked up at the circular opening at the top of her grotto, admiring the colors the rapidly vanishing sun cast onto the ocean surface.

"Well, what would  you do there? If you could," Flounder asked.

Before the young mermaid could respond, she noticed the colors she'd admired just moments before being blocked out. A ship, she thought. She'd never seen one so close. Real live humans, so near that she imagined she could hear their voices through the waves. With the reminder of her impending doom wedding looming over her, Lerína, it occurred to Rhaenyra that this may be her first and last chance to ever see humans up close. 

Father will never know.

"Lerína, I know that look. It's the bad idea look. What are you-" The little fish was abruptly interrupted by a powerful gust created by the sea princess's tail as she rapidly swam for the surface, quite literally chasing her dream. As she grew closer to the surface, she reached out her arm in front of her, desperate to be close to humanity. 

And when she breached, she couldn't believe what she saw.

The ship was smaller than most of the wrecks she'd seen underwater, but it was still the most stunning thing she'd ever seen. The wood was a rich brown, with a golden sharp-toothed creature at the head. Lerína believed the beast to be a dragon. She'd heard stories of dragons as a child. While tails, songspells, and salt ruled the seas, fire, blood, and wings ruled the skies. She'd been told that rulers of the human world chained them up and rode them like seahorses- just another sign of how primitive they were. And at the top, two large black sheets with a three-headed red dragon on them.

Dragons have three heads? Lerína thought. I wonder how humans came to control them.

She swam up close to the ship, admiring the craftsmanship of each groove and hook. 

"Isn't this amazing?" Lerína semi-rhetorically asked. 

"NO! It's terrifying! Let's go home!" said a panicked Flounder.

Lerína shot him a look and continued on, ignoring him calling her.

She swam alongside the ship, coming across what appeared to be another boat tied to the larger ship. Only much, much smaller. She wondered what use humans could possibly have of one that size. As she took it in, she noticed two people conversing. Her heart skipped a beat. She'd never seen them this close. She wanted to get a better look, so she did something perhaps dangerous. Grabbing onto the small boat with both of her hands, she pulled herself inside the contraption, her long tail hanging out of the side.

There was a small hole in the ship's side, and she took a better peak to see the pair more clearly. The man was rather plain-looking, she supposed. Brown hair, a round face, and a strange, metallic, heavy-looking suit. He reminded her of  Tíeres- her father's kingsguard who used to follow her around. Nothing particularly special physically, besides the fact that he had legs rather than fins. But the girl who stood beside him… the very sight of her made Lerína's fins tingle, and her eyes widened with a feeling similar to awe. 

She didn't look like any of the pictures Lerína had found on the seafloor. Her hair was nearly as long as Lerína's, flowing like an ocean wave in beautiful ringlets down her back. Her skin was pale as a pearl, with pink lips like the corals her sister, Calypso, grew in her bedchamber. But the feature that stood out the most, the one that made Lerína's heart flutter, was the eyes. Lerína had never seen eyes like the girl's before. They were a beautiful shade of lavender, pure and bright. Lerína felt like she could see the girl's spirit through her eyes, a gentle yet regal and powerful one. She felt as though she could get lost in those eyes and never return.

Another thing she noticed was that the girl wore a crown. Similar to her own, but instead of rainbow abalone, pearls, and cone shells, the girl's was made out of gold, with three ruby eyed dragons in the middle. Lerína wondered if the girl was some form of a princess on land. Her question was swiftly answered as she heard the man speak.

"You should go inside, princess. I imagine the weather will only get worse as we approach the Stormlands."

A princess, like me. 

"I am not made of sugar, Ser Criston," the girl said, and Lerína knew that irritated tone well. It was the very same one she frequently used on Kunle. "I will not be washed away with the rain."

"Of course not, your grace, but in fact you are our princess. You must be protected and kept in perfect health at all times. Now, if you please," the man said.

"What if I do not want to be as my father is, Ser Criston? Complacent. Too afraid to take risks, cut off from the rest of the world. What if my desire is to fly to the edge of the Narrow Sea on Syrax and find new ways  to better our kingdom. The world advances while we remain stuck in the days of the conquest."

"It does not do well to live in fantasies, princess. Now that you've come of age, your responsibilities lie at home. Your father expects it of you."

"Yes, for me to remain cooped away in that castle in isolation and fear forever. I can't live like that. I can't explain it. Perhaps it's the blood of the dragon making me restless. But even now, I can't help but feel that there's something here calling to me.

Lerína had never felt more seen or understood by anyone. Her six sisters had all taken to their roles as rulers of their seas with ease. They knew their place in the world and fit into it. Meanwhile Lerína never seemed to get anything right, much to her father's displeasure. They could never see eye to eye, and every stroke of her tail felt like a mistake, a disappointment. She knew what happened to her mother, and yet she always felt like there was room for progress. Contact with humans could help dawn a new era for their people. She felt foolish sometimes for thinking such things. But this girl, a girl from another world, she understood.

