#this got way longer than i meant it too oops | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

berryispunk · 2 months ago

Text

Serendipity

this is part 2 of 2. part 1 readable here

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: watch me turn smut into poetry, idiots in love, it’s so sweet your teeth may rot, all the fluff, all the feelings, playful banter, flirting, soft! Frankie, they are so in love it’s disgusting, kissing, the boys once again having an appearance, Frankie being sexy playing mini-golf ???, dual POV, established relationship, Frankie can cook, our boy is happy for once :')

summary: You decide to give Frankie a chance, and before you know it, you’re drawn into his world, discovering more about yourself and him with every passing moment.

word count: ~ 6,8k (I may went a bit overboard with this oop)

You weren’t trying to stare, really.

But it was hard not to when Frankie leaned over to line up his shot, tongue caught slightly between his teeth in concentration, hat pulled low over his brow. He made stupid plaid shorts look good. Unfair.

“I feel like you’re taking this way too seriously,” you said, arms crossed and pretending not to be flustered by the way his biceps flexed when he adjusted his grip on the tiny club.

He didn’t even look at you when he replied, “That’s because I play to win.”

Then he tapped the ball, missed the hole entirely, and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

You burst out laughing.

It wasn’t perfect. The fake waterfall behind you was a little too loud. Your slushy was melting too fast. You tripped over the uneven green carpet at one point and nearly wiped out in front of the windmill—but Frankie caught your elbow, steadying you like it was nothing. Like your face wasn’t heating up by the second.

“You good?” he asked, smiling in that quietly amused way of his.

“I meant to do that,” you mumbled, brushing yourself off.

He leaned in a little. “It was graceful,” he said, deadpan.

You rolled your eyes, but the moment stuck—like most things about him seemed to.

He wasn’t perfect either. He missed a bunch of shots, made dumb jokes about golf terms, and pretended to sulk when you got a hole-in-one before him. But every now and then, he’d look at you—not in a checking you out kind of way, but in this you’re actually really fun to be around kind of way—and it made your stomach flip.

By the time you reached the last hole, you weren’t thinking about how awkward the start had been, or how you’d nearly fallen on your face. You were thinking about how he still hadn’t let go of the crumpled scorecard in his back pocket. How his hand brushed yours a little longer than necessary when he handed you the final ball.

And how maybe—just maybe—you were going to stare a little harder next time. Because Frankie was attractive, yes. But also funny. And weirdly sweet. And that was dangerous.

In the best way.

He pulled up in front of your place, engine humming low beneath the silence that had settled after the playlist ran out. Neither of you had reached to turn it back on. The windows were slightly fogged from the warmth inside the car, the night cool and still on the other side of the glass.

You glanced at him, hand on the door handle but not ready to get out just yet.

“So,” you said, turning slightly toward him. “Is this your thing? Picking up girls at bars with tragic lighting and too much Pitbull?”

Frankie smirked, one hand still on the steering wheel. “Only the ones that read.”

You let out a real laugh then—sharp and surprised and a little louder than you meant it to be. And when you looked over, he was already watching you.

Not in a way that made your stomach twist with nerves. In a way that made it flutter.

“That laugh,” he said quietly, like it slipped out without permission. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

You blinked, caught off guard. The words hung there between you like steam on the windshield.

Your fingers twitched against the door handle, and you felt the heat crawl up your neck. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he asked, almost playful. But there was something soft beneath it, like he wasn’t joking entirely. Like he actually meant it.

You shook your head, smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Because it’ll make me stay in this car longer.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Would that be a bad thing?”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him, heart doing this stupid, unsteady thing in your chest.

You weren’t the type to let your guard down easily. Usually, there was more caution than curiosity—more distance than this.

But Frankie disarmed you in a way that didn’t feel reckless. Just easy. Like your ribs weren’t holding everything so tightly anymore.

You looked at him then. Really looked. The quiet curve of his mouth. The way his jawline caught the streetlight. The slight bump in his nose. That annoyingly perfect side profile. And of course, the hat.

“So,” you said, tilting your head. “Are you, like, secretly bald under there?”

He turned to you with a snort. “What?”

“The cap,” you shrugged, pretending to be casual. “You haven’t taken it off once. I’m starting to think you’re hiding something.”

Frankie grinned, slow and a little smug. “You wanna see my mob of hair?”

Your brows lifted. “Mob?”

“That’s what my sister calls it,” he said. “It’s tragic, really. You sure you’re ready?”

You didn’t expect to say yes. But then you did.

“Yeah,” you said softly, like a challenge. “Show me the mob.”

He hesitated just a second longer, then reached up and tugged the cap off.

His hair was tousled, messy from the day and the cap and probably from running his hand through it too much—but it suited him. Dark, thick, a little wavy. Unruly, but honest.

You smiled. “It’s actually kind of great. Nothing that needs to be hidden.”

Frankie gave you this lopsided shrug like he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Your hand moved before your brain caught up. Lightly, fingertips brushing through the strands at the front, pushing them back from his forehead. And he let you. Just… sat there. Quiet and still. Watching you with these warm brown eyes of his.

The moment stretched, warm and vulnerable in that sleepy, late-night way.

You didn’t say anything after that. Neither did he. But something shifted.

It felt like permission. Like possibility.

You finally stepped out of the car, cheeks still warm, hand tingling from the feel of his hair. You gave him one last glance through the open door.

“Night, Frankie.”

“Night,” he said, still smiling like he was stuck in the moment. “Text me when you’re in. Just so I know your building didn’t suddenly vanish or something.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Sure, if the elevator ghosts don’t get me first.”

You closed the door before you said anything else, afraid you’d stay. And when you reached your apartment and leaned against the inside of your door, your phone was already buzzing with a new text.

Frankie: You’re probably rolling your eyes already but… I had a really good time. Even if you did accuse me of being bald 😅

You bit your lip, fingers already flying.

You: I just think people should be honest about who they are. Even if they’re charming, unfairly attractive, and weirdly good at mini-golf. And fine. The hair’s a solid 10 😙

Frankie: Unfairly attractive?? Gonna be riding that high for a week now, thanks. But seriously. This was… really nice. Can we do it again sometime? Maybe somewhere without fake windmills and toddlers screaming in the background? 😟

You: Only if you promise to bring the mob. And maybe lose this time 😉

Frankie: Deal. But I’m still winning. Just a little slower so you don’t cry

You laughed out loud at that, collapsing onto your couch, phone still in hand.

You: You’re ridiculous. But yeah, I’d love to ☺️

The texting didn’t stop.

Morning, midday, after work, before bed. Little comments. Inside jokes. Mini rants about annoying customers (him) or weird elevator neighbors (you). It became constant—effortless.

And somewhere between memes and sarcastic commentary about his music taste, things started getting a little more… suggestive.

You: So when are you showing me your secret playlist with all the sad boy music? I won’t judge. Much 🤭

Frankie: You say that, but I’m still recovering from the “2015 template” comment about my Instagram. You’ve hurt me, deeply 😐

You: I just think you deserve better. Better lighting. Better fonts. A little thirst trap, maybe? Just for balance.

Frankie: If I post a thirst trap, it’ll only be for you. And maybe my one follower from high school who still likes every post I make.

You: You trying to flirt with me, Morales?

Frankie: Would it work if I was?

You paused a beat longer than usual before answering.

You: Yeah. It kinda would 🫣

There was a delay. Not long. Just long enough for your heart to pick up in that way it only did with him.

Frankie: Then I’m gonna keep doing it. Fair warning 😋

Late at night, when you couldn’t sleep, the banter softened.

You: Can’t sleep. Tell me something real.

Frankie: I think about that night at the bar more than I should. You, sitting there with that poetry book. I still don’t know what made me walk over, but I’m glad I did. It didn’t feel like a first meeting. It felt like a pause. Like we were picking something back up

You stared at your screen, blinking through the quiet ache that settled behind his words.

You: Okay that was unfairly poetic. Who’s the reader now? Also… same 🫣

Somewhere in there, things shifted.

The teasing never stopped, but now it lived alongside something warmer, something waiting.

And every time your phone buzzed, your heart answered like it already knew who it was.

You showed up the next morning in leggings and the oversized hoodie you’d slept in. Hair still a little wild. Face bare. Nervous as hell.

He was waiting in the doorway, coffee in hand, and the minute he saw you, his whole face softened.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and a little raspy.

“Hey,” you echoed, breath catching in your throat.

Frankie stepped aside to let you in. You could feel his eyes on you as you passed. You tried not to let it rattle you—but God, it did.

“I didn’t mean to make that weird,” you said quietly, standing in his kitchen like it was too bright for what you were feeling.

“You didn’t.” He handed you the second mug. “I wanted to see you too, don’t worry.”

You looked at him. Really looked. Hair still damp from a shower. Shirt hanging off his frame. Sleep still tugging at his features. But his eyes—God, his eyes—focused on you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice soft.

You nodded.

“I’m not perfect,” he reminded you again, even gentler this time. “But I’ll be real with you. Always.”

“I don’t need perfect,” you said. “I just need you.”

And that? That earned you a chaste kiss that tasted like coffee and quiet promises.

Frankie’s apartment was quiet. Just the hum of the coffee maker and the occasional creak of old floorboards. No loud music, no distractions—just sunlight filtering through the half-closed blinds and the steady rhythm of your breathing slowly syncing with his.

He’d pulled you into the living room after your second cup of coffee, both of you settling on his couch like it was second nature, not the very first time. His arm around your shoulders. Your legs tangled over his. One of his hands resting on your thigh, thumb moving in slow, absent circles.

You leaned into him without even thinking. Your head on his chest. The rise and fall of his breathing grounding you in a way nothing else had in a long time, making your eyes heavy.

It was supposed to be a moment. Just a minute or two.

But you stayed.

You dozed off for a while, slipping in and out of sleep as the afternoon light shifted around you—warm gold softening into the early hues of dusk. The room dimmed slowly, shadows stretching longer, quieter. You barely registered the steady brush of his fingers through your hair, his hand never once leaving you. And when you finally stirred, blinking sleepily up at him, he was already watching you with that soft, steady look—like he’d been doing it for a while. Like he was memorizing every detail.

You almost wished you had a camera to catch this, whatever this was. Because you were certain no one had ever looked at you quite like this before.

“You fell asleep,” he murmured, voice muffled against your hair.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mind.”

You stayed like that longer than you probably should have. But neither of you pulled away. Neither of you said this is too soon or this is dangerous.

“Is this… weird?” you asked eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean—we’ve only known each other for what, a week?”

Frankie’s arm tightened around you slightly. “Maybe. But it doesn’t feel weird.”

“No,” you admitted. “It feels kind of… safe.”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing some hair back from your face. “You feel like a Sunday morning.”

You blinked up at him. “That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve said to me so far.”

He grinned, unapologetic. “Not even close.”

You laughed and hid your face in his shirt, letting his smell fill your senses. “God, you’re dangerous.”

“Only in the good ways,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, soft, but it lingered.

And inside, you were buzzing. Because this—his arms around you, your body pressed close to his, his warmth and steadiness and that look in his eyes—felt too good. Too safe. Too much like something you could get used to.

And that terrified you.

You didn’t want to move. Neither of you did but eventually you had to.

But the sun was setting, cutting through the blinds in long golden and purple lines, and time kept ticking forward like it always does.

Eventually, you sat up with a sleepy groan and Frankie rubbed a hand over his face, like waking up without you pressed against him required more energy than he had.

“I should go,” you said, stretching.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t push or ask when he’d see you next. He just nodded, like he already knew.

Still, you moved slow—pulling your hoodie back on, gathering your things with fingers that dragged a little too long across the surface of his coffee table. Like you were anchoring yourself.

Like you didn’t really want to leave.

Frankie walked you to the door, sleepy eyes still somehow locked on you like you were the only thing in focus. And when you turned to him, your heart thudded stupidly loud in your chest.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you said, teasing gently. “And the accidental nap.”

He smiled, a hand running through his tousled locks. So much better than the cap.

“Best part of my day.”

You wanted to kiss him again. You almost did.

But instead, you stepped out into the sinking sunlight with a half-smile and a parting glance over your shoulder.

What you didn’t see—what you didn’t plan—was the little thing you left behind.

Half an hour later, Frankie found it.

Your hair tie, wrapped around the base of his coffee mug.

You’d barely made it home when your phone buzzed.

Frankie: You left something here 😅

A pause. Then another message.

Frankie: Guess I’ll have to keep it hostage until I see you again 😌

You smirked, flopping back onto your bed like you hadn’t been thinking about him since the second you walked out the door.

You: I knew it. You lured me into your place just to steal my stuff 😨

Frankie: Guilty. Hair tie now lives here. Right next to my extremely basic coffee mug ☕️

You: God, is that mug older than your Instagram aesthetic?

Frankie: Careful. Insult my mug again and I’ll keep your hoodie next time too 😤

Your smile softened.

You: So what you’re saying is… you already want there to be a next time ?

A minute passed. Then:

Frankie: Yeah, I really do.

Your stomach did that ridiculous little flip, the kind you usually rolled your eyes at in rom-coms.

You stared at the screen for a second longer before typing back:

You: Good. Because I left that hair tie on purpose.

Only a few days later in his apartment it smelled like garlic and butter, warm and rich and unfairly good.

You leaned against the counter, watching him move around the kitchen with sleeves rolled and a focused furrow between his brows that only made him more annoyingly attractive. He was surprisingly confident behind the stove—measuring, tossing, tasting like it was second nature.

“I’m sorry,” you said, after stealing a bite of pasta from the pot, “but this is actually incredible. Like—date him for the food alone level good.”

Frankie flashed you a grin over his shoulder. “What, you thought I couldn’t cook?”

“I thought you were all hat and no apron.”

He chuckled, wiping his hands on a dish towel before leaning in to steal a kiss. Quick, soft. Like a punctuation mark.

Dinner was good—borderline too good. The kind that lingered on your tongue and made you feel a little too comfortable in a home that wasn’t yours.

But then again, everything about Frankie felt like that. Natural and effortless. Dangerous in the slowest, most tender way.

Later, you curled up together on his couch, both of you full and warm, the soft glow of an old movie playing in the background. Neither of you were really watching—your focus was on the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers, felt through the worn cotton of a faded band tee, the print barely recognizable from years of wear. His hand rested on your hip, thumb moving in slow, steady circles, like he wasn’t in any rush to be anywhere else.

And then, suddenly—he stilled.

It was subtle. Just the way his fingers stopped moving. The way his chest didn’t rise quite as deep. The way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly beneath your cheek.

You pulled back just slightly. “Frankie?”

He blinked, his gaze flicking down to you like he hadn’t realized he was somewhere else.

“I, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, that nervous tic slipping through the cracks. “There’s something I should probably tell you.”

Your stomach pulled tight, a knot of dread winding low and sharp. Your heart thudded in your ears, too loud, too fast. Please don’t say you have a wife. Or a kid. Or some life I don’t know about waiting just around the corner. You didn’t dare say it out loud, but the thought hit hard—ridiculous maybe, but real. Because he felt real. And the idea of him hiding something like that made your breath catch in your throat.

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he spoke—steady, but there was something in them, a flicker of nerves he couldn’t mask. “I’m in recovery,” he said, voice low. “Coke. Mostly. It got bad for a while.”

He swallowed, jaw tightening before he continued. “It’s been two years. Clean. But it’s… it’s hard to talk about. Still. Not because I’m ashamed, just…” He looked down for a second, rubbed his thumb against the side of your hand like it grounded him. “I don’t want you to see me differently. But I also didn’t wanna lie. Not to you.”

Then his eyes found yours again, soft and open. “You deserve to know the whole story.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you said softly, your voice quiet but unwavering. “That doesn’t scare me, Frankie. Not even a little.”

He blinked, brow tightening like he wasn’t sure he believed you, like the words didn’t quite fit into the story he told himself. In that moment, he looked smaller—like the truth had taken something out of him.

You reached for his hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles, grounding him the same way he did for you. “It’s part of your story,” you murmured. “But it’s not you. Not all of you.”

He let out a breath, slow and shaky, like your words had cracked something open and let the light in.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you added gently. “Just let me see you.”

His eyes met yours then, soft in a way that made something inside you ache—because maybe no one had ever told him that before. And when he leaned in this time, the kiss wasn’t urgent. It was tender. Deep.

No walls. No masks. Just him, letting you see it all.

And you? You weren’t going anywhere.

Frankie woke first. He always did.

The light was soft through the curtains, painting lazy streaks across the hardwood floor, catching in your hair where it spilled across his pillow. You were curled against him, your leg tucked over his, fingers resting just above his chest like they belonged there.

And maybe they did.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t want to risk waking you—not when you looked like that. Completely at ease. Like, just for a night, the weight of the world had finally let go of your shoulders. You made mornings like this feel sacred. Like something worth taking slow.

He could still taste you on his lips. Sweet, a little bit intoxicating too.

Last night hadn’t gone any further than kissing—your mouths slow and exploring, hands reverent but still careful. It wasn’t that he didn’t want more. God, he did. It lived in the back of his throat, in the tension wound tight in his muscles. Every brush of your fingers, every breathy little laugh you gave him when he kissed down your jaw had lit him up from the inside out.

But it hadn’t been about that.

It had been about trust. About feeling safe enough to let each other in. He’d told you the thing he was most scared of—and you hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t pulled away.

You’d just held his hand tighter—and still looked at him. Not just the broken parts that needed fixing, but all of him.

And now, with the morning wrapped around both of you, he couldn’t stop looking at you. Your lashes fluttered against your cheeks. Your lips parted in sleep. And all he could think about was how much he wanted you—yes, physically, fiercely—but also in the smaller, quieter ways.

He wanted your voice in his kitchen. Your hoodie tossed on his couch. Your hair tie looped around the handle of his favorite coffee mug like it belonged there. He wanted you curled up next to him in bed, taking up too much space—the kind he’d complain about to anyone else, but never to you.

His fingers traced lightly over your hip where the blanket had slipped down, just enough to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his touch.

You stirred, blinking up at him, and Frankie offered a small smile.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

You gave him that sleepy half-smile that knocked the breath right out of his chest.

Yeah, he was so fucked.

The morning moved slowly, and Frankie let it. No rush, no noise—just the low hum of music playing from the speaker on his counter and the occasional clink of cutlery as he flipped pancakes with one hand, your oversized hoodie hanging off your frame as you leaned against the island, nursing a mug of coffee like you’d done it a hundred times before.

God, you looked good like that.

Domestic. Here.

His kitchen had never felt warmer.

You were humming along to the song playing—something old-school and smooth, the kind of track his dad used to play on Sunday mornings—and Frankie couldn’t help but smile at the sound. His chest felt full. Like he’d been holding his breath for years without realizing it and now, somehow, you were the exhale.

When you reached for a strawberry from the bowl he’d just rinsed, he swatted your hand playfully.

“Those are for the pancakes.”

You shrugged, popping it in your mouth anyway. “Consider it quality control.”

Frankie rolled his eyes but there was no heat behind it. Just fondness. Endless, quiet, stupid fondness.

He served the pancakes, sat across from you at the small table, and listened as you rambled about how eggs always taste better when someone else makes them and how his coffee game was finally improving.

And then, just as he was about to take a bite, your voice softened.

“I went on a lot of dates before you.”

Frankie glanced up.

“None of them ever stuck,” you said, not quite meeting his eyes. “They all felt like… noise. Like I was trying to prove I wasn’t too much for someone.”

He didn’t say anything, just waited, giving you the space to continue.

You smiled—small, a little crooked, not as sure of yourself as he’d come to know you. “I never thought I’d be the girl sitting alone at a bar with a poetry book… and end up meeting someone who actually stayed. Who really listened.”

You looked down for a second, then back at him. “I always thought I was too loud. Too sharp. Just… too much me.”

Frankie blinked, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth, completely forgotten. Something tugged tight in his chest. He knew that feeling—being too much and never enough, all at once.

Maybe the two of you were just a pair of lost souls who somehow fit. Like you’d found something in each other you hadn’t even known you were searching for. Something quiet. Effortless. Like understanding without needing to speak it out loud.

Frankie looked at you across the table, the way your fingers absently toyed with the edge of your plate. And he realized something else too—that it wasn’t just comfort he found in you. It was hope.

You made space for him without demanding he be anything more than what he was. And that scared him a little. Because it was rare. Because it felt like something he could ruin if he wasn’t careful.

“I felt so stupid that night,” you admitted, cutting through his thoughts, voice barely above a whisper. “Sitting there alone with that book, trying to pretend I wasn’t completely gutted my date ditched me.”

You looked at him then, eyes a little softer. “But then you showed up. And somehow, it didn’t feel like such a bad night anymore. Like maybe the universe messed up just right.”

Frankie swallowed hard and leaned forward, one hand finding yours across the table, grounding it.

“You weren’t too much,” he said softly. “They were too little.”

Your eyes glassed over a little, and Frankie squeezed your hand gently.

“You don’t need to be less of anything to be worthy of something good,” he added. “And I swear to God, you—sitting there with that book like a goddamn fever dream—you were the only thing in that bar I wanted to pay attention to.”

The silence that followed was warm, weighted.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you said, “You only say that because you still want to sleep with me.” Frankie’s grin turned playful. “Well, that’s part of it,” he said with a wink. “But mostly, it’s because I’m really into pancakes... and you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you grabbed a strawberry from the plate and tossed it lightly at his head. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, still smiling.

Frankie caught the berry with a laugh, pretending to inspect it. “I think that was a compliment,” he said, popping it in his mouth. "I’ll take it.”

It had been almost two weeks since that night at the bar, and somehow, in the middle of stolen kisses, late-night texts, and slow mornings tangled up in each other, you had become a constant.

Tonight, Frankie was bringing you into his world.

The boys were already gathered when you arrived—music playing low, laughter echoing from the kitchen. It smelled like beer and pizza and the kind of memories that never leave a room. Frankie’s hand hovered at the small of your back as he led you inside, grounding, reassuring. You were nervous—he could feel it—but you still smiled.

And then Benny spotted you.

“You’re the poetry girl,” he grinned like he’d just cracked some long-running inside joke. “The mythical bar unicorn. I thought you weren’t real.”

Frankie groaned under his breath. “Jesus, Ben.”

You laughed, though, relaxing at the warm chaos of it all. “Guilty as charged.”

Will came over next, polite and calm with a quiet smile. “It’s good to finally meet you. Frankie talks a lot about you.” Then, after a pause: “Like a lot a lot.”

“Will,” Frankie muttered, shooting him a warning look.

Will just chuckled, passing you a drink. “Ignore him. He’s been insufferable since you showed up in his life.”

Santiago leaned against the counter nearby, nodding at you with that easy confidence. “You’re braver than most. Walking straight into the lion’s den.”

You smiled. “I figured if I survived Benny’s Instagram stalking, I could survive anything.”

“Oh, she’s quick,” Santi said, laughing as Benny threw his hands up dramatically in protest.

The evening passed with the hum of comfort. Jokes and memories thrown across the table, Frankie’s hand brushing against yours under it when he thought no one was looking. And you liked them—each of them, in their own way. Will, observant and dryly funny. Benny, loud but never unkind. And Santi—somehow both laid back and deeply perceptive.

Later, as the others argued over what movie to put on, Santi came to stand beside you in the kitchen, both of you half-watching Frankie refill drinks at the counter, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in fake concentration.

“He’s a good one,” Santi said casually.

You smiled. “Yeah. He really is.”

There was a pause. Then, soft enough you almost missed it, Santi added, “Didn’t see him that happy in forever.”

It landed quietly, threading itself into your chest. Making it feel warm, almost glowing.

You looked at Frankie again—at the little crease between his brows, the soft curve of his smile when he glanced your way, and that thing he always did when he caught you looking, like he couldn’t quite believe you were still there.

And you knew that sentence—Santi’s voice, that truth—would echo in your heart for a long time.

Frankie had driven you home. Neither of you had said much on the way—just a comfortable silence, hands brushing occasionally on the console, that soft look in his eyes whenever he glanced over.

Now, in your living room, lit only by the warm glow of a lamp in the corner, he stood close. Too close to pretend either of you wanted distance anymore.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, searching.

You nodded. “Yeah. I liked them. Your friends.”

He smiled, but it was gentler now. “They liked you too.”

You let that settle, eyes searching his face. “Santi said something.”

Frankie raised a brow. “Oh?”

You nodded. “Said he hasn’t seen you this happy in forever.”

He looked down for a beat, rubbed the back of his neck with that same boyish tell you’d learned to read. “Yeah, well. They’ve seen me at my worst.”

“And now?”

He looked up again, and you swore the world slowed down a little.

“Now I’ve got you,” he said simply, like it wouldn’t be absolutely monumental, and maybe a bit crazy too. It wasn’t polished, but it was real. All of it. Honest in a way that curled around your heart and stayed there.

You stepped closer.

And Frankie didn’t move. Just let you come to him, his hands sliding to your waist like they’d been waiting to rest there forever. His forehead leaned into yours, noses brushing, breath shared.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, even now—always asking.

You nodded.

The kiss began like all the others—slow, sure, laced with the kind of carefulness that only comes with meaning. But then it deepened. His hands tightened at your waist, warm and steady, firm without ever asking too much. Your fingers slipped into the curls at the nape of his neck, and that was when you felt it—the subtle shiver that ran through him, giving away just how much that one simple touch unraveled him. Something shifted then. The air turned heavier, charged with everything neither of you had said out loud. When you finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his eyes found yours again. Still searching. Still making sure.

And then you were both moving, like the decision had already been made before either of you could voice it. Clothes came off in the quiet, in between kisses and glances and soft laughs at buttons that wouldn’t cooperate. There wasn’t any rush—just a slow unraveling, like each layer you peeled away brought you closer to something raw, the quiet intimacy making your heart ache in the best way.

You ended up in your bed, tangled together beneath soft sheets. The city buzzed faintly outside the window, distant and unimportant. All you could hear was his breathing, all you could feel were his hands all over you with nothing but gentleness and reverence and all you could think was this is him—this is really happening.

