#this one for violet pls <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[loath3d]

xaden licks his lower lip once before taking it between his teeth, the gesture all he can manage in order to keep himself quiet tonight. he's just entered the gym where cadets are sparring on various mats, violet and rhiannon on one of them. he looks at violet for only a few seconds, though, before forcing himself to look away. it had only been three nights ago that they'd shared that kiss in the courtyard while sgaeyl and tairn had been... busy. it's a kiss he'd told her had been a bad idea, and yet... it had been a lie. bodhi and garrick flank him as they walk further into the space, the three of them stopping along the edge to watch the others fight.

as subtly as he can, which is rather impressive at this point given all the time he's had to master his own power, he'll allow his shadows to approach and caress violet, letting her know he's entered the room. whether she already knows it or not, he won't intrude on her thoughts — he hasn't even let her know they can communicate in this way, yet. ❝ sorrengail... you call that a punch? ❞ to tease her like this is the only way he'll allow himself to interact with her, at least for now; it's safer this way. arms are crossed over his chest, his stance rather stiff as he watches the woman despite how hard he tries to come off as disinterested.

starter for / @ac1nums

[carbonateddelusion]

well obviously uno is trying to make you play with an amount of frames per second equal to the name of the game

... y'know, one.

what's a good bout of uno without some Absolutely Snail-Paced times?

[loaksky]

— come a little closer

hockey jock!vi x tutor!reader, fluff / humor / angst / kinda slowburn / smut (18+ mdni!), wc: 16k+ [buckle your seatbelts bc i could not shut the fuck up about vi if i wanted to !]

synopsis: you’re many things; an exemplary student, quiet and well-mannered, loved immensely by those who bother to get to know you, but most importantly, the newfound object of superstar athlete vi’s every affection. or, in other words, hockey jock!vi is lowkey a loser, atrociously down bad, and will stop at nothing to make you hers.

content warnings: language (duh), brief mentions of familial issues, latent insecurity, miscommunication & lack of communication, kissing, groping, SEX! mdni, seriously, i’ll THROW UP!, more specifically fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), spitting, makeup sex idk, just good old fashioned lesbian BANGING! also! jazz cabbage, lets pretend for the sake of this au that student athlete’s don’t get tested bc i NEED hockey jock!vi to hotbox reader PLS.

fic soundtrack: i could imagine —alina baraz /snooze — sza /tonight — summer walker / pressure — james vickery + sg lewis / wish that i could — umi

author’s note: of course it’d be arcane s2 that resurrects me from my almost yearlong hiatus...pls enjoy this fic even though i’m pretty rusty; she’s been cooking in the drafts for weeks T-T i’ll be answering some (very long overdue) asks and chatting with you guys <3 and finally, this shit is barely proofread bc my brain is fried lol

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

One that supersedes every issue she’d ever given weight to in all of her four (and a half) years of university. Is way larger than twice-a-day practices on and off the ice that go hand-in-hand with studying so hard to make sure that her grades don’t slip a fraction. Probably way bigger than the fact that her little sister’s graduating high school soon and she’s trying her absolute best to be as great a role model as she can despite wanting to crack under the pressure. And most definitely bigger than her favorite on-again-off-again fling, Cait Kiramann, who’s rare to come by these days.

Vi has a huge problem, and quite frankly, it’s you.

In hindsight, she’s been relatively good at overlooking you, not that it’d been intentional to begin with, but Vi knows a lot of people. Too many, she feels sometimes. So it's easy for you to slip through the cracks when everyone’s vying for even a shred of her attention.

Perhaps it’s what piques her interest when your orbits finally do collide. Because, admittedly, you know all about Vi. Know that she’s probably one of the most valuable players on the uni’s hockey team (she’s an absolute beast on the ice). Also know that she’s a biomedical physics major and actually incredibly smart. But most of all, you know that not only is Violet a flirt, she’s a player.

Not necessarily that you’ve ever really been on the receiving end, but mostly because her reputation precedes her and you’ve seen it all from a distance. Can't not when the decorated hockey star is such a charmer whether she intends to be or not. Vi has girls both certain and questioning stumbling for a single glance.

You often think it’s pitiful, but it’s not like it’s really your problem.

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

Hours after a big victory in the first game of three that solidifies whether the university hockey team participates in the championships, Violet is the star of tonight’s celebration.

She’d sunk the winning shot, and for that she’s being poured shot after celebratory shot. By eleven she’s practically hammered and it’s when her teammate, Ellie, and the captain, Abby, finally show up.

The three of them together, drunk, is like a minefield of obnoxious laughter, dirty innuendos, and rowdy behavior.

And for a while it’s funny, has Vi feeling like she’s on cloud nine, but eventually, the drunken high begins to evaporate and she starts to feel a little overwhelmed.

The spotlight shifts and even though Vi typically preens under the attention, she’s grateful to finally breathe.

With a plastic cup full of water, she’s sliding the back door open and stepping out onto the back patio to take in the cool air for a breather.

She makes a move towards the stairs, but nearly jumps out of her skin when she registers the silhouette at the base of the steps.

“Jesus, fuck,” Vi hisses to herself. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You don’t even spare her a glance over your shoulder, just take a sip from your drink.

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

She catches her breath, doesn’t even bother to ask permission as she drops all of her weight next to you.

The step creaks under pure muscle.

Her strong legs stretch out, elbows settling back against the step up as she waits. And waits. And waits.

The amount of silence that lapses is unusual, uncharacteristic for Vi, especially so because people are typically babbling enough to fill the void when it comes to her.

But you just sit there, nursing your beer and staring up at the stars. The moon hangs half in the sky, softly illuminating the planes of your features.

It’s her first good look at your face and Vi’s definitely drunk, but the immediate thought that comes to her mind is pretty, pretty, pretty. Undeniably and painfully pretty. And not Caitlyn pretty, the only girl she’s ever really used as a benchmark, but intimidatingly so in your own right. Makes her swallow hard, throat bobbing as she watches you unapologetically.

“It’s rude to stare, Violet,” you say simply, eyes finally flitting to meet hers.

Her breath catches in her throat, earthy flecks dancing in your moonlit irises. God, your eyes. Framed by thick lashes and round as you look up at her.

“You know who I am?” she asks stupidly as if point fives of her face aren’t blown up into memes and plastered all over the house.

“Who doesn’t?” you ask, breathing a puff of humorless laughter as you crush the can in your ringed fingers.

And perhaps you got her there, but Vi’s feeling exceptionally small under your gaze despite usually filling out a room. Something about you makes her shrink.

“I— fuck,” Vi stumbles, cheeks red because you’re looking at her with an indecipherable gleam in your gaze that has her squirming. “What’s your name?”

She cringes at herself, rolls the piercing in her nose once, twice, for comfort.

You laugh again, a little more genuine this time because, from a distance, the athlete’s usually so suave, undeniably gorgeous and composed. Right now, the girl in front of you only ticks one of those boxes.

“________,” you offer.

She weighs the name on her tongue, decides she likes it a lot, and tries to shake off whatever this feeling you’re giving her is.

“And you go to school here?” she asks.

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

“Huh, we’re in similar fields, but I’ve never seen you around,” Vi observes. Because she’s certain she’d bookmark a face like yours, absolutely no doubt about it.

“We had organic chemistry together sophomore year with Dr. Talis,” you say matter-of-factly, like you’re not blowing her mind right now. “And I’m auditing Medarda’s biometry class this semester.”

Vi’s floored.

“Wait, wait, but...” She’s trying to piece the puzzle together, but her brain’s still a little fuzzy, equal parts from the alcohol, but also because she’s caught a whiff of your perfume and you smell so sweet.

“I pop in every once in a while,” you tell her. “But I tutor in that time slot every Tuesday and Thursday, only really go when I don’t have any appointments.”

“Hold on, this is nuts,” Violet says, body easing to face you. You flinch because she doesn’t realize she’s practically yelling. “There’s no way, I definitely would’ve remembered you if that was the case.”

You hum, corners of your lips quirking as you shrug your shoulders.

“Doubt it,” you counter. “I’m nothing particularly spectacular.”

“Nothing particularly spectacular,” Vi repeats under her breath.

And under normal circumstances, she’d be flirting up a storm right now, trying to charm her way into getting you to bite, but this is one of the first semblances of normalcy she’s experienced in a while. No ulterior motives, no exaggerated kindness, no outright asking her to fuck.

Suddenly your phone lights up in your lap and you’re turning your attention to the device.

“DD duties call,” is all you say as you make a move to stand up.

No, this can’t be all she gets from you tonight. Not when she’s been narrowly missing someone like you for the past four years and you’re just now coming to light.

The dormant liquid courage bubbles and Vi’s gently grabbing your wrist to pull you to a stop.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asks, steely eyes liquid as she stares up at you.

You eye the scar on her lip, gaze lingering there before flitting to meet hers.

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

You’d left her with crumbs this past Friday night and she’d spent the better part of the weekend trying (and failing) to cross paths with you again.

“Jesus, you’re down bad,” Ellie chuffs Monday morning on their walk to the campus coffee shop.

“You don’t understand,” Vi defends. “She’s so...so...”

“So?”

“Different, I dunno,” Vi sighs, fiddling with the strap of her backpack as they walk. “We didn’t even talk about much, but that was the most normal I’ve felt around someone in a while.”

Her teammate snorts.

“Probably the gayest thing I’ve heard you say,” Ellie deadpans. “She isn’t immediately trying to munch and you’re already in love. Pathetic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vi scoffs as they approach the coffee shop, inside packed full with half-functioning college students so early in the morning. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d—”

The words die in her throat because halle-fucking-lujah, the universe or god, or whatever has answered her every prayer this past weekend as she clocks you a few paces ahead in line.

Ellie follows her friend’s line of vision to find exactly what she’s staring at and she lets out a low whistle when her gaze finds your frame.

From a completely aesthetic standpoint, she can see why Vi’s immediately hooked.

“Hah,” she makes a noise in her throat. “Okay, so maybe it makes sense.”

Vi can’t help but stare because, if it were possible, you were far prettier under the warm lighting of the cafe’s ambiance. The curls of your hair frame your face beautifully and it’s so fucking cute how focused you are on your phone.

“Hate to break it to you, though. That girl’s way out of your league,” Ellie says like it’s common knowledge.

“Wow, way to boost my ego,” Vi mutters drily.

“Just being realistic,” Ellie argues. “If you bag her, she’s easily the hottest girl you’ve been with.”

And Vi can’t really contest that, not when the proof’s in the fucking pudding.

Her body’s moving of its own accord and before she can register her own actions, she’s mumbling quiet s’cuse me’s under her breath as she squeezes between patrons to close a bruised hand over your shoulder.

You nearly jump out of your skin, fumbling with your phone as an earbud falls out.

“Shit, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Vi says quickly.

Your gaze snaps to her, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly before your expression settles.

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

And she realizes that she didn’t really have a game plan coming up to you so abruptly. Had been so focused on actually just seeing you again, that she hadn’t thought through the rest of it.

The way you stare up at her is thoroughly disarming because she doesn’t have the shield of night or alcoholic courage to carry her through it.

“Can I help you?” you ask, but not unkindly.

“Oh, uh, I...” She chances a glance over her shoulder to find that Ellie is watching her from a few customers away, eyebrow cocked and smirk testing. She word vomits before she can think of a coherent thought. “You mentioned tutoring...the last time we talked.”

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

“You’re also auditing Medarda’s biometry class.”

“I am.”

“I’m...I’m not really doing too hot in Medarda’s right now,” Vi says, brain nearly short-circuiting and freezing up because, lie! She’s doing phenomenally in Medarda’s session and, truthfully, she’s just downright scared to ask you to hang out.

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

“Hmm, can’t have that, can we?” you hum.

Vi could melt.

“No,” she breathes out a laugh. “Can’t.”

“You can sign up for a slot through the library’s website,” you say after you weigh the thought.

Vi’s pausing, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

You give her a soft smile before plugging your earbud back in, leaving Vi to rejoin her obviously amused friend.

“You’re fucking joking!”

The librarian gives you and your incredulous roommate a look from the circulation desk and you return it with a sheepish smile from where you’re tucked by a wall of looming floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Maddie,” you whisper.

“You’re telling me that The Violet asked you personally to tutor her?” Maddie asks you, leaned over the tabletop with wide eyes.

“Yeah, cornered me at Brew House this morning and asked me to tutor her in Medarda’s class.”

“Just that?” she asks. “Nothing else?”

You look around in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah?” you scoff. “What else would she want?”

“What else would she— are you serious?” Maddie leans back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she gives you a plain look. “You know all about Vi, you’re actually gonna play stupid?”

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve seen the girls Violet’s fucked, right? Kiramann? The blonde from the tennis team? She’s got a type and you know it.”

It’s Maddie’s turn to roll her eyes and you see the exasperated groan she’s staving off.

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

“It’s not self-deprecating!” you argue. “Not everyone wants to fuck Violet, Maddie. Put me in the number one spot.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

“All I’m saying is that anyone with eyes can see that Vi’s hot as fuck. That being said, you’re also hot as fuck. Not only that, but rumor has it, she gives the most toe-curling—”

You’re rolling your eyes again, gaze fluttering out the window momentarily only to find that, speak of the devil, Violet’s approaching the library with a skip in her step.

Maddie stops her spiel to trace your gaze and nearly falls out of her seat when she finds the object of your conversation is advancing, fast.

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, pulling up your tutoring log on your tablet to find that, yup, Violet has most-definitely taken your advice and signed up for a tutoring slot.

If the time reads correctly, you’ve got three minutes before she’s due to be taking Maddie’s seat.

Your friend is grinning at you mischievously, stuffing her backpack quickly to vacate the space across from you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you scoff, slumping back in your seat.

“Tell me how it goes,” she giggles, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands.