Suddenly, the ship, and the little boat in which Lerína sat began to shake violently. A man in a pointy hat ran across the deck, shouting "Storm coming in fast! All hands on deck!"

Suddenly all the humans began to scurry around like a panicked school of fish, tugging on ropes and climbing around. The man in the metal suit pulled the violet eyed girl away- much to Lerína's disappointment. She rose up on her arms to try to get a better glimpse, but the girl was already on the other side of the ship. 

"Lerína, watch out!" Flounder's voice called out. 

Lerína turned to see a group of large rocks right in front of her. She quickly hopped out of the boat and dove into the water, escaping just seconds before the boat was destroyed. She swam around, surfacing again to see the entire ship had descended into chaos. Bright, hot wisps of orange and red were rapidly spreading across the deck, and Lerína realized that this was fire. She had previously thought fire only existed in small boxes in human homes to keep them warm, but this fire was certainly not that. Everywhere the wisps went in their violent dance things broke and shattered. The humans used knives, similar to the stone and shell ones merfolk used, to cut free more boats like the one Lerína had hid in, and quickly jumped overboard into them.

Lerína watched as the land princess helped a brown haired girl, and a furry creature with a tail jump over. The girl was able to make it onto a boat, but the other creature was being pushed back under the waves. Lerína took a risk, diving under the water, grabbing hold of the creature and pushing it towards the boat, dipping under it just before she could be seen by any of the humans. 

She swam back around to the side of the ship, looking for the girl, just barely catching a glimpse of her before the entire ship turned on its side, and the girl fell backwards into the sea. Lerína swam around the front of the ship as quickly as a swordfish, tossing away priceless human items in search of the girl. She was nearly crushed as a statue of a woman came flying at her from the ship, but she narrowly dodged it. She dove down deeper, finally seeing the girl sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss. Lerína swam as fast as she could, quickly taking hold of the girl and bringing her to the surface.

Above the sea, as the waves rocked them back and forth and the burning remains of the ship illuminated the night, Lerína felt a strange sense of calm. She looked down upon the girl in her arms, and she looked so peaceful and beautiful. Lerína's heart fluttered once again. Saving a human would go against everything she had ever been taught. If she ever came in contact with them she was meant to swiftly escape, and in the worst case, use her siren song to kill. As she looked down on the most beautiful face she'd ever seen, Lerína knew what she had to do. 

So she held the girl tighter, and allowed the waves to swallow them whole.

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

She had never been this far from Atlantis before. She could feel the dry sand burning her hands and the top of her tail, while the waves caressed her fins back and forth. Her hair was damp against her back, and the land princess was in her arms.

Lerína laid the girl on her back against the sand, immediately leaning against her chest to check for a heartbeat. When she couldn't hear one through the girl's thick, fuzzy red and black garment, Lerína quickly unbuttoned it and pulled it apart, leaving the girl in nothing but a thin gown, which, in its dampened state, made the girl's breasts plainly visible. Lerína's cheeks, for no reason she understood, got hot. She shook the girl a few times, trying to rouse her. Finally, the girl coughed a few times, spitting out seawater. Lerína moved back, preparing to escape before she could be noticed. But when the princess didn't move, Lerína did something foolish. 

Taking a deep breath, Lerína closed her eyes, and began to sing. 

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

Rhaenyra didn't know where she was and she didn't know what was going on. Vague memories quickly flashed through her mind. Her tour, talking with Ser Criston, saving her ladies and her friends, and going under the water.

Suddenly, there was a voice. A voice so enchanting it flowed through the mist of her mind like a beacon of pure light. It was like a siren guiding her back home. She could barely open her eyes, only being able to make out a girl with long hair- she couldn't make out the color. From what little she could tell, it wasn't anyone she knew, and yet she felt incredibly safe and trusted her immediately. With what little strength she had, she lifted her hand and placed it above the girl's hand on her chest. But just as she was starting to regain her full vision, voices began to shout and call her name. The girl's hand quickly left her chest, and she vanished on the beach like seafoam. 

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

Lerína, hidden behind a large rock, watched as a group of men and women descended down the mountain, all surrounding the girl in a panic. 

"Princess!" "Your grace!" "Rhaenyra," they cried as they gathered around her. 

The man in the metal suit Lerína remembered from the ship lifted the princess in his hands and carried her back up the mountain, the entourage following behind him.

Suddenly, Lerína was overcome with a feeling she could not explain. But somehow she knew, from this moment on, things would never be the same as they were.

I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know something's started right now. Someday, I just know I'll be part of her world.

She watched as the princess was carried over the mountain and disappeared when she realized something—she knew the princess's name.

Rhaenyra, she thought. I'll be part of Rhaenyra's world. 