He moved over you like he already knew how. Not in some performative, rehearsed way, but with an intimacy that said I’m here. I want you to feel this. I want you to feel safe. Every kiss he trailed across your skin felt intentional, like a vow. Every brush of his fingertips was a quiet question: Is this okay? And your body answered without hesitation, arching into him, aching for more while still not wanting to rush. You felt like you were burning from the inside out, not just from desire, but from how much you wanted him—this man who was being so careful with your heart.

You whispered his name when he finally entered you, and something in him shifted. His eyes squeezed shut like the feeling wrecked him, and his hand found yours, fingers lacing tight as he pinned them gently above your head. He held you like he was scared you might vanish beneath him. But you were there—real, aching, undone in the best way. His expression was a fragile mix of hesitation, wonder, and that quiet fear of getting it wrong. But he couldn’t mess this up. Not with the way he touched you like you were precious. Not when everything about him felt like something you’d been unknowingly waiting for.

The rhythm you found was slow, almost achingly tender—like you were both trying to make time stretch, to memorize every second. You felt the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of each breath he exhaled against your skin. You kissed his shoulder; he pressed one to the bridge of your nose. Between sighs and shivers, you murmured quiet, silly things into the curve of his neck—words that made him smile, even as his chest rose too fast and the vein in his throat stood out from the effort of holding back, of keeping this slow, of feeling everything.

It was messy and intimate and real. Your bodies learning each other in pauses and sighs, laughter slipping between touches, and the occasional, clumsy shift of legs or arms that made you both giggle under your breath. But none of it took away from the depth. If anything, it made it more you. You both never were perfect and you didn’t need to be.

When it was over and your bodies finally stilled, his forehead rested against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin. You kept holding him like the world might shift if you let go, your hands trailing slow, soothing lines up and down his back.

His breath was still shaky as he whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Yeah. You?”

He exhaled, then nodded too. “Yeah. More than okay actually.”

And in the hush that followed, tangled together in soft sheets and city light, you realized something had shifted—quietly, permanently. You hadn’t just slept together. You’d let each other in. And it didn’t feel scary.

It felt like love.

It felt like home.

The apartment looked more like a storage unit than a home. Boxes towered at odd angles, one already half-crushed from someone (him) accidentally sitting on it. The living room rug was rolled up like a giant burrito, and somewhere in the chaos, the toaster was still MIA.

It had been two years since the bar.

Somehow—without either of you noticing exactly when—you’d made his place yours too. First it was a second toothbrush. Then a drawer. Your books stacked beside his. Your coffee in the pantry. Your hoodie always draped over his desk chair like it belonged there.

You never asked. Never had to. You just… stayed. And it made sense. Like it had always been meant to be this way.

You were moving fast, your lives folding into each other with quiet ease, a kind of symbiosis that felt natural. Frankie never minded. If anything, he counted his blessings every single day.

You filled his apartment with warmth. Your laugh echoed through the walls, tinting even his darkest days with gold. Your chaotic attempts at cooking, when the kitchen looked like a war zone and you did too—hair in a messy bun, tomato sauce on your cheek—made him feel like he’d won some cosmic lottery.

He’d never been the type to believe in fate. But meeting you? That felt a lot like serendipity.

“Babe?” you called from the kitchen. “Why is the bathroom box labeled ‘Frankie’s secret weapons’?”

He stuck his head in from the hallway, hair tousled, a dust smear across one cheek. “Because that’s where I keep the good stuff. Cologne, razor, anxiety meds, backup deodorant. The essentials.”

You laughed and shook your head. Wiped your forehead with the hem of your shirt, and God, he loved you. He crossed the room, still holding a rogue coffee mug like it was some sacred thing, and kissed your temple without a word.

It was chaos. But it was your chaos.

And you were engaged.

The proposal hadn’t been some grand thing. No audience, no fireworks , no videos for the internet. Just the two of you, tucked into the corner booth of the restaurant that had become your place.

He couldn’t eat. Kept fidgeting with the ring box in his pocket until his hands shook.

Then he’d just set it on the table—right between your fries and his untouched drink—and looked at you.

No speech. No plan. Just:

“I wanna do this with you forever. If you’ll let me.”

You’d cried. He had too. Your food went cold and neither of you cared.

And it hadn’t even been a surprise, not really.

A few weeks before, you’d been curled up on the couch, your legs draped over his. The kind of silence that felt like home. He’d been tracing lazy circles on your arm when he murmured into your hair,

“Would you say yes if I asked?”

You turned to look at him like he’d grown another head. “You for real now?”

He grinned, sheepish. “Hypothetically.”

“Frankie,” you warned. “If you drop thousands on some stupid shiny rock, I swear to God—”

“Noted,” he’d laughed, yelping when you punched his arm.

The ring was simple. Nothing flashy. But it was him—understated, honest. Yours.

Now, standing in the middle of a half-unpacked future, Frankie reached into a box labeled Misc but Important?? and froze.

His fingers curled around a familiar paperback.

He pulled it out slowly. “No way.”

You looked up. “What?”

He turned the book in his hands, like some artifact from an ancient world. “It’s the poetry book. From the bar.”

Your eyes widened as he handed it over. You opened it to the dog-eared page, the one you’d been reading when he first saw you—lit by neon, too beautiful for the room.

“You kept it,” you murmured.

Frankie rubbed the back of his neck, heart stammering like it used to when he was trying to figure out what to text you in those early days. “Guess it stuck. Like you did.”

You stepped closer, pressing your forehead to his, the book still between you like some kind of lucky talisman.

“I still can’t believe I brought a poetry book to a bar,” you whispered.

Frankie grinned, eyes warm. “You say that like it wasn’t your plan to seduce me with metaphors.”

You smirked, lips curving like trouble. “You only came over ‘cause I was the only girl not glued to her phone.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Nah. I came over because you looked like you were waiting for someone to prove you wrong.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly—the kind of sound that never failed to make his heart stutter. Then you gently tapped the edge of the book against his chest. He caught your wrist before you could pull away, easing you closer until you were nestled against him.

Two years. And you still felt like the most unreal thing that had ever happened to him.

thanks for reading 💌

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taglist (so many ?? you guys are CRAZY, mwah 💋 I also tagged folks i saw regularly in my notifs, if i missed you or you don't wanna be here, just let me know 🤍)

@speaktothehandpeasants @kakiki3 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @whirlwindrider29 @sheepdogchick3 @brittmb115 @greenwitchfromthewoods @biapascal @beaniebailey @thepilatesprincess @axshadows @kirsteng42 @joelsgoodgirl @ellenmunn @matchalov3 @canadianfangirl-95 @picketniffler @hotforpedro @tuquoquebrute @noovaarq @warmdragonfly @theanothersherlockian

#frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #fanfiction writer #berryfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #fluff #soft! Frankie #my fic writing #x reader fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #meet cute #playful banter #x you fluff #x you smut

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kizxxxxz · 3 months ago

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Oops !

pairing ⸺ jealous!sprout x fem!reader summary ⸺ your best friend isn't too happy about the new friend you've made. tags ⸺ jealousy, semi-public, caught, rough sex, groping, light bondage, making out, marking, light choking, scratching, orgasm denial, biting, loud, hair pulling. word count ⸺ 1,111 words 5,925 characters notes ⸺ no good reason for writing this help me😍

--- Let's just say this started a few weeks ago. You had been helping Rodger carry around paperwork, manage his cases and what not - you'd say you were just helping a friend. Maybe every now and then Rodger let out a little flirty comment or two and you flirted back but it was friendly and you both knew the other meant nothing of it, until Sprout found out and maybe even witnessed one of the few times these interactions happened.. His reaction? Not the best.

Before that though, you had been yet again assisting Rodger in his usual duties and gosh was it tiring. He glanced over at you and scoffed out a laugh at how sweaty and tired you looked yet you had only been helping for 20 minutes.

"Hah, you alright?" You looked up with a slight shock before laughing as well and nodding.

"Never been better…" You finally got to his office and put the stack of papers down before you turned to him as he left to get the last stack, informing you it may take a minute since he had to sort them first but to wait for him so they could catch up later, you agreed and stayed.

You looked at the marked papers in curiosity before you heard footsteps behind you. A swift turn to check who it was and your panic was quickly soothed at the sight of your good friend, Sprout. Though maybe he wasn't as delighted to see you as you were him.

"Having fun?" He crossed his arms and looked you up and down as if you were guilty and the way he looked at you made you feel guilty alright..

"I guess? He's just making me carry papers for him so maybe not.." His gaze sharpened but he smirked right after as if he had an idea. Slow steps towards you trapped you between him and the desk behind you which you were now gripping with anticipation. What was he doing? No idea, don't ask me! The close proximity between you two was unbearable for you only as it seemed to not affect him at all and you thought you were maybe overreacting, he was your friend after all! Why were you getting hot all of a sudden..?

"Would you wanna go out for some tea later?" He mocked and for a split second you were confused before it settled in that you had asked Rodger that same question just 10 minutes ago and you flushed, especially when he said it like that.

"As friends? Why does it matter to you anyway..?" That seemed to anger him a bit, unbeknownst to you he had liked you for longer than he can even recall and the fact that you spend all your time flirting with Rodger openly with him instead of picking up on the millions of hints he drops for you everyday very obviously pissed him off.

"You never ask me to go out with you for tea." He challenged and you furrowed your brows in confusion. You hung out with him everyday and you wanted to say this but angering him further from now would've dug you an early grave - something you didn't want.

You looked away with a half-guilty expression and felt yourself get even hotter as it dawned on you what kind of position you were in against him, basically at his mercy. Thoughts bubbled up in your head overwhelmingly until you felt a hand at your waist and when you looked up your surprised eyes met his dark and lust-coloured ones, only turning you on more.

He slips off his scarf and you stare at his now bare neck in curiosity before he moved his hands behind you and then you felt your hands being tied, your thighs shook at the feeling of the thick material binding your hands. Speaking of thighs, he snuck his hands under yours and lifted them to wrap around his waist and positioned you at the end of the desk comfortably.

Taking off whatever you had on he finally got his hands on your neck, lightly squeezing which shook you to your core and made you quiver lightly beneath him - something he picked up on and smiled. His free hand trailed to your chest and grabbed at it shamelessly, staring at the flesh sitting so neatly in his hands as if it was made for only him to hold. His lips find your shoulder, then your neck and soon enough he's at your jaw and kissing, biting leaving any kind of mark to show that he was on you and you were all his.

Unfortunately for him he had to release your chest and instead had to forcefully pull you back by your hair, bunching it up mercilessly and pulling it back so he had more access to your neck which was also beginning to become obviously marked. You were surprised but smiled a bit and let out a noise of approval as he battered your neck with his soft lips. Shifted his grip to your thighs which were actively tightening around him and spread them open forcefully to your almost shameful wetness. He reaches down with two fingers and spreads your folds playfully as you stare in embarrassment. A thumb is pressed against your clit, smooth motion stimulating you nicely, throwing your head back further and accidentally making you fall back further onto the desk.

"Careful.." He laughs at your desperation and pulls himself out of his pants, already hard and standing tall before he lightly positions his length on your clit and admiring how much smaller you were - to be fair he was taller than most toons at GardenView but he only had eyes for you anyway so nobody else mattered.

You laughed too and sat up before he pushed into you, you instantly pressed your chest against his but ended up arching your back at the unfamiliar feeling. His thickness opening your walls without a second though or any sign of hesitation and you realized this wasn't just a last second decision but that he really meant this. After a while of adjustment he finally begins to move and you cant help but be loud, his solution for this? Untying your hands and instead tying it around your mouth and securing it at the back. He pushed you back onto the desk so you laid against it with your thighs still squeezing around him, thrusting in a slow motion as he took both of your wrists and held them loosely in his one hand - putting it up above your head to have you splayed out on the desk.

When he picked up his pace you almost drooled and felt yourself getting closer and closer to spilling over the edge. Slightly louder moans slipped past you and you rolled your eyes back, ready for an orgasm that - wasn't coming.

He stopped.

You looked at him and he was just smirking at you, you panicked and sat up a bit. He pulled out and sat you up against his chest again, you were confused and drowsy from the orgasm that had been denied when you least expected it..

"You look disappointed. You think you deserved an orgasm after flirting with him and not me?" He glared and you felt yourself crying a bit, in which he saw and his gaze softened only for him to let out a soft and calm laugh that contrasted his statement.

"I love you.." You muffled through the wet thick fabric sitting in your mouth and preventing you from making some noise. He smiled at that and pressed his soft lips against yours, not rough at all, like he loved you back (he did).

"With all the shit I went through to get you here I'd say it was worth it.." Picking you up he held you tightly and thrusted up into you, your nails clawing at his back at your orgasm returning and the hurry in his movement. He placed you onto the desk and started going faster.

You missed it but the door opened. Not stopping, Sprout turned his head to the door only to see Rodger who had dropped his papers and was now standing there obviously bewildered - he smirked and stared right at him as he leaned down to kiss you as you moaned and orgasmed right then and there, Sprout's coming not long after yours. Rodger closed the door abruptly and Sprout laughed, unsure what he was laughing at you laughed a tiny bit along more happy to have done all of that with him rather than caring about what he found funny. You reached up to touch his face and then you realized you were on Rodger's desk, You look towards the door to see some papers in front of it.

You gasped and sat up - that's what he was laughing at.

note ; AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i love sprout gng. (someone give me requests im going insane)

#evafics #dw sprout #sprout seedly #dandys world sprout #sprout x reader #sprout x reader smut #dandys world smut #dandys world #sprout seedly smut #sprout smut #dandysworld #dandysworld smut #sprout seedly dandys world #sprout seedly dandysworld #sprout dandysworld #dandysworld sprout #sprout dandys world

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dallaji · 2 years ago

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Hope we make it to the Cloud.

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: Amidst an identity crisis, you try to adequately prepare for your solo comeback. The lyrics have already been perfected, the song recorded and the visuals pinpointed. However, your creative team is not fully convinced by the choreography you came up with. They decide to send over one Bada Lee to help you finetune your jumbled ideas and bring harmony to your vision. You just have one specific request: the routine must include a trampoline.

WORD COUNT: 10k

CW: eventual smut, bada is 100% a giver and not a receiver in this jsyk (but i promise it makes sense in context), hinted voyeurism.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was meant to be pure smut but it became much longer than i intended ... oops for that . . . lets just roll with it!!1 also the choreo described is heavily inspired by tinashes bouncin.

- you don't care about those 7k words worth of boring build up? skip to this line: <After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”>

————— ୨୧ —————

The first thing you notice is how surprisingly gentle her voice is.

“I’m Bada, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Bada Lee stood tall in front of you, clad in an oversized jersey, cargo pants and a cap hugging her forehead in such a way her eyes were entirely obscured from your view. She promptly bowed after she spoke. Unsure where to look, you dropped your gaze and followed suit; vaguely aware of her seniority and bowing deeper.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” You tried to keep your own voice as neutral as possible, but agitation bubbled in your chest as you felt your manager’s prodding, eager eyes behind you. “Thanks for being here.”

Your team was much more excited about this collaboration than you were.

None of the aggravation you felt was Bada’s fault. It had been three weeks of your creative team dismissing every choreo draft you came up with: Three weeks of sleepless nights at the dance studio, tiring out yourself and your background dancers. Three weeks of browsing through videos sent in by other choreographers across the country, attempting to mix bits and pieces together but none of it ever feeling right. Three weeks filled with reminders of a deadline looming over your head. Three weeks of your team letting you know they had little confidence in this comeback. Your last attempt at showing them what you had come up with had ended up in a shouting match. Your manager, who you otherwise got along with just fine, bluntly stated that, perhaps, this concept simply wasn’t something you could pull off.

It had left you feeling betrayed. Your creative team had agreed it was time for you to approach a more mature concept, something that you felt was years overdue. But it seemed their definition of mature and yours were wildly different. You had worked hard on perfecting a set of songs to choose from, but you immediately butted heads with the rest of the team. You wanted to do the bouncy and playful R&B track. Your team wanted the EDM track. Eventually they relented, but now seemed hellbent on making it as difficult as possible for your vision to come to fruition. Putting together the visual board for the concept photos and the eventual music video was a similarly arduous process. You had to meet in the middle and sacrifice a lot of your initial ideas, but that procedure was almost pleasant compared to what you were dealing with in regards to the choreography.

Every idea you put forward was promptly shut down. Too complicated. Too boring. No TikTok challenge potential. Too sexy.

And maybe it was true. Your formations weren’t as clean as the ones thought up by a professional choreographer, but you weren’t really given a chance at all. It wasn’t like you were a bad dancer either. Far from it. You picked up choreos incredibly fast and had always played an active part in brainstorming past routines alongside your background dancers. You had more experience than most of your peers, yet you were treated as if you were still the same teenaged trainee from years ago.

“Is that really how you all feel?” You had whispered after your manager dropped that bombshell, searching for an answer in the facial expressions of your creative team. Most of them were not even willing to meet your eyes. “We just need to be realistic.” Your manager stated matter-of-factly. “That other song is still an opt—” “I am not changing the song.” You cut him off. Momentarily, your manager looked like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. “Sorry.” You added quickly, albeit a bit flustered. “Look,” He sighed, “We can do mature without shocking the nation. Let's keep it mild for now and maybe after two or three more singles, you can go all out.” “I haven’t been 18 in years, you know.” You retorted bitterly. Something inside you understood where he was coming from, but you had been obedient since your debut- how much longer should you wait? You didn’t want to sacrifice any more of your creativity, so many years into your career. You had even seen one of your own concepts go to a labelmate instead, your own team dubbing you too “youthful” to pull it off. “Okay, how about this,” He began with a frown, “Let us pick one of the choreographers’ drafts for you. You can finetune it with their guidance.”

Their pick had been Bada. You hadn’t even realized she sent in a draft: at one point you were so overwhelmed you just stopped checking your emails. You also hadn’t bothered to watch it before this meeting. You were genuinely too deep in your feelings about that whole ordeal for that. However, now that she was standing in the studio, tall height towering over you, you couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious.

You had seen Bada around.

After all, she had worked with many of your labelmates before. You had also watched a fair amount of her videos. She was one of the best in the business, and whenever you had downtime to practice freely you scrolled through her routines on Youtube to help stay in shape. As you were facing her, even with half her face hidden, you understood why everyone was so stricken with her. When she had walked into the room she oozed with authority, though not in an obnoxious way.

“Great!” Your manager clapped his hands, effectively breaking your train of thought. “Thank you so much for supporting us, Bada. Shall we jump right in?”

“Sure,” She nodded eagerly, hands wringing together as her body turned towards you. “I kind of wanted to see what you had in mind for this choreo.”

That surprised you, and you were certain your facial expression wasn’t hiding it. Your manager held his breath. “Oh! Well—” You chewed on your lip as you vaguely motioned the corner of the room, trying to find the words. “I wanted to use… I wanted to use a trampoline.”

Bada immediately turned her head to follow your gestures, her eyes landing on the mini trampoline set up in the studio. “A trampoline?” In the background, your manager heaved a sigh.

You purposely ignored him and nodded, slowly: “I can show you, if you want.” You had hoped that sounded more self-assured to her than it did to you.

Bada scratched her chin, still looking off to the trampoline, and then nodded along with you. “I’d love to see it.”

You felt the tension in your chest ebb away. There was no malice to her tone; she seemed genuinely curious.

Then, Bada turned her head towards your manager, her ponytail falling off her shoulder. “I hope I'm not imposing but, I would like this to be a collaborative effort between the two of us. I think it would take the pressure off if you…?” She trailed off with a kind smile, one impossible to say no to.

As if he got doused with cold water, your manager stood up with an urgency. “Privacy! I can give you two some privacy, no problem!” He fussed around, gathering his things. “Just let me know when we can sit in on the finished product.”

The both of you bowed to him as you bid your farewells, watching him leave the studio with a wave. Once the door shut behind him, you could feel yourself exhale in relief. You knew that if your manager was going to sit in on every practice, he would go out of his way to shut down all of your ideas. Without him around, you had more opportunity to champion your vision- at least, you hoped so.

You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, before letting your eyes fall shut with a sigh, almost forgetting there was another person in the room.

“They’ve been on your case, huh?”

Bada's soft but clear voice broke you out of your spell, and you turned your head to search for a glimpse of eye contact. Tough luck, as her hat was still in place casting a shadow down her face. There was, however, a knowing smirk playing across her features.

“You have no idea.” You muttered honestly. Bada laughed.

“I don’t want to make you dance a routine you don’t fully stand behind. I did mean it when I said I want this to be a collaborative effort.” Bada spoke carefully, but sincerely, her fingers once again intertwining. “I always wanted to work with you, so it’s an honor.” She added.

If you got a penny for every time you were caught off guard today, you could set some humble savings aside for an early retirement.

It is true that you’ve been sought after, but it wasn’t something you had ever internalized. Hearing it come from someone who herself was heavily sought after, made your face heat up.

“T- thank you. It’s an honor to work with you too.”

She bowed her head humbly, glancing over to the corner of the studio again where the trampoline sat, waiting. “Do you feel comfortable showing me what you have been working on?”

You nodded and rushed to the corner to set up your speaker, and then dragged the trampoline to the center of the room. You were oddly aware of your own presence, and almost felt the urge to make yourself smaller as you moved around. In the meantime, Bada was getting comfortable: she had dropped her things on a nearby table and left out a bottle of water. To her it must be a regular working day, but to you this felt scarier than getting up on stage.

Once you stood behind the trampoline, facing the wide stretched mirror filling up one side of the room, you stole a glance at the choreographer who was now crouched on the floor. She had pulled out a small camera and was setting it up on the edge of the table, making sure the lens was focused on your position. Long fingers fiddled with the buttons, and her tongue was prodding the hollow of her cheek. The angle allowed you to finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.

As if on cue, she glanced up at you. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and your heart raced.

She gave you a soft smile and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, the camera now fully set up. “I usually record everything, so we can watch it back and give feedback.”

Right, of course.

“Yeah, that’s usually how we operate as well.” You spoke timidly, and it was true. Yet something about having her attention on you felt more intimate. Usually there was at least one other person from your creative team looking on as well.

Trying to come across casual, you tied your hair up in a high ponytail. “What do you think of the song?” You asked curiously.

It was now Bada’s turn to be caught off guard. Her smile faltered and she broke the eye contact you had been sharing, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “I like it.” She began. “A lot, actually. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. There isn’t anyone doing a song like this nowadays.”

Even though her body language was confusing, you couldn’t find any dishonesty in her voice. What she said made you feel relieved, some of your insecurity fading to the background. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it.

You sent a smile her way even though you weren’t sure she was even looking at you.

Proving you wrong, she smiled back.

“Alright, so,” You gestured to the trampoline at your feet. “The idea is, the other dancers and I all do the same routine. I'll be front and center. Four or six other dancers dance behind me, with their own trampoline.” You gave the trampoline a light shove with your foot, making sure it would stay in place, and then grabbed your phone. “Then you have an idea.”

You looked over your shoulder at Bada and gave her an inquisitive thumbs up. “Ready?” You asked.

Bada pressed a button on the camera and mimicked your thumbs up with a smile. “Ready when you are.”

You faced the mirror again and shook your shoulders a bit, forcing your body to loosen up. After twisting your neck a few times, you hit play on your phone, quickly placing it under the trampoline as the familiar synths of the song started blaring from the speakers. You tried to feel the confidence you were usually able to conjure up on stage, closing your eyes and swaying your hips, ponytail moving from side to side.

As soon as you heard your own voice through the speakers, instrumentals going deeper, you got into position. Your eyes opened up to focus on your own reflection in the mirror as if it was a fan in the crowd watching. Mouthing along to the lyrics, a playful smile on your lips, you hit every move as you had envisioned. Once the chorus came up, you dropped to your knees on the trampoline, grappling the edge as you performed the routine. Pushing back against the springs gave you the velocity to keep your moves fluid, your body twisting and turning, flipping over and hitting the next move. You made sure to move your hips deftly, aware that you had enough curves to allow you to pull it off, and kept your facial expressions in line. It had to look effortless.

You felt your ponytail swing along with your movements as if it were an extension of you, and sat up on the trampoline. The chorus came to an end and you used your arm strength to twist yourself around fast enough, gracefully falling back on your chest whilst keeping your toes en pointe in your sneakers. The tips of your fingers were touching the floor as your legs crossed, moving to rest your elbow on the edge of the trampoline and resting your chin atop your palm. You lip synced to the final words of the chorus, gaze alluring as you finished the move, and the music stopped.

You slowly sat up straight on the trampoline, crossing your legs, and slid your hand underneath to hit pause on your phone. You looked towards Bada expectantly, but the question got stuck in your throat. She was staring at you, mouth slightly agape, with an unreadable expression. For a split second you were reminded of your trainee days, when you had just finished a routine and were met by your choreographers’ stern faces; they wouldn’t spare you a single compliment, and instead listed off every mistake you had made.

But then, Bada blinked once and then twice, as if in a daze, and let out a soft “woah”. She started applauding you, shaking her head in bafflement. You felt your shoulders drop in relief.

“That was incredible!” The choreographer took off her cap, fixing her bangs before putting it back on. “You came up with this?”

You nodded slowly, the tips of your ears glowing hot. “I used to be a gymnast.”

“I can tell—” Bada spoke bluntly, but then snapped her mouth shut as if she said something wrong. “I mean, that was really good. Every part of your body was in command. Your team didn’t like it?”

“They think it’s too much, compared to my usual routines.” You had the urge to go off on a tangent, but ultimately you didn’t know Bada well enough. Unfortunately, you were naturally quite expressive and the disapproving frown on your face was on clear display.

“Too much? I kind of wanted more, actually.” She laughed softly, looking down to where her legs were crossed. You felt your heart skip a beat and bowed your head in lieu of a thanks.

Subsequently, the bright green light of the camera caught your attention. It was still recording.

“Hey, I think the camera is still on.” You spoke before you realized, and hoped it didn’t sound accusatory.