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

Violet’s strolling into the library just as Maddie leaves through the other doors and try as you might make yourself small in the open air near the research center, her gaze falls on you as soon as she enters.

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

A moment lapses before you’re nodding towards the seat before you.

“We can get started whenever you’re ready.”

Right. Right! Vi’s mentally cringing, pulling the chair out with a squeak and dropping onto the worn cushion.

Her eyes are locked, watching as you pull the biometry textbook from your little messenger bag.

“Any particular areas you’re struggling in?” you ask, flipping to a clean sheet of paper in your notepad and clicking open your pen.

Vi combs her brain, tries to think of anything she’s not really grasping in Medarda’s class, but she’s been acing all the exams with flying colors, so she spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

“In relation to...?” You tilt your head and Vi’s breath is hitching.

“The Confusion Matrix,” she answers, even though she knows all about it.

It’s only when you start breaking it down from the bare bones that she realizes that she could listen to you talk for-probably-ever.

You obviously have a great understanding of the subject if the way you deconstruct the relationship between sensitivity and specificity (or whatever the fuck) is anything to go by, and she doesn’t realize that she hasn’t even blinked until you’re glancing up at her.

“Am I making any sense?” you ask softly, taking in the almost confused look on Violet’s face.

“Huh?”

Vi snaps out of it, cheeks coloring pink when she notes the way you straighten in your seat.

“Am I going too fast?”

“No, no!’ Vi practically shouts before chancing an embarrassed gaze around the library to find a few wandering eyes. She clears her throat and tries to relax. “No, you’re doing great. I get it.”

You don’t seem convinced, but the faster you get through the material, the faster Violet can leave and you can finally catch your breath.

Because maybe Maddie’s a little right. That while you know, one hundred percent, without-a-doubt, that you and Violet are cut from two different cloths and that you ultimately won’t mesh, there’s still a sliver of want that settles somewhere confined in the pit of your gut.

You don’t know how long you continue before you notice that sun has begun to set in the horizon, but Vi’s effort is unwavering. She’s probably on her tenth practice problem by now and so far, she’s only flubbed once.

You decide to fold your cards first.

“O-kay,” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your hands shut so tight your knuckles crack. “This is a good stopping point, don’t you think?”

No, Vi could keep going forever if it meant hearing you talk all night, but the little G-shock wristwatch winks the time and she realizes that the two of you have been going at it for going on two hours and you’re probably exhausted.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” Vi says sheepishly. “Thanks a lot for your help, I...”

You look up from where you’re shuffling your papers together, pausing when she hesitates.

“I really appreciate you. I know you probably help dozens of people every week and—”

She stops talking when she sees you crack what seems to be the first genuine smile she could get out of you since Friday.

“It’s my job, Violet,” you tell her. “I’m happy to help.”

And she’d done well enough during the tutoring session, had a successful run with the practice problems. You were confident it was just a one and done. Perhaps served as a review for the upcoming exam Medarda had posted on the class page.

But then you see her name in the final time slot on Thursday, don’t really think much of it until you’re tabbing to next week’s schedule for shits and giggles. Tuesday and Thursday are booked through again, her name highlighted in yellow.

You minimize the calendar and pull up the aggregate schedule only to find that every 4 o’clock slot every Tuesday and Thursday’s been booked until the end of the semester.

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

You don’t know what kind of joke this is, if Violet thinks that this is funny, but you’re not amused.

Especially when you’re stalking all the way to the athletic hall, ignoring the wolfish stares from shameless student athletes to whip into the women’s hockey team’s reserved conditioning space.

You find her benching near the center of the room, Abigail Anderson spotting her while the rest of the team engages in various workouts and exercises.

A hush ripples over the weight room as you approach the hockey star, standing at the end of the bench where her knees are bent. One of Abigail Anderson’s eyebrows quirk up as you stand there with your hands on your hips and you hope the chill that runs down your spine as she checks you out doesn’t visibly vibrate your body.

When the barbell nearly crushes Vi’s chest on her last rep, Abby’s quick to help her re-rack and takes the biggest step back as Vi sits up.

Her expression falls and her face pales when she locks eyes with you, your features severe and gaze stony.

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

Truthfully, she hadn’t really pinned you as the type to be confrontational. Thought she’d have enough time to build a strong enough story as to why she booked out all of your tutoring sessions when in actuality she panicked when Ellie started grilling the fuck out of her about being a fucking pussy and begging her to just ask you out.

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

And she should definitely be embarrassed, not at all turned on, but she can’t help it as she gulps. Because when you stand before her like this, she can easily admit that she’d die for a private version of the view.

The silence in the weight room is palpable and you want to back down, but if this is some running joke and Vi’s going to make a show of humiliating you in front of her teammates, then you’d give her a show.

“Violet.”

Someone in the back snickers, another whistles, and Vi’s cheeks go red.

She’s standing, sweaty hands closing around your biceps as she spins you around and quickly guides you out of the conditioning room and out of her teammates’ line of ogling sight.

“V—”

“I’m sorry,” Violet splutters. “I’m just not really confident in Medarda’s class right now and I don’t trust myself to study alone, plus you’re a really good tutor and—”

“You do realize that those tutoring sessions are added to your tuition, right?” you ask incredulously. “It’s fifteen dollars an hour.”

Vi’s smile is crooked.

“That’s what my scholarship’s for,” she grins.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” you try again. “I feel that before an exam for a little refresh is fair, but this would be like relearning the material after every class, all over again.”

“If it’s taught by you, I’ll take it,” Vi says quickly, and you pause because what does she mean by that?

You don’t really have much rebuttal left even though you’d marched up here with a fire under your ass. Vi’s looking down at you with a softened edge in her gaze and she’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants and sweat-soaked grey tank that reveals swathes of ink that curls up her arms and disappears under the fabric of her shirt.

She breathes out a small laugh when she notices the way your eyes dance.

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

Your gaze snaps to hers and her grin widens when she sees you fidget, little pet name obviously eliciting a semblance of a reaction from you.

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

“Okay,” you agree. “See you tomorrow.”

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

Her hair’s wet from an obvious shower and you smell her, warm like honey and cedar as she takes the seat across from you.

“Afternoon, cupcake,” she greets, slinging her backpack into the seat next to her.

You give her a warning look, but she just flashes you a toothy smile and nods towards the opened biometry textbook before you.

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

And this feels an awful lot like mocking, but you can’t be sure, not when Vi’s been somewhat respectful, sweet even.

“What do you know about the the sigmoid function?” you probe.

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

And maybe you’d find it endearing if the entirety of the situation wasn’t still absolutely mindfucking you at moment.

“Can I ask you something, Violet?” you ask, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms to level her with as an intimidating look as you can.

“Sure, anything.”

“Are you messing with me?” you ask. “Is this some joke you and your friends are playing? Because I can’t really think of an outcome that would be funny.”

And you’d like to say that the look of horror on Violet’s face is consolation enough, but you know how being loved and being popular can make people act sometimes.

Vi contemplates telling you the truth, that she’s too chickenshit to ask you out, that getting close to you in any other way scares the fuck out of her. That maybe getting you to tutor her will segue into some form of friendship that’ll allow her to ease her way in. And maybe she’s going about it the hard way, but maybe Vi also likes a challenge.

“No jokes, just bad at statistics,” she says weakly.

You’re silent for way longer than comfort allows before you turn your attention to the textbook and Vi’s letting out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.

“Fine,” you give in. “Let’s talk about sigmoid function and practice some applications...”

Vi’s happy to listen, goes through your preselected practice problems with ease (and maybe fucks up a value or two here and there to really sell her need for you). But the sun’s going down again, and it’s nearing six when Vi folds her hand this time around.

It comes in the form of her stomach grumbling in the emptying library and she looks up at you in embarrassment as you crack the first smile of the evening.

“Hungry?” you ask.

“Starving,” she replies dramatically, leaning so far back in her seat, her knees bump yours under the table.

Your toes curl at the contact, heart skipping when she doesn’t make a move to reposition herself.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, eyes looking everywhere but yours.

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

“Beautiful,” Vi hums, shuffling her papers into her textbook and chucking it back into her bookbag. “I know the best place.”

Valentino’s is a hole-in-the-wall right outside of campus, a short walk from the library that Violet leverages as a way to get to know you outside of being lectured about statistical curves and correlation.

“Did you grow up around here?” Vi asks once the waiter sets two glasses of water down between the two of you.

You shake your head.

“No, grew up on the east coast and decided I needed a break from my life there,” you admit easily.

It’s almost as if the facade of professionalism fades away, melting to reveal you.

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

You look at her for a moment, wonder if you should divulge because you’re not really sure if Vi would get it, but she watches you like she’s hanging onto every single word you say, so you’re spilling.

“My dad died when I was little, left me and three other siblings with my Mom,” you offer. “And I love my siblings. Love my mom. She’s been a great parent, better than great actually, but most of our family disowned me when I came out and it was easier to run away than to deal with it.”

Violet’s expression falls, a furrow settling deep between her brows.

“Wow, I’m, uh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” she says, and she sounds sincere. A long moment lapses before she’s adding, “for what it’s worth, I think that’s very brave of you.”

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

“Thanks.” You smile. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

Vi could turn to goo in this dimly lit booth, stained-glass wall sconce casting a warm glow over your pretty face.

“You—” She sniffs, changes the subject because she doesn’t know if she can do this on an empty stomach. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”

“Oh yeah,” you confirm proudly. “It’s a hill I’ll die on, I’m not sorry.”

“God, marry me now.”

She doesn’t realize she says it out loud until you’re bursting into a fit of laughter on your side of the booth.

“So this is something we can agree on?” you ask, head tilting in the way that makes Vi want to grab your face and taste you.

“Oh yeah,” she parrots instead. “One hundred percent.”

Valentino’s becomes routine just as much as Vi seeing you at four every Tuesday and Thursday becomes routine. It’s always after the Thursday session (because they have a three dollar slice from 6 to close) that you and Vi cram yourselves in the same booth near the kitchen and giggle over half a Hawaiian pizza.

“...And my little sister blew up her science project in the fourth grade—”

You choke on your bite, eyes wide as Violet recalls Powder’s little mishap that sent the entire gymnasium evacuating despite the tiniest fire.

“Now she’s about graduate and start school for chemical engineering,” she says, obviously proud.

“She seems like a smart girl,” you observe, if the countless stories Violet shares with you is anything to go by.

You figure being related to someone as great as the new friend you’ve made also speaks for itself.

“The smartest,” she agrees. “I’m proud of her.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you too,” you assure her. “You’re a good big sister.”

And it’s in these moments that Vi realizes that she’s in far, far deeper than she initially gave stock. Because these past few weeks, she realizes that there’s a lot more to your big brain and your pretty face. You’re an attentive listener, way funnier than she could have anticipated, and just a lot more laid back than you let on.

That much she finds out after the two of you graduate from emailing with silly sign-offs to exchanging phone numbers and texting. It starts off rather irregular, a coffee order here and there, maybe a TikTok that Vi swears is funny, you just have to watch it all the way through! But then she starts texting you when she’s bored, when she’s in class, before practice, after. Even pops the question that’s been niggling at her since she met you: on a scale from 1 - 10 how down are you to smoke?

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

She could not wipe the smile from her face even if she tried.

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

“Jesus Christ if you even consider me a friend, you’ll bang,” Ellie calls from the couch.

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

“Yeah, at her place,” she scoffs. “At least test the waters, maybe cop a feel.”

“You’re a pig,” Vi snorts, making sure her laptop and all of the worksheets Medarda’s assigned over the course of the week is in her backpack.

“You’ve been wet dreaming over this girl for months.”

“Fuck all the way off.” Vi’s face warms because her best friend isn’t necessarily wrong.

You’re too hot for your own good, but you don’t even know it and Vi thinks she could die sometimes. Especially when you wear your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug the swell of your ass just right. Or swipe on that shimmery lipgloss she swears makes your mouth look edible.

If you were willing, Vi would be all over you, but thinking about taking advantage of the fact that you trust her enough to invite her into your space feels a little grimy.

“Whatever, bang, don’t bang,” Ellie says nonchalantly. “Blueball yourself for all I care.”

Vi rolls her eyes, slings her bag over her shoulder before sliding on her shoes and leaving her friend on the couch with a resounding click.

You live off-campus, maybe a ten minute drive, in a cozy little complex near the suburbs. Your roommate, Maddie, a chipper blonde with a bob, is all too eager to leave when Vi arrives.

“Hi, sorry we couldn’t meet anywhere else,” you apologize as you let her into your space. “Even if the library wasn’t closed, the vet said I have to monitor Pip for the next 48 hours.”

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Vi doesn’t know why she suddenly feels like she’s intruding as she hesitantly toes off her shoes and follows you down the hall.

But she does take the opportunity to take you in in all your glory; all cozy and cuddly in an oversized sweatshirt, plaid pajama shorts and mismatched egg socks.

Cute. So fucking cute.

You spare her a glance over your shoulder and she’s clearing her throat.

“We don’t have to have a session tonight," she says, stopping at the threshold of the living room. “I would’ve understood if you had to cancel.”

You shake your head, give her a soft smile that has her knees feel like jelly.

“S’okay,” you assure her. “A promise is a promise.”

And you do start off studying, shoulder to shoulder in front of your coffee table, but then Pip crawls from his little hiding spot under the TV console to curiously nose along Vi’s feet and she’s a goner.

“He’s so sweet,” she practically wails as he paws at her thigh and nudges against her arm so that he can climb into her lap.

You warm at the sight, can’t help but snap a picture, much to Violet’s dismay.

“Stop,” she laughs. “That picture can’t see the light of day.”

“Why?” you whine, making a show of climbing onto your wooden coffee table to get a funny top down photo of the hockey star with your cat. “You and Pip look so cute together.”