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧🧜🏼‍♀️⋆.˚

[coreytaylr]

100% legit totally real facts about the historical stede bonnet

no the title is not a lie these are really REAL bc believe it or not, somehow the show made our stede MORE competent than the real one

sources: Real Pirates podcast (ep1, ep2, ep3, ep4, ep5), Dirty Sexy History podcast (with jeremy moss, bonnet's biographer, who LOVES the show, and said it changed his perspective on bonnet's and blackbeard's relationship PLUS he has the stedesrevenge handle on twt)

the library on the revenge was a real thing. the man really did that.

running away from his family to be a pirate

paying a salary to his crew

SHOWING UP IN NASSAU IN FRILLY GENTLEMANLY CLOTHES AND A POWDERED WIG

before bonnet's capture, he ran his ship aground and that's how the english caught up with him BUT the two english ships also ran aground (😭), so they fought each other with their flintlock pistols from behind their ships (until the tides turned and dislodged the english ships first. rip)

adopted an alias when he started pirating so people wouldn't know it was him but he raided ships near Barbados (where he's from), so that didnt turn out well. his solution? burning every ship from Barbados

he only succeeded in his early days bc merchant ships knew they would get off easier if they surrendered

ATTACKED A WARSHIP that whooped his ass so bad he almost died. the remaining crew steered the ship to Nassau where he met blackbeard

blackbeard stole the revenge from him but "allowed" him to stay on BB's ship (either as a guest or as a prisoner, it's not clear, but he def wasn't a crew member bc he didn't have any chores)

he was seen on deck running around in his gowns 😭😭

BB eventually reinstated him as the captain of the revenge and they sailed together for a while

"there is a 4 month period where stede and blackbeard kind of disappeared and no one really knows what they were doing" 👀

BB allowed bonnet to raid on his own which lead to him getting his ass beat by the Protestant Caesar. BB then proceeded to HUNT DOWN THE PROTESTANT CAESAR while flying the RED FLAG (which meant no mercy to anyone on board)

bonnet would raid ships and take what provisions he needed and give the other ship what he didn't need (essentially the library raiding scene lmaoo)

BB betrayed bonnet by raiding his ship and marooning his crew while bonnet was off getting a pardon

SO BONNET SWORE REVENGE AGAINST BB who was at the time, the most feared pirate

this led to him adopting another alias - "he also changes his name, at the time he goes by captain edward's. which is really interesting, I don't know if that's an homage to, you know, edward teach, but.. captain edward's with an "s", that's as if he's.. a possession of captain edward" ONCE AGAIN 👀👀👀👀

HE ESCAPED PRISON BY DRESSING AS A WOMAN

after escaping, he was promised a sloop by some rando. when the rando didnt deliver, bonnet "WROTE HIM A STRONGLY WORDED LETTER REPRIMANDING THE MAN"

that letter led to him being recaptured 😭😭

he was hanged while holding a bouquet of wilted flowers

[queers-gambit]

The Strength in Honor [ part 2 of 3 ]

prompt: it's hard to plant seeds of revolution with snakes in the garden and Icarus blocking the sun.

pairing: General Marcus Acacius x female!Aurelius!reader

fandom: Gladiator II -> no masterlist

word count: 5.4k+

note: this was originally 11k+ words but let's break it up. part three on the way.

warnings: spoilers, kinda reader insert, AU timeline, Aurelius reader, essentially nicknamed reader, use of Y/N, cursing, inaccuracies, deception, kinda villified!Lucilla, Geta's a creep. i think that's it?

part one: read here part three: read here

You slunk around the city, keeping your hood up and scarf wrapped around your face to cover yourself as you navigated towards the Colosseum. You recognized the guard on post, greeting, "Augustus."

"My Lady," he blanched in confusion when you came into the torchlight and wrangled the scarf from around your nose, mouth, and chin. "What're you doing here at this hour?"

You offered him a gold coin, "I understand your job requires a fair amount of discretion, friend. It's paramount in the here and now."

He nodded and accepted your coin, "Which gladiator do you come for? Most ladies are requesting Hanno these days, uh, Macrinus's man."

"What? Oh," you shook your head, "no, no, no, nothing like that, Augustus, Gods - "

"Hey, I'm not one to judge, Lady, we all have our pleasures," he held his hands up in defense, snickering with you. "What can I do you for?"

You sighed, "I do need into the Colosseum, friend, to have a private word with one of the warriors who will fight on the morrow."

He eyed you with suspicion, questioning, "Does this have to do with the rumors of the General's army?"

"It might," you allotted, eyeing him now. "If it did... Where might you stand on the matter?"

"Where my Lady Venus tells me to," he smirked. "Should you ever require us to stand, it would be at your side, my Lady."

"Perhaps either in front of or behind me, preferably," you teased, both smirking in understanding. "Can I count on your discretion tonight, friend?"

"Always," Augustus promised, glancing around the streets before nodding, "come with me."

You followed the man with a torch, hiding in the shadows of the flickering light as you were granted access into the arena and lead towards the cells. You did not need speak after, nodding in thanks and pressing another gold coin to Augustus' hand; dropping a wink while keeping your scarf up over your nose. You eyed each cell slowly, Augustus following silently with his torch.

When you located this "Hanno", you nodded and Augustus returned the gesture. From his workbench, Ravi looked up in interest when a hooded figure entered the creaking cell of Lucius. When you did, the Gladiator stood at attention and Augustus hushed, "I'll wait by the tunnel, Lady. Agreed?"