“Huh? Oh!” Her expression was almost akin to a child being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, the way she swiped at the camera to turn it off. “Sorry. Good call.” She mumbled shyly, tucking it behind her.

You weren’t sure what to say next, still flustered at her lofty praises, but luckily Bada broke the momentary silence.

“I had an idea…” She began, her hand rubbing at her chin pensively. “I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to watch my draft yet?”

You shook your head abashedly. “No, sorry, I honestly didn’t get to it.”

“It’s fine.” Bada waved her hands dismissively. “Maybe instead of doing the trampoline routine in every chorus, we could only do it in the middle? Exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything. And then for the other two choruses, we could keep some key moves but keep it on the floor.”

You mulled it over for a second, glancing up at the ceiling contemplatively. Using the trampoline the whole way through was not an option, according to your team. They had felt you were toeing the line with ‘raunchy’ much too closely. Perhaps you could find middle ground this way, while still keeping the part of the routine you felt most proud of.

“Okay.” You agreed, nodding slowly. “We would need something special for the final chorus, then.”

“I had another idea for that, if you’re fine with it. Would you like to watch my draft with me?”

————— ୨୧ —————

Her draft was good. Really good, actually.

Bada and you were sitting on the floor next to each other, the taller girl holding her phone out in front of you as the draft played on the screen. You were sitting quite closely together, but not close enough to be touching, a conscious decision on your part. You were a bit too aware of her presence, something about her was heightening your senses in a variety of ways. It wasn’t even as if she was stern or unkind, she just had an aura that intimidated you. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

A blonde girl you didn’t recognize was dancing your parts. Six other dancers, one of them being Bada, were in formation behind her performing the choreography perfectly in sync as your song played in the background. While you should really be paying attention to the girl in the center, your eyes couldn’t leave Bada’s figure. In the video she was dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants, just like today, and a crop top. Once again she wore a cap covering half her face, and even a face mask, but her hair hung loose over her shoulders.

You were always impressed by the small movements she was able to squeeze in, emphasizing certain parts in ways the other dancers weren’t able to. However, it was the final chorus that had your hands turn clammy.

The final chorus was a duet formation. Bada, with a quiet confidence in her step, and the blonde girl moved towards each other in the center of the room. They were effectively dancing for each other, the blonde girl whipping her head back as Bada stared her down, swaying their hips together rhythmically. Their steps were coordinated in such a way they almost mirrored, Bada rolling her body one way and the blonde girl moving the other; but it still felt cohesive. It was an intimate choreo. There were a few split moments of hips grinding against crotches, but it never lasted long enough to be straight up inappropriate. Still, you couldn’t help but realize you would have to practice this routine with Bada as well, and you felt yourself getting hot under the collar.

The choreo ended with the blonde girl giving Bada a playful shove, and the taller girl backed away slowly, a saunter in her step, before moving off the screen along with the other background dancers. The video ended and Bada dropped her phone in her lap, not looking at you.

“That was good.” You were relieved your voice came out evenly, and Bada started nodding in her trademark way, hands clasped together. “The formations were really clean and— I loved the final chorus.” You blurted.

She smirked, head raising and meeting your eyes for the second time today. You were starting to feel eager, greedily watching.

“I’m glad to hear. We definitely need to finetune the first chorus, line it up with your routine and all that. I really don’t want to lose your input.”

“That sounds great, thank you.” You felt a surge of gratitude in your chest, and shot her a wide smile. “I’m looking forward to working on this together.”

Bada dropped her gaze again, worrying her lower lip. You felt miffed at the brusque interruption of your shared eye contact but didn't show it.

“I suggest we start with practices tomorrow, we will edit the first chorus as we go,” She whipped out her phone, looking at her calendar. “We should practice the duet together until you’ve got a handle on it, and then I can bring over some of my guys to prep for the actual performances. I know someone for my part. He’s worked with some of your labelmates before, I’m confident he’s right for the job.”

You couldn’t tell if you were anxious at the prospect of practicing such a choreo with Bada, or if you were disappointed that the eventual product wouldn’t be performed with her. It made sense, though. If your label was already worried your concept was too mature for the country, having two women perform such a choreography wouldn’t be received well at all.

“Great. Same time tomorrow, just the two of us again?”

“Same time tomorrow,” The third time she was willing to meet your eyes, and once again with a small smile playing across her features. “Just the two of us.”

————— ୨୧ —————

Working with Bada the past few days has been surprisingly easy.

On the first day, she brought some iced coffee for the both of you and presented it with an exaggeratedly deep bow, holding out the plastic takeout bag in front of her as if she was a lackey presenting you a treasure. You giggled, muttering an incredulous “thank you” as you took the bag from her hands. Through sips of coffee, the both of you fast forwarded through the recordings trying to piece the choreography together. You were able to bounce ideas off of her in a way you never felt comfortable enough doing with other choreographers. Bada was attentive, patient and, above all, eager.

On the second day, you wanted to repay your debt and entered the studio with a box of doughnuts. She let out a surprisingly girlish squeak when you laid the box on the table, and barreled over to grab one. That day she was wearing a beanie instead of a cap, something you inadvertently preferred as you could now lock eyes and take in her features. Sometimes you had the impression she was hellbent on looking anywhere except into your eyes, but you didn’t want to mull it over for too long; some people just had a different way of interacting. Everything else about her still left you with a warm feeling.

Sometimes you both took turns performing for each other. She would pull her beanie further down her head as she took the center of the studio, and each time something inside you would brace itself. You could only watch in awe: her movements were sharp and magnetic, her entire body language changing in the blink of an eye. While your attention should be on her footwork, you were instead hypnotized by the sway of her hips, greedily drinking her in. You chalked it up to her being such a captivating dancer.

However, little could explain how much you relished in her undivided attention. When it was your turn to copy the moves, you made sure to give it your all and put on a show. Without a hat obscuring her eyes, you could tell where her eyes were looking and it wasn’t always on your reflection in the mirror. You swore you could feel her gaze burning in your lower back, but you didn’t mind. It encouraged you to hit your moves a bit harder than you usually would.

“You’re a fast learner,” Bada said at the end of the day, drinking from her water bottle as you watched her throat bob. “Keep it up and you won’t need me anymore.”

You didn’t like the sound of that.

————— ୨୧ —————

By the fifth day, the both of you had started working through the details of the duet.

The familiar song sounded through the speakers, the room filled with the sound of your singing voice and the squeaking of your sneakers on the floor.

You were painfully aware of the way Bada closely danced behind you but you kept your eyes down, forcing yourself to keep track of your footwork. You bent over slightly at the start of the next line, your hips popping out and letting your hair whip to the side as you hummed along to the lyrics. In tandem, Bada moved her hips the opposite direction but gyrated closer to you, her hand coming up to tug her cap lower. You spared the mirror a glance for a split second, realizing Bada was much closer to you than you had realized, but you pushed the thought away.

You looked good together.

“Pause real quick.” She spoke suddenly, stepping away from you and bending over to stop the song. You immediately halted your movements at the command, trying to control the heaving of your chest and willing away the warmth of your cheeks.

She stood up again, meeting your eyes in the mirror before steadying herself behind you, body close to yours.

“You’re doing great, but,” A tentative hand slid to your hip, fingers curling over in a loose grip as she subtly urged it to move to one side. Both your eyes remained locked through the mirror. “I think we should move together in this part. Like this.” She repeated the motion, her grasp on your hip tightening ever so slightly before pulling you flush against her pelvis. Her hips rocked along with yours, and you could only follow.

She hummed close to your ear, and you felt her breathe along the side of your face. “Just like that.” Her voice was quiet, gentle even, though her stare was everything but that. It was intense.

In an attempt to sound casual you replied with an “okay”, but it came out softer than you had hoped for.

Her eyes dropped from the mirror, opting to look down at you directly, but you couldn’t find the confidence to return the favor. “You should do that thing again," she continued quietly, "Where you throw your hair back, but look at me when you do it.”

You repeated your steps, but this time both her hands came down to hold your hips in place. You turned your head as requested, your hair falling over your shoulder as your eyes finally met. Her gaze was intense but undecipherable; she hadn’t been looking at the mirror at all this time.

Bada was so close, unblinking and heady. The thought entered your mind before you fully realized: if you craned your neck you could kiss her. In a careful motion, you felt her hands slide up and down slowly, smoothing along the curve of your hips.

“Perfect.” She said, and it sounded so intimate you felt lightheaded. Usually she voiced her approval with an animated smile and a thumbs up, but she spoke to you as if she was scared you would set off running. “You got it. You want to try that again with music?”

You nodded slowly and her hands dropped from your hips, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. As she bent down to turn the song back on, you brought the back of your hand up to your cheek; checking if it was as warm as you felt. Then you ran your fingers through your ponytail, tightening the hair tie with a sharp tug in an attempt to snap yourself out of whatever daze you had fallen into.

It meant nothing. She had merely workshopped a move and there was no need to feel so nervous.

The final chorus of the song began thumping again and the both of you got into your starting positions. Bada’s presence was palpable behind you, but you tried to force your head back into performance-mode. You kept your moves sharp, lip synced as if the voice came directly from your own throat and smiled playfully at all the right lines.

As the instrumentals of the final chorus got louder, you twirled a finger around your ponytail, playing with the imaginary crowd in front of you. Bada pressed up against your back. Your hips moving in tandem just as the choreo required and you could no longer repress the urge to grind back against her. You saw Bada smirk in the mirror, her eyes obscured by her cap, but you could tell she was enjoying your blunt display of confidence. That made you laugh for real, putting an extra ‘oomph’ into the roll of your hips, dropping even lower, and feeling Bada take what you gave her with a great amount of enthusiasm. You heard the choreographer let out a "woo!" and you giggled.

At the very end of the choreo, you were meant to face Bada and push her away; making room for a final solo moment. So you turned around, meeting that familiar mischievous grin and your hand came up to curl into her collar. Bada sucked in her lower lip, greedily towering over you and looking down expectantly.

But something about the giddy atmosphere had you feeling bold, so you tugged her even closer instead. Her mouth fell open, but she followed you down nonetheless, eyes becoming half-lidded. You were mere inches removed from each other, and her breath fanned across your face. For a split second her gaze lingered on your lips, and you held your breath, heart fluttering in an unfamiliar feeling. A fleeting thought told you to bridge the gap, pull her impossibly closer by the grip you had on her collar, but your body acted before your brain could.

You reached for her cap and tugged it off her head, putting it on yourself in one swift movement and then shoved her away as you were supposed to do; effectively breaking the spell. You turned on your heel to look back at your reflection in the mirror, consciously blocking Bada from your periphery and closed out the song. The music stopped.

Now that the studio was quiet you could hear the both of you catching your breaths, and rather than facing Bada while your face was still heating up, you flopped onto the floor, limbs spread out. You moved Bada’s cap atop your face, blocking out the bright lights of the practice room, feeling exceptionally winded.

You felt Bada sit down next to you and she promptly pulled her hat off your face.

“Ow,” You uttered lamely, arms coming up to cover your face instead. Surely the shame you felt was on wide display and you had to save the little bit of the reputation you had left. You could already hear her voice, albeit uncharacteristically, echo in your head: “What was that?” “Why didn’t you just stick to what I told you?” “That was highly unprofessional.” Your stomach churned.

But instead she said: “That was incredible.”

“Huh.” You exclaimed unintelligently. You tentatively moved your arms from your face and were met with Bada staring you down, her hat back in place. It would probably be too weird if you went back into hiding, so you dropped your arms uselessly.

“That was incredible,” she repeated, a fond smile on her lips. “You are incredible. I’m telling you, we’ve got a hit on our hands.” She extended her arms excitedly, as if she had to convey the sheer magnitude of potential you both had crafted.

“You really think so?” You sounded breathless, the warmth in your chest blossoming.

“I know so. Seriously? If your team doesn’t like this, they’re idiots.” Her bluntness kicked a laugh out of you, and you playfully whacked her knee. “No, I mean it!”

“It wasn’t too much?” Slowly you sat up, tugging at the front of your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your body from the sweat.

Bada tilted her head, blinking at you sympathetically as she weighed your words carefully.

“I’ve already told you,” her voice was quiet, as if she was worried someone else might overhear, “I can’t get enough of you. The same goes for the public, by the way.”

That made you want to kick your feet like a teenager, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fought the impulse to fall into her arms. Instead, you dropped your head with a timid smile hoping that did enough to show your gratitude.

Bada placed a hand on your shoulder with a touch so soft she might as well be reassembling a broken vase, urging you to look at her. “Let's take a break, order some bubble tea and then watch the recordings. Sound good?”

You leaned into the touch with exhilaration. “Yeah. My treat, though.”

————— ୨୧ —————

The tenth day coincided with a photoshoot in the morning. You had gotten up at 4am to get to the location early enough so that there was enough room for your stylists to get to work.

The first thing you noticed was the visual board you had worked on tirelessly a few weeks prior.

It had changed.

Some of the images jumbled around or left out entirely, replaced by ones you did not recognize or even liked to begin with. Even the color scheme had changed. Before you could ask your manager about it, however, your hair stylist beckoned you to follow her into the booth. Still groggy, with just a protein shake in your belly to keep you at bay, you followed without objection.

But then, after you emerged fully made up with your hair in intricate braids and ribbons, you saw the backdrop you were going to work with and the outfits you would be wearing: they looked nothing like what you had agreed on.

Once sown into the baby pink corset, you looked at your reflection in the mirror with a glassy expression, too exhausted to even express the anger that was simmering in your chest.

“What happened to the costume I commissioned?” You asked your manager in a flat voice, fully realizing you wouldn’t like whatever the answer would be.

“Oh,” But he didn’t sound surprised at all, “We didn’t really like how it turned out, so we decided to go with something else. Pink looks good on you, you know.” He added hurriedly.

You blinked, clenching and unclenching your jaw. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in front of all the staff. Firstly, it wasn’t their fault; secondly, word got around quickly and the last thing you needed was a trending blind item about diva behavior. With great difficulty you swallowed the venom down your throat and walked over to the camera crew without sparing your manager a single glance. Bowing to everyone separately, you turned on the autopilot. You just needed to get through the day. You posed for the flashing of the cameras, turning your brain off.

“That’s a wrap! Great work, all.” The photographer’s voice snapped you out of your daze, and you slowly stumbled away from the backdrop, blinking back tears.

“Great job everyone, thank you for your hard work.” You hoped your voice sounded even and hurried away to get changed.

Once alone in your dressing room, you bent over the sink with your hands in your hair. You didn’t understand. They had seen the choreography Bada and you had worked on, and approved. They had been enthusiastic even, and it felt like your team and you had finally buried the hatchet. Now you understood why they were so pliant in their acceptance of the final choreo; they had found something else to exert their control over. You didn’t want to cry, so you grit your teeth and untied your hair, fingers smoothing out where the braids had been.

Bada.

In the bustle of the early morning you had almost forgotten you were meant to start your first practice with the entire dance crew today, with Bada as the lead choreographer ensuring everything played out exactly according to your collaborative vision. It had been almost two days since you had last seen her, yesterday being a day off for the both of you, and for some reason it felt like a lifetime.

You wanted to see her, but you weren’t sure if you could dance today.

You arrived at the studio about an hour later, right on time, with most of your makeup cleared from your face and dressed in joggers and a crop top. This time you were sporting a cap as well, hoping the dancers wouldn’t notice the fatigue etched on your face on your first day with them.

Everyone was already there. Some dancers stretching, others practicing and a few watching the recordings while in deep discussion with Bada. Her flannel shirt was bunched up at her elbows as she made grand gestures with her hands, explaining something to the dancers in front of her. As the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room, the tall girl perked up mid-sentence, shooting you a wide smile.

“Hey! I got you some coffee.” She spoke brightly, walking over to you in big strides as her loose braid fell off her shoulder. You had just finished bowing to everyone when you turned to Bada, feeling your chest swell at the sight of her. “How was the shoot?”

She must’ve noticed something. Perhaps it was the sag of your shoulder, the way you bit your lower lip or the exhaustion in your eyes; but her smile faltered slightly when she got a closer look.

“It went alright.” You spoke neutrally, unable to meet her eyes but adding a nod to come across as reassuring as possible. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Bada stood a bit helplessly but seemed to understand that prying any further would be futile. “Of course, it was my turn, after all.” She smiled carefully. “You wanna get started?”

“Let’s do that.” You agreed, hoping that dancing would get your mind off of things.

Bada gathered everyone together and gave a small speech, making a conscious effort to do all the talking so you could comfortably hide the swelling insecurity you felt deep in your chest. You nodded at the right times, smiled at the dancers (some of them peeking at you in awe) and tried to come across relaxed.

Once Bada finished talking, she called for everyone to get in position as she strode to the far end of the room, where she had the most optimal view. You moved to the front, right next to your trampoline, facing the mirror and vaguely took note of a tall guy with a buzzcut who now stood in the spot Bada did when you had been practicing with her. Something about her not being part of the dance anymore, even though you perfectly knew this was going to be the plan all along, made you feel even less secure.

You shook your limbs loose, trying to empty your head for the sake of the dancers who were all blind to your inner turmoil and instead incredibly excited to be here. You did not want to waste their time. Once again, you forced yourself into auto pilot.

The song started playing, bubbling synths building up to your first lines, and you danced. You danced as you had practiced with Bada, but weren’t able to envision the crowd in front of you. Instead you relied on muscle memory, which worked out well enough. Even when the tall guy was behind you for the duet, hips grazing yours, you didn’t feel very aware of your surroundings at all. Sometimes you all had to stop midway when Bada noticed that someone was offbeat or out of position, but you slid back into the moves easily. The team was strong, too. You danced the choreo once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. When you grabbed the guy’s collar, you pushed him back immediately, unlike what you had practiced with Bada, and finished your move.

Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.

“That was solid, everyone!” She strode over, giving everyone a thumbs up. “Some things we have to smooth over, but we are way ahead on schedule. Let’s take five. I— Are you okay?”

You barely realized your own actions until you felt the warm tears run down your cheeks. You had sat down on the trampoline in such an unceremonious way, body shaking from exertion as you tried to hold back hiccups. Panic began crawling up your body and into your throat. Suddenly aware of the dancers seeing you in such a state, you took your cap off and held it in front of your face.

“Actually, since we are ahead on schedule, let’s make this a short day.” Bada’s authoritative voice declared to the entire room. The dancers nodded along nervously, glancing at your hunched figure with palpable worry. “Great work everyone, make sure to get home safe. Same time tomorrow.”

You croaked out a soft “Thank you, everyone” through your fingers, but your voice was barely audible. You couldn’t face them.

Footsteps rushed around the room, the dancers gathering their backpacks off the floor. You barely registered the hushed voices slowly echoing further and further away from you, until the door shut with finality; a lock sounding in place and silence reigning over the space.

Bada’s hands came to rest on your shoulders as you felt the trampoline sink with her added weight. Then she pulled you into her arms with a tenderness you had never experienced from anyone before. Your arms tightened around her frame in instinct, dropping your cap onto the floor, and your heart constricting painfully as you hid your face in her chest.

She didn’t speak as you hiccupped soundlessly, letting the exhaustion pour out of you with quivering shoulders. Bada’s hands traced comforting lines along your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head as she waited for the trembling of your body to subdue. In turn, you tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing lulling you.

After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”

You glanced up at her, tears still running down your cheeks as you choked back a particularly pathetic sob. “I’m sorry…”

Bada let out an affronted gasp, bringing her hands up to cradle your face instead and letting her thumbs wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Tell me what happened.”

“My team,” You began with a slurred speech, “They still don’t believe in me. They don’t think I can pull this off.”

Your voice sounded heartbroken: “They make sure to remind me every chance they get. My manager is certain I am going to embarrass the nation, because there is only one thing I can do and it’s not this. I can’t be sexy. I don’t have good ideas. And maybe they’re right! I don’t have the charisma to pull this off. My fans are going to hate it, because it’s not the person they wanted to support—” There was nothing you could do except keep going, like a faucet running, and Bada let you, “—I can’t even wear what I want. My visual board was cybercore inspired. I had a red PVC two piece outfit custom-made, but they put me in a pink dress and ballet shoes.” You added, horrified; not at the clothes, but at the clear disconnect between your team and you.

Bada, who was nodding along to your words with a serious expression up until that point, chuckled at your words, thumbs still catching tears. “Well I always thought you looked like a pretty princess, but that’s indeed a bit on the nose.”

The follow-up to your rant died in your throat, eyes widening at her words. Your brain was short circuiting. “You think I’m pretty?”

The taller girl scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“Why?” You asked, genuinely.

For a moment she gawked at you, deep in thought and searching your face for insincerity. Bada was unable to find it.

“It’s not the only thing I think of you.”

Something about the atmosphere in the room changed when she spoke, and you almost forgot why you were upset in the first place. She carefully tucked your hair behind your ears, her eyes staring into yours unblinkingly. It reminded you of the way she had looked at you during practice days prior, when you had pulled her close by her collar for the first time. Her attention on you was suffocating, but you were glad to be drowning.

You sucked in your lower lip for a split second, releasing it, and waited with bated breath for her to continue. Her eyes dropped immediately, following your movements. She slid one hand down to the crook of your neck, slowly, the tips of her fingers tracing along your skin and leaving shivers in their wake; her other hand curled under your chin with a loose grip, tilting your head back slightly. Your head felt so heavy you could only lean in closer, wanting more of something you couldn’t even put in words.

But as always with Bada, she seemed to know what you wanted before you could open your mouth and ask for it. She closed the distance, brushing her lips against yours in a soft peck, and it was when you realized she was also holding her breath.

Her thumb trailed along your jawline, breath fanning over your lips. “Is this okay?” She asked quietly. You placed your hands on her thighs to brace yourself, your own lightheadedness overwhelming you, and nodded.

There was a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she kissed you a second time; lips connected with more force this time before gliding together in tandem. She tilted your head to get impossibly closer to you, her hand moving from your chin to tangle her fingers into your hair and cradling the back of your head. When her lips parted and closed around your bottom lip, nipping eagerly, you inadvertently let out a soft noise at the warmth of it all which only seemed to spur her on further.

You curled your hands into the front of her shirt as her back straightened, crowding around you as if her goal was to subdue, the trampoline creaking underneath your shared weight. She seemed to relish in overpowering you, inhaling sharply through her nose when you parted your mouth for her further.

You felt the tentative prod of her tongue, and accepted. The wetness made you shiver as she swallowed your quiet gasps. The hand that was previously nestled against your neck slid lower, began exploring along the curve of your waist and feeling the bare skin your crop top couldn’t reach to hide.

She parted the kiss, and you let out a soft whine. Biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but ultimately failing, her eyes were drinking you in. You could only imagine what you looked like as even Bada was flushed all over, chest heaving from excitement. Then, as if she was reading your mind, her eyes glanced over to the mirror in front of you.

Bada shifted her position behind you, running her fingers through your hair before ultimately placing her palm against the other side of your waist. Steadily, as if she were correcting a move during practice, she turned your body to face the mirror. At this rate you simply accepted the effect she had on you, and wordlessly obeyed her ministrations. She planted her feet on the floor, long legs on either side of you; and ultimately caged you in, nestling her chin into the crook of your neck. Her eyes never left the mirror.

She brushed some of your hair over your shoulder as if she were propping up a doll, and spoke in a hushed voice: “Look at yourself.”

The sight made you feel all the more dizzy. Through half-lidded eyes you barely recognized your own reflection; hair slightly mussed and lips swollen and lovebitten. Someone did that to you. Bada did that to you.

The taller girl, pressed up against you, placed a kiss on your shoulder, fingers running up and down your body and making the hairs on your arms stand straight in exhilaration. You loved the way she touched you, how it made you feel; as if she was tracing the lines on an art piece. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against your shoulder, “people would kill to see you like this.”

The honesty in her voice made something in your stomach roll. “Bada…” You began, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.

“You have no idea how other people look at you.” Her hands cradled the small of your waist, fingertips digging into your hips. “So let me show you how they look at you.”

She began kissing up your shoulder, soft and warm presses of her lips, before parting her mouth against your neck with a tangible hunger that left you sighing. You tilted your head to the side to give her more room and every inch you freed, she swarmed eagerly. Her tongue swirled against a patch of skin, hand flattening on your lower stomach as the other traced higher and higher, along your ribcage, before inquisitive fingertips moved under the hem of your top. As she sucked a mark onto your skin, you clenched your thighs together at the familiar sensation between your legs. Your eyes slowly fell shut as she crept up higher, lips pressing right below your earlobe with a barely-there hum.

She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”

You obeyed bashfully, right when Bada reattached her lips to your skin. She had been tracing lines along the hem of your sports bra, enthralled with the way you shivered in her grasp, before slipping a hand under; her hand was warm as she kneaded your breast, but your nipples stiffened at the sensation all the same. You pushed out your chest to convey your delectation, and she rewarded you by sinking her teeth into your skin. Suddenly, with a swift movement, both her hands hoisted up the hem of your top and bra, and pulled it upwards, your breasts releasing from its confines. The cold air made them perk up and Bada’s hands cupped the underside.

She detached her lips from your skin with a wet sound before looking up at the mirror, taking you in with her saliva-slicked mouth agape.

“So pretty,” Bada muttered, bringing your breasts a little higher, “Are you sensitive here?” She wondered loudly before tracing her thumbs right below your nipples. Once again your legs squeezed together, feeling yourself throb from excitement, and Bada picked up on the hint with a wide smile. “You are.”

In your reflection you saw Bada bring her fingers up to your mouth, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip imploringly, and you opened your mouth. She slipped her digit past, pushing it back against your tongue and you sucked obediently. Her eyes were drilling into yours through your reflection, enthralled by how pliant you were under her care.

You released the digit with a wet ‘pop’ and Bada promptly brought it to your nipple, rubbing it in circular motions as her other hand continued to knead your other breast. A quiet moan escaped you, chest rising into her touch and Bada giggled, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. Your own hands ached to touch her, but she kept you firmly locked between her legs; instead you squeezed her upper thighs, feeling her shapes through the baggy cargo she was sporting.