She feigns a scowl even though her shoulders shake with laughter.

“I have a bad boy image to uphold, sweetheart.”

You snort, reach into her lap to scratch behind Pip’s ear, and her heart melts, body warm from her ears to her toes.

“Is he sick?” she asks cautiously, petting him softly.

“Just a little,” you say. “Something some rest and medicine won’t fix.”

It’s how the two of you end up on the couch, study materials long forgotten as Animal Planet plays in the background. Pip’s moved to lounge atop the covers draped over your lap and you’re blowing your nose into a tissue as an especially sad segment about baby animals being rejected by their mothers finishes.

Vi knows she shouldn’t laugh, but you’re too fucking cute and she can’t help but coo at you.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” you hiccup.

“What, that you’re a big soft baby?” she teases.

“Vi,” you whimper.

And something in her brain tickles because she can’t recall a time you’d ever called her by her nickname, only ever referred to her as Violet and nothing else.

She resists a smile.

“Okay, okay,” she gives in. “Lets change the subject.”

You make a noise of agreement as you cuddle your sleepy Pip.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she says, arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers a hairsbreadth from your figure.

Test the waters, cop a feel.

Vi’s not particularly into the idea, but the opportunity’s right there in the way wisps of your hair falls from its hold. Her fingers move of their own device, tucking the strands behind your ear.

She feels you still for the slightest, most imperceptible of moments, but then you’re relaxing, letting her fingers brush from your ear down to your shoulder, then back to where it rests on the back of the couch.

“You doing anything on Saturday?” she asks, really hopes you’ll say no.

“Not that I know of,” you say without second thought.

Not that you really need to. Your tight circle of friends are all alike, tethered to their hobbies and their homes.

“I have a game on Saturday,” Vi starts, fiddling with a little hole in the cushion. “If you wanted to come.”

You don’t agree or disagree immediately, and Vi’s scrambling to soothe over any potential discomfort.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, of course,” she says quickly. “I just— I thought you might be interested in going and I’d really like to see you there and—”

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

“Of course I’ll go,” you agree easily.

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

Vi doesn’t know why she invites you. More so, she doesn’t know why she tells her teammates that she’s invited you because now they’re whooping and hollering in the locker room, towel-whipping her and sing-songing that their star player’s gonna get laid.

Doesn’t know why she invites you because as soon as she glides on the ice, she’s searching the stands high and low for your familiar figure. When she clocks you nestled in the middle with your roommate and another friend she vaguely recognizes, her heart’s soaring and her stomach’s twisting in knots.

Vi’s never nervous, but somehow you bring out the worst of it.

It only takes a few moments, though. The blare of the horn snaps her back into her zone and she leaves all the noise off-rink. In this moment, all she knows is cutting ice, dodging the other team’s most aggressive players and sinking shot after shot.

It’s nearing the end of the second period when she finally glances at the score.

5—4.

The opposing team’s giving them a run for their money and this is probably one of the tightest matches they’ve played all season. She takes a moment to find you in the stands again, and you’re right where she left you, eyes already glued to her as you hover over the edge of your seat.

She hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve got her number painted on her face and another surge of warmth layers over the exertion.

You give her a thumbs up and she feels like lightning.

They reset and she’s off, like a streak of light in the night sky, she’s shuffling the puck towards the goal.

Then you see the navy uniform barreling towards her, voice caught in your throat as Vi gives the puck one last shot before that damned Jersey Number Six shoves her so hard, she’s flinging into the rink’s wall.

The horn chugs, signaling the end of the second period and the stands erupt in a ceremonious cheer as the playback reveals that Vi had sunk the puck before time.

“Fuck yeah!” you cry out, shooting to your feet to clap your hands.

Vi ignores the instigating chants to fight, only really pays attention to your little dance of excitement as she shakes off the other player and rejoins her team for intermission.

“Fuck, Vi, you got it bad, huh?” Abigail Anderson’s spearheading the teasing once they all return to the locker room at the end of the game.

Vi’s body heats at the thought, isn’t really in the business of denying it anymore, because, you know what? Yeah. Vi’s got it so fucking bad for you, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. You’re her first thought, her final prayer, and everything in between.

So all she does he shrug, can’t help the grin that splits her lips as she rubs her towel through her sweat-damp hair.

She’s the first one out of the locker room, dressed in some sweats and a pullover, towel slung around her neck as she steps into the tunnel. Your contact’s pulled up, and she’s ready to fire off a text asking where you want her to meet you, but she stops short to see you already leaned outside of the change room’s doors.

“Hey, cupcake,” she murmurs, smiling hard when she finds the smudged number 5 still chalked on your face.

“Hi, Violet,” you return shyly, hands clasped behind your back.

She hears the telltale whoosh of the locker room doors, the chattering of her teammates as they poke their heads out into the hall to be nosy, but she’s guiding you along, throwing a wink over her shoulder as the two of you fall into step.

“Thank you for coming,” Vi says after a moment. “You being here really meant a lot to me.”

You don’t know if Vi’s always been this sentimental, but just never given the opportunity to showcase it, or if she’s just buttering you up, but you can’t help but beam at her with pearly teeth and dimpled cheeks.

“God, Violet, you were so good!” you say excitedly, a little skip in your step. “You were in the rink, skating circles around them, like this, and like this.”

She bursts into laughter as you start speeding down the tunnel, dodging garbage bins and jumping up into the air to click your heels.

Something falls out of your little fannypack when you land, and Vi’s crouching down to pick up the tulle baggie to find a little beaded bracelet with a gold clasp that reads puck off.

“What’s this?” Vi asks, and you stop your shenanigans to turn your attention to her.

When your expression falters and you’re running back to her at full speed, she’s holding the baggie up just a little too out of reach for you, grin smug.

“Is this for me, sweetheart?” she asks presumptuously, even though her heart’s thrumming hard in her ribcage.

You’re on your tiptoes, chest pressed against hers, and god, please! is all Vi can think when your head tilts up, a little defeated knit between your eyebrows.

She milks the fuck out of whatever this is, arm banding around your waist as she returns the baggie to you.

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

“Maybe it’s for you,” you respond, free hand coming to rest on her chest.

“And what do I have to do to get it?” she asks, voice low.

It makes your body jolt hard as a shiver slinks down your spine because there she is, the insufferable flirt who knows exactly what to say to have your brain turn to mush.

You seem like you’re contemplating for a moment and Vi’s breath is hitching in her throat, wondering if you’re willing to play this cat and mouse game with her.

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

Your giggle is maniacal as you slip away, leaving her temporarily stunned before she chases you down the tunnel. And she should expect your speed, especially because you’ve got legs, but it takes her a moment to catch up with you when her practice bag’s thumping on her back like that. Her calloused fingers are closing around the flesh of your hips in no time and she’s pulling you back into her arms.

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you counter.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

And you give in because Violet’s made you weak. She’s holding out her wrist as you free the multi-colored bracelet.

You barely clasp the closure in the ring before Violet’s stumbling into you, a big burly girl from the other team shoulder checking the fuck out of her.

“Nice job standing in the middle of the walk way,” she bites.

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

Whoever she is, stops, levels Vi with a deadly look before her gaze flits to the bracelet you’ve just fixed around her wrist to you who stands frozen into place as the tension crackles between them.

“Cute,” she observes and your skin prickles. “Let me take her for a spin?”

“Violet,” you warn when her shoulders square and she takes a step forward.

She looks torn between walking away and beating the shit out of whoever this instigator is, but one of her teammates is shoving her along.

“Leave it.”

Whatever that was shatters the moment between the two of you and Vi’s taking in a deep breath as Abby trails behind the two of you.

The girl whistles for good measure and you throw a dirty look over your shoulder.

She winks.

You’ve still yet to find out who hosts these parties, but this time around gives you a weird sense of deja vu as you climb the steps with Maddie in tow.

You and Vi had parted ways at the rink, not before extending you an invite to the celebration later in the evening.

You should come, I can pick you up.

But per usual, DD duties call, and you’d smiled up at her despite the lingering pressure from the prior confrontation and promised her that yes, you’d absolutely be there.

Maddie squeals from the step below as you climb the front porch, breaths coming out in puffs of steam.

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

You giggle nervously, sure hope you do because you’re freezing your ass off!

“Yeah?”

Maddie gives you an incredulous look, eyelids powdered with glitter and gaze lined charcoal. She’s looking extra cute tonight too and you know that the two of you could fall into an endless cycle of teasing because a certain someone’s probably inside tonight.

“If she doesn’t fuck you before the night ends, I will,” Maddie teases, and you’re warming unceremoniously at the thought.

Because maybe you’ve been thinking about it a lot more recently despite only going into this trying to get through these tutoring sessions and dipping. Especially as of late now that Vi’s made it a habit to FaceTime you after practice, on your walk to the library, dripping sweat and chest heaving.

You’d always seen the appeal, but now you feel it.

You smooth down your asymmetrical skirt and Maddie steps up to adjust your tits in your lowcut lace blouse just as the door swings open to reveal none other than Violet.

“Oh—” Her voice catches as she takes you in.

Maddie gives your ass a little swat and Vi’s gaze is following the movement as your roommate pushes past her to slip inside.

“I was— I was just about to step out. To, uh, to call you,” she stammers.

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

Jesus, fuck Vi could burst into flames right now. Your boots hug your thighs and Violet’s not gonna lie, she really wishes it were her head squeezed between—

“You look...” Hot, so fucking edible, downright fuck— “...really nice.”

You smile, but you can’t help the way your teeth chatters.

“Fuck, shit, you’re probably cold,” she curses, warm hands closing around your shoulders to pull you inside. “Why didn’t you wear a jacket? You’re gonna get sick.”

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

She looks like she wants to scold you, but instead, she’s pulling down her coat, a big black work jacket, hanging from the banister of the stairs around your shoulders and you’re relishing the residual warmth that lingers there and her familiar scent.

“Can I get you a cider?” she asks. “It’s still warm.”

It hits you as her fingers curl through yours, that Vi’s truly nothing like what you initially thought. She’s sweet, and she’s respectful, and she’s everything you could ever hope for.

You freeze at the thought, and Vi’s glancing at you when she’s tugged to a stop.

“You okay?” she hums.

Your eyes search her face, gliding over the scar on her lip and the one slit through her eyebrow. The gold hoop pierced through her nose glints under the lowlight and her thick lashes flutter as she looks down at you.

You give her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes because wow, you’re in deep.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, give her fingers a squeeze for good measure.

When she finally secures you a mug of steaming cider, she’s guiding you to her group of friends that occupy the living room.

You only recognize Ellie, her best friend and her roommate, and Abby, the captain. Everyone else is a jumbled mix of names and faces and you stick close to Vi as she settles into the left corner of the couch.

You make a move to sit on the armrest, legs crossed and hands folded around your mug, but Vi’s spreading her legs and pulling you into her lap before you can effectively protest.

Her warmth immediately engulfs you and it takes every ounce of self control not to curl up into a ball in front of all her friends and classmates.

As they recap the game and catch up with each other, you remain hushed, eyes flitting from person to person as they speak. Toes curling whenever Violet’s voice vibrates in her chest as she talks big about sports and the hot teams this season.

You’re caught off caught when Ellie’s directing a question towards you and you barely register.

“What do you like to do?” she asks you.

All eyes audibly shift to where you’re cozied up in Vi’s lap, cider empty and abandoned on the side table.

“Uh.”

Your words are lodged in your throat because you’re so used to talking Vi’s ear off about your interests (namely, Animal Planet and your son Pip), showing her your little craft projects you like to do in front of the television on a weekend evening (you’d taken a break from the scarf / hat combo you were knitting to finish the bracelet you designed for Vi), and yapping about some obscure film you’d watched while finishing said projects.

But here, now, you don’t know what to say. Not when this isn’t your typical crowd and you don’t know what to expect from her friends.

Vi must feel your hesitation because her digits are slipping into her jacket, fingertips ghosting the small of your back as she presses a palm against your spine to smooth the tension there.

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

You give her a look from the corner of your eye before you turn your attention back to Ellie.

“I don’t do much,” you offer honestly. “Just starting my old cat lady duties early, I suppose.”

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

“Yes, his name’s Pip, and he’s basically my kid.”

“Cute,” Ellie coos. “You got any pictures?”

And you seem to light up, spare Vi one more glance as you dig in her coat pocket to produce your cellphone, charms jangling as you power it back on to show Ellie the lockscreen.

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

“—How To Train Your Dragon!” Abby fills in from across the couch. “That’s such a good ass movie.”

It warms Vi to the bone, seeing you and her friends nerd out. Seeing them put in the effort because they know she likes you and seeing you reciprocate because, well, you’re you, and you just need a little warming up.

She doesn’t know how long you and her friends chat for until you’re shifting a little and turning your attention back to her.

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

Her gaze flits to her circle, and they’re smirking, obviously under the impression that this must be some sort of code the two of you concocted.

She ignores them, and most importantly she ignores the way her pulse jumps when you stand from your seat and perch between her legs, offering both of your neatly manicured hands to her.

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

The bathroom is tucked under the stairs near the front of the house and she stands post outside the door as you finish up.

It’s only when you’re poking your head outside the door sheepishly that she stands up straight.

“Can you help me with my zipper?” you ask timidly.

She puffs a laugh, slips in through the space you crack for her to find you holding the two sides of your skirt together.

And she knows she shouldn’t look, but the space allows her to see the pink lace of your panties. She’s shoving her tongue in her cheek, focusing on lining up the seams and pulling up your zipper as you hold the fabric taut.

“Thanks,” you whisper, looking up to see that Vi’s impossibly close to you in this cramped little powder room.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she croaks, leaning against the counter as you wash your hands.

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

“I like this,” she admits, gaze trailing up to meet yours. “You look pretty.”