"Agreed. Thank you, friend," you hushed, watching him nod and take his leave; shutting the cell door, but did not latch it. You turned to the warrior.

"Why do you hide your face?"

You snorted and pulled down your scarf, leaving your hood in place. "Because revolution is a dangerous business," you mused, smirking slightly when his face lit up in recognition.

"Venus," he greeted with a smirk.

"Lucius." He froze, eyes widening, watching your lips spread wider, "Oh, I fucking knew it."

"How - "

"You know, I wasn't sure first few times I saw you," you admitted, shaking your head, "but it's in your eyes, you've got Father's eyes. I wanted to see your reaction to the name... I fucking knew it."

"Auntie," he mused, rolling his eyes in humor.

You chuckled, "There's a label I've not heard in ages. My, my, how you've grown, nephew."

"That's what happens when almost two decades pass," he scoffed gently, eyeing you. "Why have you come tonight? You spoke before of giving the truth, so do it again, here and now."

The quiet filled the space between you.

"It's happening," you told him quietly. "Rome's tides are turning, the General and I are leading the revolt. We're going to allow his men into the city during the Games and I need you to know, there will be blood. There will be chaos. You need to make a decision about your future here and now, Lucius, because the time has come. Tomorrow, the gladiators will be freed. Tomorrow, Marcus and I will take Rome back from the Twin's tyranny, from their greed and corruption. Now that I know it is you, I tell you this in confidence - should you refuse your grandfather's throne, the General will sit. Your time is now, Lucius, and while I have no right, I beg for your understanding - "

"You need not beg," he interrupted. "I will stand with Venus. The whole of the Colosseum will, too."

"That was... Suspiciously easy..."

"Since your last visit, I've been thinking. Talking to the others, learning about what's happened since I've been gone. You are the common denominator to all stories - your name, your aliases, all spoken with reverence. All stories match, detailing your work with the citizens, how you've been trying to orchestrate your father's vision of Rome from behind the scenes. Influencing where you can. Doing the work men won't, or can't."

"Hm," you nodded. "Well, it's always flattering to hear such flattery. But I am plagued by a question, Lucius; if your mother came...? To ask you the same as I?"

He considered what you'd asked for a long moment, then eased, "I have nothing to say to her."

"Yet you do me?"

"You did not send me away."

"No... No, I did not, though, you were not my child. I feel the need to point out, Lucius, you were the next in line for the throne and still so young. You were a target, still are to some being the last male descendant of the Great Emperor Marcus Aurelius. Your mother felt she couldn't protect you from the turmoil to come, the violence and anger, the threats to your life. So, she sent you away. I will not say if I agreed with her decision or not, but I do know the pain it caused her the past 16 years. She loves you, Lucius."

"And you? You love me, too?"

You scoffed and spat, "I do not know you, boy." You held each other's eyes for a long moment before both broke and started chuckling. You sobered first, telling him casually, "Tonight, the revolution begins; we will meet with the Senators and orchestrate tomorrow's treachery. You will need to make a decision about what comes after you're all freed."

"How can you free us all?"

You smirked, "Call for Ravi, would you? I fear I might be too recognizable in this place, even my voice carries."

Lucius did as you bid, waiting only a couple of moments before Ravi entered the cell; eyeing you with mistrust before realizing who you were. He breathed your name, "What're you doing here?"

"I need a favor, friend," you looked between the two; keeping your back to the door for animosity. "Outside the city, there waits the General's troops. Could you carry a message to them?"

"I could," Ravi nodded slowly, "but what does the contents of this message say?"

You looked at Lucius, "Hm. What would it say, nephew?"

Ravi's eyes widened, but Lucius just held your gaze and smirked. He turned to Ravi, "Tell them... The Prince of Rome has returned and calls upon them."

"So does General Acacius," you added with a small snort of amusement. You removed the small velvet drawstring bag from under your skirt, opening it to reveal the ring Acacius gave you to hand off if needed for extra persuasion. You explained it was the ring your father, Emperor Aurelius, gave to General Maximus and later passed to General Acacius. You told Ravi that the ring would serve as validation of your letter; which was penned quickly in Lucius' cell.

"You're sure about this?" You asked your nephew, both reviewing the contents of the letter. "You know what this will mean for you?"

"I do," he nodded slowly. "Actually... I was hoping to anticipate you sticking around Rome after this. Maybe help me lead our people the way Emperor Aurelius would've wanted?"

"An honor you present me," you breathed, "though it will mean being around the General."

"I'll find a way to deal with it," he snorted. "Ravi," he handed over the letter and ring.

"A moment, friend," you paused his leave. "We need your keys."

Ravi looked between you two nervously, "They will know it's me."

"You will not be in the city, you will be protected," you assured, "and I will update Augustus to keep pretenses."

"Augustus... The guard?" Ravi asked, watching you nod. "Good, good, uh, yes, he-he is trustworthy." His eyes shifted nervously, questioning Lucius quietly, "Who are you - truly?"