“Give me a kiss.” She commanded, and you immediately twisted your neck to capture her lips.

It was all teeth, wet noises echoing through the room as your tongue swirled against hers; the taller girl groaning into your mouth at the sheer force you exerted. She gave your nipples a pinch before rubbing her fingers over them repeatedly, and she swallowed your breathless moans greedily. You dug your nails into her thighs as she cupped your breasts again, her tongue slipping out of your mouth to trail along your bottom lip instead. Your head was chanting her name, getting drunk on the near delirious attention she gave you. Tilting your head back even further, you connected your lips again even though the angle was uncomfortable. You were starting to feel desperate, hips lightly rocking back against the firmness of her body as Bada sucked down on your tongue.

One of her hands released your breast and trailed down the expanse of your stomach, once again breaking the kiss and instead opt to look at you in the mirror. Her fingers found the knot of your joggers as your eyes met in the reflection, and she pulled on the string; untying it.

“Okay?” Bada inquired meaningfully, and you nodded much faster than you intended. “Let me hear you say it.” The tone of her voice, which was otherwise so gentle and quiet, made your full body shiver.

“I want it.” You spoke breathlessly, squirming impatiently between her legs as her fingers finally slipped down your pants.

She trailed along the sweatband of your underpants before cupping your heat over the fabric, fingers pressing against your folds inquisitively. Her eyes never left yours, quietly measuring your reactions. Unwittingly your thighs clamped around her wrist, breath hitching in your throat as she began to caress you with a touch so gentle it didn’t fit the precarious position you both were in.

“You’re so wet.” Bada spoke coyly, smirking at the way your eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. She began rubbing circles over your covered folds, feeling your wetness spread as if on command. Your breathing turned into whining, subconsciously grinding back against her hand.

She removed her hand much to your distress, until you realized what she wanted: Bada began tugging the fabric of both your joggers and underpants down as far as she could, before giving your hip a commanding pat. You raised your hips to assist her ministrations, and she pulled the clothing down past your knees before you kicked them off fully.

Your thighs were pressed together when you got back in place and suddenly felt self-conscious at how exposed you were despite your own eagerness. Bada wasn’t having it: her eyes were taking in your figure, hands immediately coming down to smooth along your thighs. Then, she squeezed tightly and wrenched your thighs wide apart, making you expose yourself for her. Before you could instinctively close them, her long legs hooked over your ankles, forcefully keeping them in place. All of it only made you throb harder.

“You don’t want to know how often I’ve been thinking about this these past few days.” Her hands smoothing along your sides in marvel, cupping your breasts once more. The tip of her nose pressed against the shell of your ear. “How many times I’ve watched those recordings and imagined you, exactly like this.” Her fingers fit into your mouth once again, and you sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl along the digits as if you were starving for it. “I think I lost count.”

Her confession made you moan around her fingers, shivers running down your spine. She scooted back ever so slightly, pulling your hips back with her unoccupied hand until it was the angle she needed, and then dropped it between your legs. Her fingers spread your folds and she sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized by your reflection. You were still swallowing around her fingers and she hummed encouragingly, hand cupping your vagina and spreading your wetness across your heat.

She removed her fingers from your mouth and you caught your breath, fingers digging into her upper thighs as you braced yourself. As one hand kept your folds spread, the other, spit-slicked, began rubbing slow circles against you. You gasped at the sensation, mumbling her name in amazement. You raised your hand to the back of her head; grabbing a hold of her braid to simply have a hold of something, but it earned you a particularly sweet noise from the girl behind you. Your hips rocked back against her movements trying to find more friction in the right place, and Bada slowly sped up, moving her wrist up and down to try and find the spot that did it for you. Her lips pressed against the back of your neck so tenderly, and something about the dichotomy between that and the way she was touching you between your legs made your eyes roll back; lids closing as you thrusted back against her hand.

You didn’t understand how she was able to build up to that familiar knot in your stomach so soon, and it almost made you feel embarrassed, until you realized Bada was savoring every second of it. Her eyes never left your form, as if she were studying just another choreography, lips parted in an awestruck way. You had long foregone the urge to keep quiet, vocalizing exactly what she was doing to you: You let a particularly loud moan leave you when she rubbed along your most sensitive spot. Trying to pull more sounds from you, she pressed against your clit with more force and rubbed faster. Your hips could only chase her touch as your lower stomach constricted.

Bada brought her hand up to her own lips and lapped at her fingers, effectively pausing her motions for a split second and thus drawing a broken whine from you; both because her hand wasn’t where you needed it to be and also because she had no qualms about having you in her mouth. It didn’t last long: she hushed you soothingly as she put her hand back where you felt it belonged and used the added wetness to add faster friction against your clit. Your head rolled back and you tugged at her braid, pulling an attractive groan from the girl behind you.

You weren’t far away anymore. Your lower stomach was unbearably tight with desire and you were a gyrating, frantic mess against her hand while her fingers rubbed against you in vertical swipes, her name falling from your lips repeatedly as if you were reciting a prayer.

You managed to utter an “I’m close”, and Bada crowded against you before you could start begging her for release. “Come for me.” She demanded, and then immediately captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together while she drank your sweet moans.

As if on cue, the tension in your stomach imploded and you gave her braid a sharp pull. You gasped into her mouth, no longer kissing each other but rather breathing each other's air, as your orgasm rippled through you.

You felt your whole body quiver and shake in pleasure as Bada led you through your release, thighs trembling despite the hold the choreographer’s legs had on you. Her fingers hadn’t left your core, but the rubbing slowed down until you were gasping at the overstimulation, yet unwilling to make her hands leave you. As if she read your mind her movements came to a halt, but she pressed her palm against you; almost possessively. She planted kisses along the side of your throat, whispering praises against your skin as you caught your breath.

Once you had the rise and fall of your chest under control, her arms curled around your waist in a fond embrace, and you turned your head to look directly at her. She had already been staring at you, meeting your eyes with a bashful smile. The two of you laughed at each other, and Bada pressed your foreheads together.

“That,” You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you relished in her open affection: “Was amazing, thank you.”

“Was happy to do it.” She responded playfully, rubbing the tip of your noses together affectionately.

“Will this happen every time I get self-deprecating?”

“I definitely intend to do this more often, but you could also just ask nicely.” Bada retorted with a smirk before pecking your lips. You giggled, putting your hands over hers and leaning back into the embrace.

After several more shared kisses and hushed whispers, both of you decided to get a move on: you were starting to get cold in your exposed state so Bada urged you to get up. She helped you step back in your clothes, a smug self-satisfied grin never leaving her face when she noticed the unsteady wobble in your legs.

When you pulled your bra and top back over your breasts, Bada pouted. You gave her a playful shove but she caught your arms instead, bringing them around her neck as her own enveloped your waist.

“Wanna grab dinner?” Her eyes were round and hopeful.

“I would love that.” You replied, and gave her a kiss.

As the both of you tidied up the practice room and gathered your things, Bada listing off food suggestions in the background, your eyes slid to the table at the front of the room.

A familiar device remained perched on the edge, a small green light lighting up proudly.

“Hey, Bada.”

“Hm?”

“Camera’s still recording.”

She stumbled over looking mortified, snatching the device off the table and rewinding haphazardly.

“Oh, fuck.”

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #bada lee smut #street woman fighter 2 #dalla!writes #im sorry in advance bhahaha #idk what i did

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vespidclan · 28 days ago

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Um hi I’m gonna talk about 404 and the works 🚶‍♀️ this ended up longer than I expected oops

What is she?

If we’re going to talk about how 404 can do the things she can do, we need to first talk about WHAT she is. 404 is… not just a moth? She clearly is, but she is also the ‘player’! When she got corrupted by the game, she was also given every ounce of power from the game. This left the game pretty much ‘dead’ and her in control, which is why Clangen.exe and the Vespidclan file is still running despite being broken. Basically, her having 100% of power meant that her and the system have ‘merged into one’, but since the system was corrupting and breaking apart as Moththorn went against her programing… That same corruption took over her. Then came the metamorphosis ‘rebirth’ symbolism yada yada yada aaaaaand that’s how 404 was born! 🎉🎉

And being the player, she can do ANYTHING in the game! Aside from creating, but ANYTHING! This means she can skip moons and go back to previous moons (time travel… inevitably caused Heartflicker’s injury), give cats injuries and conditions (basically giving Snakevalley recurring shock and whatever goes on in OOB), playing around with death settings (“dead”: false while letting their “dead_moons” go on and on, keeping the them dead but with conscious still intact so they can feel paralyzing agony *cough* what she does to cats like Spark), and let me tell you this is just scratching the surface.

Why does 404 appear different sometimes?

Shapeshifting? Form-changing? Neither of those! What it really is that she’s splitting her conscious around into different vessels/copies of herself that she can manipulate at will. It sounds complex, but trust me it won’t be after I explain it like this—She’s pretty much just multiplying herself so she can easily communicate with the cats in-game. Think of it like copying and pasting but without it being an exact replica.

To do that she needs some kind of source in the game that lacks much organism code-wise but still able to move around, so there’s room to fit a bit of her code in it. Whether it’s some kind of animal or a manifestation she made herself. Vinepaw probably explains it better than me.

So these guys that have shown up in the comics are her, or maybe 80% of her. She can control them and they have her same thoughts, so it’s basically her with a different identity. One big difference is that her shadow copies can only appear as a ‘hallucination’ and directly in the mind, but mini moth 4 is a real physical vessel that any cat can see, it’s just her text box that’s hidden from a few cats. She grabbed a poor little moth, stuffed her code into it, and now it’s a free new body to possess. The only reason she’s doing this is because Vinepaw’s mind is a little tricky than others, which we’ll discuss later on.

“Can’t 404 just appear normally like herself?” In-game? Nah, she exists in the Out Of Bounds area of the game, which is restricted zone no cat in-game can enter unless they go far enough to bypass it. 404 can barely get out of it herself.

But there’s times where she, her actual self, HAS appeared to cats like Stonepaw or Snakevalley, but only as a hallucination-that-feels-super-realistic-and-real. This would be whenever I draw her in her red and black colors or it’s just straight up her in all of her massive towering glory.

“Why can’t she just do this all the time instead of making copies?” A lady like her is too busy managing OOB and terrorizing the cats there! She’d only show herself if it was a top priority to her, like pressuring Snakie or finding Vinny.

How can she lurk into the mind?

She can’t go to the cats in-game. We all know that. The solution? Enter the mind! The best way I can explain it is she’s ‘hacking’ into the mindscape with all the knowledge she has so that they can see/envision her presence. Sometimes they aren’t too severe like just seeing vague glitches or her text boxes, or they’re very severe where she’s literally in front of you. Sounds easy for an evil moth goddess right?

Well rummaging in the mind isn’t… It’s most easiest when the cat is asleep, has already seen visions of ‘the fourth wall’ prior, or when the cat is most vulnerable. Other times, she needs to really intensely seep into the cat’s mind with, breaking through the barriers intense. Every psyche is different!

Some really good examples come from Stone and Vine! Stone saw 404 while she was just a small lil kit. After that, she’d constantly have nightmares and scary visions of 404. 404 quickly caught on and decided to keep Stone ‘in line’ via stalking so she can have ‘use’ to her plans later, but we all know that that didn’t work out. Vine meanwhile is able to ‘block’ 404 from his dreams, because all he thinks about 24/7 is cupcakes and rainbows. 404 actually managed to get to him later on, but she needed to actually be there than to use a silly copy, because it wouldn’t be very effective.

If she can’t interact with the cats in-game, how is she dragging deceased cats into OOB?

That’s because she isn’t… physically anyways. What she IS doing is coding them out of Starclan and into Out Of Bounds the very moment they die. It isn’t that scary, unless you see it happening yourself. Another trick of the mind that can unfortunately happen if you stand by her radius… but that’s very rare! ;)

How does coding work?

It’s like this

Okay but really… Coding is just what you and I could do on the computer—changing up stuff! Editing, fixing, modding, she can do it all! (apart from… yk…) It’s actually super self explanatory so there won’t be much to go over.

She uses her dexterous claws on these! These are the files, the source of every cats life and blood… The cats in OOB call them ‘The Towers’, cuz these things are taaaaaaallll. They do have their own special area in OOB, which is farther away from the actual place and are set in a ‘black void’, but she can spawn them in when she needs to make a quick ‘fix’.

404 can also take apart the files and rearrange them however she wants. And she can ‘spawn’ pieces of the files to her hand so she can edit them portably without having to climb or bring the whole tower with her.

Usually when she gets her hands on a file it will slowly (or quickly depending on the damage done) start chipping away. It isn’t all that bad, but once it’s taken full effect and broke so much of it, then the cat is also now ‘broken’. Take Heartie for example—She changed her trait from bloodthirsty to loyal, except 404 hadn’t changed it quite perfectly, so now she has a trait that ‘doesn’t exist’ within the code.

Plus like, you can take a look at the Moththorn file and see it’s completely demolished. Wonder why.

That’s pretty much it all for now. Hope you learned something new about how 404 works and I definitely hope this clears some stuff up 🩶

#vspc lore #clangen #clan generator #warrior cats clangen

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promise-of-soup · 29 days ago

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｡･:*:･ﾟ☆Favourite's Privilege｡･:*:･ﾟ

𓆩♡𓆪 Part two of Picking Favourites 𓆩♡𓆪

✧.*Synopsis: Since finding out he's your favourite Ghoul, Jiro has been acting... the exact same. Things take a turn when it becomes time for him to sleep over in your dorm again, does he not get special favourite's privilege?

✧.*Tags? Jiro Kirisaki x Reader, Fem MC, no spesific physical descriptor for MC beyond being shorter than Jiro and being refered to as "small" for the same reason, extra pining, Jiro is annoying, some fluff, SMUT: Dom!Jiro, Sub!Reader, 0.2 seconds of masturbation, unprotected sex (stay safe kiddos), posessive!Jiro, Jiro loses his composure, fingering, kind of aggressive sex?, dirty talk -- degradation and praise, size kink (oops), stomach buldge, the writer is way too into Jiro Kirisaki :(

✧.*Notes? not sure if anyone saw my 'upcoming' post, but this was meant to be 1/2 seperate Jiro smuts. I am also writing a non-smut Jiro thing now lolol. still unsure if said thing is part 3 to this or not. but yeah, thank you to everyone who requested a part 2 to this, I will continue to write Jiro the most out of all the characters lolololol, also we all agree that Jiro has a really high libido, right?

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

The questioning has not stopped.

Yet another exhausting week at Darkwick. It didn't even feel like a week, quick as if only two days had passed but dragged out for longer than a year. A mission you barely got out of alive, a pile of homework you barely got around to thinking of, and a constant buzz of questioning from your friends and allies alike... At this point you had contemplated adding everyone to a group chat, sending the message "Jiro is my favourite, stop asking." and exiting out of it in an instant so you wouldn't need to deal with it further. You love them all, of course you do, and you want them all to feel that love, but it has been getting tiresome repeating the same answers again ang again on top of dealing with everything else you've got going on.

Honestly, it's not been that bad, but you're so tired and overwhelmed that even a single mention of the topic is enough to annoy you... You need to catch your breath for a second.

It's getting late, your day only ended an hour ago or so, so stress clings to you still. You've freshly showered, freshly free from responsibility, and finally able to catch your breath, just as you had asked for.

Sighing, you fall to your bed, lights still on... You just want a second before you make plans for the rest of the evening; you could sleep, catch up on some reading, watch a movie, listen to some music... the possibilities are as endless as your room itself... so not that endless, but still vast. Right now, staring at the ceiling is the most appealing thing for you, allowing your thoughts to catch up with you after they were forced to chase you down all week.

It doesn't take long for these thoughts to drift...

Jiro has been acting so strange all week, or at least you'd call it strange, you're unsure what would be the best way to describe it.

After he acknowledged his status as your favourite once, he never brought it up again. He remained unchanged against it all, still constantly behind you, still constantly hard to read.

But then your thoughts drift further...

When he was in your bed that morning his hands felt so warm around you. You wiggle yourself under the covers, bunching up the blanket and bringing it up to your face. You had no time to change your bedsheets this week, which is not a good habit, but you can still faintly make out his scent.

You didn't see him much during the week, but at one point you were both waiting for class to start with your backs to the wall and he suddenly turned around to tower over you, protecting you from an accidental avalanche of books hurled from the hands of a passerby. He leaned his elbow against the wall and looked down at you from so far high, his expression blank. Your probably looked so pathetic looking up at him with a heated face, but he just readjusted his glasses and commented that "Your heart rate is abnormally high."

When you woke up beside him, he bent your torso so easily, as if you were a piece of paper. He's so strong, isn't he? He could have probably spread your legs apart with a single finger and--

Your face is so warm as you nuzzle against the covers, your body has moved to the same position he put you in then, and you have unknowingly slid your hand through your panties, slowly circling your clit through the thin fabric.

--Fuck you whichever way he wanted.

Pleasure shoots through your body as your imagination finally roams free, allowing you to imagine such perverted things about your friend is so gross of you, it wasn't his fault he got hard in his sleep - oh, how good he felt against you for that one moment.

A knock on the door causes your whole body to jump back into reality, your hand immediately being over your chest and your eyes opening wide.

"Fuck, what now?" you mutter under your breath as you open the door, sighing.

"Hey." It's Jiro.

You look away, avoiding his gaze, you were just about to touch yourself to the thought of him, and now he's here, how are you meant to look him in the eyes?

"Can I come in?" he asks.

Oh yeah, it's been a week. Tomorrow you have another anomolous combat class. You completely forgot to pay attention to what day it was. It's a good thing you insisted he knocked. A few months ago he would have walked right in with dead-silence and found you where you were.

You move to let him in, still in silence and still unable to look at him.

"You smell good." Is what you manage to say, good for you.

"Oh, I showered before I came here." at least he didn't find it a weird thing to say... You hope.

You try again, "How a-are you?"

"I feel good, Yuri just gave me medication," he walks through your dorm room, towering over everything, "And you?"

"That's good," your voice is a shriek, you have to control yourself better, so you take a deep breath, "I-I'm a bit tired."

Jiro sits on the edge of your bed, manspreading. He takes off his glasses and cleans them with the edge of his casual pajama shirt. You look him up and down and lick your lips involuntarily, he looks so-

He puts his glasses back on and turns to look at you, blinking, "You're staring at me again."

You jolt nervously, throwing your hands up and shaking them as if to reject what he is saying, "Again?" you ask.

"Yeah," he chuckles, "You've been doing it a lot lately."

Honesty is not the best course of action here, "You're handsome."

...fuck.

"Me?" he asks, snickering at you with his eyebrows quirking down slightly, as if he does not believe it. Maybe he doesn't.

You blink blankly, dumbass, why did you say it out loud.

"Come here." Jiro says with a friendy tone, but when you look at him to confirm where 'here' is, you see that he is pointing to his legs, gesturing for you to sit on him.

You walk stiff with your hands glued to the side of your body, and pause when you're standing right beside his thigh.

"You're being so weird," he chuckles, and his tone is still friendly as he asks you to "Sit." yet he grabs you by the arm and pulls you down as a suggestion of sorts, unforcefully. You take the lead and sit over his thighs with your legs to the side, looking straight ahead at the nice looking wall.

Jiro's face shuts in on itself as he lets out a deep chuckle, "Aren't I your favourite?" he asks, "Don't I get any special privileges?"

You can feel your walls tighten around nothing, your whole body stiff, but you do your best to turn to face him, just a bit, "L-like, hm," you cough, "Like what?"

He doesn't answer, and his expression doesn't shift. Instead, he grabs one of your legs and brings it across his thighs so that you are straddling him, forced to look him in the eyes, as he pulls you by the lower back so that your pelvises touch. Your eyes widen and dart down as you feel his hard length against your core, he makes sure you know he's hard, by grabbing your hand and putting it between your bodies as he asks, "Do you want me?" he is serious.

"I- I- hm, wh-" speaking proves difficult for you, as your walls tighten around nothing again.

"I gave you a lot of hints," he confesses, "You've been quite bad with picking up on them."

He is so, so hard. But his length feels massive against you, strained by layers of fabric, you're unsure if you could even take him, but your core beckons for him by growing wetter and wetter by the second, trying to pull him in without you having to do anything. You look down at the place where your bodies meet, and then at him, and then again, unable to form a coherent sentence that shows him just how much you want him.

When you don't answer, he makes sure you're alright, or more so, asserts that you are, "You don't seem uncomfortable, but if you are I apologize and we can pretend I-"

"I do." You manage, finally, "I do want you. Really really badly." the last part comes out more like a moan than a sentence, but it's enough to make him laugh at you again, and to kiss you.

The kiss is intense. You pull him closer by the neck and the hair, grinding down on him very slightly while his hands roughly explore your body. He breaks the kiss to instead kiss your jawline, making you moan and grind on him faster. He moves back to your lips, this time with more intent, pushing you down along the bed with ease.

Jiro looks down at you, leaning over his hands, he looks so different than he usually does; almost animalistic. His dark hair hangs over his eyes, making a faint light shining a white streak over his glasses, and darkening his gaze. You realize how big he is compared to you, caging you just by being above you, but you're never scared of him, even now, when he looks so dangerous; you look up at him with excitment, helping him slide your shirt over your head and throw it aside. You're not wearing a bra, you didn't remember he'd come over, and yet he smiles at that as if you had intent hidden behind the decision.

He lowers himself with a smooth motion to grind against your core, "Mine." he claims next to your ear, pushing his torso into yours again and kissing your neck so roughly.

"Y-Yours?" it sounds like a question, but you meant it as a statement.

Jiro's laughter shoots directly to your core as his eyes darken even more than they already did, "Of course you are," he continues kissing lines from your neck to your jaw, staying in some spots to ensure a mark is left, "Everyone knows, right?" he whispers, "Everyone knows I'm your favourite, that you're mine."

"I- yours." you nod, whimpering as he sucks a spot on your neck. You are reminded of your worries from before as he grinds into you again, Jiro can see it in your eyes, and rises to his knees to pull your pajama pants down.

"I'll prep you," he reassures, "Don't worry."

You nod again, cold from his sudden absence over the top half of your body.

Jiro scoffs at you, and you look down to see what he's reacting to. Your bare thighs are covered in slick wetness, having spread from your soaked through panties. This is the most wet you've ever been, and you're not sure if it's embarrassing or hot, but the way Jiro looks at it makes it feel hot.

He undoes his pants and boxers and discards them altogether, and oh, how your worries have been confirmed... He is huge. You don't think you can fit it in. Noticing your panic, Jiro leans down, rubbing his tip against your folds in a teasing manner, "You can take it right?"

The moan that leaves you is more akin to a scream, it feels so good and yet your walls clench and your panic grows, "You- You said you'd-"

He coos at you for a change, like you do to him when he's feeling weak, "I will, just wanted to see your reaction." which apparently makes him chuckle again.

Jiro uses his fingers to collect the wetness from your thighs, smoothing it across your clit, you shiver.

"You're so reactive," he comments, sliding his finger down from your clit and into your hole, "I wanna make you scream."

Your eyes widen at that, but you have no time to process as he sets an intense pace with his finger. He only put in a single finger, but you feel your walls clench around him, sucking him in, and he makes sure to tell you that "You're so tight," Jiro uses another finger to abuse your clit. He's so fast and rough, and you writh under his merciless pace, his finger feels so good as he fucks it in and out of you, circling your clit to make sure you are more susceptible and willing to his sudden insertion of another finger.

"N-ah! Jiro-" The sudden fullness causes you to arch your back. His finger alone was long and wide enough to fill you nearly all the way, and now with a second finger, you feel like you're burning.

"You can take it," he tells you, "It feels good, right?"

He scissors his fingers open, as far as they'd go within your tight walls, going back to fucking you on them but with this new motion added in. "Feels so good, so- ah! ah- Jiro, please please-"

He opens and closes his fingers, stretching you out so good as he continues circling your clit.

The coil in your stomach snaps at once, and you cum violently over his fingers, coating them with a thick layer of slick -- but he doesn't stop. He continues fucking his fingers into you with just as much vigour as before, if not faster, and continues circling your clit. He places his other arm along your torso, holding you down so that you stop wiggling around in your ecstasy.

"Ji-Jiro-" you moan out his name, begging, "S-stop, stop, stop."

But you can't tell if you want him to, and he doesn't. Overstimulation washes over you, your words are nonesense, your moans are desperate, and your body shakes under his hold, your first orgasm has yet to end and yet another falls over you.

Then he stops at once. Removing his fingers with a last flutter, and wipes them over your thigh.

"You're okay?" he checks, and when you nod, he flips the two of you around so that he is laying down and you are sitting on the edge of his thighs, right before his length, "If you do it like this it'll make it easier for it to fit." he says, tapping your shoulders for reassurance.

"I want to do it," You tell him, "I want you."

So you move your shaken knees to be on either side of him, and take his length in your hand, sliding it against your folds again to coat his tip with slick, he does not move, instead, he lets you take your time.

You raise your hips as high as they go, and position his tip against your enterance, sliding it in.

"You-You're so big, Jiro." you say.

"You're trying to suck me in," he says, "Your body wants this so bad."

Truly, your walls clench around his tip, trying to help you as you do your best to maneuver your hips around to take him all the way in. You moan when he bottoms out.

"S-so full," you mewl, rotating your hips. You feel so full, as if there's not enough space for him to even move, there's a slight buldge in your stomach, which you nearly faint at the sight of.

Jiro's reaction to everything is a simple, "Oh." , his eyes go wide with lust, but he gives you a second.

"Forgive me." he says when that second becomes too long.

And before you know it he has grabbed both sides of your torso and began drilling into you as if you were a fleshlight.

He moves you up and down his length, fast, faster, and even faster.

You moan out his name, scream it almost, his cock pulls all the way out and then slams into your soft-spot, again and again and again, but he doesn't seem to be thinking of your pleasure right now, no matter how great it is and how good it feels to have him fuck into you so damn fast, he is blind to everything beyond his cock and the way your walls clench around it. You're so warm, so tight, and he can't help but use you like this.