Your ears burn, unable to meet the smolder of her steely eyes. You’d probably find that her pupils are blown wide if you did. Instead, you’re watching her mouth, lips stained cherry and tongue coming out to wet the dry patch.

You hold your breath as you reach across her for the hand towel, but her hands find your hips, teetering into dangerous territory as she moves almost close enough to slip her hands under your skirt.

“You’re not gonna say thank you?” she asks, watching you through hooded eyes.

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

“‘Course,” she agrees easily. “You gonna wear it again?”

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

She licks her lips again, body flexed as you allow her to press you closer. One of your hands splays on the counter behind her, the other brushing over the blooming bruise on her jaw.

“Can I?” she husks.

You don’t need to ask for clarification, not when her nose is nudging yours and your breaths are mingling.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

The door rattles with the ferocity of whoever’s knocking on the other side.

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

To your dismay, the two of you don’t talk about Saturday night. And things’s aren’t particularly bad, but something’s definitely shifted and it’s driving you nuts.

Vi’s on the ice practicing the following morning and after classes on Monday, so you wait for your session with bated breath on Tuesday. You try extra hard despite every voice of reason telling you that you’re reading into it too much.

Vi smiles at you easily as she drops into the seat across from you, pulling out her biometry textbook without so much as a peep about the fact that the two of you almost kissed in whoever the fuck’s bathroom that was over the weekend.

You’re staring, hard.

Because that familiar feeling’s coming back. The seedling of doubt that had rooted in the beginning about Vi’s intentions with you. She’d done a good job of weeding it out over the weeks, of dismantling whatever image you’d built of her in your head, but it plants itself again.

She’s squeezing your hand across the table and your gaze flits down to her rough fingers. That’s when you notice it, the bracelet, still fastened where you clasped it on game night.

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

The rest of your tutoring session is uneventful, goes off without a hitch. And you’re shameless in admitting that you hate to see her go as she walks you to your car in the student lot near the library.

You’re grasping at straws, clearing your throat before she closes your door for you.

“Uh,” you squeak. “Do you want to come over?”

Vi’s pausing, hand still on the edge of your door as her lips twitch.

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

She checks her wristwatch, sighs heavily because fuck yes, she’d love to come over right now, but Anderson and Williams are expecting her for a strategy meeting with the coach and—

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to, I know we only really—”

She pinches your cheek before tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“I can’t tonight, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she says. “But tell you what, if you’re willing to free up your Friday night, I’d really like to plan something.”

Your heartbeat skips.

“All yours,” you say without missing a beat.

Vi’s grinning wide.

“Perfect, drive safe,” she bids. “See you tomorrow.”

And you don’t know why you’re so fucking high strung, not when Vi hasn’t done anything to make you doubt that this isn’t all in your head, but it only gets worse as the days go by.

It doesn’t come to a head until Thursday, when your tutoring slots are miraculously empty until Vi’s and you receive an email from Medarda to meet in her office after her string of lectures.

“Afternoon,” the older woman greets, smiling warmly at you as she lets you into her office. “Just wanted to check in with your audit and request any feedback you have.”

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

“Nothing in particular that I can think of,” you say easily, then add with a laugh, “feel like I’ll be a professional by the end of the semester.”

“Why do you say that?” Medarda chuckles as she logs into her computer.

“I have a student sitting every Tuesday and Thursday for tutoring in your class,” you reveal.

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You giggle at the distant memory of Vi’s expression in the weight room. “She seems to be picking it up well enough, though.”

“Huh, every Tuesday and Thursday?” she asks, fingers flying over her keyboard. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I’d hardly say that,” you say. “When Violet booked all my sessions, I thought it was a joke, but I think she’s just really dedicated to doing well.”

“Violet?” Medarda repeats, hands stilling over her mouse.

“Yeah, Violet, on the women’s hockey team?”

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

“Why would you— huh. Weird,” she comments.

“I admit it was a little strange, but—”

“Violet’s a consistent top scorer on the exams,” Medarda shares. “She’s been top of the class since the beginning of the semester.”

And it’s like the world stills as she reveals that information, fragile pieces shattering as the gears start turning in your brain and you try to put the puzzle together.

You glance at the clock, find that you’re due to meet Violet in half an hour.

“Uh, if you’ll excuse me,” you say politely, try to ignore the concerned expression etched on your professor’s face at your sudden departure. “It was nice chatting with you. If I think of anything feedback-wise, I’ll be sure to email you.”

And you’re running.

Vi’s in the locker room after practice, toweling off after an extra long shower because she’s been looking a little extra forward to seeing you today, but perhaps that’s everyday as of late.

She’s hooking the bracelet you gave her back on when her phone vibrates and she’s practically diving into her locker when your text tone bleats.

sweetheart: I have to cancel your session this afternoon. I’m sorry.

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

sweetheart: Personal things to take care of. I’ll see you next week.

I’ll see you next week.

But what about tomorrow? She’d been working so fucking hard on tomorrow, on finally pulling her head far enough out of her ass to ask you to give the two of you a shot.

She sets her phone down, slumps down on the bench as she turns her wrist and takes in the smooth glass beads of the bracelet.

She sighs. Hard.

You hole up all weekend long, put your phone on do not disturb, and try your best to get whatever this is out of your system. But you’re a slave to your emotions and you can’t help but check your messages every time you know Vi’s free.

It’s a single text on a Saturday night, one that surprises you because you know she has practice now that the big game’s fast approaching.

violet <3: hey sweetheart, just checking in. i know you said you had a few personal things going on, but i’m here if you feel like you need someone <3

You’re texting back before your better judgement can stop you.

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

.

.

.

Then you add, We can smoke.

Vi’s sending you three running emojis and you crack a smile at your screen before realizing that you need to shower.

You lay out some clothes beforehand, ultimately settling on last Saturday’s skirt.

Vi’s giggling as you fumble with the wrapper, rolling it with clumsy fingers because, truthfully, you don’t do this often, but she shuts right up when you don’t break eye contact as the tip of your tongue slides across the seam to seal the joint.

She’d picked you up with a Sprite and a slice to split from Valentino’s, throat drying as you bounded down the stairs in the same fucking skirt that had her touching herself after she’d gotten home from the party, guilty and wound tight. Now the two of you are tucked away behind some abandoned strip.

“Ready?” Her voice rasps as you pop the end between your lips and she brings the lighter to ignite the end for you.

It burns as you inhale and Vi’s thighs squeeze together involuntarily. She’d smoked with you twice before, both times on the roof of your apartment building and at a reasonable distance. But now, she knows what your body feels like, almost knows what your lips taste like.

You take a few more puffs before offering it to her and the smoke begins to plume to fill the space of her little coupe. It’s moments like these, tucked away from prying eyes, that it’s just you and Vi.

Not Vi, the supposed womanizing hockey star, or you, the nerdy homebody tutor. Just the two of you, two souls trying to get through university and carve your paths.

“I aced Medarda’s exam this week,” Vi says softly, jay pinched between her fingers as she watches you with lowering eyes.

“Oh, yeah? I wonder why,” you quip in return, face impossibly close to hers despite the console between you.

“I have a smartypants tutor that does an especially good job when she’s motivated,” she answers.

Your cheeks flame, but you don’t back down. Vi’s been extra good at pushing your buttons and flirting hard as of late, and maybe you’re a little more than willing to receive and reciprocate, but the two of you have been toeing the line, yet neither of you have taken the leap.

This moment, however, feels like it could be it. Like you’re going to find out what the fuck all of this even is.

“I have to meet this tutor of yours,” you play along. “She sounds like a miracle worker.”

“Among other things,” Vi teases, sucking in the smoke and blowing it through her nostrils.

“Like?”

“She’s also funny as fuck,” she hums. “A big baby when we watch Animal Planet.”

You narrow your eyes at her and Vi lets out a little laugh that makes your toes curl.

“Uh-huh?”

“She’s really fucking pretty too,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Kind of pretty that makes you wanna do bad, bad things.”

You smile falters as a shiver rips down your spine and before you know it, Vi’s putting out the joint before climbing in the cramped backseat of her car to spread her legs.

Doesn’t even give you a moment to process before she’s pulling you on top of her and allowing you to settle comfortably in her lap. Her hands run up your thighs and disappear under your skirt to grab the fat of your ass.

You breathe out a little giggle as your slender fingers come up to cup her jaw.

“Think my tutor’ll be mad at me?” Vi murmurs, nose brushing yours. “‘Cuz I really, really wanna kiss this pretty girl in my lap right now.”

You let out a broken little sigh when her hips buck.

“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” you whisper. “I know I would.”

And that’s all the affirmation Vi needs from you before she’s taking the plunge and slotting her lips with yours; kissing you with so much fervor, you’d think she needs you to breathe. She tastes like mint and weed and you can’t get enough.

Vi’s all-consuming, her kiss a delicious mix of teeth and tongue. And, god, her hands. Rough and calloused, but gentle in the way she explores your body. It isn’t until she’s snapping the band of your thong and her fingertips ghost the seam of your sticky heat that you’re hyper-focusing.

“Mmmph, Violet, Vi—” Your voice cracks as she breaks from your lips to map a series of kisses from your jaw, to the juncture behind your ear, down the column of your neck. “Wait.”

She stops, hands pulling from under your skirt like you’ve burned her. And perhaps you have, branded nearly every part of her because she can’t really think of a sound moment if you’re not there.

“Sorry, sorry,” she shudders as the arousal ebbs through her tightened body. “I—”

I’m caught up. I’m losing it, and it’s all your fault, and—

“Violet,” you swallow, fingers toying with the collar of her varsity sweatshirt. “I have something to say.”

Her throat bobs and her grey eyes gleam like ash in the lowlight of the backseat of her car. The windows are smoked out and it’s exceptionally warm, equal parts sexual tension and another thing Vi can’t quite pinpoint.

“Yeah, anything,” she assures you, hands resting on your waist instead. “You can tell me anything.”

One of your palms settles over her chest, right where her heart is and you suck in a sharp breath.

“I— uh, I really like you, Violet,” you admit quietly. “A lot more than I think I’ve ever liked someone in a long, long time.”

Oh.

Oh. Here it comes, the big fat rejection. The coming to your senses.

“But?”

The look on your face is devastating and Vi’s scared.

“I have to know that if I give you a chance, you won’t abuse it,” you hiccup, and wow, that’s definitely not what she expects you to say, but fuck does it leave a sour taste in her mouth.

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

“Do you?” she scoffs, a wave of irritation washing over her as she looks you with disappointment. “What gave you the idea that I would ever even dream of taking advantage of you giving me a chance?”

“You don’t necessarily have a spotless record, Violet,” you say, voice edged. “And I know that I’m not your usual—”

“Not my usual what?” The venom in Vi’s tone is uncharacteristic, but this is not at all how she expected tonight to go and she’s frustrated. “Not my usual type? You internalized all this shit that people say about me even though I’ve been trying to get you to see me for months.”

Emotion clogs your throat because a small part of you knows that Vi’s right. She’s never given you an outright reason to doubt her interest in you, but it all just seems too good to be true.

“Sue me for wanting to protect myself,” you choke, climbing out of her lap and back into the front seat. “Especially because I know that you don’t actually need help in Medarda’s class.”

And that catches Vi off guard. You see as much in the rearview mirror when she pales.

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

“Who told you that?” she asks, not even bothering to deny the fact.

“I mentioned that I was tutoring you in passing when Medarda asked for feedback on her class,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “She asked why I’d be doing that when you’re top of all her sections.”

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

“And then your past hook ups parade around campus like a reminder that—,” you cut yourself off, obviously hurt after bottling this all up. “And it isn’t any of my business, nor are we anything enough for me to plausibly upset—”

“Yes, I lied,” Vi admits quietly. “But only about one thing.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re right, I don’t need help in Medarda’s class. I lied about being clueless and I signed up for tutoring even though I didn’t need it,” she says.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Vi huffs. “From the moment I met you, I knew.”

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

“No one ever says it out loud, but I know what everyone thinks,” you choke. “Violet’s fucking that loser?”

“You really believe that?”

“God, Violet, I don’t know what to fucking believe,” you cry out. “My life’s fucking fine and dandy and then you show up and make me fucking question everything I—”

Vi lets out a humorless laugh, can’t even look at you and it could make you sick.

“You’re so fucking loved by everyone, even those who won’t admit it,” you croak. “And you’re incredible at everything you do, turn everything you touch to gold, and I’m just...”

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

“I’m me,” you whisper meekly. “I’m just me and you’re you, and I just don’t see what makes me so different.”

And Vi realizes that she’d read it all wrong.

“Look at me,” she says softly, fingers tracing your jaw.

You knuckle your tears away, make a petulant noise in your throat.

“You wanna know why I booked all your stupid tutoring sessions?” she huffs. “Because I really fucking like you, ________. And it’s beyond wanting to fuck you even though god knows I’d fucking die if you let me. It’s so much more than having you physically. Because I’ll take being just friends with you if it means having you around. I don’t give a shit about anything else but you.”

It’s the most sound declaration you hear from the girl in the semester you’ve known her and it makes you cry.

“You make me feel so fucking normal and you remind me that I don’t need to be anything else but me,” she breathes. “And I get where you’re coming from, I hear you. I just really hope you hear me too.”

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

Vi squeezes your thigh, takes your hand in hers and brings your knuckles to her lips.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” she offers gently.

Vi only has one more game before the championships and she won’t lie and say that this limbo with you has her feeling like she’s going to be ill.

You’d cancelled her tutoring sessions this week, told her that maybe the two of you needed to spend some time apart and that she was clearly doing a number on you. So she agrees, tries to give you space to work through what’s weighing on you.

sweetheart: Good luck at your game tonight, Violet. I’m rooting for you.

She really wishes you’d be there, but she knows you need the time alone.