"My nephew," you smirked, "Lucius Verus Aurelius, Prince of Rome; home again. Come, there's little time t'spare, I've much to do, many to update, coups to plot. But before I go, I need confirmation - are you with us?"

Lucius offered his arm, "We're with you, my Lady."

Your hand slapped to wrist to lock forearms in agreement, another wink dropped as your scarf was pulled back up and Ravi was escorting you towards Augustus - who listened intently to your instructions. The keys were left with Lucius; the trio of you disbanding once outside the Colosseum. Augustus remained on post, you rushed for the palace grounds, and Ravi made for the stables; selecting whichever horse was ready and taking off through the city.

"Who would rule instead?" Senator Gracus asked, leaning both fists to the table for balance. "You declare the Twins unfit, we have no objections; but if neither Emperor, who would you see sit your father's throne, my Lady?"

"The only answer is General Acacius," you answered strongly, shock rippling around the room. Obviously, you had yet to divulge on anything regarding Lucius and this was more or less a contingency plan.

"What?" Marcus asked, stepping forward in confusion; missing the conversation burning in your eyes. "What did you say, my Lady?"

"I would see you lead our people, Marcus," you stated boldly, stood at the large strategy table the Senators took places around. "Before my Father passed, Emperor Aurelius would've seen the Roman Empire helmed by General Maximus Decimus Meridius; a man you personally revered and trained under. They were both betrayed by Commodus, and the Throne usurped - we all know this to be true." The Senators nodded in agreement. "I would see General Acacius lead us into a new era - as Maximus would have. Father is no longer here, but I should hope my judgment might be enough to sway your support, Senators."

"What if I do not wish to sit the Throne, my Lady?" Marcus asked, looking heavily displeased with you.

"There is Strength in Honor," you reminded, "and the most honorable leaders are never the ones who covet it."

The Senators agreed and left Acacius no room to object or accept his new position; a slow plan taking form as the Games were meant to continue in the coming days. There were only so many opportunities for revolution and you had to be sure in your decision.

To your shock and horror, towards the conclusion of the meeting, Marcus stepped up to the table, "Might I make a suggestion to this counsel before we agree to move forward with tomorrow's plan?"

"Of course, General," Senator Gracus, your father's oldest emissary and confidant, permitted.

"I would see my divorce to the Lady Lucilla both drafted and approved with swiftness," he announced, obliterating any semblance of peace. "Not as means to bring dishonor unto her, but because this Republic deserve an Empress worthy of the title. And with caution, I feel I can speak honestly and say this isn't the Lady Lucilla, but Lady Y/N - the People'e Princess, their Should-Be Empress left too long in the shadows. Citizens trust her and would find the transition of power easier with her at my side."

"No," you denounced, eyes widening in panic as the Senators mumbled their agreement, "you cannot divorce Lucilla, I will not have my sister outcasted from society!"

"We would never, my Lady," Gracus gasped.

"With respect, we all know what becomes of divorced women in our city, Senator. She would find misery, not freedom! Not justice!"

"I will not consent to this plan less it is with you at my side," Marcus growled, stepping closer to you much to the shock of your audience. But apparently, tonight, all veils were pulled back. "Rome has been through enough, would you see her suffer further without you? The people, this Republic needs you. I cannot rule this nation alone, least of all lead a revolution without the known agreement we are standing in this together." Then, he boldly admitted, "I need you at my side through this, Lady Aurelius."

"I cannot not take my sister's husband and societal position in one swift go," you all but hissed, tears gathering, "no matter my own feelings on the matter. Rome will thrive under her rule as much as mine, Acacius. I still stand with you now! We need not implode her life."

"Then I cannot agree."

"Don't fucking do this to me," you hissed quietly to him, "not now."

"General... What're you saying?" Gracus asked aloud. "Speak plainly, you two."

"I will lead, I will rule, I will do what is required of me for the glory and preservation of Rome," Marcus declared, "but only with Lady Y/N Aurelius as my wife."

"And I am refusing to humiliate and outcast my only surviving sibling," you rejected, Marcus looking angrily at you.

"Why are you being so difficult? I will not allow her to be outcasted, I have sworn that to you. And the Senators - " He gestured around the table, "Would our union have your support? Would my divorce?"

There came a wave of silence as you glared at Marcus while he surveyed the Senators. "Aye," Gracus declared strongly, "I would support your divorce of Lucilla in favor of marriage to Y/N."

"Aye," another Senator voiced, and soon, the entire table was in agreement: Acacius would divorce Lucilla after the usurpation of the Emperors and marry you instead.

To soften the blow, Acacius nodded in thanks and then reminded, "Lucilla is a Lady of Rome and daughter of Emperor Aurelius, she will be treated as such. I will not have her outcast from the city or society, as I have promised her sister. Hear me, I will not tolerate her disrespect following what comes next."

"We are in agreement," another Senator assured, "but if I may ask, how do you intend to take the city? Not with a pack of guards, you can't; you need an army."