He's quiet, completely, groaning faintly, but not letting out a single sound. His eyes are trained on the part where your bodies meet, and his hands dig into your sides roughly. He looks so hot like this, unbothered, chasing his own pleasure and using you exactly as you wanted him to. Picking you up and putting you down, over and over again until you cum around him, and again not stopping even when you do.

You're so overstimulated, and yet it feels so good. All parts of your brain that know how to formulate thoughts into sentences have long left you, and all you can do is moan pathetically and beg him for something you can't even name. "Please, please, fuck- Jiro, please."

He begins swearing, quietly, under his breath, and your head falls to the side, deflated; you cry. It feels so good, too much. You're too full. He's too big. And then he bucks his hips into you, bottoming out again and releasing deep into you, he finally moans -- it's a quiet, deep rumble of a whimper, and you bend forward as you cum again, everything is leaking out of you as you cry out a "'s full, so full-"

Your thighs shake, your breath hitches, your face is wet with tears, and he detaches you from him and allows you to fall over his chest - held so gently all of a sudden that the whiplash makes you sigh peacefully.

You lay like that for a bit, still unable to speak fully, and he smooths his hands over your back. He quietly mutters that he wishes he had more stamina, but you don't think you could have taken any more. You play with his hair quietly as he holds you close against his bare chest. He's comfortable.

"Sex feels way better than I imagined." Jiro says suddenly, "I really liked it, I'd wanna do it with you again."

You blink when you realize what he is implying with his words, "imagined?" you ask anyways, raising your head slightly to judge his reaction.

Jiro pushes his glasses up his nose, "I've never done this before."

"Huh?" no way, you think, he has to be joking.

But when he doesn't shift at all, you realize he is being serious. So you press a soft, gentle kiss to the top of his head, falling back down into him. "I'd do it again, I liked it too," you say.

"Is it part of my special favourite privileges?" he jokes.

"If that's how you wanna think of it," you joke back, "then yeah."

"Good," he concludes, but then adds "can I make a medical suggestion?"

You quirk your eyebrow, rubbing circles on his chest, "Yeah?"

"You shouldn't attend tomorrow's class, I don't think you'll be able to walk all that well."

You smack his chest with an angry giggle, "Fuck you."

"Again?" he teases.

You both laugh, and then you answer his medical suggestion seriously, "If you stay in with me, I won't go."

"Hm" Jiro hums.

"Alright," you chuckle, stretching out your arm to the bedside table, "I'll turn off the alarm clock."

#PHEW #i hope you guys appreciate the fact that i'm aroace btw LMFAO #tkdb x reader #tokyo debunker x reader #jiro kirisaki x reader #jiro kirisaki smut #kirisaki jiro smut #smut #tokyo debunker smut #tkdb smut

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 4 months ago

Text

Broken Hearted Lovers

note: a requested fic by @scorpioada, thank you so much for the request! I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope it's what you had in mind. This fic turned out way longer than I expected, oops. I did proof read, but there could be some mistakes left, sorry!

warnings: 18+. angst/fluff/suggestive. mention of alcohol, heartbreak and being cheated on, but know that this fic is actually rather light and fluffy!

pairing: modern!Sihtric x fem!reader (no use of Y/N)

summary: After your ex kicked you out of his house, you are forced to move in with your brother, Uhtred. And while you were dealing with your broken heart, you couldn't ignore the feelings that resurfaced upon seeing Sihtric, because he had secretly been your life long crush.

word count: 9,4k

Masterlist

Reblogs & comments are immensely appreciated.

Being Uhtred's sister wasn't always easy. You were only a few years younger than him, but he was as protective as an older brother could be. In the streets, the other kids used to stay clear of him, while in school most kids wanted to join him and his friend group. Uhtred and his friends were named 'the pretty boys', because surely they were all good looking, even as youngsters. And there was one friend of your brother in particular who you always had a crush on, for as long as you could remember, and that was Sihtric.

You and Uhtred were close, so you often hung out with him while his friends were around too. You would do your own thing usually, like playing with dolls or dressing up. But sometimes the guys would help you build a fort out of blankets and furniture, and other times you joined them to play a couple of video games. However, playing games with Finan, Osferth and Sihtric was always short lived, as none of the boys ever showed mercy on you. So after a couple of losses you'd always storm off in tears, only to feel even more embarrassed when Uhtred made his friends apologize to you for making you cry.

But despite all of that, they were Uhtred's friends and you were just the younger sister, so Uhtred's fellow pretty boys knew you would always be more or less off limits to them, and they never had an issue with that as they grew up. They kept their respectable distance as you all got to the age of dating and clubbing, but they weren't shy to chase away anyone who could end up hurting you, or was simply bothering you on nights out. Which also meant that for most of your life every guy you were somewhat interested in was afraid to get near you, as they knew they'd have to get past Uhtred and the pretty boys first. You always hoped that once you had passed your teens you would be able to escape your brother's protective nature, but the dating problem remained as everyone in town knew far too well who your brother was.

You never stopped crushing on Sihtric though, but as you both matured over the years you had also been the unfortunate witness to his dating life. It was always a painful jab in the face to see him with someone. Until one day you woke up and just felt it was time to get over those silly feelings for him, because you knew Sihtric would only ever see you as Uhtred's younger sister.

After some time you ended up with a decent job and you shared an apartment with some friends in a different town, free of Uhtred's protection, and you finally participated in the dating scene. A handful of guys were boyfriend potential over the years, but every time you brought someone over to meet Uhtred, your brother would make sure to show his disapproval and chase them away. And so your dating life was still disastrous because of that, but you also couldn't pretend that you didn't still feel butterflies whenever you saw Sihtric.

You only saw him a few times a year, when Uhtred threw a party or when you'd come over to surprise visit your brother during a weekend off. You saw Sihtric with all kinds of haircuts over the years, and each cut had made him look as good as ever. You hated how you couldn't get over him. But once you heard he had gotten married, you told yourself to stop being so stupid and delusional.

You threw yourself in the dating scene again and ended up with a guy named Eardwulf. You and him worked out, for a while, since you never mentioned him to Uhtred. Until it was too late…

'What do you mean you have a boyfriend?!' Uhtred half yelled, his face pale as he tried to accept the fact his younger sister had been secretly dating.

'Had a boyfriend,' you sniffled.

Only a few days ago you found out that Eardwulf, your secret boyfriend of almost two years, had cheated on you multiple times throughout your supposedly committed relationship. You felt so betrayed and disgusted by him that you couldn't stand being around him anymore. And on that note he had kicked you out of his house, leaving you with no place to go. You had packed your belongings and left to the one person who would have warned you about him if he had known; your brother. Uhtred was furious at first and demanded you to tell him your ex's address, but you told him to forget it because it was all over anyway.

'But why on earth did you move in with this Earthworm guy without talking to me?!' Uhtred asked, angry and confused.

He still felt unwell knowing you had lived with a man, and therefore probably also had slept with a man. He shivered visibly at the thought.

'Because that was my freedom!' you threw your hands up. 'I finally found a guy who liked me, at least I thought, and after a year of dating I moved in with him. It meant that I sort of had a place of my own. No more sharing the kitchen and shower with housemates. I finally had privacy and someone who I believed I could build a future with,' you said with a sob, 'but I was so wrong… and now I have nowhere to go.'

Uhtred had sighed and, once the colour on his face had somewhat returned, he told you to not worry about a place to stay. You could move in with him for a while, until you'd find an affordable and decent place to live at again. And so you moved in with Uhtred that very same day.

His spare bedroom wasn't very big, but it would do for the time being. You cheered the room up a little by unpacking some of your decor. You placed several candles on the dusty shelves and hung a few picture frames on the empty walls. Uhtred told you he'd be out for a moment to get some groceries, and he informed you that he had a friend coming over later, but that they wouldn't keep you up late and they'd be quiet. You shrugged at that and took a refreshing shower, after which you treated yourself to a thorough skin care routine in absolute silence, with only some music blasting in your ears through your earpods. And after you had rinsed your face, you decided to go and pour yourself a well needed drink in the kitchen, knowing your brother always had more than enough liquor at home.

But instead of that well needed drink, you got the scare of a lifetime when you walked out of the still hot and steaming bathroom. While wearing fluffy pink booty shorts with a matching bra, you found a homeless looking man standing in the kitchen with his back turned to you, and your heart skipped numerous beats upon spotting the intruder.

'Jesus fucking Christ!' you screamed and almost fell on your ass, your earpods falling out of your ears at the sudden jump backwards.

'What the fuck!' the man also slightly jumped, and knocked over the shot glass he had just filled up.

He managed to save the bottle from clattering onto the wooden floor, and he quickly turned to look at who on earth had almost ended his life early. You stared back at him; his shoulder length hair was dark and clearly uncombed, but his facial hair was rather well kept. His white shirt had some holes in it, his black sweatpants had clear tomato sauce stains on them, and to top it off you saw one of his toes sticking out of a hole in his grey socks.

'Who the fuck are you!?' you shrieked, your back pressed against the bathroom door.

'Me?!' the man yelled, leaning back against the kitchen counter, 'who the hell are you?! Where's Uhtred? He didn't warn me that he had one of his fuck buddies over-'

'Fuck buddies?!' you shouted over him, with a face of disgust, 'Uhtred has fuck buddies?!'

'Of course he does!' the man snarled as he looked you up and down, 'and they all look… you know,' he gestured at your outfit, 'they dress like you!'

'Like me?!'

You gagged at the words while the spooked man in the kitchen kept his distance, waiting for you to reveal who you were while he was also ready to grab a knife from the kitchen island that separated you. He would chase you away, if he had to. You stared at him as you took a cautious step closer, seeing his eyes were wide and…

his eyes.

Your mouth went dry and you felt your cheeks heat up at the sight of his eyes, one bright and one dark. And only then you noticed the familiar scars on his face, half hidden behind thick strands of messy hair. You became light headed with your knees weakened when you realised who you had just walked into.

'S-Sihtric?' you stammered, 'is that… you?'

'Maybe,' Sihtric half growled, his eyes darting between you and the knife on the counter, 'depends who's asking.'

He remained in a cautious state, wetting his lips with his tongue while his eyes were still wide and darting between you and the knife. You followed his eyes and then took a step back again, remembering that Sihtric was pretty good with weapons as a kid already, always carrying a pocket knife back then. And you were utterly convinced that it was Sihtric who was in front of you. He had changed, absolutely. He was a man now, but you would recognise those eyes anywhere.

'Sihtric!' you yelled, 'it's me, you fool!'

Sihtric looked at you and squinted his eyes, as if he couldn't see clearly, but then suddenly his eyes widened again as his jaw dropped, and he gasped with both shock and relief when he finally recognised you.

'What,' Sihtric said, 'when… when the hell did you grow up looking like that?!'

'Looking like what?' you made a face, 'what is that supposed to mean?!'

'You… you were… you are Uhtred's little sister!' Sihtric scoffed, 'you… you know,' he panicked and tried to look anywhere but at you, 'you're not supposed to look like… like-'

'Like what!?'

'Like one of Uhtred's girls!' Sihtric yelled and threw his hands up, then covered his eyes for a moment, 'gods, why are you barely dressed?!'

'Excuse me?' you hissed and rolled your eyes, 'Jesus fucking Christ, Sihtric,' you sighed and walked over to grab the bottle of liquor next to him, purposely bumping into his shoulder as you did, 'you've never seen a woman in lounge wear before?!'

Sihtric stammered something inaudible as he watched you grab another shot glass from the cupboard. You poured yourself a drink and downed the liquor in one go, and you made a face as the burning sensation went down your throat, while Sihtric was still gaping at you.

'How on earth did you get in here?' you asked, your voice raspy because of the strong alcohol.

'I… I have a key.'

'Why the hell do you have a key to Uhtred's place?'

'Because,' Sihtric began with confidence, but then stopped talking and mumbled inaudibly again as he went to clean up his spilled drink.

'What did you say?' you gave him a curious look.

'I've been spending a lot of time here,' Sihtric finally said as he poured himself a new shot, 'Uhtred gave me a key so I can let myself in when he's not home yet.'

'What? You mean like… you live here?'

'No,' Sihtric said. He downed the alcohol quickly and made the same face as you had done, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'I don't live here, but I come here when I'm having a rough day. Uhtred knows I was coming over today.'

'Rough day?' you snorted, 'yeah, looks like you've been having a lot of rough days, huh?'

Sihtric frowned, and you pointed at his clothes.

'Fuck,' he muttered as he looked down at himself, 'I'm… I'm sorry for this. If I knew someone would be here I'd have showered.'

'Just showered?' you raised an eyebrow.

'... And washed my clothes,' Sihtric added with clear embarrassment.

You stared at each other for a few long seconds. You were still in shock that your life long crush was suddenly right in front of you again. Sure, he looked a little rough, but every feeling you have ever had for him came right back up, and they hit you like a smack in the face. You couldn't even think straight whenever he gazed back at you. He was clearly shy and embarrassed by the way he looked, and he tried so hard to keep his eyes off you. You were Uhtred's sister, he knew he shouldn't be looking at you the way he did. But he couldn't help himself, because you looked like a dream to him, and he had never seen you like this before.

'What,' Sihtric said, but his voice faltered and he needed to clear his throat, 'what are you doing here… looking like that?'

'I found out my boyfriend-'

'You have a boyfriend?' Sihtric frowned, 'Uhtred never told us anything about that.'

'Had a boyfriend,' you sighed, 'he cheated on me and kicked me out of his house.'

'Wait, you live with a guy?' he chuckled, 'does Uhtred know that?'

'I don't live with him anymore,' you rolled your eyes and walked around the kitchen island. 'And yeah, Uhtred knows now. That's why I'm here, I have no place to go. I'm staying here for a little while, until I get back on my feet.'

'Fuck,' Sihtric mumbled and joined you at the island, leaning on the marble surface across from you, 'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Yeah,' you shrugged, 'it is what it is. But I still don't understand why you have a key to this place.'

'I recently got divorced,' Sihtric confessed, 'my ex-wife cheated on me, so I know how you feel there.'

'Jesus, Sihtric… I'm so sorry.'

Sihtric shrugged and forced a faint smile, then filled the two shot glasses up once more and pushed one your way.

'Here's to shitty exes,' he said with a pained smile, 'and to us, may we finally find our soulmate and receive the love we deserve.'

You clinked the shot glasses together before you each downed the drink. You then both made an unpleasant face again, and you couldn't help but laugh at each other and at how bizarre the situation was. But the laughter soon died down, after which you and Sihtric carefully gazed at each other again as you both leaned on opposite sides of the island.

'You look good,' Sihtric said softly, 'despite everything going on in your life, you know? I wouldn't know you're going through it if you hadn't told me.'

'Thank you,' you smiled shyly, 'you look…'

Sihtric furrowed his brow as he waited for your answer, suppressing a smile while he tried to look offended.

'I don't look good,' he chuckled, 'I know.'

'No,' you said quickly, 'you… you do look good, actually. It's just your clothes,' you laughed.

'Well,' Sihtric cleared his throat, 'I believe that as a recently divorced man, I have earned the right to wear the same clothes for weeks on end.'

'That's disgusting,' you laughed, 'but you do have the right to be dressed in pizza stained sweatpants, sure.'

'Well, we can't all be dressed in booty shorts and little pink bras,' Sihtric taunted.

'You should try it,' you grinned, 'I bet you'd look sexy.'

'Maybe. But nowhere nearly as sexy as you look,' Sihtric said with a wink.

He then laughed again at how stupid he had sounded, while you were clearly blushing at his words.

'You're saying my little sister is what now, Sihtric?' Uhtred suddenly asked.

You and Sihtric both jumped at the sound of Uhtred's voice, and you made haste to grab a random towel off the kitchen counter to cover yourself a little up for your brother.

'That's… you heard that out of context,' Sihtric said quickly, 'I swear I didn't… I wasn't hitting on your sister.'

'He wasn't!' you agreed, knowing how Uhtred could be, 'it was my fault. I didn't know someone was here when I came out of the bathroom. I… I should've dressed up decently.'

'You should,' Uhtred said sternly, 'and you will, now! And you,' he looked at Sihtric, 'you will not be looking at my sister!'

'I will not,' Sihtric said, his eyes fixated on his own worn out socks.

You ran past Uhtred and to your room, where you slammed the door shut before you jumped in bed and hid under the covers. Your whole body felt as if it was on fire. Your heart was beating out of your chest and your cheeks were burning so brightly, you couldn't possibly show yourself again. You buried your face in your pillow, fighting all the feelings that had resurfaced so easily upon seeing Sihtric again. But you were also fighting the smile on your flushed face, due to the fact that he had clearly been checking you out. Sihtric might be recently divorced and a bit of a mess right now, but you were more than sure that he was somewhat flirting while you had shared that drink together.

But still, you felt awkward and hungry, and you needed something to eat. But instead of joining your brother and his friend in the kitchen for dinner a little later, you only snuck out while they were gaming on the couch, and you grabbed a plate of food with you to eat alone in your bedroom, not knowing Sihtric had glanced over his shoulder to get one last look at you that night.

A few days had passed when Sihtric came over again, and this time you were both decently dressed upon greeting each other. Uhtred had informed you of Sihtric's arrival beforehand, so you had put on an oversized shirt to cover yourself. And Sihtric in turn had made the effort to wear some clean clothes and to tie his long hair back in a bun. Only then you noticed he had an undercut, which was freshly shaved by the looks of it, as you could clearly see the tattoo that ran from his neck up to the side of his head and into his hair. And even Uhtred noticed how his friend looked cleaned up again for once, after a few long weeks of not being able to really take care of himself, and your brother couldn't help pointing it out as you all ate dinner together.

'Yeah,' Sihtric said quietly, 'I figured a part of healing is looking after myself too.'

'That's a good start,' you smiled at him.

And Sihtric smiled softly at you in return. But your smiles lasted a little too long for Uhtred's liking, so he cleared his throat loudly to break the ongoing eye contact you and Sihtric had.

'Oh, Uhtred,' you changed the topic, feeling your cheeks were heating up, so you turned the attention to your brother, 'how many fuck buddies do you have?'

Sihtric choked on his drink while Uhtred dropped his fork in pure horror, and both men stared at you with big eyes. Sihtric hid a grin behind his hand, trying his hardest to not laugh as he coughed, while Uhtred blinked rapidly as he processed your unexpected question.

'I beg your pardon?' Uhtred managed to ask.

'Yeah, I heard about your girls,' you said, subtly ratting out Sihtric, who gave you a light kick under the table. 'And I just want to make sure I won't ever walk in here on something,' you said.

'You won't ever walk in on something!' Uhtred snarled and glanced at Sihtric for a split second when his friend snorted, and he then looked back at you, 'and the same goes for you, young lady! I don't ever want you to bring a guy here, is that clear? I don't ever want to walk in on something either!'

'Fine,' you shrugged and got up from the table.

You returned to your bedroom, giving the guys their usual time to play some video games in the evening. But you didn't leave the room before flashing Sihtric a grin, knowing that Uhtred would definitely have a word with Sihtric about running his mouth to you about his private life.

As the weeks continued, you slowly picked yourself up again and every day you felt a little better. But that didn't mean that you weren't hurting anymore. Because you still had your emotional and low energy days, on which your break up just hurted a little more. But you couldn't deny the fact that seeing Sihtric a few times a week, even if it was only briefly during dinner sometimes, definitely made you feel better and made it easier to forget about your shitty ex. But when you did have an off day, it seemed that nothing and no one could cheer you up. At least, not until Sihtric had tried it.

'She's not eating with us today?' Sihtric asked when your seat at the dinner table remained empty one evening.

'No,' Uhtred sighed sadly, 'she's been in her room all day again, crying. I just don't know what to do. Everytime she seems to be going good for a few days, she has one bad day like this, and then all she does is cry and hide. She refuses to eat too, I don't get it.'

'Heartbreak messes with your appetite,' Sihtric said, clearly speaking of experience, 'have you talked to her today?'

'Not really, she won't let me in her room,' Uhtred threw his hands up, 'so I gave up, you know?'

'Do you think I can talk to her?'

'You?' Uhtred scoffed lightly, 'she doesn't want to talk to me, why would she want to talk to you?'

'Uhtred,' Sihtric sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, 'me and her, we've both been cheated on. And, no offense, but you don't know what that feels like. You don't understand what that does to someone because, and again no offense, you've been the cheater ever so often in your relationships.'

Uhtred looked at his friend, stunned and mildly hurt even. He knew he hadn't been a loyal boyfriend, but he never even considered that he had been hurting women the same way his little sister had been hurt by someone, and he felt a pang. He wanted to help you, but he knew that Sihtric was right, because he could never understand the pain you felt which was identical to the pain that he himself had caused so many others before.

'Let me talk to her,' Sihtric pushed politely, 'let me at least try.'

'Fine,' Uhtred shrugged, trying to hide his inner conflict, 'go ahead. But if she throws something at you, then that's your own fault.'

'I'll take the risk,' Sihtric chuckled softly and got up from the table.

You had been hiding away almost all day already, only leaving your room for a brief moment to get yourself a drink and a sandwich when Uhtred was taking a shower earlier that day. You couldn't talk to your brother, he would never understand how you felt, and you didn't have the heart to call him a cheater in his face, no matter how much you wanted to. You were angry today, angry at everyone and everything, when suddenly a soft knock on your door interrupted your sniffling.

'Leave me alone,' you said weakly.

'It's Sihtric,' his voice sounded muffled through your door, 'are you okay?'

Your heart stopped for a moment after hearing his voice, and you quickly wiped your tears with the blanket you had been hiding under all day.

'I'm fine,' you lied after a few long seconds.

'Are you?' Sihtric asked and cautiously opened your door.

He waited for a few seconds, then stepped in your darkened room when you didn't yell or throw anything at him, and you even allowed him to switch on a light.

'I'm fine,' you said again and hid your face.

'No you're not,' he said and closed the door behind him, 'but that's okay.'

Sihtric sat down next to you on your bed, at a comfortable distance as he allowed you to decide for yourself if you wanted to talk or not. And you desperately needed to talk, but you didn't want to constantly bother your own friends. Uhtred was the only one always around, but he had no idea how to handle your emotional breakdowns over some guy he had never even met; some guy he wanted to strangle with his bare hands. Uhtred would get angry whenever he saw you cry. Not angry at you, but angry at the man who had hurt you. And that always made him realise he was one of those kinds of men too, and it had gnawed at him. And it still gnawed on him, so much even that when he saw how you allowed Sihtric to come into your room, he had shoved his plate aside on the dinner table and left the apartment, as he needed to go for a walk and clear his head.

'I'm just so embarrassed,' you sniffled quietly, 'why do I cry over some stupid guy who cheated on me?'

'Because you loved him,' Sihtric said, compassionately, 'I get it, because I've been there. And sometimes I'm still in that place too. You wouldn't believe how many nights I still cry in bed.'

'You do?' you finally looked at him, 'how long has it been?'

'I do,' Sihtric sighed softly, 'it's been a few months since we separated. The divorce still needs to be finalised, but we're getting close.'

'I'm so sorry,' you whispered and started to cry again.

'Don't be,' Sihtric whispered and instinctively wrapped his arms around you, 'and don't feel embarrassed for crying either. I sure as hell am not ashamed that I still get upset sometimes. Because I know why I cry.'

'Why?' you asked, your face buried in his warm chest, 'because you miss your ex wife?'

'Oh, no,' Sihtric laughed softly, 'I don't miss her at all, and I definitely don't cry for her. I cry because I miss the life I had in a way. I miss the company mostly. I was used to coming home to someone. To have dinner with someone, to talk to someone and to fall asleep with someone. And I think that's the hardest part, missing that company. I feel lonely very often, and then I get stuck in my head. But I don't want my ex back, never,' he emphasized, 'and I'm pretty sure that you don't want your ex back either, do you?'

'Never!' you said and sat back, looking up at Sihtric as you wiped your tears again, 'I never want him back.'

'I know,' Sihtric smiled softly, 'because we both don't miss the people we were with, but we miss the company we had. And it's okay to miss that, you have to allow those feelings too. And that's what makes us different from them. Because we feel, and they clearly don't feel anything, why else would they hurt us like that? And I think it's important that we continue to feel, even if it hurts sometimes. Because we can't let them ruin the good in us, we can't let people like them ruin the fact we are able to love so deeply while they can't.'

'You are right,' you said after a moment, and you hugged him again, 'thank you.'

'Are you feeling a little better?'

'I am.'

'Good,' Sihtric smiled and got up from your bed, 'I think you should eat something. There's some dinner left in the oven, it should still be warm. I can bring it to you if you like?'

'No,' you got up too, 'I appreciate that, but I'll eat with you guys.'

'Well,' Sihtric chuckled after he had opened your door again and found the apartment empty, 'I think it's just me.'

'Did Uhtred leave again?' you rolled your eyes, 'he always does that.'

'I might have upset him,' Sihtric said, 'he struggled that you were feeling upset, and that he didn't know how to help you. So I told him that's because in relationships he has been a cheater. And he is clearly aware of that, but it's only now that he understands what effect that has on someone. And I think he didn't like hearing that.'

'It was about time he heard that,' you shrugged.

Sihtric agreed and went into the kitchen to get you a plate with some food. You joined him and quietly ate your dinner, while Sihtric was just scrolling on his phone for a while until Uhtred came back. Your brother was happy to see you had gotten out of your room and ate something, but he still didn't quite know how to behave around you. Sihtric felt the awkward tension and suggested playing some video games, as usual. Normally you declined spending time with them during their gaming, but you needed the distraction so you agreed to tag along for one evening. And you were glad you did, because you got to sit next to Sihtric and, as the evening progressed, you both became more relaxed and comfortable, resulting in your shoulders resting against each other while your eyes were fixated on the big tv screen in front of you. Uhtred was glad he didn't have to try and cheer you up, and as he was so focused on winning each round of Mario Kart, he didn't even notice that you and Sihtric sat a little too close for his liking, had he seen it.