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

“Alright Vi, we have fifteen til puck drop,” Ellie says carefully, has been front row to everything transpiring between you and her best friend.

Vi tucks her phone away in her backpack, unhooks your bracelet from around her wrist and fastens it to the handle of her bag, and grabs her stick from the rack before she lets her teammates jostle her into the tunnel.

And she wishes she could lock in, clear her head and get into the game, but all she can think about is you.

It’s a narrow victory once the game ends, but she can’t find it in herself to celebrate, especially not at the kickback afterwards because fucking Sev and her assholes are there.

“Where’s your little dime piece?” she taunts.

“Fuck off,” Vi warns, obviously not in the mood.

“Shame,” she whistles. “She looks like a fucking weirdo, but she sure does have a fat ass—”

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

“She told you to fuck off,” she hisses.

Sev spits the blood in her mouth on the toe of Ellie’s shoe, fists bunching the collar of her sweater.

“Keep that fucking energy on the ice because I’m gonna wipe the floor with your fucking pissbaby team.”

You wake up on Monday morning to a text from Vi and a handful of notifications from Instagram.

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

sev.94 has requested to follow you! sev.94 has sent you a message request!

Your brows furrow, opening the message request hesitantly. There’s a few DMs and a video from this Sev person.

sev.94 hey pretty, sorry to text you like this. sev.94 just thought you should know the kind of person your little girlfriend is sev.94 sent a video. sev.94 i don’t really do relationships, but i’d take your mind off of it if you let me.

You’re playing the video, quality grainy and audio blasted. You don’t know what you’re looking at at first, it’s dark, and there’s so many voices. But you see skin, see the outline of a girl’s naked back, delicate and arched in pleasure.

You think this Sev person’s just fucking with you, playing some stupid joke with a shitty punchline as someone’s hands snake around to palm the flesh of the unnamed girl’s ass, but then you see it.

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

(1) Because you haven’t responded to her message despite your read receipts being on, and (2) she can’t fucking find the bracelet you’d gifted to her.

She’s barging into Ellie’s room, shirtless and hair dripping.

“Jesus, fuck, do you knock?” Ellie hisses, buds she was in the midst of grinding scattering across the floor.

“I can’t find the bracelet she gave me,” Vi says quickly.

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

“The bracelet ________ gave to me,” Vi says. “I hooked it on my backpack before practice on Saturday but it’s not there anymore.”

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Maybe you misplaced it,” Ellie offers. “Regardless, we practice tonight, I’ll help you look for it.”

Vi’s chest is tight, doesn’t want to admit that the stupid little bracelet means way more to her than she lets on. She only ever takes it off when she’s on the ice, won’t risk losing it when she’s got a target on her back and everyone plays rough.

It turns out to be futile when they enter the rink and she retraces her steps only to come up empty-handed.

This, she realizes, is the start of a very long week.

You should’ve seen it coming, really. Don’t know why you tried to psyche yourself into thinking that Vi could ever really want something with you when the world’s her fucking oyster and she can have anything she wants.

And you want to feel bad when she texts you intermittently through the days, checking in, offering to meet you, anything. But part of you is angry, unforgiving, tired.

You could’ve gone the rest of the school year unscathed if she’d just left you the fuck alone, but she pried and she tugged and she settled, and she made a home inside of you and you hate that you let her.

xxxx: i really miss you.

You block her number, block her social media, and even though finals are imminent, you now know that Vi’s been playing you for a fool this whole time and you cancel every last one of the sessions she’s booked.

You hope she’d get the message, figure that you’d caught onto her little game and aren’t willing to play anymore, but she doesn’t, that much is clear when you’re finishing up your two thirty session and find her stalking into the library just as the student leaves your table.

“Are we going to talk like adults or are you going to keep acting like—”

You don’t entertain a response, just pack your bag and sling the strap over your shoulder because the tears are bubbling and you don’t trust yourself not to break.

“Seriously?” Vi bites, hot on your heels as you throw all of your weight against the library doors and suck in the icy air.

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

“No, fuck that,” Vi spits, hand closing around your bicep. “You don’t— You don’t get to make me fall for you and then try to leave with no explanation.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Fuck you, Violet,” you hiccup, yanking your arm from her grasp and putting as much distance as you can between the two of you. “I hope you and your friends got a good laugh out of it.”

Her face is screwing up and if she wasn’t confused before, she’s definitely confused now.

“Listen, I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Vi argues. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”

You hate how believable she is. How the thought of hurting you seems so inconceivable to her. But that grainy video was clear enough.

“I hate you,” you murmur. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Your name comes out broken, like you’ve wounded her. But you’ve officially folded your hand, won’t dare look her in her eyes because the both of you know it’s not true.

The championships roll in fast like a tide and neither your or Violet are ready for it.

You hear they’re live streaming the game, it’s the most anticipated one in the season. Piltover Stallions against the Zaun City Tigers. A part of you wishes you could support them, but then you’re starkly reminded that you’re a laughingstock amongst them.

The library on a Friday night is as quiet as can be, the hum of the fluorescents background to the voices in your head that are loud. You’re so engrossed in the study material that you don’t realize someone’s making a beeline for you until they’re knocking on the tabletop.

Ellie Williams stands before you in all her lean glory, hands sunk in her pockets as she stares down at you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” Your tone is clipped, disinterested because you believed that you and Ellie could be friends once upon a time.

“Coach sat me out because I socked one of those dickhead Zaun City Tigers in the mouth last weekend.”

You humph.

“Listen, we don’t have much time left, so I’m going to make this short and sweet,” she says. “Whatever happened between you and Vi is obviously personal and that typically would have nothing to do with me, but she can’t get her shit together because all she can think of is you.”

“And that’s my problem because...?”

“I know that Vi comes off a certain way, but she’s my best friend, like my best friend in this entire shithole of a world, and she’s—”

“No offense, Ellie,” you cut her off. “But if Vi sent you here to plead her case, I think that’s pathetic and—”

“Okay, well maybe if you shut up for three seconds and let me get to my point—”

You close your textbook and shove it in your backpack before standing to signal the end of the conversation.

“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.”

Ellie watches you walk away, takes in a deep breath because wow, you’re a bitch when you’re mad, but she absolutely gets why Vi is whipped.

“Violet’s in love with you.”

And that statement makes you freeze. Tears cloud your vision as your fists tighten around the strap of your bag.

“If you fuck someone else while you’re in love, I want nothing to do with it,” you bite.

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

“Violet fucked someone else as soon as things got tough, and if that’s the kind of person she is in love, I’d rather be alone,” you say stiffly.

“Respectfully, there’s no way Vi’s interested in getting pussy from anywhere else with how down bad that bitch is for you, but even if she was, I spend over seventy percent of my day with her and know that all she’s been doing the past two weeks is moping over the fact that you handed her ass to her on a silver platter.”

“There’s a video.”

Ellie’s brows must be mingling with her hairline right about now.

She reaches a palm out.

Show me.

You open the DM from sev.94, watching as Ellie’s expression morphs from morbid curiosity to disbelief, to a quiet rage.

She’s handing your phone back to you and grabbing you by your forearm.

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 3—3.

Your eyes comb the playing area, can’t find Vi’s jersey number in the mix, but finally settle on her on the bench, shoulders terse and obviously on edge.

She doesn’t clock you yet, had given up on the idea of patching things up with you after your last conversation.

“Vi’s been missing her bracelet since practice on Saturday,” Ellie’d told you on the way there, then pulled out her phone to show you the photo she’d taken of Vi passed out in nothing but her boxers on the couch the night of the last game, fucked up and sad. “We went out for like an hour after the game, but that was it. Vi was too fucking in her head.”

The girl from the tunnel, the one who’d been taunting the two of you, you piece together, has been the one behind it all, stirring the pot.

Throughout the end of the second period and all through intermission, Vi doesn’t notice you, too busy trying to get off the fucking bench to survey the crowd.

It’s only during final puck drop in the third period that their coach finally gives in, smacks the back of her helmet and tells her to make him proud that she lifts her head up.

And there, front and center of the student section is you.

Her eyes are wide, body frozen in place as she tries to figure if you’re just a figment of her imagination, but then the horn’s blaring and she’s having to zone back in.

At this point in time, she doesn’t give a fuck if they win or lose, she just needs to get to you.

“Your little bitch looks cute tonight,” Sevika comments wolfishly. “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

Vi easily intercepts her pass, cuts between two players as she shuffles it along with practiced precision. She sends the rubber flying and the goalie narrowly misses block.

“Maybe if you played as good as you ran your mouth, you’d wipe the floor with my pissbaby team you big bitch,” Vi calls, resetting in their corner.

And perhaps you’re her good luck charm, the only thing she needed to see to get back into it, because Vi reignites. The adrenaline pumping through her veins fuels every shot, and soon the timer’s buzzing.

7—5.

The roar is deafening, but you’re all she sees in the ocean of cowbells and pompoms.

She barely inches forward before something arcs through the sky and lands before her feet.

Her bracelet.

You watch from the sidelines, the final confirmation as Vi picks up the loop and launches herself at Sevika.

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

You don’t know how many swings Vi gets in, just know that she’s flashing you a bloody smile before she skates off the ice.

Ellie emerges from the locker room and you’re perking up.

Most, if not all, of Vi’s teammates had come and gone and you’d been waiting patiently, anxiously, for her to emerge since the end of the game nearly an hour ago.

“She’s the last one in there,” is all Ellie says before strolling off.

“What if...what if she doesn’t want to see me?” you ask hesitantly.

Ellie chuffs a little laugh, doesn’t bother turning as she calls from halfway down the hall, “Find out for yourself, sweetheart.”

Vi’s pulling a tank top over her head as soon as you enter and your cheeks bloom when you catch a split-second of her tits.

She glances up at you, nose bruising and lip busted.

“Hey,” she spares you, stuffing her uniform and skates into her gym bag.

“Hi,” you squeak.

A pregnant pause as you take her in, hesitant to close the distance between the two of you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she observes.

And you don’t really have a bullshit response, know that you had every intention of staying as far away as humanly possible, so you settle on humming your agreement.

“Ellie told me,” she starts. “Why you lashed out on me.”

You swallow.

“And part of me gets it, I really do,” she continues, “but I also thought you had more faith in me than that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Fuck, Violet, I’m so sorry.”

“I told you to free up Friday night a few weeks ago,” she says, shuts her locker door and slumps down on the bench behind her. “I was going to tell you everything, officially ask you out, but then all that shit happened and it caught up to me.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and another until you’re standing in front of her.

“You have to know that I would never do something like to anyone, but especially not to you,” she says softly, taking your hands in hers.

“I know.”

She brushes her lips against your knuckles, pulls you in closer so that you’re standing between her legs.

“You’re right,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I don’t have a spotless track record, but I meant it when I said that I don’t give a shit about anyone else but you. I would give you anything I can if you let me.”

Your hands rest on her shoulders, her chin resting against the plush of your belly as you look down at her, speechless.

“That night, in the car, you said that you didn’t see what made you so different.”

“I don’t,” you admit.

Vi stands, caging you between strong arms as she drops her face into the hollow of your neck. You shiver when you feel her lips press to the skin there.

“We could start off with the obvious.”

One of her hands rests on the small of your back, pulls you flush so that the only things that separate you are the flimsy fabrics of your clothes. The other grabs a handful of your ass.

“I meant it when I said that you’re the kind of pretty that makes me wanna do bad things.”

You gulp, thighs squeezing as her lips part and she bites.

“Vi.”

“You got a giant brain,” she laughs breathily, fingers coming around the fiddle with your belt.

She kisses you, mouth hot and breath warm. It’s better the second time around, no doubt obscuring you from truly indulging.

“Pl—ease.”

“You’re kind and you’re selfless, and you’re my sweet, sweet little crybaby.”

“Violet,” you sigh breathlessly. “Listen to me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

Violet nearly runs two red lights and whips into your neighborhood on two wheels.

The two of you are stumbling up the stairs and she’s spanking your ass on the last step as you fiddle with your keys and try to find the right one under the dim light of the complex hall.

Violet’s already unbuckling her belt as you turn the key, nearly taking you down as she shoves you inside and up against the front door.

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

“Out of town,” you answer quickly, kicking off your sneakers and pulling your sweater over your head. “Visiting her family upstate.”

“Perfect,” Vi hums. “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on your couch.”

“Oh–”

One of her rough hands comes to cup your tit over your bra, her tongue laving over the other while her free hand makes work of the clasp.

You walk her back to the couch, stand between her knees as she flops back into the seat. Her arms spread over the back as she settles in, legs widening to give you ample room to strip.

Her eyes never leave yours as you easily unclasp your bra and shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a tight pair of little lace panties and pink socks that has Vi wet.

“C’mere,” she rasps, pulling you to straddle her lap.

Her lips immediately latch onto one of your pebbled nipples, tongue hot as her hands wander.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me what you want,” she husks, biting down on the swell of your breast.

And having Violet this close, her touch excruciatingly featherlight and tempting, you wind tight.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper, fingers fixing around her throat. “Please.”

“Yeah?” she eggs you on, lips brushing yours as her palms settle on your ass. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly, hips rolling in her lap as her breath pitches.

“Vi.”

Her nickname puffing from your lips makes her crack. You’re wound in her arms, face in her neck as she peels your thong taut, away from your waiting cunt, and runs her fingertips from your slit down to your clit.

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

“Holy shit,” she marvels, licking her lips when she easily glides through your folds. “You’re really fucking wet.”

You grind down against her, clothed clit catching against her belt buckle. The cool metal sends a jolt through your pussy and you’re moaning loud in her ear.

And Violet really wants to take her time with you, wants to milk the first time she ever gets to fuck you for as long as she humanly can, but she’s still fully dressed and you’re practically naked, perfect tits pressed to her chest and fat ass in the palm of her hand.