You huffed and looked away from Marcus, simply feeling caught off guard by his declaration - feeling it might've been premature, considering the circumstances - only to note the Senators looking to you for answers. They now looked where the General did; so, you answered, "The gladiators are with us, but we will need more than a rabble of rapid men. So, word was sent ahead to the 2,000 men posted outside the city limits, all loyal to Acacius, to march into the city whilst the Games commence tomorrow. The General sent his ring along as proof of validity. Are we all in understanding?"

"Aye," it was echoed.

"In this time, Acacius and I will be traditionally seated with the Emperors and others in the spectator's box to keep appearances."

"When the time comes, I can subdue them myself," Acacius assured, "but my men will be posted with us should they... Turn unmanageable. I do not wish to execute them should it not be necessary, but I will not risk harm to my ladies."

Oh, how you loathed that plural term. Perhaps out of pure jealousy, that you wanted to be his only lady - to never share the role. Not even with your sister, who "had him" first in a way. Though, if one were to examine the sequence of events, he was yours to begin with and he will be yours to end with.

Details were ironed out. Divorce decree drafted. Agreements arranged. A plan formed.

However, unknown to anyone, the new maid had found the man who paid her, a wealthy socialite by the name of Macrinus; being relaid instructions at the same time Lucilla was being awoken to the news of her husband and sister's plots. The maid was outside the hidden room after trailing you from the villa following your visit to the Colosseum, listening and taking mental notes as her employer instructed; rushing to inform him of the contents discussed behind closed doors.

You dismissed the Senators in a hushed rush, insisting tomorrow was the day as it left no time to back out or change minds. If this was happening, it was happening now. Finally, you and Marcus were left alone; rounding on one another the moment the room had cleared, each snarling in union, "Are you crazy!?"

"ME!?" You barked, pushing his armored chest with flat palms. "What the hell was that, Acacius!?"

"Oh! Don't you start! Why do you bite at me when you're the one who named me successor? Which was not apart of our original plan!"

"Because I did not get to see you before the meeting! There's new developments I could not inform you of, so, I panicked. Okay? Yes, I panicked because for the sake of Rome, Acacius, I could not risk you refusing me - and for that, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for forcing that on you in front of them all. But you all but confirmed our affair!"

"Why does that bother you? Huh? Why are you so afraid to step into the light that radiates from you? My star, after tomorrow, it won't matter the means of our relationship, nor how it came into fruition." He stepped closer, either hand lifting to caress your cheeks, "All that will matter is us. I'm sorry I sprang that on you, too, but... All for a reason, my love, right? For us?"

"Of course," you sighed in agreement, still unhappy. "But going forward, we discuss everything, we don't do what just occurred. Gods, how embarrassing - our first order and it's a spat before the others."

"Neither of us have politically lead like this before, we've only room to grow," he promised, thumbs sweeping across your cheeks. "For tonight, stay with me. Please."

You agreed easily, nuzzling his nose with yours before pressing a kiss to his lips and tangling his hand with yours. Before you departed the room, you whispered, "Hey." His eyes met yours in curiosity, relaying, "I don't want to drink the tea."

Acacius had started opening the door, pausing to whisper, "No? You're sure?"

"I'm sure," you affirmed, rocking to your toes to peck his lips as you squeezed his hand. "C'mon, dawn will come swift now that we've much to prepare for."

With a dark hood drawn over his greying curls, Acacius lead the way back to your villa; managing to strip for an evening in lounge and begin informing him of Lucius' living state, his agreement to not only stand with you, but also take his rightful place on the Throne when there came a slashing clatter.

You whipped around in shock, seeing the main entrance of your home casting shadows of an obvious (also audible) struggle. "Marcus?" You whispered when a cry was heard, the sound of bodies hitting the ground making you shy into his embrace. "Think we're caught, love," you backed into his chest.

"Fuck," he breathed when a procession of the Emperor's guards rushed into the room. He looked, but his weapons were too far; opting to gather you in close at his side as the Praetorian Guards surrounded you with bloody weapons drawn. "Stay close to me," he rushed, then loudly demanded, "the hour is late, what is the meaning of this?"

"Lady Y/N Aurelius is required before the Emperors."

"Surely, it can wait until morning?"

"Hardly," one guard sneered as another moved forward to wrangle you from Acacius' grip.

"How is this necessary!?" Acacius tried to stop them, but was unsuccessful; being punched multiple times to the ground as you were roughly clapped in irons. He demanded while finding his feet, "Release her! She is a Lady of Rome, this is unforgiving treatment to a woman of her stature!"

"Just move along," one of the guards shoved Acacius by the shoulder as another yanked you forward. His temple bled from their beating, other blemishes blooming over his face as neither was allowed to dress properly; forced to file out of the villa.

Marcus, who magnetized to your side, advised quietly, "Stay quiet, let me do the talking."

"They did not send for you, I do not think that's an option," you worried, trying not to look but being unable to as the guards lead you through the massacre of your slaughtered guards. Your bare feet stuck in warm, slippery yet tacky blood, leaving an ominous trail behind you, hissing to yourself, "They know - I fucked up, I had to've fucked up, I must've if they know."