But you enjoyed it, leaning into Sihtric while he leaned into you, feeling the warmth of his body and comfortable weight pressing against your side. It made you feel warm and safe, a little giddy even, and it was hard for you to focus on the game with him so close by your side. He smelled so nice too, it was comforting, and he radiated calmness and warmth to you. You wished that every day could be like that, but you also knew that Uhtred would never allow it if he'd find out.

You and Sihtric continued to bond and heal as time went on. All while Uhtred never once noticed the way you looked at Sihtric, or how he smiled at you, nor the way you and him sat shoulder to shoulder every time you joined the guys for a few rounds of playing video games. Uhtred was just glad that you and Sihtric both seemed to feel better, that he never even considered the reason you both were slowly becoming happy again was because of each other. And therefore Uhtred also wasn't even bothered when you and Sihtric got a drunk and danced together at the party your brother was throwing in his apartment.

You were a little more drunk than Sihtric was and, while the party was far from over, he decided to help you back to your room when you could barely stand on your legs anymore. You both stumbled into your bedroom, where Sihtric closed the door for some privacy before he walked you over to your bed. He tried to carefully lower you down onto the mattress, but the room was spinning for him too, so it didn't take long before you both fell in bed and had a laughing fit. And after the laughter died down and the loud music still sounded outside your closed door, you and Sihtric just laid there, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the spinning ceiling while your thoughts wandered.

'You know,' you slurred after a moment, 'I think… you're really hot, Sihtric.'

'What?' he snorted.

'I said,' you dragged out your words, 'I think you're really hot.'

'Oh,' Sihtric chuckled, 'okay.'

'Okay?'

'I mean… thank you?'

'Do you think I'm hot?' you pouted and sat up.

Your eyes were heavy and your cheeks rosy as you stared down at the handsome man who lied next to you.

'Uhtred would behead me,' Sihtric laughed.

'Fuck Uhtred,' you hiccuped.

'I'd… I'd rather not,' he made a face of disgust.

'Huh?'

'What?'

'Do you think I'm hot?' you asked again.

'Of course,' Sihtric smiled and lightly trailed his fingers over your cheek, 'of course I do. But you,' he slightly panicked, 'y-you can't tell your brother.'

'My brother is stupid,' you sighed.

'He is sometimes.'

'Fuck me,' you blurted out.

'What?'

'You,' you giggled and took his hand, 'please?'

'I… I-... you mean, now?'

You laughed and leaned in, going for a kiss, but Sihtric stopped you and told you that you were both a little too drunk right now. You said you didn't care, and then suddenly blurted out how you've always had a crush on him and that you were done waiting around. You had wasted years of your life already, and you were done with that, you just wanted to be with him. Now.

'O-okay,' Sihtric blinked rapidly after your confession, 'well… then… okay.'

'Okay?'

'Yeah,' he shrugged, 'we… we can fuck, I guess.'

'Okay,' you smiled and went to take off your dress.

You got stuck in your dress and Sihtric had to help you out, but as he saw double too, it took him a moment to free you. You then laid back down on the bed, wearing just your lingerie. You pulled Sihtric on top of you, who almost fell over and crushed you in his drunk state, which you both laughed off while your hands roamed each other's warm bodies. You kissed his neck while you felt his hands run up your thighs, and you took off his shirt. You blushed even more as you took in the sight of his muscular body above you. Sihtric took your hands and kissed them, and he then told you to relax as he started to take off his belt. But he was more drunk than he had anticipated, because for minutes he fought with his belt and couldn't seem to unclasp it. And once he finally did and lowered his jeans, he looked down at you again, only to find out that you had fallen asleep. Sihtric laughed softly at that and got off you, then lied down next to you and pulled the sheets over you both, after which he fell asleep too.

You woke up late the next morning after the party, with a headache taunting you right away and you struggled to open your eyes for a moment. But once you opened your eyes properly, they surely stayed wide open, as you were shocked to find Sihtric sleeping next to you. And if him sleeping next to you wasn't enough of a shock, you found yourself in just your lingerie while Sihtric's jeans were unzipped and lowered to his knees.

You tried to remember what had happened the night before, but everything was a blur. You didn't remember ending up in your room together with him, nor did you remember why you were both half undressed. The fact that you and him were still wearing your underwear told you that you most likely didn't have sex. But you weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed at that.

You couldn't help but stare at Sihtric as he was next to you, peacefully asleep and so handsome, it was like a weird dream come true. But that dream could turn into a nightmare soon, as you suddenly heard Uhtred cough from the living room. You jumped out of bed, made haste to lock your bedroom door, and you then started to panic. There was no way Sihtric could leave your room unseen, and you both wouldn't live if Uhtred found out you had spent the night together. You yourself weren't even sure if anything had happened, so how were you going to convince your brother that nothing had happened?

You paced back and forth in your room, your head was still spinning and the headache was pounding behind your eyes. You then crawled back in bed and woke Sihtric, covering his mouth with your hand as soon as he woke so he couldn't betray his presence by talking.

'Uhtred is still home,' you whispered, 'you have to be quiet.'

Sihtric quickly understood where he was and the trouble that could come with it, so he stayed quiet and dealt with his own headache. You managed to sneak out of your room, leaving Sihtric behind in your bed. You greeted Uhtred and told him you were probably going to stay in bed all day to deal with the hangover, to which your brother laughed. You grabbed yourself a big cup of coffee and some breakfast that you could share with Sihtric, and once back in your room you locked the door again.

You and Sihtric quietly discussed the night before, trying to figure out what had happened with the vague memories you both had, piecing them together to make more or less a whole story. You both came to the conclusion that you hadn't had sex, but neither of you were sure if you had kissed or not.

'Undressing without even trying to kiss?' you whispered, 'did we do that?'

'I think you kissed my neck,' Sihtric whispered, 'do I have marks?'

You quickly checked his neck and found he did not have a mark, but you agreed that you probably had kissed his neck, as that sounded like something you would do. You did remember you called Sihtric hot, but you didn't want to bring that up as you felt embarrassed by how you had blurted that out. And Sihtric remembered that moment too, but he also didn't bring it up, because he remembered there was more to that story as well. He remembered your somewhat love confession too, but now was not the time to discuss that with your brother around in the same building.

'So, now what?' Sihtric whispered and put on his shirt, 'I stay here all day?'

'You'll have to sneak out when he goes to the bathroom or something,' you said, 'there is no other way. I'm sure he'll take a shower after he finishes his coffee.'

And you were right. Your brother dragged his feet past your bedroom door after an hour, going into the bathroom. And as soon as you heard the water run, you and Sihtric jumped up. Sihtric nearly tripped over his own feet as he tried to make haste to your door while putting on his black boots. He reached to unlock your door but then stopped, turned and looked at you.

'What are you doing?' you hissed, 'go!'

'Can I at least have your number?' Sihtric asked.

'Are you serious?' you scoffed, 'you… I mean, yes, you can have it, but you have to leave, now!'

'I will,' Sihtric calmed you, 'just give me your number.'

You quickly wrote your number on a sticky note and shoved it in his back pocket, you then unlocked the door and grabbed his hand, dragging him to the front door as quickly as you could.

'Text me,' you whispered as you pushed Sihtric out of the apartment.

'I will,' he smiled.

And for a moment it seemed as if everything went quiet, when you stared into each other's eyes and slowly leaned in closer. Sihtric pulled you close and cupped your cheek, going in for the kiss he had been longing for since you had scared him that first evening in the kitchen. You felt his warm breath on your skin, his lips grazing yours lightly before wanting to capture you in that long overdue kiss. But before he could do that, you gasped and gave him a light shove. Because it hadn't just seemed as if everything had gone quiet around you, it actually had gone quiet. The wat

er wasn't running anymore, and you had no idea how long it had been since Uhtred had gotten out of the shower once you noticed it.

'Go!' you hissed, 'and text me!'

And you then quietly slammed the door in Sihtric's face, who was still smiling regardless of the rushed goodbye.

After that morning the sneaking around started.

It began subtly, since Sihtric used to come over a lot anyway. But there was now a tension between the two of you, after sending each other numerous flirty and risky texts since that party. Uhtred never paid attention to you and Sihtric sitting next to each other on the couch, and he never noticed the smirks and mischievous looks you exchanged either. And sometimes, while playing video games or watching a movie, you and Sihtric would share a blanket. And underneath that blanket it would always start with light touches and secretly holding hands, but every now and then you'd carefully move your hand up his thigh and he'd do the same to you. And Uhtred never noticed a thing.

Whenever Uhtred would leave the room, you and Sihtric would gaze at each other and even lean in, wanting to finally steal that first kiss from each other's lips, but Uhtred would reappear every time before you could get that far.

And it didn't take long before Sihtric would start to come over when Uhtred was still at work, just so he could see you and have a moment alone. But even then, every time you and Sihtric tried to kiss or have a moment, Uhtred would simply barge in the door. You had suggested meeting up at Sihtric's place, but you were then told that he didn't have his own place.

'I've been living with Finan since my divorce, darling,' Sihtric had whispered one evening, when Uhtred was using the bathroom, 'if I take you back there, Finan will figure it out since he works from home. And there's a risk that he will tell Uhtred.'

'So we'll just have to keep this up until one of us finally gets their own place,' you had sighed.

It seemed that you and Sihtric were just doomed, terrified to tell your brother and friends about how you liked each other and just wanted to openly date, but the odds were against you. At least, it felt like that until you finally received some good news.

After a few long weeks of yearning and aching, risky texts and late night phone calls, you learned that Uhtred was going to work evening shifts for a few months to cover for someone at his workplace. That meant that his and Sihtric's schedule would no longer overlap, and that you might actually have some alone time with your secret crush. And Sihtric was more than keen to grab that chance too, so on the first day of Uhtred's new shift, he showed up at the apartment a few hours after your brother had left.

'How long do we have?'

'He works from four till midnight,' you smiled.

You suddenly felt nervous after closing the door behind you, watching Sihtric walk over to the couch to sit down at his somewhat regular spot. And he was clearly nervous too, fidgeting with the several rings around his tattooed fingers and trying to subtly bounce his leg. You poured him and yourself a drink and sat next to him, both being unsure of what to say now that you were finally alone after all this time.

But words weren't needed, you found. Because as soon as you both placed your empty glass on the salon table, you reached for each other and finally crashed into that long overdue kiss. And it was everything that you hoped it would be. It was gentle yet firm, and it was filled with passion and lust. And as you drowned in each other's outpour of love, he pulled you on his lap to kiss you even deeper. You raked your fingers through his loose hair as you straddled him, and he slowly hooked his fingers under the straps of your white silk negligee. He slowly lowered the straps, his warm hands following in the wake of the soft silk sliding down your arms. But just before the smooth fabric could expose you, you grabbed onto the negligee and kept your breasts covered.

'I want to take things slow,' you whispered against his lips.

'We will,' Sihtric murmured as he smiled, then kissed you again.

He picked you up and laid you down on the couch, and he climbed on top of you so he could continue to kiss you as he held you captive in his arms, lovingly. You made out for hours, just kissing and gently roaming your hands over each other's bodies, and neither of you could get enough of feeling one another. And you continued to kiss throughout the evening, making out wherever you could; on the couch, on the floor and on your bed. It didn't matter where you kissed, as long as you were kissing each other. And you kissed until Sihtric had to go, some time safely before your brother would arrive home.

Those secret meet ups went on for weeks. Every time Uhtred left for work, Sihtric would meet you a few hours later. You'd usually have dinner together and then cuddle up on the couch, only to end up making out until Sihtric had to leave again. Some evenings were hot and steamy, when the urge to be intimate was almost unbearable, but you still resisted due to the knowledge that on paper Sihtric was still married.

And some evenings were just cosy and sweet, when you and Sihtric joked around and built forts out of blankets, just like you had done sometimes when you were still kids. And some evenings, when Uhtred had a day off or Sihtric had to work late himself, you would sneak out of the apartment to meet Sihtric outside the building, no matter how briefly it was.

Sihtric always made you feel special. He'd show you how much he adored you by bringing you your favourite snack, or by bringing you one single rose every other day. He told you he'd bring you a dozen roses if he could, but then you'd have to explain to Uhtred where you'd get the flowers from. You appreciated every gesture, and every moment spent with him was special on its own. But one night in particular was special, even more special than any other night. It was the one evening when Sihtric came over, after Uhtred had left, showing up with a bottle of champagne under his arm.

'The divorce has been finalized,' he smiled and kissed you, 'I already was yours, but now we'll never have to worry about anyone else ever again.'

You were over the moon hearing the news, because Sihtric was finally yours and yours only. And that also meant that you finally felt ready to take your relationship to the next stage, which you did. You wasted no time pulling Sihtric inside the apartment, and his leather jacket was already on the floor before he could kick the door shut behind him. He picked you up in his arms and kissed you deeply while he carried you to your bedroom as he kicked his shoes off. He pushed the door open with his back and threw you on your bed. And there you undressed each other as you kissed, not drunk this time, and you finally made love which felt even better than you could've imagined. You both lasted surprisingly long, despite the aching longing you both had endured for months, and you continued to kiss passionately while you both came down from your highs.

Sihtric wrapped one arm around you as you sat next to him on the couch, later that evening and fully dressed again, and he pulled you close.

'You make everything go silent,' he whispered and kissed your hair, 'you are my peace, darling.'

'And you are mine, love,' you smiled and kissed his jaw, while your fingers trailed lightly over his arm.

'How many kids do you want?' he suddenly asked.

'Huh?' you laughed for a moment, 'gosh, I'm not sure. At least two. Maybe three. Not anytime soon,' you chuckled, 'but in a few years, yeah. What about you?'

'I also don't want kids right now,' Sihtric smiled, 'but in some years time, yes.'

'How many?'

'Oh, I'll give you as many as you'll allow me to give,' he said with a sly smile, then leaned in to kiss you deeply again, 'maybe we should practice a little more?'

And before you knew it, you were making out on the couch again, like every other night. Except this time you both froze and stared at each other with big eyes when you suddenly heard the lock of the front door click and open. You and Sihtric both wanted to move away from each other and sit up, but it was already too late, because Uhtred stood in the door and looked at you with pure horror. But that horror soon changed into anger, and before you could even say something, your brother was already storming towards Sihtric. Uhtred grabbed Sihtric's shirt and pulled him off you with fury in his eyes, and he shoved him away from you. Your brother wasn't sure who to yell at first, so you took the opportunity to tell Uhtred that it's not what he thinks it is.

'It is not?!' Uhtred snarled, 'his jacket is on the floor!' he pointed towards the leather jacket neither of you had bothered to pick up before, 'and his shoes are at your bedroom door. So tell me, what is this then!?'

Neither you or Sihtric spoke, still being too startled by being caught, and then you glanced at the clock on the wall.

'You aren't supposed to be home yet!'

'I texted you that I would be home earlier!' your brother hissed, 'but you probably never saw it, because you were too busy!' Uhtred paused to catch his breath, and he then pointed at Sihtric, 'you!' he barked, 'with my sister?!'

'We are both old enough-' Sihtric began, but Uhtred cut him off.

'I'll show you old enough!' Uhtred said and attempted to grab his shirt again, but you interfered by getting in between them.

'Why do you always have to ruin my relationships?!' you cried to your brother.

'What?'

'You!' you gave Uhtred a shove, 'you've ruined all those I told you about, ever since I was young! The only long lasting relationship I ever had was with my ex, because I never told you about it until he cheated!'

'And look where it got you!' your brother scoffed, 'and this?' he pointed between you and SIhtric, 'you weren't going to tell me about this either?'

'Why would I!' you yelled, 'you would never approve! You don't approve of anyone!'

'Damn straight I don't,' Uhtred said and he raised his hand, clearly meaning to slap Sihtric in his face, but you jumped in front of your boyfriend.

'No!' you screamed, 'don't you touch him!'

Uhtred grabbed your arm, wanting to drag you away from Sihtric, but the latter was quick to slap your brother's hand off of you, and he then pulled you in his arms.

'Don't you ever lay a finger on her,' Sihtric said calmly but threateningly.

Both men stared at each other in silence for a few long seconds, until Uhtred took a step back and scoffed as he shook his head.

'You two lied to me,' he said, 'sneaking around behind my back? In my apartment?'

'And how does that feel?' Sihtric retorted, 'what's it like for you to feel betrayed like that?'

Uhtred said nothing for a moment, then sniffed and scoffed again.

'Leave,' he told Sihtric, 'you better leave right now, Sihtric Kjartansson, if you know what's good for you.'

'I'm not leaving here,' Sihtric said as he still held you, 'not without her.'

'And where are you gonna go?' Uhtred laughed, 'to Finan? He'll be thrilled to see you're bringing someone into his house. You know that's not an option, so where are you going?'

'I don't know,' Sihtric huffed, 'and I don't care. I'll figure it out. We will figure it out,' he squeezed you in his arms, 'because that's what you do when you love someone, Uhtred, you figure it out. You don't just leave or cheat. No, you stick by them and remain loyal. And you figure it the fuck out.'

You stared at your brother as he was silent again, absorbing the words Sihtric had just told him. And he was clearly contemplating between punching Sihtric in his face or giving you a piece of his mind, but he eventually did neither.

'You love her?' Uhtred asked after a moment, looking at his friend.

'I do,' Sihtric said without a doubt.

'And you?' Uhtred looked at you, 'do you love him?'

'I love him,' you sniffled, then looked up at Sihtric, 'I love you.'

'I love you too,' Sihtric whispered.

Uhtred paced back and forth for a moment, then threw his hands up and said, 'Fine. You stay, I will go.'

And without another word your brother left his apartment, going to god knows where and leaving you two behind, alone and startled. And you held each other after you both sat down on the floor, next to the kitchen island, processing everything that had just happened.

'Thank you for not leaving me,' you whispered after a while, as Sihtric dried your tears.

'You thought I would leave?'

'Every other guy always left me as soon as Uhtred interfered,' you sighed softly, 'so I figured this would be the same all over again.'

'No,' Sihtric said softly and nuzzled your nose before he pecked your lips, 'I've known Uhtred for most of my life, and I'm not afraid of him. I know him. This reaction was expected, that's why I didn't fight him. I figured if he'd just punched me in the face he'd feel better, but you stopped him, and I thank you for that,' he chuckled, 'it's a lot nicer to not have a black eye.'

'I would never let him hurt you,' you smiled and took his chin, 'can't have your pretty face bruised now, can I?' you kissed his cheek.

'I would've lived,' Sihtric smiled with a faint blush on his face, 'but still, I appreciate it. It means a lot to know that you care about me. And as for Uhtred,' he sighed, 'he'll turn around. I know he will. If he really was against me, against us, he would've kicked me out by himself and you wouldn't even have gotten a chance to get in between me and him. It would've been a bloody fight, and you know that too.'

'I know,' you said and leaned your head on his shoulder, 'Uhtred knows you're a good guy, but I just didn't want to tell him about us because I knew this would happen. And I wasn't ready for more drama.'

'Neither was I,' Sihtric laughed, 'but it's done now. We survived it and he will be calm again when he returns.'

'He won't like you sleeping over though.'

'He won't,' Sihtric chuckled.

'But he'll have to deal with it,' you shrugged.

'Not for long,' Sihtric said and looked at you.

'What do you mean?'

'Because I've been looking for my own place for a few weeks already,' he said, 'I felt like I was a bother to Finan and his wife, so I wanted to move out there too as fast as I could. It just took a while to find a place I could afford, but I found one.'

'You did?' you gasped, then smiled and kissed his face all over with joy, 'that's great! I'm so happy for you! I'm still looking for a place myself-'

'You can stop looking,' Sihtric smiled as he silenced you politely, pressing one finger onto your lips, 'because I'd like for you to move in with me.'

@mrsarnasdelicious @neonhairspray @sihtricsafin @errruvande @penumbrie @lexeirikrleif @diiickbrainn @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @bubblyabs @dixie-elocin @alexagirlie @stupiddarkkside @urmomsgirlfriend1 @gemini-mama @foxyanon @man-i-be-that-pretty-motherfuckr @thenameswinter99 @m-a-s-h-k-a @superblyzanynight @hernakedmuse @ewanmitchellfanatic @lady-targaryens-world @cosmosnkaz @stronger-than-steel

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric #the last kingdom #tlk #sihtric fic #tlk fic #sihtric au #tlk au #modern!sihtric

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cyberseong · 1 year ago

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distraction.

pairings: yunho x f!reader

genre: smut, college setting, fwb(?).

warnings/topics: there isn’t much plot at all, sub!yunho, perv yunho too just bc, praise kink, overstimulation, pussy eating, thigh riding.

a/n: i haven’t posted in so long oops 😭 this fic isn’t as long as usual but hopefully i’ll be able to post again soon with a longer one. enjoy! notes are appreciated ofccc.

wc: 0.8k

you and yunho were surely just friends; which is exactly why he got so flustered when you called him out for the intense stare he had aimed at your frame. the conversation started with an accusatory tone, with yunho struggling to explain himself with his words. the tense atmosphere didn’t last long before you began to realize how the hostile tone in your voice made his ears tint with a darker red than ever before, or the small whimper that left his lips as soon you referred to him as a ‘perv’. only then did you notice the print of his erection that bulged against his sweatpants. so that’s what yunho was into.

that was how you ended up with your back against the headboard of your bed, your shorts long gone and disregarded to the floor, with yunho’s face buried in between your legs, tongue caressing your folds. he had promised he wouldn’t distract you from your studying, which is why you still sat there, textbook being held up by your trembling legs as you continued to annotate and highlight different phrases and important words that you may need to remember for tomorrow. unfortunately, studying while yunho gave slow kitten licks to your clit was just as hard as anyone would imagine it to be; you slammed the textbook closed, throwing that and your pen somewhere off to the side. ‘i’ll just study harder later,’ you thought to yourself as your fingers intertwined with the strands of yunho’s pitch black hair.

“f-fuck, yunho, you’re going way too slow, c-can’t take it,” you moaned, subconsciously pushing his face closer to your folds. It caused the rims of his glasses to slip a little farther down the bridge of his nose, but he couldn’t do anything to push them back up for now— which meant you would just have to deal with the cold material brushing against your skin every now and then until he was done. yunho was so overstimulated just by the feeling of you against his lips and tongue; you loved how much he got off from solely pleasuring you. his hips repeatedly bucked against the mattress once he felt his release getting closer, and you could feel the movements of his mouth get sloppier than before.

you weren’t much closer than yunho, though– with a string of profanities and breathy moans, you came without much of a warning onto yunho’s face; however, he didn’t mind in the slightest, with his tongue lapping up as much of your liquids as he possibly could. when he lifted his face from between your legs, the sight in front of you was just sinful; the fluids dripped down from his lips and down his chin as he panted, completely out of breath. his eyes were glossed with a hazy look on them, and you just knew he was far gone.

“yun,” you called out, straightening your legs out and then patting your thigh, signalling for him to use it to ride out his orgasm. he let out a small hum of compliance. yunho moved to straddle your thigh, immediately rutting against it with the most desperate look you’d ever seen painted on his face. the repeated whimpers that erupted from his throat were surely going to be the death of you. it didn’t help your case in the slightest when he looked up at you with pleading eyes, whining, “y/n, p-please, can i cum now? i c-can’t,”

your eyes widened slightly at the fact that he was asking for your permission; everything you’d found out about him within the last hour were things you never would’ve begun to associate with the male; nonetheless, you couldn’t deny that his submissive side only made him more attractive than he was— if that was even possible.

“yes, yunho, you’ve been so good for me baby, cum for me, hm?” your praise only made a high-pitched moan leave yunho’s lips as he came undone in your lap. he convulsed from the overstimulation for a few seconds, before he moved to lay down beside you. the two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you took a moment to regain composure, all whilst maintaining strong but loving eye contact.

yunho stifled a laugh, his cheeks puffing out slightly with the action.

“well, so much for studying, i guess.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #atz smut #atz x reader #yunho #yunho smut #yunho smau #yunho x reader #yunho fic #yunho fanfic #smut

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re-whump · 4 months ago

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Pest Treatment (1?)

no editing we die like mice but oops some of those mice were also people

an exterminator meets a borrower or two; a borrower has a very rough evening

cw: whump, tiny whumpee, carewhumper, animal death (mice), death/dead body (look, one of the main characters is an exterminator), some very callous handling of the dead, poisoning, kidnapping/capture, you know normal meetcute stuff

It was the last visit at the end of a long day, and Rich had volunteered himself to speak with their client, leaving Frankie to get down on her aching knees to check the traps they’d left out earlier this week. She shouldn’t complain. The client was a old creep and she was way too young to be bitching about her joints.

So far, she’d found three dead mice so far, which was more than she’d been expecting, really. For all the man’s complaints of nighttime noise and ruined food, she and Rich had hardly seen any actual signs of rodent activity, never mind a full-blown infestation. She slipped into the garage, where they’d seen most of the pellets.

She didn’t expect to find…this…waiting in one of the traps. Frankie didn’t know what it was or how it got there or exactly how guilty she needed to feel about it. She didn’t want to touch it. She didn’t want to find out that it was real. There plenty of blood on her hands, that was the nature of pest control, but it was animal blood, not…

It looked like a man.

She hollered for Rich. He’d been working in the field for much longer than she had, long enough to have encountered just about anything infesting these parts. If nothing else, he could confirm she wasn’t hallucinating. He excused himself from his chat with the homeowner and joined her in the garage.

“Need something, Francesca?”

She was too disturbed to bother to scowl at the long form of her name.

“Am I…? What am I looking at here?” Frankie asked, gesturing to the dead thing.

A closer examination just made her stomach turn. The thing in the trap was either some kind of tiny human or a sick doll set up as a prank. Its face, barely the size of her fingertip, was a snapshot of shock and agony, gone still with death. The snap-trap’s bar had crashed down over the tiny man’s middle and shattered his spine. Her stomach lurched and she couldn’t look away.

It was no dead mouse, but a murder scene and Rich barely flinched. The corner of his lip twitched down and he shook his head.

“Ah, hell. I’ve never seen one dumb enough to walk into a trap. Poor thing must’ve been desperate,” Rich said regretfully.