She shifts you further into her, so that she can peek over the arch of your back as she sinks her middle and ring finger three knuckles deep into your needy heat.

“Ah, fuck, Violet.” Your voice breaks as she starts pumping into you, your arousal coating her fingers and the sound of her easily slipping through your pussy reverberating through the living room. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

She kisses your jaw, litters them until she’s catching your lips and licking crudely into your mouth.

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

She’s leaning the both of you forward, easing you from her lap and onto the couch as she takes a moment to shuck her shirt off and pull her belt through the loops in one tug.

You watch her through it all, the way the trim muscles of her biceps and shoulders flex as she leans over you, takes you by the ankles and yanks you until your ass is half-hanging from the edge of the couch.

She kneels before you, strips you out of your thong.

You don’t miss the way she shoves the soiled fabric in her jeans pocket.

“Jesus,” she breathes, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your pussy. “You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”

Your toes curl at the praise, fingers closing around where Vi’s holding your legs apart.

“You know how bad I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy?” she rasps, gathering the lewdest amount of spit to dribble onto your clit. When you don’t answer, she’s freeing a hand to slap your slit.

“Nnngh, fuck!”

“Think I’ve always wanted to have you,” she admits. “But it was that stupid party fucking party and that stupid fucking skirt. God, I would’ve fucked you in that skirt if you let me.”

“Yeah?” you whine breathlessly. “Tell me.”

She’s stuffing you again without warning, curling her fingers in a way that has your back arching off the couch.

“Would’ve bent you over that sink and made you watch yourself while I ate you out,” she says easily.

And it’s so fucking delicious, the nasty shit Vi’s saying to you while she pounds your aching heat; the way she finally gives in and tastes you, sucking on your clit like she’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sate her hunger.

Your fingers curl through her hair as you teeter dangerously over the edge, nails grazing her scalp and tugging when she hits the spot deep inside of you that has you keening for more.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you choke. “Holy fuck.”

You feel Vi grin against your pussy, watch her with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes because the sight of her between your legs in your moonlit living room has your insides twisting hard.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she encourages you. “Cum all over my fingers. Wanna see you gush.”

“Hah, h—” Your thighs tighten around her head, fingers curled so hard in her hair, she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, Vi, please.”

She moans into your cunt, savoring the heady taste of you as you practically ride her face.

The sound that fills the room is downright filthy, the sight that Vi beholds when she peeks from where she’s devouring you equally so. It’s picturesque, the way she has you writhing. A sheen of perspiration glistens over your flesh as she eats you out and it’s a perfect mix of her tongue and her fingers that send you soaring over the edge.

It’s a pitched whine that echos, the staccato of your shaky breathing that sings like music in her ears as you cum. And hard.

Her lashes flutter against the skin of your inner thighs as she peppers kisses there, her lips slick with spit and arousal.

“Fuck, babe,” she whispers. “That was...”

She can’t really choose a specific word, is just mind blown at the fact that she’d just made you cum so hard and so fast. It makes her tense and tingle, a smug wave of pride washing over her as she starts mouthing a trail from your belly, between the valley of your tits, up your throat, to finally press a chaste one on your lips.

You taste yourself first and foremost, but then you taste everything she’s ever wanted to say to you, all the unspoken words and the things she’d been too scared to share. Feel it in the way her hands are roaming, squeezing, caressing.

You breathe a disbelieving laugh, peck her lips again when she pulls away to brush your hair from your face.

“Vi—” Your breath hitches and your eyes glaze.

“I know, I know.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, legs hooking around the narrow of her waist as she bears your weight and picks up your boneless figure.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

The sun is warm against your skin when you wake up the following morning, your bedroom bathed in an orange glow.

You feel bone tired, body sore and muscles tight as your arm sweeps the other side of the bed in search of balmy skin, but instead you’re met with cool sheets and swelling dread.

You sit up quickly, find that you’re still naked, and take a moment to asses your bedroom. The bathroom door’s cracked, light off, and everything else is exactly where you left it.

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

Almost don’t want to leave your room because your empty apartment will be confirmation enough that Vi really did get the last laugh in the end.

But you force yourself out of bed, shrug on an oversized t-shirt before finding the living room just as still as it had been before the two of you had barreled in the night before and she’d left her mark on you.

The only sign that the entire thing wasn’t just a figment of your imagination was Vi’s belt strewn haphazardly on the coffee table.

You feel hollow, almost numb, and even if a persistent part of your brain was consistently telling you that you should’ve known better, the tears well in your eyes because you’d really hoped Violet was different.

You knuckle the tears away angrily, mind racing far too fast to register the door quietly unlocking and the soft footfalls coming down the hall.

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

Like a vision, Vi’s standing in the doorway, a handful of plastic bags in tow. She’s wearing her clothes from last night and the puffs under her eyes make her a little worse for wear.

She sets the bags down on the eat-in, rounds the couch to take you by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” she worries. “What’s going on?”

You hiccup, crumpling in her arms because you were so fucking scared.

“Thought you left,” you croak.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief, blowing out a hollow laugh because her girl’s such a baby.

“You have jack shit in your fridge,” she teases lightly. “How am I supposed to make you a five star breakfast with greek yogurt and carrot sticks?”

You whine.

“Don’t care about breakfast,” your muffled voice sounds from where your face is pressed in her chest. “Just wanted to wake up to you.”

Violet groans.

“You’re so cute,” she laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“I wanna go back to bed,” you mutter petulantly, emotional whiplash making your eyes droop.

“You’re not gonna let me make you breakfast?” Vi picks, smoothing the hair from your face.

Your eyes catch the bracelet refastened around her wrist and you grin softly, taking her fingers to press a kiss to her palm.

She could combust, gaze gooey as she watches you watch her.

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

One that’s particular, and overarching; one she doesn’t think she can go without.

And frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

neng © 2024

[heirofnight]

finally

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 4.6k - this one's a doozy, buckle up.

based on this request: Hi hi can I get an angsty Azriel x fem!reader fic. Basically they’re mates but they don’t have the best relationship for whatever reason. Rhysand sends them on a mission somewhere and somehow Azriels mind gets taken over and he attacks reader. She doesn’t want to leave Azriel even though he begs her to before he lost control because despite everything she did love him. Reader ends up getting hurt but was thankfully able to reach out to Rhysand in time. Rhysand then clears Azriels mind from whatever was done to him. Azriel ofc beats himself up over it, but then they kiss and makeup.

content warnings: talk of death, reader gets attacked, choking

a/n: this was a TRIP to write. for all of you requesting angst, i'm serving it on a silver platter. i hope you love it! first time writing a fic based on a request, so i hope i did it justice. let me know what you think! as always, lightly edited. pls ignore any mistakes <3

"are you serious?", you spat out, scoffing in disbelief. you crossed your arms across your chest immediately, your body language depicting just how frustrated you were.

azriel stood next to you, keeping way too much distance for a male that was apparently, allegedly your mate.

some mate, you sneered within your swirling mind. you'd both still refused to accept the bond, and if anything, it had just made the already avoidant relationship between the both of you even worse.

you were convinced that this was some sort of divine mistake, there was simply no way that azriel was your mate. we have absolutely nothing in common, another brief thought that had you glancing at him from the corner of your peripheral - just to find him standing in the exact same stance that you currently held. arms crossed, body language defensive, expression stoic.

you cleared your throat and quickly dropped your arms to your sides, straightening your spine before meeting rhys' violet gaze once more. his eyes sparkled with amusement, knowing exactly what you were thinking. whether you were that transparent, or he had actually caught you with your mental shields down - you didn't know. the wards within your mind were the least of your concerns right now.

"i am absolutely serious, i'm afraid", rhys smirked, enjoying the entertainment of watching both you and azriel spiral towards an inevitable juvenile skirmish. especially at his own hand.

azriel huffed a frustrated breath, his shadows becoming more frenzied as they ebbed and flowed around his body. you glanced at him once more, noticed the way his wings had drooped in defeat. you found yourself beginning to admire his side profile, his sculpted, pretty features calling to you in a moment of weakness. you quickly averted your gaze.

you'd never claimed he wasn't attractive, that much about him was painfully obvious. and since he was - unfortunately - your mate, there were moments where it felt as though every fiber, cell, and atom of your body were screaming for his. you'd wondered if he ever felt the same.

"rhys, this is ridiculous. there is no reason for her to join me. i never have help on missions - i never need it," his words grew more strained as he spoke, his last words ending in a near-snarl.

you rolled your eyes at his arrogance, throwing your hands up in exasperation before letting them slap against your thighs. "oh, i'm so sorry, azriel. how could i possibly offer any significant knowledge or assistance with this job, when you're already the most wisest, skilled, and capable male ever gifted by the gods? how can any of us forget - we pale in comparison to the all-feared shadowsinger," your tone was mocking as you turned towards him, cheeks reddening in exasperation.

azriel met your gaze, eyes narrowed as he deadpanned, "most wise".

you narrowed your own gaze to match his, "what?", you scoffed out.

"you said most wisest. that makes no sense. i believe you meant most wise," he stated dryly, tone emotionless.

your cheeks reddened further, expression twisting into one of pure anger. it didn't help that you heard rhys struggling to hold back a bark of laughter.

"okay, honestly, fuck yo-", you began, ready to spit pure venom straight into his veins with your words.

"enough," rhys commanded, voice booming. you froze, huffing out a breath before looking over at the high lord - he was now standing, his hands braced against the surface of his desk. his eyes held no amusement, no laughter. he was fed up.

"you are to both deploy on this mission. you are to both work together to track down this rebel group of daemati, and you are to both report back here with your findings. you keep each other safe. you work together. and you stop this childish bickering," rhys stated, his tone taking on a quality of pure nobility.

he looked between both you and azriel with striking violet eyes. "you leave tomorrow. am i clear?", the high lord questioned, and you knew he required an answer.

"yes," you and your mate replied at the same time, in the same brooding tone. rhys quirked an eyebrow at that, smirking slyly.

"great. have fun, you two," he gave a swooping gesture with his arm in dismissal.

the next morning, you and azriel departed right after breakfast. it was a shared - albeit silent - meal, and you found yourself glancing up at him behind the rim of your glass every single time you took a sip. you didn't know it, but azriel was sparing you the same glances as he ate his porridge.

the rebel group of daemati were last known to be located near the northern edge of the day court's borders - nearing the court of nightmares. the plan was to teleport close to the border itself, and you and azriel both knew that you'd more than likely have to track them from that location to wherever they were now.

you'd left from the house of wind's balcony after eating - azriel reluctantly placing a large hand on your shoulder before teleporting you both in a blanket of darkness and swirling shadows.

once the shadows dissipated, you'd found yourselves in a chilled, heavily wooded patch of forest. you blinked a few times, gaining your bearings. before your eyes had even fully focused on where you were, azriel was stalking off to your left, already on the prowl.

you rolled your eyes, jogging after him in order to catch up. "is your plan to 'accidentally' lose me in the woods?", you sneered, your legs burning as you tried to keep up with his long strides. you crouched down hastily to avoid a low-hanging branch that almost collided with your cheek. you'd been too busy glaring at the side of azriel's head to notice it.

he huffed, his boots crunching against fallen leaves. "keep up, and you won't get lost," he offered, his shadows darting out ahead of him to scout the surrounding area for traces of your target.

you grumbled, eyeing his smoky tendrils as they swirled in different directions. "prick," you said under your breath, pushing another branch out of your path.

you could have sworn you saw the corner of his lips quirk upward at your comment, an action that you would have almost found endearing if it weren't for the current situation you found yourself in. as much as you didn't want to admit it to yourself, you were nervous. you'd never been on a mission, especially not one that felt as high stakes as this one. daemati were dangerous. able to enter, control - and if trained enough, completely shatter - minds without so much as blinking. sure, as a scholar, you'd had brief knowledge on how to handle their kind, but coming across one daemati was rare - much less an entire pissed off group of them.

this could end terribly. and you did not want to be the one to sabotage this outing.

one single coil of shadow darted back towards azriel, whispering against the shell of his ear. "this way," he pointed to your right with a scarred hand, and you adjusted your path accordingly. you found your gaze following his hand as he lowered it to his side once more, and azriel glanced down, noticing where your eyes had landed.

he felt his pulse quicken, not sure what to make of your sudden interest in his hands. it was already an insecurity of his, and he knew that you'd not be shy to prey on that fact.

he cleared his throat, running that same hand through his hair in order to break your gaze. you inhaled a sharp breath, realizing you'd been caught. you opted to stare straight ahead instead, the normal silence between the both of you now feeling awkward.

should you say something? you didn't want him to think you'd been looking at the skin of his hands in disgust. it was the furthest thing from the truth. and while you weren't the hugest fan of his, you would never think poorly of him in regards to his trauma.

"i -," you started, clearing your own throat now. he glanced over at you from the corner of his eye, not urging you to finish.

"i've always thought they were beautiful - your hands," you said sincerely, voice nothing more than a whisper that you were certain a gust of wind could carry away on a breeze - never to be heard.

he took a deep breath, blowing it out through his nose harshly.

"thank you," he said softly, nodding once.

a lifeline, that's what it felt like.

my mate, he thought to himself, trudging forward.

you'd both continued on in comfortable silence for the next few hours. the bundle of nerves in the pit of your stomach was beginning to unravel, and you had to admit: you felt safe with azriel. not that you'd assumed he'd leave you for dead at any point during this mission - at the very least, rhys had commanded he return you to velaris safely. even if azriel somehow personally wanted you dead, he wouldn't defy his high lord's orders.

regardless, you were beginning to feel safe alongside him on your own accord.

a few times, you'd attempted to speak. pointing out various birds that you'd seen perched in the high branches of trees, or remarking on types of flowers that you'd walk past - many of which weren't native to velaris. azriel would notice the way your voice perked up as you spoke of them, noticed a certain kind of wistful joy that crept into your eyes, widening your pupils.

his own gaze began to soften as he observed you, finding your wholesome awe endearing. he listened carefully as you passionately explained each finding. cute, he'd thought briefly, warming up to your company. your hair whipped around you on a stray breeze, a strand catching right across your nose. his hand twitched, the urge to effortlessly brush it from your face filling him to the brim. but before he was able to build up the courage to do so, you'd beat him to it, and his hand stilled.

you were just about to point out yet another bird flying across the dusk-dusted sky when a familiar tendril of shadow approached azriel's ear.