"We don't know anything yet - "

"What else could it be?" You snapped. "Fucking Ravi? Augustus? Not Lucius? Who else knew? Who did we mistrust? Who betrayed us?"

"We'll come to find out," he mumbled.

When you were lead through the dark halls of the palace, you caught sight of the man who owned your nephew, Macrinus, sharing a toast of wine with another lesser man of high society; swearing you saw a Senator's robe, too. They were in a side room, enjoying the spoils of their rumors and deception.

"Lucilla?" You asked when faced with her enraged expression beside the Emperors - who were wrapped in bed sheets, obviously interrupted from their night. "What's going on? What's the meaning of this? Why have I been shackled like a common criminal?"

"Because you have behaved as such!" Lucilla snarled.

"Oh, this should be good," you batted back to the amusement of the Twins. "Please, pray tell, what offense have I caused?"

"You spoilt little bitch," she seethed, turning to the Emperors. "I want her on trial! It is as I've said, as I've warned you! She is the one with plot to overthrow you, to take our father's throne for herself! She's been plotting to overthrow you this whole time, the fool even left her maid as witness - we have witness of her deception! I demand she stand - w-wait, Acacius? Wait, I don't - what's happening?" She asked as you felt the General move to your side, his hand silently caressing down your spine. "W-Why are you here?" Her eyes widened, looking between the pair of you frantically now.

"Sister," you sighed, bowing your head in shame.

"Ohhhhh, I do think we've uncovered something uncouth, brother," Emperor Geta mused. "Uh, guards? Tell us where you happened to pick up General Acacius this evening?"

"With Lady Y/N, my liege."

"Oh, in her villa?" Caracalla gasped, dropping the sword he had been toying with as if in consideration to use it against you. "Of an unmarried woman?"

"They were discovered in their night clothes and standing in an embrace."

"So," Lucilla interrupted whatever crack Geta had charged, "what Macrinus says is true? The pair of you have been sneaking around? In an affair? You've been sleeping with my husband, little sister?"

Marcus opened his mouth, but you answered first, "Yes. Since before your engagement, while you were married to Lucius and loving Maximus, I've loved Marcus." You shrugged meekly, "I love him, Lucilla - I don't know what else to say. I always have and no matter what, I always will."

"Obviously, you harlot," she snarled, "since even my marriage could not keep you away!"

"Away from the man I love!? What cruelty you would have me endure when he lives! You lost your general, so now you would seek to take mine!? I know what fate did to you, sister, what it took from you, but the least you can do is remember all that was stolen from me, too! I will not apologize for holding onto the one thing I could! My one semblance of normalcy, of reality, of both happiness and sadness; the reason I am who I am, because you should know, to be loved by Acacius is perfection. Life changing, eye-opening, heart-pounding. It's what every woman wants, what she hopes and yearns for; he is who mothers want for their daughters, who fathers endeavor their sons to grow into. So, no, no, I will not apologize for loving him - but I will grovel for the rest of my life for causing you pain."

"Then why do it?"

"Because he's all I have."

"Try again."

And finally, you had enough of your sister's pushy manipulation, snapping, "No."

Which made her scoff and repeat, "'No'? No, you won't try again? To offer me better explanation for your sins? For fucking my husband, you insolent little whore?"

You just spoke evenly, ignoring her jab, "He's everything to me, Lucilla, and I'm not letting him go."

Her head shook, "You are aware this offense can result in your execution?"

"So can secret abortions," you challenged, watching her eyes widen a fraction; for her hips to shift weight; for her shoulders to square. Caught. You lifted your chin a fraction, looking to Acacius sadly, whispering, "I'm so sorry, my love, I didn't want to believe it."

His head shook as if to silence your woes, but you saw the way his eyes now worriedly glanced at your own belly.

"There could be a trial," Geta mused to his brother, earning the attention of the room, "but it's not very exciting, is it? I mean, a cheating scandal? Who cares about that?"

"The people love Acacius, perhaps hearing of his infidelity might be enough to cause a stir?" Caracalla considered, his pet monkey squealing and chittering on his shoulder.

"No, not with Venus," Geta waved off, Lucilla looking angrier by the ticking second. "The people might even support it."

"Could just put her to death?"

"For just fucking a man?" Geta scoffed. "Hardly an executionable offense." Then, the Emperor gasped, telling his brother in near glee, "Instead of a trial... We could have a wedding."

This made you and Marcus both freeze with panic.

"You suggest we let the General marry Venus?" Caracalla croaked in boyish confusion. "Brother?"

"No," he smirked, pale, boney fingers twinkling in the streaming, silver moonlight, "but perhaps it's high time I take a wife. Hmm? Yes?"

"Oh," Caracalla straightened upright to giggle, "that's an exciting idea! Well, if you take one, shouldn't I, as well? She's such a pretty little thing, you know, brother? Would you like to share her, too?"

Geta looked displeased at the offer, but fixed his face into a bright, almost sarcastic grin before Caracalla could see him, "What an idea, brother! Yes, perhaps we will share her - "

Acacius stepped forward to interrupt with a growl, "Absolutely fucking not." The Emperors turned to regard him stiffly; sunken eyes glaring at him.