“You’ve seen this before? What is it? Was he…?” her voice struggled to make it up her throat.

“A person? Maybe. Or some kinda fairy, I think, they’re not much for talking. It’s usually best to just let them be, I’ve found. They leave on their own once we start setting out poison,” Rich said.

He told her to go take a quick break, maybe wash up a bit. The job was almost done anyway, it wouldn’t be so bad to finish it alone. She hesitated with the knee-jerk sense that she had to prove herself capable. There was little Frankie hated more than being dismissed as weak and she hadn’t yet been at this job long enough to build up a solid reputation to defend herself with.

But she could feel the blood on her hands even through her gloves and that felt like a sign of bad mental health to come if she tried to ignore this guilt. She went inside to hide out in the bathroom for a moment to clean her hands and clear her head.

What did Rich mean, that it had maybe been a person? It sure looked like one. They went out of their way to keep poisons inaccessible to non-target species, but they weren’t worried about these maybe-people? Maybe the maybe was a trick meant to knock the sin down from murder, but that thought was even more upsetting. She could throw up.

She wondered if there were others. There had to be, right, if Rich had seen them before? Should they be putting out signs or…how close to human were they? How many had they killed? Had she killed?

She took off her gloves and washed her sweating hands. The mental image of that face couldn’t be cleaned away. She swallowed hard. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d set out mouse traps, per her job, and somehow that thing—the man—had crawled into reality and stumbled into one. She didn’t have any reason to feel guilty. She scrubbed harder, digging at her skin until she had almost convinced herself to let it go.

She took a deep breath to go back to work when she heard a soft thud, like the soap slipping off its tray and into the sink basin. Frankie turned around to fix it and nearly jumped out of her skin. There was another one there, one of the maybe-people mouse-folk, lying flat on her stomach in the sink. She was a bit larger than the other, fat as a rat, but she was also alive. She pushed herself up to her knees with shaking arms, and clutched her gut in misery. It took her a moment to notice Frankie looking down at her, but when she did, she shuddered.

“H-help,” she gasped. Frankie swore she heard the word within the creature’s labored breaths.

This one, Frankie decided, this one she could save.

Starling sat beside her husband’s body and wished she felt more heartbroken. Her hands shook as she felt for signs of life and again found none. She ought to grieve, to cry, but she hardly had the space for it. She was disgusted. Furious. Sick. Exhausted.

He’d tried to kill them all, and, damn it all, she had helped. She had baked his poison into something more palatable and served it up to the whole brood.

“Did you know?” she whispered. Her throat burned. He had lived outside before they met each other. He should’ve known what rat bait looked like.

Some kinda protein bar, he had said. Found it outside. Guess someone dropped it while they were working, lucky for us.

And Starling had believed him. As if borrowers ever got lucky. There was something odd about the block, the proportions maybe, the color, but the humans dyed their food all sorts of bright colors and this had had nuts in it and they hadn’t found any real food in days and she was scraping crumbs of crumbs out of the pantry and something had to be better than nothing.

They should have left when the mice came inside, when the old man started locking down the kitchen. They should have left when the exterminators came and laid siege to the property. But Starling’s family, self included, self included, was long-established in the home and too proud to leave.

She gave her husband’s frozen hand a final squeeze and stumbled to her feet. Her head swam as she moved. Her body begged her to lay back down. Across the room, her mother wasn’t moving. Her sister moaned about the pain, and their cousin collapsed when he tried to stand. He couldn’t speak when she tried to help him and she fled.

She was a terrible person for it, but she couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t face this. She was too scared to see who was gone and who was on their way out and afraid to hope there was anyone else left.

She’d eaten last, which meant she’d eaten the least, so as terrible as she felt, it was safe to assume everyone else had it worse. Maybe if she just, if she could throw up, she might…maybe she could find something to fix this.

Vomiting didn’t help, at least not enough. She was still so weak she was shaking and now her mouth tasted of bile. She kept going, further and further from her home within the walls. Her vision blurred with dizziness and tears.

She fumbled her way down towards a bathroom in search of soap and clean water to get this taste out of her mouth, at least. But getting there had exhausted what little energy she had and her coordination was getting worse and worse. She grabbed scraped off a bit of soap then tripped into the hard basin below.

She pushed herself up and froze as a shadow swallowed up the light. As a living mountain, a colossus, a human stared down at her. The most notorious predator in the world. It smelled like sanitizer and bug spray. Like death.

Starling was so damn sick, she hadn’t even noticed the human was in here until it was staring down at her. Hadn’t thought twice about the wet soap, about the light. Was too dizzy to think much about the noise, since everything was already too loud. She tried unsuccessfully to get up and run. All she could do was tremble and pray for rescue.

“H-help,” she gasped.

But of course no one could help her. She had run away from her responsibility to her family and she would face her consequences alone

#g/t #giant tiny #g/t whump #tiny whumpee #whump writing #my writing #oc: Frankie #oc: starling #p: pest treatment

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sp00kymulderr · 1 year ago

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feeling that way

Joel Miller x transmasc!reader

Lover boy series masterlist

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. for sexual implications. reader is afab/has female genitals, no pronouns used (written with the idea of a non-binary or transmasc reader), reader wears a packer, references made to both readers cock (packer) and pussy, pet names for reader (baby, honey), Joel is really horny for reader and their cock :), Joel sucks the strap (mention), bulge worship big time, love love love, beautiful queer love actually, writer got emotional and made this too personal and not at all about Joel oops. Unedited and unbeta'd. (divider credit to cafekitsune)

Words: 1.3k~

Summary: Joel enjoys a new part of you. He loves it, in fact.

Something is different about you.

Joel feels it the moment he opens the door. He's good at that, at noticing.

You're sitting on the couch watching something on the tv, nothing unusual there. But the way you hold yourself today, even the way you sit. There's an air of confidence to you that's different than usual. A hint of something new.

It excites him. You always find new ways to excite him.

“Hey” He mutters, coming round behind the couch and leaning down to kiss the top of your head. The usual greeting, intimate and caring.

“Hey” you say back with a smile, your head falling back so you can look up at him. There’s a glint in your eyes that belies your cool air.

You’re excited too.

“What’re you up to?” Joel mutters, a gruff chuckle leaving his mouth as he rounds the furniture and comes to sit beside you. It doesn’t take much from there to see what exactly has you acting the way you are. His eyebrow quirks, eyes looking up to meet yours then back down.

“Nothing at all” You grin back, and he understands the joy in your features now.

“Fuck, baby. It came?” He says, watching the subtle lift of your hips.

You’d been waiting for the packer for a while, Joel had insisted you go for something quality, something that would feel real for you and even though it meant a longer wait now you were glad he had done that. He’d insisted on paying for it too, ‘let me spoil you, honey’ he’d whispered in your ear when you’d confessed your desperate yearning to wear one.

It felt good to put on. So fucking good to wear. You had floated around the house in elation, a weight almost lifted off your chest at the new addition to you. Your eyes caught in every mirror, traveling down to your crotch at any opportunity. You didn’t feel like a different person, but you certainly felt like a different you.

Joel has a warm hand on you now, his eyes darkening in lust as he takes in the sight of it. Your cock is sitting just so, making a bulge in your tight jeans that he can’t possibly ignore. It makes his own twitch in need.

“Jesus Christ, baby” Joel groans, his hand rubbing lower towards the front of your jeans. Down, down, down… “How does it feel? How do you feel?”

You’re watching as his big hand skims the button of your jeans, stopping just shy of the swell of you. You barely register his words, mouth hanging slightly open, breath coming a little heavier. This is the feeling you’ve been chasing for longer than you realise, longer than you can even say.

“Feels..right” You finally whisper, something about the admittance making you shy away from his gaze momentarily. It feels like a big deal. It is a big deal to you.

Joel pinches your chin between fingers, tilting your head to look at him. Jesus, he looks desperate for it. For you. He leans in and kisses you, more tender than the kiss you expected. A kiss that says ‘I know’, ‘I’m happy for you’, ‘I’m here for you’. You have to fight back the sudden urge to cry. He’s always been supportive, always. You never expected less.

When he lets you go your head falls back against the couch as finally he makes eager contact with the bulge in your jeans. This new part of you.

And it is a part of you. You feel it when that big hand squeezes gently. You moan for him, breath shaking.

“Looks so fucking good. Feels good too, doesn’t it?” He whispers reverently, and all you can do is nod dumbly and fucking whimper at the sight of him getting down on to his knees, his eyes bright with the wish to worship you for everything you are.

He loves everything you are.

Joel gets between your legs, already spread wider than usual and it’s making his heart hammer in his chest. He looks up at you as he pops the button of your jeans, gives you a look that's so full of desire and absolute need. He looks wrecked and he hasn’t even gotten past the layers of your clothes

“Y-yeah. So good” you murmur as he slowly pulls down the zipper, his eyes flicker from yours and back down to the peek of underwear beneath your jeans. The sound he makes then makes your cunt ache in devastating desperation.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, honey” Joel grunts out, noticing at once that you’re wearing a pair of his boxers - your favourite ones, black with a simple red design, snug against his dick and now against yours too. Your eyes meet again, yours surely glistening with a lust matching his, and the look he gives you makes you clench around nothing. Without a thought your hips cant up to connect the bulge of your cock with his palm again.

“I know, I know” Joel mutters sympathetically, keeping eye contact with you as he very intentionally lowers his head, only breaking away from your eyes when he presses his lips against the firm yet soft barely exposed front of your- his - underwear.

And fuck if your legs don’t start to shake, if your core doesn’t tighten breathtakingly as he plants open mouthed, sloppy kisses there.

“Can feel your cock. That’s your fuckin’ cock, ain’t it?” He murmurs, not moving away but turning his head, his cheek pressed against there and you want to cry again at his words, at the affirmation, at the acceptance of your needs and the love he shows for you even in this filthy moment.

“Yeah, Joel. Yeah…” You stumble out, practically dumbfounded as you watch your handsome, gruff, hardened man worship the bulge of your fake dick like it’s his favourite thing in the whole damn world.

“Say it baby” He orders, voice all grunts and groans as he deftly rubs his nose against you now.

“My cock…it’s my…fuck…”

“Yeah it is” Joel smiles up at you, such a beautiful sight, all pride and joy just for you. God, you love him you think as he moves away for a moment tapping your hip lightly to lift your ass so he can pull your jeans all the way down. He’s all but salivating at the proper sight of you filling out his underwear, both your hearts beating a matching rhythm in your chests

“Gonna let me suck it too, huh? Fill my mouth up all good?” He says, voice gravelly with wild desire that makes every part of you feel on fire - a fire you never want to put out. Let it burn forever, let it burn everything but the two of you.

You watch rapt as he kisses up your thigh whilst his big hand experiments with squeezing your impressive package, facial hair tickling your inner thigh before he moves up again. As Joel practically worships at the altar of you his own member strains against his pants, you can tell from the way he thrusts against nothing - still on his knees, which he’ll regret a little later, hips subtly shifting every time he enthusiastically rubs his face on your crotch.

“I love it, Joel. I feel- feel like me” You finally admit out loud.

“I know” He says back.

‘Thank you’ you whisper, though perhaps the words never make it out of your mouth before he’s drawing away, standing with a groan and knees clicking. Taking your hand in his with a squeeze and all but dragging you to the bedroom.

He takes one moment, just one, to stop in your tracks and look in your eyes. A gentle, loving, caring look that makes you feel so special. Just like he does every day.

“You’re here, baby. You’re here”

And he’s right, finally you are.

#THROWING this out into the world and running the fuck away #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x afab!reader #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal character fic #x reader #I have no reread so if its as terrible as I think just ignore this okayyy

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white-wolf-buckaroo · 8 days ago

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Where the Flowers Don't Grow - Chapter 1

Word Count: 8k oops

Warnings: basically everything you should be warned about with TLOU, honestly

Notes: We start in episode 1x05!

Fic Masterlist

It was supposed to be a quick job.

In and out in a few hours tops. Get into the city in the early morning, grab everything she could carry, and get back out before it got too dark. But the resistance’s uprising against FEDRA disrupted her plans, and Faith got stuck in Kansas City before she could make it out on time.

Fucking perfect.

Faith avoided the cities like the plague, but outside in the woods and abandoned land where she much rather stayed at there weren’t enough supplies for her to get by, so she had to raid a few old shops every now and then to get everything she needed. This time the closest city had been Kansas City. The lack of infected on the streets made her feel uneasy, but what was definitely worse was the people she had spotted from far away. And also, something else: there was no FEDRA. The resistance had overtaken the city the same day she had wandered into it. She’d stayed hidden, scavenging at night and camping out in empty apartments, planning to leave as soon as she could. But the rebels had locked the city down, and suddenly she found herself caught in a war zone. Roadblocks. Patrols. Armed checkpoints.

These people weren’t FEDRA, but they still shoot first and asked questions never.

They were after someone. Henry, whoever that was. Faith obviously didn’t know what that Henry guy had done, but it sure as hell had to be something big if he had the whole city after him.

She was surprised to meet him a few days after getting stuck in KC.

She hadn’t meant to, obviously. But she was running out of supplies and desperately needed a way out of the city. So when she encountered an older man one night after breaking into an old shop, she still aimed her rifle up high with her killer aim, but let him speak before pulling the trigger:

“I’m not armed” he held his hands up, talking slowly but clearly. “I’m just looking for something to eat.”

Faith didn’t lower her rifle, nor did she even blink. Her eyes flicked over the old man’s disheveled appearance, the unshaved face, the kind of worn-out clothes that screamed someone who had been living in this hellhole for too long. His hands were visible, no signs of hidden weapons.

“You know,” he continued, his voice almost apologetic, “I wouldn’t be here if I had another choice. Not like I can go out there and get food anymore.” His eyes flickered toward the shelves behind her, where almost ancient cans of food sat in a pile, the few she had found kneeling under shelves. “Seems like you had better luck than me.”

Faith still didn’t move, but she didn’t pull the trigger either. Her heart raced in that familiar, instinctual way—it had been too long since she’d been this close to someone. Too long since she’d been this close to anyone and not killed them. And he wasn’t threatening her. Not yet.

“And you think I’m naïve enough for me to share my loot thinking you won’t hand me over to the resistance running the city?” she asked coldly, still scanning the room, watching him with the kind of calculated patience that only years in the wild could hone.

The man let out a long sigh and took a step closer, though not too close. “I’m not with them. I used to be a doctor here... long ago. But I’m sure you don’t care. I’m just trying to survive, same as you.” His hands remained in the air, in that “please-don’t-shoot-me” kind of gesture.

Faith’s gaze narrowed, but she didn’t shoot. She was too used to the silence of the world around her, too accustomed to staying hidden in the shadows, yet here she was, face to face with someone who was asking for food, asking for trust. She wasn’t sure she could give him that.

“You’re not with them?” she repeated, still keeping the rifle trained on him.

The man’s voice was soft, weary. “No, I’m not with them. I’ve been here longer than they’ve taken over. All I want is to survive, just like you.”

She didn’t have much time to think about it. The sound of a car coming close down the road made her and the old man flinch, and she immediately ducked down, as did he. She remained quiet, focusing on the sound of the tires and the few voices she could hear from the people in the car; there were at least three… not too many to take them down on her own, but if there was a shooting in the quiet of the night they’d draw attention and others would come to back up the guys outside.

Faith flinched when she suddenly saw the old man hiding close to her, having crawled from the front of the shop to the back to hide better from the people outside. She looked at him with wide eyes, tense, noticing the flashlights from outside being aimed at the inside of the shop they were in. A few seconds passed, the old man and Faith looking at each other in the thick silence, until they released in unison a sound of relief when the car drove away into the next street.

“I can bring you to a safe spot to hide.” said de old man, as they were standing up. “I’m Eldestein. You can come with me and… You can hide for a few days.”

“I’d much rather make it out of the city as soon as possible before those fascists get to me, thank you very much.” She quickly picked up the cans she had left stacked on a shelve and put them in her backpack, watching the old man warily. “Good luck finding food. I’m out.”

She turned her back to him but didn’t make it far before his voice cut through the silence:

“You’re Faith, right?”

Immediately she raised her rifle back up and turned on her heels, pointing it straight at him:

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

The man raised his hands up again at the sight of the rifle, but he didn’t seem as frightened as before. There was recognition in his face, something… Something that seemed very close to sadness, but also nostalgia and something bittersweet.

“I remember you… Your mother, and your father. You look so much like your mother. You probably don’t remember me… How could you, it’s been around… Eight years since I last saw you, and you were only this little thing when your family left the city. You used to live here, right? In the QZ. With your parents, Eric and Monica. And your little sister. Dahlia.”

Faith’s finger came dangerously close to the trigger at the mention of those names. Names she hadn’t heard in a very, very long time.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Eldestein. I was a doctor when, well, before the world went to shit. Still was when I lived in the QZ. I helped delivering you and your sister when you were born.” seeing that Faith was listening and that she hadn’t yet pulled the trigger, he went on. “Your mother, she was a botanist, right? She helped FEDRA grow food inside the QZ along with other remaining scientists. I remember your father was a history teacher. He had… Strong convictions about FEDRA. I guess that’s why your parents left with you and your sister. I thought, well… I thought maybe you had been killed because of your father’s opinions. Disappeared in the middle of the night. I’m glad to see you still made it this far.”

He didn’t ask about where her parents or her little sister were right now. Better. He probably would have ended up with a bullet in his head if he dared to.

“Yeah, well, and back where it all started.” she mumbled hardly. She didn’t remember Kansas City, not at all. And she wouldn’t have gone back into this damned city if she hadn’t run out of other options.

“I have a hideout. No one knows about it, nobody from the resistance. I can take you there, and you can… Lay low for a few days until we find a way to make it out of the city.”

“We?”

“I’m stuck here as much as you. You’re an outsider, they’ll kill you to rob whatever you have on you, infected or not. And Kathleen, she’s the leader of the resistance… She wants my head. Because I collaborated with FEDRA.”

“So she wants you because you’re a rat.” Faith scoffed, almost finding this whole situation funny, although there was nothing amusing about it.

“If I’m a rat for wanting to survive another day then so be it. But I’m also offering you another chance… if you want it.”

“Why would I trust you, huh?” her face hardened. “Because you delivered me as a baby? No offense, but that’s a shitty argument.”

“I guess it is. But I was the first person to hold you, and… Call me a sentimentalist, but that still means something to me, even if it doesn’t make sense in this fucked up world. Let me help you… For the friendship I had with your mother. Please. She was… An extraordinary woman.” He could guess she wasn’t around anymore. Faith seemed… Hauntingly alone. “For what still matters, I feel like I owe it to her. To the world. To at least still do something good.”

Faith stood there for a long moment, her rifle still trained on Eldestein, her mind racing with options. Every part of her screamed to keep moving, to stay distant, to keep doing what she had always done: survive by her own rules. But there was something in his voice—something in the way he spoke about her mother—that made her hesitate. A part of her wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him. But trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not anymore.

Her eyes flicked toward the door, the darkness beyond, and she wondered just how much longer she could keep running. The Resistance, these fascists, they were everywhere. And now Eldestein was asking her to trust him, offering the one thing she’d been fighting against her entire life: help.

"I’m not here for charity," she muttered, her voice low, but she didn’t lower her rifle. "I don’t need you to play hero."

"I’m not playing hero," Eldestein said quietly, his hands still raised, his posture weary but sincere. "I’m just offering what I can. If you want to survive, we need to stick together. Kathleen won’t stop until she has me, and if she gets wind of you, she’ll come after you too."

"That Kathleen," Faith said, her voice sharp now, still on edge, but her curiosity piqued. "She’s just another power-hungry psycho running a city, right?"

Eldestein’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he looked away for a moment, as if wrestling with memories he didn’t want to relive. "Kathleen started out fighting for something better," he began, his tone heavy with regret. "But once she gained control, everything changed. She became as brutal as the people she was trying to overthrow. She’s willing to sacrifice anyone—anything—to keep her hold on this city."

Faith's eyes narrowed. "Sounds like the same old shit."

"It is," Eldestein agreed, his voice soft but full of bitterness. "But she’s also smart. If you’re not with her, you’re against her. And that’s a line she doesn’t let anyone cross."

Faith glanced at the door again, hearing the faintest sounds of people moving outside, their footsteps growing more distant. She had to make a decision—stay and hide or leave and risk getting caught in the crossfire.

"Alright," she said finally, lowering her rifle just enough to show she wasn’t going to kill him. "I’ll go with you. But I don’t trust you. You lead, I follow. Any funny business, and I’ll make sure it’s the last mistake you ever make."

Eldestein nodded, his expression softening with something like relief. "Fair enough."

And that’s how she met Henry and Sam.

The old man, Eldestein, led her to the top of an old building - which didn’t really make Faith start to trust him more – and then to a hidden attic, explaining that a FEDRA agent had told him about it before he was killed.

Faith still wasn’t sure of his intentions, if he was really trying to help her or maybe just bring her someone discrete to put a bullet in her head and steal whatever she had on her, but they had crossed a good portion of the city without getting caught, and when they had almost walked into a street where a car of the resistance was parked, watching for anything suspicious, he hadn’t handed her over to gain their favour.

The attic was dimly lit. He had went up first, and when Faith did, this time a small gun out pointing at whatever trap he could have hiding there, she only found a man and a young boy staring warily back at her.

“What is this?” the man asked, already reaching for his own gun to point it at Faith. She hadn’t made it fully into the attic yet, ready to escape if things took a nasty turn. Her eyes, though, kept flickering between the man now with the gun and the little boy beside him, looking frightened, terrified even.

Scared eyes. Eyes too young to carry so much fear. A sob followed by a plea and then a scream. The blood, the tears.

“Daddy no!”

Faith blinked back to the present, pushing the memory back, needing to focus.

“What the fuck is this?” she looked at Eldestein, still pointing the gun at the other man. “Is this a fucking trap?”

Faith’s eyes flickered between the man and the boy, her finger hovering over the trigger, ready to act at a moment’s notice.

The man’s voice was tense, desperate. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?” He also glanced at Eldestein, searching for answers. “Who is she?”

Faith's hand tightened on the grip of her gun, but she didn’t fire. She was too busy observing the boy, the way he stood there, trembling, his face pale.

For a moment, it felt like the world had frozen. The sharp tension of the barrel of her gun pointing at them, the old man’s silence lingering in the air, the weight of distrust pressing down on everything. But then she heard Eldestein’s voice directed to her:

“They’re with me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “They’re not a threat.”

Faith didn’t drop her weapon, but she glanced over her shoulder, meeting Eldestein’s eyes, searching for something that would explain why he had led her to this moment, this attic.

The man still had the gun pointed at her, but his eyes were uncertain now. “Who are they?” she asked, at the same time the other man demanded to know again who she was.

“This is Faith. I found her while looking for food. She’s stuck in the city and wants to leave, just as ourselves” he said, gesturing toward the man. “This is Henry, and his little brother, Sam. They also just want to make it out of the city.”

Henry’s gaze shifted toward Eldestein, then back to Faith, his grip on the gun loosening just a fraction. “We don’t want trouble.”

The words hit Faith like a jolt of electricity, the realization slamming into her gut. Henry. The Henry. The one the resistance was hunting. The fugitive. The rebels were looking for him, to kill him.

“You’re the guy they’re looking for.” Faith didn’t lower her gun, but she got fully into the attic now. “The rebels on the streets. They want your head.” She glanced at the younger boy then. She hadn’t heard anything about him. “What did you do for them go to full battalion mode after you, huh?”

Henry didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away from the recognition in her voice. “I guess that’s me.” His tone was dry, matter-of-fact, like it wasn’t the first time someone had pointed a gun at him because of his reputation. “But I’m just trying to get my brother out of here, same as anyone else. No hero complex.”

Faith’s eyes flicked to Sam again, and then back to Henry. She could feel a stir of something inside her, a mix of pity, understanding, and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“You didn’t answer my question.” She insisted, sharp. She glanced at Eldestein, still to her left, no signs of any hidden weapons. “Are you a rat like him? A FEDRA collaborator?”

“Yeah.” He answered, coldly. “I did what I had to do to save me and my brother. Now lower that gun, please, you’re scaring him.” he nodded his head down to where Sam was clutching Henry’s leg in fear.

Faith wasn’t sure if she could trust him, but she did understand the sentiment of a sibling doing whatever he could to save his brother. One thing was certain: they were all just people trying to survive.

"Alright, fine," she muttered, her gun now hanging loosely at her side. "I’m not here to play hero either. But if anyone fucks with me or my stuff, it’ll be the last thing they do."

Eldestein, who let out a quiet sigh of relief, now stepped forward and spoke, his voice steady. “We need to get out of here. We can’t stay in the city much longer. Kathleen will find us sooner or later. Henry, Sam... we need to move soon.”

Henry nodded, his gun already down while his gaze flickered toward Sam, who had been silent throughout the exchange. The boy looked up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes, as if waiting for a decision to be made.

“We still have enough food for around six days. We can come up with a plan until then.” He glanced towards Faith, his expression turning harder again. “No funny business. We’re on the same boat. We only want to make it out of the city.”

Faith watched them in silence. It wasn’t much, but in that moment, she saw the same thing she had been clinging to for years—the hope to make it through, to survive. To hold on to something that mattered in a world where everything else had been destroyed.

(…)

Faith didn’t sleep that first night. She couldn’t. Not after everything that had happened, not after meeting Henry and Sam, not after the uneasy quiet of the attic settled in around them. The light from a flickering lamp barely illuminated the room, casting long shadows against the peeling walls. Eldestein had already stretched out on a pile of old blankets, his breathing slow and steady. Sam was also sleeping, curled up close to Henry and surrounded by half-done drawings and a bag full of crayons.

Faith’s eyes flicked to the hastily drawn pictures that lined the attic’s walls—some of them were rough sketches, others more detailed, as if Sam had spent the last few days creating a world of his own in the middle of chaos. Many of them were of a boy, dressed with a cape and an orange stripe covering his eyes like a mask. Like a superhero fighting the bad guys. The kid had a great imagination for sure.