"silence," he whispered in a hushed tone, halting his steps. he tensed up alongside you, his wings pulling in tightly at his back.

you closed your mouth, swallowing what you'd meant to say. you froze in place slightly behind him, waiting with shallow breaths for his next order.

"up ahead," he whispered, nodding his chin towards what looked to be a plume of smoke rising into the chilled air. your eyes followed the path of his gaze, and you squinted to make out the scene before you.

azriel crouched next to your still-standing form as he attempted to get a better look from a different angle.

it appeared to be a campsite of some sort - whoever was stationed there had clearly decided to stop traveling for the evening. the sun was quickly lowering behind the mountain range in the distance, and the air was even more frigid than when you'd both begun your trek. you felt a shiver wrack through your body, and azriel glanced up at you, frowning slightly.

he watched as you studied the growing fire before the both of you, his gaze lingering for just a second too long. you looked down at him, your eyes meeting for the first time all day. your breath hitched at the eye contact, and you faltered for a moment.

"so do we-", you spoke quietly.

"let's just-", he spoke at the same time.

you smiled warmly, dropping your head and huffing out a laugh.

he smirked, grabbing your wrist gently to pull you down to his level. "my shadows picked up on a few daemati tracks. i'm assuming its a small group - they must have decided to stop here for the evening. i'm guessing it's four, maybe five of them," he explained in a hushed tone, his eyes finding the campsite once more.

you thought for a moment, observing him.

"so, what's the best way to go about this?", you asked, voice soft.

he was about to reply, but his body froze, mouth poised to speak but nothing emerged.

there was a momentary pause before his expression transformed into one of pain, pure agony. he grunted, bracing his arms against the ground beneath him. his eyes were screwed shut in pain.

you startled, falling back onto your butt as you took in the scene before you with wide eyes.

no, no no no.

you supposed your brain knew what was happening before your body could react.

and that's when you felt it, a stifling, world-ending level of pain - unrelenting pain that felt so real, so true. but it wasn't your own pain. it was azriel's, through the white-hot golden bond that tethered the two of you together. until this moment, azriel had made sure to keep his emotions sequestered from you - you had done the same. out of pure spite, disdain for the cauldron's decision to fuse the two of you together for eternity.

until this moment. when azriel opened the floodgates of his own mind, letting you in. warning you.

"az," you breathed out, moving to rest a hand on his shoulder in gut-wrenching fear.

he gritted his teeth, letting out a horrible groan of distress.

"leave," he gnashed out, his voice strained. he let out another roar of pain.

you shook your head, eyes wide and pained.

"no, azriel. no. i'm not," you said sternly, voice watery.

"y/n," he forced out, nails digging into the dirt beneath him as he fought the intrusion of the daemati.

"y/n," he repeated, groaning once more, "it has me. it's going to make me hurt you," he strained, "you have to go. contact rhys, and go," he fell onto his side, wings flaring in exertion.

you scrambled towards him, placing a hand on his forehead. your heart was beating so rapidly, you were half-expecting it to leap from your throat and join azriel's form on the dampened ground.

all you could do was shake your head, over and over and over.

"no, no, no," you whispered, eyes filling with tears. you felt a fear so absolute, wholly understanding right then the pure agony that crawled into every crevice when the person on the other end of that golden rope was in danger. you couldn't leave him, you refused. every fiber of your being rebuked the thought. you peered down at his writhing form, his face pinched in pain. he was still the most beautiful male you'd ever seen.

you let out a gutteral noise of distress. you wasted so much time - so much time resenting azriel. fighting with him. throwing jabs at him. hating the gods, the cauldron, for linking the two of you. for what?

all that time wasted, and now his mind was no longer his. you would never get to express your love for the male before you - never get to experience the love that the both of you so immensely deserved.

"azriel," you choked out, pressing your shaking hands to every part of his body you could possibly touch. you glanced up, surveying your surroundings quickly. that's when you saw him, the daemati.

he'd kept his distance, but you made out the shape of his dark form within the trees. you couldn't even see his face, but you could clearly see the way his head tilted to the right, unnaturally slow. he was using his powers to fully infiltrate azriel's mind.

but your mate was putting up a fight. your strong, powerful mate.

azriel was doing everything within his power to not succumb to the daemati's will, his body feeling like it was going to split in half. the pain, the unrelenting, bone crushing pain, was enough to make him wish he could somehow force himself completely unconscious.

and still, through it all, he could not tear his thoughts away from you. a dangerous game, as he was dealing with a species of fae that was literally able to break into the walls of his mind, utilizing his deepest fears against him.

and right now, his biggest fear was losing you. hurting you.

he roared out, blue siphons blazing, vibrating against his skin.

one singular mantra stamped itself through his mind as he attempted to fight off the daemati clawing at his iron-clad wards long enough to convince you to flee, to leave him there to suffer alone - just as he always had:

my mate, fight for your mate, keep her safe, fight for your mate, keep her safe, my mate

you froze, mesmerized by the form that was tearing azriel's mind apart chamber-by-chamber.

then, it happened, and it happened quickly: azriel, now fully under its control, lunged toward you. he tackled you backwards, into the dirt and leaves beneath the both of you.

you screamed, bracing your hands against his chest. you dared to look into his hazel eyes, orbs that were no longer his own.

what you saw terrified you. pupils blown wide.

death himself.

a large, scarred hand found its way to your throat, and you thrashed wildly beneath him. he was unphased by the fight you tried to give him - he was too strong, and you were too scared.

rhys, rhys please, you chanted into your mind, hoping somehow he'd be able to hear you. it was a long shot - you knew that. you'd never once communicated with rhys mind-to-mind, but it was your only chance.

you were going to die at the hands of your mate. and it all felt so ironic, since azriel hated you anyway.

rhys, please, your pleads grew frantic, and azriel's hand gripped tighter around your neck.

the edges of your vision began to go dark, and you grabbed azriel's chin, peering into his eyes with all of the strength that you could muster. "azriel. it's me. it's y/n - it's your mate. please, az. i'm so sorry for everything," you strained against his grip, throat tightening. you wouldn't be conscious for much longer. if there was any chance that he - the real him - could hear you, you had to try to get through.

"i'm so, so sorry, az," you spluttered out, eyes growing heavy.

you sent one more plead to rhys through your mind before everything went dark.

your eyes fluttered open slowly, a groan leaving your throat before you were even fully awake. your neck ached, the skin there burned. your whole body felt tense, tight, and stiff.

you blinked, eyes heavy, trying to take in your surroundings. you recognized the ceiling above you, knew that the soft sheets pulled up to your chin were the ones adorning your bed at the house of wind.

you were home. you were alive.

the events with azriel, the forest - the daemati - came rushing back at full-speed, leaving you breathless. you tried to sit up, but your entire body screamed with the sudden movement.

fuck.

"there she is," you heard a familiar silk-coated voice. rhys. you glanced over towards the sound, and found the high lord perched in an armchair next to your bed.

"rhys," you spoke hoarsely. he stood then, approaching your side with feline grace.

he smiled down at you, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"quite a fan of the dramatics, aren't you, y/n," he teased soothingly, taking a seat on the side of your mattress gently. "you had all of us frightened half to death," he added, surveying your face as he took note of your current state.

you groaned quietly, raising a hand to feel at your throat. it was obviously bruised - you didn't need to see it to know that.

"azriel," you whispered hoarsely, shaking your head to yourself. you were safe, so surely azriel must be too ... right? the thought of anything otherwise had your stomach lurching. you felt for the bond, felt for azriel's presence, and were met with emptiness - just like you had been until the daemati attacked.

"azriel is just fine, y/n," rhys spoke gently, a knowing tone in his voice. "i heard you, that day in the forest. i arrived just in time. it took a few days, but...," he trailed off, moving a strand of hair from your face, "but i was able to completely heal az from the damage the daemati caused," he finished, letting out an exhale.

you felt tears springing to your eyes immediately, unable to control your reaction to the news. "i'm so sorry, rhys," you choked out, a shaky breath escaping through your nose.

"now, now," he soothed, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. "none of that, none of that at all," he continued, eyes softening as he met your broken gaze.

"you did nothing wrong, y/n. you stayed at the side of your mate, even in the face of lethal danger. you summoned me," he paused for a moment, watching you.

"you didn't allow him to experience that alone. and while you staying there may not have been the ... most wisest ... thing to do," rhys teased, referencing your last conversation amongst the two males, "i still commend you. i, myself, have not made the smartest decisions where feyre's safety is concerned," he wiped another tear threatening to cascade onto your sheets.

you let out a watery laugh at his teasing, shaking your head.

"he hates me, rhys," you whispered, eyes finding the ceiling once more.

rhys let out a dry chuckle at your statement, sighing to himself.

"on the contrary, y/n, i think you'll find that az feels the complete opposite," he whispered, voice lilting.

you met his gaze, eyes narrowing.

just then, there was a gentle knock on your bedroom door. one that was made with the intention to not disturb your sleeping, healing form.

the door opened, and azriel crept in, wings pulled together against his back in order to avoid jostling any of your shelved belongings. he was trying to be as silent as possible, not yet aware that you were awake.

"i brought a glass of water, rhys, just in case she wak-," his words caught in his throat once his eyes made their way to yours. your opened, very awake, eyes.

"i have some very important paperwork to attend to," rhys spoke. "numbers to run, high lord duties - things of that nature," he grinned slyly, removing himself from your beside and strutting towards the door. he turned back towards you before leaving, bowing his head once. "i'm glad that you're okay, y/n. please let me know if you need anything," he said gently, before making his exit.

azriel still stood off to the side, frozen. his eyes were fused to the bruise that spanned your throat - a bruise that was in the shape of his own hand.

"hi," you whispered hoarsely, clearing your throat.

"i'm so....- i am so fucking sorry, y/n," azriel whispered, stunned. his grip tightened around the glass of water in his hand, and you were momentarily concerned that it may splinter under the pressure.

"az," you began to speak, scooting your body up against the row of pillows propped behind you. "we both know that none of this is your fault. you fought it, i saw-," you pleaded, eyebrows cinched.

"no," he cut you off, voice stern, but quiet.

"no," he repeated, stepping towards you. "i should have never allowed rhysand to send you out on a mission this dangerous. there is no excuse. i could have killed...", he trailed off, approaching you almost hesitantly, as if he were scared to get too close. "i could have killed you," he finished, voice strained and full of regret.

you shook your head, reaching for him now, and he approached you. a moth to a flame. he set the glass of water down and allowed you to take his hand. the same one that was wrapped around your neck just days ago.

"this hand, a hand that i find so beautiful, this hand that belongs to you - my mate - would have never done this to me. and i know that," you whispered, tearing up once more.

he dropped his head, wings drooping - the very tips touching the floor.

he squeezed your hand once, sitting on your bedside dejectedly.

"i heard you," he whispered after a short pause. "i heard you begging me to stop. i just couldn't -,"

"i know," you cut him off, not wanting him to spiral into a pit of despair that would engulf him entirely.

his shadows began to lazily twirl around him, a few breaking away from his body in favor of worrying over you instead.

he loosed a deep breath, staring at the floor for awhile. you allowed him to ponder, think through all of the horrible events of the last few days. as awful as your attack was, you couldn't begin to imagine the toll it took on azriel. his mind was infiltrated, ripped apart, and his body was no longer his. you could not even fathom it.

"the daemati made me attack you because he knew we were mates. he sensed the bond. and ...-," he trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief, "he knew how important your safety was to me. he got into my head, and into my thoughts. he saw how important you are," he whispered, finding your eyes.

your eyes shut, a tear escaping from the corners. he reached out a hand, a sure hand.

he wouldn't allow another moment to pass where he wanted to touch you, but held himself back.

you felt him wipe the tears away, his touch so gentle, it made your chest ache.

"i am sorry, you know," you whispered, sniffling. "i'm sorry for all the shit i've given you. i truly never resented the mating bond as much as i let on. it was just-...", you shook your head, eyes fluttering open once more to find his honeyed gaze. "it was a defense mechanism, because i knew you didn't want the bond, didn't want me, and i didn't want to look stupid - pining after a male that was ashamed of me," you rushed out, cheeks tinting pink at the confession.

his brows furrowed, and he huffed out a breath as he shook his head slowly, "y/n," he started, letting out this dry ghost of a laugh - although it lacked any humor. "no, that's not it at all. i was ... elated, to learn that you were my mate. but i thought that you wouldn't want me. after all this time, i'd come to terms with the fact that i would never ... never find my mate. our paths wouldn't cross, or i'd somehow get myself killed before i could find her," he paused for a moment, shaking his head. "but, no. i was ecstatic. especially because it was you. so full of fire and strength. beautiful - agonizingly so. your excitement for life radiates from your very core. i was, and still am, so proud to have been paired with you. i couldn't have chosen anyone better," he admitted, his eyes soft and full of adoration.

you were absolutely crying now, and your grip on his hand tightened as you let out a soft sob.

"we're such idiots," you croaked out, a hand coming up to cover your eyes.

he let out a soft laugh then, his own eyes becoming watery.