"You wot?" Geta snapped, eyes almost bulging out of his skull.

"You'll both sooner die than touch her, let alone marry her."

"Acacius," you begged, chained hands reaching for his bicep to try to pull him back, "don't - don't make this worse, please!"

He remained facing the Emperors but collected your hands and arms into his. "I won't give her up, not for you, not for my wife, not for anyone; not even for Rome herself. So... I ask... As Rome's General, grant me one last honor and however you may choose to pass judgment, let me fight as her champion in any combat you might select."

Lucilla appeared purely offended by his defense of you, even demanding, "You'd die for her?"

Acacius shook his head, telling his wife, "Without hesitation. But I'd rather live for her, instead."

"Well, this is just so sweet, General," Geta mocked, "but also so very interesting."

"What're you thinking, brother?"

"You know, this little - " Geta twiddled his fingers at you and Acacius with an amused smirk, "lover's triangle might draw the people into the Games."

"So?" Caracalla groaned, rolling his eyes as he did his neck to roll his head around his shoulders. "Why do we caaaare about that?"

"Because we can charge higher rates to watch these Games with such high-stakes players," he tossed over his shoulder to his brother while stalking across the floor. "How's this?" Geta offered Acacius, "You fight tomorrow every gladiator under the Colosseum, and if you win, we will personally divorce you and marry you again ourselves!" He laughed loudly, "The Lady Venus gets to live happily ever after with her General! But you will be fighting for her literal life, Acacius, against every man in my arsenal, every Praetorian Guard I have to spare. Lose, and you both perish for your transgressions. Less the Lady survives, then how could I not marry her? Eh? After you fall, think making her my bride would be enough to soothe the woes of the commoners?"

Marcus scoffed, "All this...? Because I did my duty to the Empire and married the wrong woman? A mistake I wish to now rectify?"

You smacked his arm, "Do not call my sister a mistake."

Geta ignored you to seethe at Acacius, "The laws of our city are clear - the laws written by your wife's and lover's father - which apply to all citizens of our great Empire; the terms and sanctity of marriage are legally binding." Geta got in Marcus' face, snarling, "And you broke those laws, General, when you bedded - "

"Kill me if you want," Acacius interrupted with his lip snarled, "but do not lecture me. I know the laws. But like my star has said - I will never apologize for loving her, either. So let me fight tomorrow and prove, I will stop at nothing to have her."

"And what will you say to the talk of mutiny; usurping the throne?" Lucilla reminded, making Caracalla disstressed. The pair yelled in agony about deception and betrayal, Geta listening to their words hurled at a silent you and Acacius.

Eventually, Geta smirked and waved the pair off as if rapid dogs on chains, "Their plans matter naught - they won't make it out of the arena alive."

"I will gladly die fighting for her," Acacius smirked in return, "but should I fall, I'll take her with me - if only to ensure you can't touch her. I'll fight tomorrow for immunity; where should we survive, we are expunged of our crimes and given leave of our duties. We will start our life anew elsewhere, you'll never hear from us again. We disappear."

Geta laughed as Lucilla and Caracalla protested, claiming this was an unfair bargain; but the Emperor agreed, "That's honorable, but are you strong enough to fight them all?"

"You've no idea - "

"NO! NO! NO! I WANT THEIR HEADS!" Caracalla cried, sword back in hand and swinging wildly. "NO IMMUNITY! NO MERCY!" You took the opportunity to press closer into your man's chest for what could've been the last time; Geta forced to catch his brother and wrangle Caracalla onto one of their matching thrones.

Geta was panting by the end, dismissing the entire room angrily - bellowing that tomorrow would go on as planned. "No," you breathed, looking to Acacius and tightening your hold on him as the guards closed in, "no, no, please, I-I can't say goodbye yet, Acacius, please - "

He used the last of his freedom to caress your cheeks in both hands to bring you in for a final kiss; desperate yet passionate. "I'll find you again; wherever we go in this life or the next, I'll find you," he rushed, guards seizing his shoulders to try to pry the pair of you apart. "Strength and honor, my star."

"Strength and honor," you repeated, seeing the flicker of amusement on his face - seemingly relieved you were not giving up without a fight.

"I love you," he just managed to promise before grunting when a guard socked him in the gut; deflating the air from his lungs. He was restrained in his own shackles.

"I-I love you, I love you, Acacius, don't do anything rash!"

"Y/N!"

You were yanked apart, but you held each other's gaze until literally cut off by separate rooms.

You were to be confound to your villa for the night under Geta's guards; Acacius taken to the cells under the Colosseum; Lucilla dismissed; Caracalla soothed by his brother's loving hand.

Macrinus lingered in the shadows; maids and Senators left in the side room to eavesdrop. His own plan formed as the Emperors were left alone. As if playing a game of chess, Macrinus made his move and slunk into the room.

[ part one: read here ]

[ part three: read here ]

requesting rules and masterlist -> no Gladiator II masterlist