Her eyes lingered on the boy, watching as he slept soundly. She hadn’t said a word to him yet, hadn’t even attempted to communicate. His silence was as loud as anything. The boy had never spoken—Faith figured it was just a matter of survival. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen someone like him. But there was something about Sam that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

Faith shifted her gaze to Henry, who hadn’t gone to sleep either. He was sitting against the wall, arms crossed tightly, his face tense. His eyes, despite the exhaustion, never left her for long. She could feel his suspicion, his uncertainty. She didn’t blame him. If she were him, she wouldn’t trust her either.

“Not tired?” she asked, her voice low but cutting through the silence. She had her rifle next to her, ready for any possible attack.

Henry didn’t look at her immediately. Instead, his eyes darted briefly to Sam before responding. “You think I’d sleep after all that?” His voice was laced with weariness, but also something colder. “You’ve got your reasons for not trusting me, I’ve got mine for not trusting you.”

Faith nodded slowly, her eyes drifting back to Sam, then back to Henry. “Fair enough. I get it. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

Henry shifted where he sat, uncomfortably adjusting his position. “We’ve been sitting in silence for at least an hour now. You don’t talk much. Why’s that?”

It took a second for Faith to register the question, and when she did, she looked back at him, her brow furrowed slightly. “You think I should?” she asked, her tone skeptical. She was already getting tired of the small talk, tired of being on edge. But she couldn’t help herself. The quiet weighed on her too much. “I talk when I have something worth saying.”

“I get that,” Henry said, his voice flat. “Sometimes silence speaks more than words ever could.”

They both sat there for a while, the sound of Eldestein’s soft snoring filling the space between them. Neither of them spoke for a long time. But Faith could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. She knew they were both thinking the same thing—how long would they be stuck in this attic? How long before they’d need to move again, or worse, when Kathleen’s people would find them?

“I’m also not used to talking because I usually don’t have anyone around to do so.” she mumbled, her fingers playing with a broken thread of a pant pocket looking at that instead of glancing at him. “I’m mostly alone… Except for the occasional runner or clicker that I cross paths with. They don’t talk much, though.”

“Well… Same.” Answered Henry, after a few seconds. “Not that I’m usually alone, or that I’ve fought any infected, but… Sam doesn’t talk. He’s mute. He’s already been through more than any kid should have to, and still he’s… So tough. He doesn’t talk, but that doesn’t mean he’s not aware. He’s learned to speak without words. And trust me, he’s smarter than most adults I know.”

Faith studied Sam for a long time, her thoughts swirling with the complexity of his silence. He was just a child, caught up in a war he never asked for. Like she herself had been. Like… her sister had been.

“You said you usually have no one to talk to.” Henry seemed to try to make small talk again, and Faith shifted uncomfortably on the floor where she was sitting across from him. “Why’s that?”

“I told you. Because I’m alone. Simple.” she shrugged. Henry glanced at her interested now, his brows frowning. It wasn’t often someone travelled alone, not with the infected and the raiders and FEDRA, and it was even less common for someone as young as her to do so. “I’m used to it anyways so… yeah, whatever.”

“Wait… How old are you?”

“That’s a rude question to ask a lady, Henry.”

“For not talking much you have a lot of snark in you.” He bit back, smiling a bit. She smiled a bit too.

“Does it even matter?” she asked, huffing. He waited for her to answer and she gave in. “I’m sixteen. You?”

“Twenty-four.”

“So you were born before the outbreak.” She hummed, looking at him. “Lucky you.”

“Well, I still had to live through the outbreak and after that, leading up to this moment, so I’m not sure if I would call myself lucky, but… okay.”

“Well I was born in the apocalypse so… Guess none of us are really lucky, huh?”

Henry didn’t reply, not right away. He leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. The weak lamp light flickered again, and for a second, neither of them looked at each other.

They were just two people, stuck in a crumbling attic with a child who didn’t speak and an older man who snored like clockwork. Two strangers bound by circumstance, wariness, and the gnawing sense that time was running out.

(…)

The next few days blurred together. They spoke in hushed tones, walked with careful steps, and listened constantly—always for boots on pavement or the sound of a distant engine. Eldestein proved to be surprisingly resourceful. He’d brought enough to stretch their rations, and on the second day, he quietly offered Faith a pistol he’d hidden beneath the floorboards in case of emergencies.

Faith cleaned it automatically, her hands steady, checking for ammo and if it still worked. She didn't ask how he got it. She didn’t need to. She put it with her other gun on her waist, no questions asked.

Sam began to warm to her in small ways. He never said anything, never even gestured directly, but she’d find new drawings near where she slept—sometimes of a girl with a gun, or a wolf under a full moon. He started to communicate with her with his little magnetic board, and she eventually warmed up to him as well, even if it scared her.

He made her remember her little sister. Dahlia. He was as innocent as she had been.

By the fourth day with Faith up there, they were running low on food. The attic felt smaller with each passing hour. Faith kept checking the window, as if she might catch sight of freedom—or danger—lurking down below.

“I’ll go out tonight,” Eldestein said, adjusting the strap on his satchel. “See what I can find.”

Henry looked alarmed. “No. You shouldn’t go alone.”

“I’m the least likely to draw attention,” Eldestein replied calmly.

“I’ll go with you,” Henry offered, standing up. Faith did too.

“No,” Eldestein said sharply. “If something happens to me, you still need to get Sam out. That was the plan, remember?”

Henry bit the inside of his cheek but said nothing more.

Faith stood and slung her rifle over her shoulder. “I can go with you. I’m a good shot.”

“I’d gladly take you with me, you seem capable enough.” He smiled warmly. “But I’d much rather have you here, with them.” He glanced at Henry and Sam. “Someone needs to keep an eye on them. Stay here.”

Faith hesitated, but then nodded.

“Okay,” She said. “But if things get nasty… We’ll leave. Can’t have the rebels finding us.”

He didn’t argue. He just nodded, and he slipped out through the hidden hatch and disappeared into the city’s dark veins. Faith stayed near the attic window, rifle across her lap, eyes scanning rooftops and alleys.

Henry sat beside Sam, trying to keep the boy calm. They didn’t sleep. None of them did.

They had a plan to leave the city. They only needed a few more supplies to make it, and a clear view of KC to see where they had a best shot at avoiding Kathleen and her men.

By morning, Eldestein wasn’t back.

Faith didn’t let it show, but her grip on the rifle had tightened, her eyes scanning harder, her breaths slower and shallower. Henry paced quietly behind her.

“He said he’d be back by dawn,” Henry murmured.

“I know.”

“You think they got him?”

“I don’t know.” Faith didn’t blink. “But we can’t stay much longer.”

Henry didn’t argue. He looked to Sam, who was sitting in the corner painting on some old cardboards. After ten days up there, eleven with the one they were currently at, they didn’t have any more food. And Kathleen was coming closer and closer.

They didn’t have any other choice.

Faith finally turned from the window. “Whatever happens, we move tomorrow morning. With or without Eldestein.”

Henry found it hard to think of leaving the man behind, but… He didn’t come back. They waited, hoping for him to show up in the attic, but it was in vain. He had most likely been captured, or already killed. Faith knew that, and Henry too, although he didn’t want to believe it.

“He could still be out there, couldn’t he?” he looked outside through one of the small holes in the cardboards stuck to the windows so that they wouldn’t be seen from the streets. “Maybe he’s just holding off until the resistance moves to another street or…”

“Henry,” Faith cut him short, shaking her head. “He knew what he was getting into. And he agreed that if he didn’t come back, we’d leave.” She gave him a cold look, one that spoke a lot and showed her full steel armour build up by years of loss and tragedy. “We have to keep going.”

Henry glanced at this sixteen year old next to him, her eyes hard as a bullet and her resolution firm as her grip on her rifle. He knew she was right, and still inside of him, deep down, he felt sick.

“Let’s wait until the morning,” he said. “If he’s not back by then… Fine, we’ll leave. But you’re sleeping tonight, I’ll keep watch.” Faith wanted to argue back but he wouldn’t let her. “You’ve told me you’ve fought runners and clickers. I’ve never even shot a gun. If we leave tomorrow, Sam and I will need you to get us through any threats we could face.”

She knew he was right, much to her dismay.

When by morning Eldestein hadn’t made it back, they left.

(…)

Faith went down first, making sure it was clear for them to go downstairs. After almost six days up in the attic, she was desperate to go back outside into the fresh air. Although she wouldn’t be comfortable enough until they made it out, and she could go back into the woods.

Fucking cities… She couldn’t wait until she was back on the road again.

“Let’s check the street first.” she mumbled, glancing at the door that led outside; it had a window above they could look through. Henry helped her drag a table to the door, and they climbed it to take a look while Sam watched them silently.

“There’s no one.” Henry looked left and right and saw nobody. “It’s okay, we can leave.” He climbed down again, telling Sam with signs that it was okay to go outside.

Faith was about to climb down from the table herself when the sound of tires startled her and Henry, making Sam look at them nervously noticing the surprise and alert written all over their faces.

“What the hell was that?”

For a second they could only hear tires, but then there was a loud ‘bang!’ and the sound of someone shooting. Henry tucked Sam to the floor whereas Faith still glanced through the window standing on the table, having seen a white-blue car completely demolishing a an old laundry’s window crashing through it.

“What’s going on?” Henry climbed up again next to Faith, carefully glancing outside.

“They’re shooting at the man who crashed the car,” she whispered, trying to still make out sound from outside in case someone tried to get into the building they were at. “He’s there, hiding behind the back of the pick-up.” Henry could see him now, firing a rifle himself. “Do you know him? Is he from the resistance?”

“No. Must be an outsider.” he shook his head. “But he is.” they watched as another man slowly creeped into the shop to find the outsider, they lost sight of him and then… another bang. Who was dead? The outsider or the rebel? They soon got their answer, seeing the outsider standing back up. He was looking around, assessing the danger… He looked straight at where they were, and they immediately ducked down. “Do you think he saw us?”

“I hope not.” Faith risked another glance outside, but the man was gone. “Let’s go before we find out.”

Henry climbed down the table again, signing to Sam that the danger had passed. Faith looked at them, still on the table, and then outside to the abandoned car.

“I think I have an idea.”

(…)

Faith’s idea had been to loot the car and get the hell out of KC, but Henry had come up with a new plan instead: track the man down, and use his skills and ammo to get out of the city.

“That’s like the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Faith complained in a hushed voice. They had raided the car before Kathleen’s men showed up, being able to get some food for the day and a bit more of ammo before they had to run, and now they were hiding in another building, but far from being safe. “It’s fucking stupid. He’s a stranger, an outsider.”

“So were you,” he cut her off. “And now we’re on the same team.”

“You don’t want to be on my team.” she scoffed, visibly angry.

“Why’s that, huh? You know how to use a gun better than I do. Seems like a strong point for me.”

“Yeah, but everyone on my team doesn’t usually end up too good, so I wouldn’t be celebrating you’re with me, but rather lamenting that you’re stuck with me.”

Henry’s jaw tightened and he took a few deep breaths to calm down.

“He’s a good shot. You’ve seen it yourself. If we want to make it through the tunnels…”

“I thought you said the tunnels were clear! No infected!”

“Well, if there are one or two, you can handle them, but in case there’s more… He’d be of help. And he’s killed Bryan. Kathleen will be after him too. He needs to leave the city, like we do.”

Faith knew he had a point, but she wasn’t a fan of working with strangers. Or rather, with anyone.

She felt a tap on her arm and turned around, finding Sam looking at her. He signed something with his fingers, and she glanced at Henry waiting for him to translate:

“He’s asking what’s going on.” Henry looked at his brother and signed an answer back, saying out loud what he was telling him so that Faith would understand: “We’re going to look for a man who can help us leave the city.”

“Dude, I didn’t say I was okay with this.” Faith complained through gritted teeth. Sam smiled at them, happy that they would find someone to help them escape.

“Faith will help us get to him.” added Henry at the same time he signed it to Sam with his hands, pointing at Faith. Sam smiled at her this time, and he went to hug her waist, at which she went stiff. Henry watched them with an amused smile as she struggled with her arms, not knowing where to put them.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, you can let go off me now.” she pulled Sam away from her, grabbing onto her rifle for emotional support. “Well then, now that you’ve used your little brother as a way to emotionally manipulate me… Let’s go find that stranger. Just so you know: if we die, it’s your fault.”

Henry smiled amusedly and grabbed Sam’s hand to follow her.

(…)

“He probably doesn’t know the city, so he will want to take a good look at it to asses where it’s easier to leave.” Henry led them through quiet streets during the day, hiding behind abandoned cars and keeping a good track of the man they were looking for. “He will look for a tall building, somewhere from where he can look at the whole city.”

“We’ve been looking for him for hours now. He could have already made it out.”

“If it was that easy to leave you and I wouldn’t be here anymore as well.” He did have a point there. “It’s getting late, he’ll probably camp for the night, and then asses everything by early morning. And the tallest buildings to do so where Kathleen’s men aren’t patrolling, are those across the street.” Henry pointed at two tall buildings, back in time probably apartments or small offices. “We can wait until he shows up and then follow him inside.”

Faith squinted up at the buildings, then scanned the street. Shadows had already begun to stretch long and thin across the broken pavement, swallowing the light and giving her that uneasy feeling again—like the city was closing in.

“We wait too long and he’s going to spot us first,” she muttered, ducking behind a rusted-out sedan. She peeked over the hood, eyes trained on the buildings. “Or worse, someone else will.”

“He’s smart. He won’t move around in the open at night without knowing where to go,” Henry said quietly, crouching beside her with Sam between them. “And if I were him, I’d go in right after dark. Less patrols, more cover.”

Faith glanced sideways at him. “You’re starting to think like a wanted man.”

Henry didn’t smile. “I am a wanted man.”

A few minutes passed in silence, broken only by distant creaks and groans of wind twisting through empty buildings. Sam leaned against her arm, and though she flinched at the contact, she didn’t pull away this time. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on the darkening street.

Then—movement.

“Hey,” she hissed, tapping Henry’s arm.

Across the street, a figure darted from behind a lamppost and hurried toward the first building. He moved quick but deliberate, checking corners, and followed by a young girl. He wasn’t alone, then. The man and the girl went into an alley, and they saw how he pulled her up to a window where she crawled into, and a few seconds later she opened the door for him, leading him inside the building.

“That’s him,” Henry breathed, already on his feet. “Let’s go.”

Faith grabbed his arm before he could move.

“Wait a minute. He isn’t alone. If we go straight in after them they’ll shoot us. If you’re right, and they want to look at the city by morning, one of them will probably sleep tonight, and if we’re lucky both of them will. We go in when they think it’s safe and they’ve let their guard down. That’s the right time.”

Henry hesitated, but nodded. Sam huddled closer to him, his wide eyes tracking every shadow like they might leap at them. Henry explained their plan to him and the boy nodded, looking at both his brother and Faith with trusting eyes.

She felt something uneasy in her stomach when he glanced at her with so much trust. She felt sick. He shouldn’t trust her.

By the time they crossed the street and they made it into the building where they saw the strangers wander into it was already late at night. Faith went first, as she had been doing for the whole day, and when everything was clear she let Henry and Sam inside.

“They will have camped somewhere upstairs,” she figured, turning on her flashlight. Henry did too, grabbing onto Sam with his other hand.

“How will we know what floor they’re on?” he looked at the sign on the wall, letting out a deep sigh. “Forty-five stairs. They could be anywhere.”

“Well, the man seemed old. Probably won’t have made it past twenty flights. Keep your eyes open for any sign of danger.” She pointed with her flashlight to the front, holding it under her other hand where she was carrying her gun. “And be as quiet as you can.”

They went up slowly, watching out for anything suspicious. The ride up seemed infinite and unending, even if they got closer and closer to the last floor. Finally, after checking the thirty-second floor, they found something in the thirty-third: glass shards all over the floor.

“Sam!”

He didn’t hear Faith, of course, but Henry stopped him before he stepped on the glass shards. Henry signed to him that it was ‘noisy’ and Sam nodded, looking at them apologetically. They put their flashlights away and Henry gave Sam a small gun, remembering him of what to do.

Faith glanced at them and when they signed that they were ready, now completely silent, they walked to the door in front of them, avoiding to step on any glass shards to not make any sound.

Inside, they found them: the man and the girl, sleeping on the floor on some cushions. The man had his back to the door and the girl was sleeping with her mouth open, snoring lightly.

Henry went with Sam, and they both pointed their guns at the girl, whereas Faith pointed her rifle at the man sleeping, her gun back on its holster on her waist. She nodded at Henry, signalling she was ready, and then he lightly shoved the girl with his foot, startling her awake.

She looked at them frightened, not making a sound and raising her hands the moment she saw the guns aimed at her and the man. Henry let her sit up on her knees with her hands still up, and with a wavy voice she called out for the man still sleeping on the floor:

“Joel…” he didn’t even stir. “Joel!”

That made the trick. His eyes shot up, and at the sight of the girl being held at gunpoint he made a move to sit up, but he was met with Faith pointing her rifle at him without moving an inch, contrary to Henry and Sam, whose guns were shaking a bit in their uneasy hands.

The man, Joel, met her eyes, his own as hard as hers, and his gaze shifted from her to Sam, standing in between her and Henry.

“Eyes on me, eyes on me!” Henry urged him, getting Joel to look at him. “You don’t have to worry about what to say. We don’t want to hurt you. We wanna help you.”

“… Okay” said Joel.

“Okay, um… I don’t really know what the next step of this is, but uh…” Faith kept her eyes on Joel but she almost rolled her eyes, wishing she had taken up the role of speaking up instead of him. Even Joel looked at her sideways, like ‘is he serious?’ and she could only raise her eyebrows like ‘yeah, I know’ “But if we lower our guns, we don’t hurt you and you don’t hurt us… right?”

“… That’s right.” He didn’t sound trusting at all.

“That’s a weird fucking tone, man!”

“That’s just the way he sounds!” said the girl now, looking at Joel like ‘dude it’s not the time to be a dick’ “He has an asshole voice. Joel tell him he’s okay.”

“… Everything is great.” same flat tone.

“Dude!”

Henry glanced at Faith, waiting for her to make a deciding move.

“We’re gonna trust you,” she said after a few seconds in silence, her voice flat as Joel’s. He looked at her warily, just as she was looking at him. Henry signed her words back to Sam. “But if either of you guys try anything, we’ll fucking shoot you. Got it?”

“Got it.” Joel nodded slowly, looking at her without even blinking once. “… Can I sit up?”

Faith nodded, and he moved into a sitting position with his hands up, still face to face with the end of her rifle.

“Who are you?” Joel asked, glancing at her and then at Henry and Sam.

Faith risked a glance towards Henry, giving him a quick nod. If they wanted to collaborate with these people, they had to give them something.

“My name’s Henry.” His voice wavered, as did his hand with the gun. “That’s my brother Sam. I’m the most wanted man in Kansas City. Although right now… My guess is you’re running a close second after killing those people at the old laundromat.”

“You saw that?”

“We did. And we want to leave KC, just as you.”

“That’s okay, then… Lower the guns now.” Joel asked, well more like demanded, and after checking with Faith, Henry did so, Sam immediately after him. The younger girl let out a sigh of relief, whereas Joel glanced back up at Faith, who was still aiming her rifle at him. “You too, nameless girl.”

She didn’t immediately, still looking at him watching out for any movement against her now that Henry didn’t hold the girl Joel was travelling with at gunpoint. When he didn’t try anything, she put the rifle away, taking a step back, Joel’s eyes on her movements the whole time.

(…)

It was just like the first night Faith had spent in the attic with Henry, Sam and the Eldestein. No one would talk, no one would sleep, no one would trust. Henry set up his camping light in the middle of the room and they sat around it, with Henry, Sam and Faith on one side, and Joel and the girl on the other. They shared a bit of the food they had with them, as did Henry and Faith, as a sort of peace treaty after their first encounter.

“Where’d you get these?” they were munching on some old but still edible cookies the girl had taken out of her worn backpack, eating mostly in silence.

“From Bill,” she answered simply. “He’s, uh… dead.”

Sweet.

Silence was back on full force. Joel packed the remains of what he had left together inside a tissue and handed it over to Sam, who accepted it with a smile, signing to Henry to tell him ‘thank you’. Faith’s lips curled into a small smile she quickly put an end to watching the kind gesture; they probably didn’t have much, so it meant a lot.

It was the kids, eventually, who spoke up first, too uncomfortable within the tense silence adults usually put through:

“How old is he?” she glanced at Sam, then at Henry. She avoided Faith’s gaze, still feeling a bit uneasy around her.

Henry translated the question to Sam, who answered with signs again. “He’s eight.”

“Cool.” she smiled, then pointed at herself. “I’m Ellie. I’m fourteen.”

Sam smiled too, already starting to like the girl.

“I’m twenty-four.” added Henry, trying to stretch the conversation. He looked at Faith, nudging her with his elbow a bit on the side. When she looked at him he pointed at the strangers they had met, urging her to introduce herself.

“I’m Faith.” she said simply, still munching on her cookies. Ellie and Joel looked at her, his eyes staying on her longer than Ellie’s. “I’m sixteen.”

Ellie had to urge Joel to introduce himself as well, and he did with a sigh:

“I’m Joel. Not telling you my age. Look, you ate, we didn’t kill each other, let’s call this a win-win and move on.”

“You came up here to get a view of the city and plan a way out, didn’t you?” Faith could tell Henry had been right. “When the sun’s up, I’ll show you one.”

There was another beat of silence, until Joel nodded.

“Sounds good.”

(…)

They agreed to sleep in shifts, but no one trusted enough to rest right away. The kids dozed off first—Ellie curled into her jacket near Joel, her head against her arm, and Sam resting on Joel’s makeshift mattress close to Henry.

The camping light flickered gently between them, casting soft shadows across the dust-covered floor. Joel remained seated, back against the wall now, legs drawn up just enough to rest his arms on his knees with his rifle by his side. Faith sat cross-legged beside the window, close enough to see out but far enough to remain hidden, her own rifle by her side.

Outside, the city was still and dark. A few distant lights flickered in broken windows or from abandoned lamps left behind by patrols. Somewhere far off, a faint bang echoed—maybe a door slamming in the wind, maybe not. But nothing came of it.

Eventually, Henry’s head drooped. Faith glanced over, and sure enough, he’d fallen asleep sitting up, chin tucked to his chest, Sam’s small body curled beside him. She thought of the first night in the attic, how quiet he’d gone, how tired he’d looked even then. Last night he had kept watch so she could sleep, too. He needed the rest. They all did.

She didn’t notice Joel looking at her until she turned her gaze back out the window and caught his reflection in the glass.

“You’re not sleeping either,” he said quietly, his voice low and gravel-worn from disuse.

Faith didn’t answer right away. The city outside was beginning to shift—colours lightening by barely-there degrees, shadows dissolving at the edges. Dawn hadn’t arrived, but it was close.

She shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d trust me enough to fall asleep.”

Joel made a soft sound—halfway between a scoff and a breath. “I don’t.”

She nodded. “I got the same feeling about you, so… Fair.”

He shifted slightly, stretching one leg out, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly. “But the kid trusts you. That little boy. Sam. He smiles easy.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was softer now, less sharp. “He does that.”

“You their sister?” Joel asked, glancing at Henry and Sam.

“No.” She paused. “Not related to either of them. We just ended up in the same attic.”

Joel simply nodded, as if he understood that kind of thrown-together connection.

“You her dad?” she asked now while glancing at Ellie, trying to remember how civilized conversations worked. It had been so long since she had been with so many people at once… She was really out of practice.

“No.” he answered bluntly. “She’s… Cargo.”

“Human cargo? You’re not one of those… human traffickers, or something?” Faith frowned at him, ready to fight back, although she didn’t sense any sudden movements coming from him. He scoffed even, smiling slightly.

“I’m not a human trafficker.” he almost chuckled. She waited for him to finish his answer. “Or something, no. I’m just helping her get from point A to point B.”

“What’s point A?”

“Boston QZ.”

“And point B?”

“None of your business.”

For a while, they sat like that, again in silence. Just two tired people keeping watch over a few more tired people who still had a little hope left.

Then Joel spoke again.

“You say you’ve got a way out.”

Faith nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Henry’s got a plan. He’ll tell you in the mornin’”

“He’s not the best with words.” he recalled the moment they were holding him and Ellie at gunpoint, and how Henry’s voice had wavered. “Nor at threatening people.”

Faith snorted under her breath, glancing sideways at Henry, still fast asleep with his head bobbing ever so slightly each time he exhaled.

“Yeah, no kidding. First time I met him he nearly tripped over a bucket trying to look intimidating.” She smirked. “I’ve known him for, like, a week, and I’m already convinced I’m the muscle and the brains of this operation.”

Joel huffed out a quiet laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”

“I know,” Faith said, grinning now. “Trust me, it wasn’t for me either.”

She leaned back against the wall, arms folded loosely over her knees, eyes scanning the horizon through the window as the sky shifted from navy to deep lavender and then to lilac and dusty pink. The light spilling into the room was slow and lazy, like even the sun wasn’t quite ready to face another day in this place.

“Still,” she added, softer now, “he’s not useless. Guy’s got plans coming out of his ears. And he knows the city. He’s thought of maps, escape routes, supply caches— his mind is like a walking to-do list with trust issues.”

Joel looked over at her, eyebrow raised.

She shrugged. “Okay, major trust issues.”

He smirked, watching her a moment longer before his gaze followed hers out the window.

“You don’t seem so bad at this either,” he said eventually.

Faith raised an eyebrow. “At what?”

“Keeping watch. Not cracking under pressure. Staying calm while pointing a gun at someone’s face without even flinching.”

“Oh,” she said, faux modest. “Thanks. I’ve been practicing.”

Joel gave a low, quiet chuckle again. “Not bad for sixteen.”

“Not bad for an old guy either,” she shot back easily, and this time, Joel actually smiled—quiet, short, but real.

A fragile kind of peace settled between them after that. A kind of… understanding. The kind that grows in the ruins of everything else that remains.

Next chapter

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