"perfect for each other. two idiot mates," he offered, a real, true smile spreading across his dimpled cheeks.

you laughed along with him, bringing his scarred knuckles up to your lips to nuzzle along them softly. the action made azriel still for a moment, and you felt an overwhelming wave of full, adoring emotions and bright, fizzling warmth hurdle directly into your chest. his emotions. he'd opened his side of the bond once more, but this time, for a very different reason. your wide eyes found his, and you returned the sentiment. you sent every ounce of love, unbridled and true, right into his chest. his breathing became ragged, his bottom lip quivering at the feeling. he was so loved, and gods, so were you.

you tugged on that golden string that was directly connected to the pit of his chest, tied right around his heart. he leaned towards you on instinct, and he knew at that moment that he would follow wherever you led him.

"my mate," he whispered, reaching down to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

you tilted your head up slightly, your full lips finding his own.

"finally," you whispered against his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to his waiting lips.

a/n: well, this one took 3 hours and cracked me in half along the way. if you made it this far, pls lmk what you thought! thanks for reading <3

[nottyoursbutmine]

cruel summer | t.n

pairing: theodore nott x hufflepuff soulmate reader

the one where nott and Y/N never wanted a soulmate. so why can’t they stop thinking about each other after they agree to never talk about it again?

this is my first writing and you can totally tell. it’s super long for no reason so pls be nice. it has 3 OC in hufflepuff. totally wrote this overnight so I rushed the ending can you tell?

cruel summer - taylor swift

—

You’re listening to your best friend, Sophia, as you’re walking towards the Great Hall. For the past two weeks she has been ranting about the same thing, Blaise Zabini, her soulmate.

As she’s going on about the colors of trees, our uniforms, and flowers you can’t help but space off. They met while being paired up during Potions and spoke their first soulmate words to each other. She has always wanted to meet her soulmate and ever since then, she’s been happier than ever.

You have never wanted to meet your soulmate. The thought of being trapped down and having children will not be your future.

“Are you even listening to me?” Sophia asks.

“Oh, um…of course I was, Blaise is perfect, the sky is magical?” You say with uncertainty. You’re arriving at the Great Hall and approach your table to sit down.

She gives you a look and says, “No, you know exactly what I was saying…please Y/N!”

“Can I just ask why is this so important to you? I mean, it’s not as if we would have anything in common. Slytherin do not make friends with Hufflepuffs,” you say with a straight face. Compared to her always happy demeanor, you were the type of girl who looked at the glass half empty. Not to say you weren’t kind to everyone you met, but you were a realist.

“I have been trying to introduce you to Blaises’ friends since we met… please?” As she sits across from you at the table, she gives you her biggest smile, one that you can never say no to.

As you pick at your food, you finally give in. “Okay, fine but we have to invite the rest of the girls.”

She squeals, leans over the table and gives you a hug. You’ve never been one for physical contact but you’ve been friends with Sophia since diapers, so you do your best and pat her back.

-

You’re sitting on your bed with your curtains drawn staring at the words on your wrist, thinking about the power they hold. Your entire future is determined by your first words with a stranger. The words were harsh, feeding into your whole ‘wanting to be alone,’ thing. You wonder what their words say.

Seeing colors is something you have also always wondered about. What are the colors of your eyes and hair? What is the color green and why does it make nature look so beautiful? What about flowers? And the color of your clothes?

However, does spending forever with someone you didn’t get to choose sound worth it? You have heard stories of colors fading for people who have lost their soulmate or chosen to be alone, you wonder if that’s true.

You hear the door burst open and Sophia say, “Okay, get ready everyone! We’re going to the Slytherin common room.”

You pull your curtains back, then look at Violet and Ariana, Violet lets out a small laugh from her bed and says “What?”

“Yup! We are meeting Blaise, Riddle, Nott, Berkshire, and Malfoy in 1 hour,” Sophia says, “so you all better start getting ready.”

You all get up with a groan as you get up and all go into the bathroom to get ready. You decide to put on a warm sweatshirt/sweats set because it’s cold out and blowout your hair. You exit the bathroom and all make your way out of the Hufflepuff house.

Walking to the Slytherin common room seemed faster than it should have been. Sophia talked most of the way, assuring us that this will be fun. She always seemed to be the positive one in our group. She states that the guys are nicer in person and only look scary from afar or something like that.

As you get closer you see Zabini waiting outside. Sophia walked towards Blaise, greeting him with a kiss. “Blaise, these are my friends, Violet, Ariana and Y/N.”

He shakes Violet’s and Ariana’s hand, trying to make a good first impression on his soulmates friends and as he extends his hand towards you and Sophia stops him, “Y/N doesn’t touch.”

You feel your heart get warm, you didn’t know how you were going to get out of that awkward situation. She knows you so well, you just give her a small smile as a thank you.

He just chuckles and says, “Exactly like someone else I know. Okay, c’mon the guys are inside.” As you walk in you can’t help but look around, even though you can’t see colors, the Slytherin common room has always been famously talked about and you wanted to know what the fuss was about.

You see Berkshire sitting on an armchair, reading a book. Malfoy is sitting on the floor with his back to the couch and he’s doing homework on the table. Riddle laying on a couch and Nott laying on the couch across from him talking you think about Herbology.

“Girls, these are the guys, right there is Malfoy. Right there is Riddle, over there is Nott, and there is Berkshire.” Zabini says pointing over at them without looking, without caring. It made you internally laugh.

Your eyes glaze over the boys and you just give them a smile. The girls give the boys their biggest smile and say hello, Ariana even goes as far as to give her famous flirtatious hugs. Not that you are judging, these guys are attractive.

Nott and Riddle sit down on the couches to make room for you girls. You sit next at the end of the couch to the left of Violet, who’s in the middle sitting next to Riddle. Ariana is sitting across from you, to the right of Sophia. Sophia is sitting next to Zabini, who’s finally sitting next to Nott at the very left. Berkshire is hadn’t moved from his place in the arm chair and Malfoy had collected his homework, but was still sitting on the floor.

The usual topics come by, grades, hate for the teachers, holidays, and the usual family drama. “Okay let’s get real, has everyone here met their soulmate?” Ariana asks.

Berkshire begins to rant about his soulmate, one that everyone knew he had. It was nice to hear him say those sweet words about her.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and says, “Doesn’t everyone already know the answer to this question? It’s not as if this school doesn’t spread the word as soon as it happens.”

Riddle laughs looking over at him, “You’re just upset because Granger is mad at you right now.”

“I don’t know why you don’t go apologize to her like I’ve been saying, staying here isn’t going to help her forgive you,” Berkshire says.

“He’s right, you need to man up and go to her dorm,” Nott speaks up, “if you don’t she’ll be pissed forever man.”

Malfoy looks like he wants to kill all his friends as he gets up and storms out of the common room, assumingely on his way to the Gryffindor house.

Malfoy, Berkshire, and Zabini are the only ones in the group who have found their soulmates, leaving Riddle and Nott to find theirs.

As everyone but Nott and you answer the question, the tension shifts. “So Y/L/N, have you found your soulmate?” Riddle asks, a hint of suggestiveness in his voice.

All eyes fall on you, “Um...No, I haven’t, but I don’t want to either, so…” you say trailing off.

“You don’t want to? Sounds familiar. Can we ask why you don’t want to?” He pries while glancing to the side, at something or someone. You’re not sure if you imagine it but everyone leans in closer, except for Nott of course, who’s sitting against the couch, eyes not leaving you.

“Well, let’s just say, I’m not going to let some words, colors, and a stranger determine a future I have already envisioned for myself, one that does not have a soulmate,” you have the straightest face and you’re not sure if it’s just your natural face or if you’re just annoyed by all these questions.

The boys sit in silence as they all give each other looks to your answer, however Nott is just staring at you and for some reason you’re afraid to look his way.

It seems like the night has ended with what you said and you decide you need to leave to room immediately. “Okay well, if that’s all I’m going now…I have to go to the library to finish my homework.”

Violet and Ariana follow you out, Sophia stays behind to spend more time with Zabini. As you’re walking you feel eyes burning into the back of your head.

-

Heading back to your common room from the library alone before curfew was a usual trip for you. The dark, empty corridor never scared you, it actually brought you peace. Ariana was the only one who preferred to study with you, but today she wanted to rest.

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night

While turning a corner you trip over something you don’t see, hands wrap around torso preventing you from falling. You drop your books and loose papers on the ground. You immediately push yourself away from the person holding you up.

It’s so dark out, you can’t see the tall figure, however, as you bend over to pick up everything you dropped, his shoes look expensive.

And so you do what you do best, apologize,“Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Than-”

You feel the person slightly freeze but not enough for you to process it, “My god, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Now it’s your turn to freeze. You’re afraid to look up, you’re afraid to even move. All of a sudden everything is different, you understand what Sophia means when she says the lights are yellow and actually do light up the night. You look at your clothes and see your yellow set. Everything yellow.

You’re not even sure why but you thought you had more time to find them. You’ve collected all your things and you’re still there staring at the ground. How are you supposed to tell this guy you’re not interested?

As you stand up, you stare into the eyes of Theodore Nott and you’re not sure what you feel. His eyes are so brown, his hair is so brown and he looks so attractive in his Slytherin uniform.

You’re both just standing staring at each other and you’re not sure what to say to him. Should you rip the bandaid off?

“Okay so, I don’t want you and you don’t want me, right? Let’s just pretend this never happened,” he has the straightest face ever.

You’re grateful he said it first so you didn’t have to but you’re not sure why you’re heart skipped a beat, almost like his words hurt you. “Okay.”

You’re not sure what else to say and you’re also not sure why your heart is now beating so hard in your chest. The colors don’t even matter anymore, what only matters to you now is that he’s in front of you and that he was just in front of you a few hours earlier, yet you never spoke one word to each other.

You thought the conversation was over, you thought he would walk away. He clears his throat, “Okay well then, let’s shake on it,” he says as he extends his hand out to you without looking away from your eyes.

You look at his hand and in a beat place your hand in his, slowly shaking it. “So we agree to not tell anyone,” looking back in his eyes. Your heart starts beating faster and your mind starts racing. You pull your hand back and say, “Goodbye then,” you walk away and don’t look back.

-

Ariana wakes you up the next morning, saying something about almost being late for breakfast.

As you get up, enter the bathroom to get ready and put your uniform on, you curl your hair and put it in a ponytail with side pieces out.

As you exit the bathroom you see Sophia sitting on her bed. “What do you all say about sitting with Blaise and the boys for breakfast this morning?” she says with a grin.

Ariana claps her hands together, jumping up and down, “That would be so fun. Last night was so fun!” Throughout the night she became good friends with the boys by gossiping about the teachers and student drama in the school.

Violet gives Sophia a small smile, “I think that would be nice.”

All eyes turn to me, I roll eyes in sarcasm, “Okay, let’s just go or all the blueberry muffins will be gone and you know how I feel about that.”

-

You follow Sophia to the Slytherin table and as the boys see you all approach, you see Zabini say something to them, making them scoot over. Sophia casually sits next to Zabini at the end of the table. You sit down first, scooting over for Ariana and Violet. Riddle is to your right, Nott directly across from you, and Violet to your left.

You immediately begin looking around for a blueberry muffin but don’t see one, the only one you see is on Notts plate. So you go for the second best option, banana bread.

“Aw we were too late? I’m sorry hun. Tomorrow will be better,” Sophia says with her positive attitude. You give her a smile and try to not continue the conversation.

“Late for what?” Riddle asks with a mouth full of food.

“Nothi-”

“Y/N loves her blueberry muffin for breakfast,” Violet says as if it’s the biggest secret in the school. You shrug because it’s true, there’s nothing better to start your day off with.

“Here then.” Nott holds out his plate offering you his muffin. The guys give him a look as if he just told them he’s joining the circus.

“No, it’s yours,” you say, giving him the exact same look.

He pushes the plate closer to you, “Take the damn muffin if you’re going to be complaining about it.”

The energy has completely changed, “Woah man, what the hell?” Berkshire says, sitting to Notts left.

Your eyes narrow at him, push the plate away and in your calmest voice say, “I didn’t complain about any damn thing, you’re getting hysterical Nott. Why don’t you calm down?”

And with that, he storms out of the Great Hall leaving his friends to question exactly what happened.

You’re left staring at where he was sitting, hurt in your chest but you both made this decision. And if you bleed he’ll be the last to know.

-

It’s been two weeks since you have found Nott, two weeks since you’ve been trying your best to avoid him, and two weeks since you’ve been failing at it.

You’re sitting in the library with Cedric working on your project. You’ve been working for hours and for hours Nott and Berkshire have been sitting in your line of view doing ‘homework.’ You turn back to Cedric, this grade is more important than some boy.

For some reason, Nott can’t look away from you. His mind is going crazy knowing you’re avoiding him. He’s the one who made this decision, why can’t he get you off his mind?

He thinks about the first words you spoke to each other and regrets being so harsh towards you, he wonders if you hate him for that. He wonders if the words on your skin have taunted you forever and if that’s truly why you don’t want a soulmate.

Colors haven’t faded for him, probably because he keeps following you, trying to be close to you. The color of your hair and eyes, your after school outfits. Your smile and the way you tilt your head back when you laugh. He cannot look away from you.

Berkshire realizes Nott isn’t paying attention to him at all, turning around to see what he’s staring at. “Merlin, is she your soulmate or something?”

Notts heart skips a beat, “What are you talking about? O-Of course she’s not,” trying his best to play it off.

Berkshire gives Nott a look, “You constantly follow her around, you threatened Cedric to not make a move even though he has a soulmate, you always save a blueberry muffin at breakfast in case she sits with us, you always-”

“Are you a detective or something?” Nott says narrowing his eyes.

“Listen, I just think that, if you have something to say…you should say it before it’s too late. I should go, I’m meeting Olivia but…think about it,” he says as he gets up leaving to meet his soulmate, a glint in his eyes.

“Wait,” Nott stops Berkshire, “Don’t tell anyone.”

“I promise.”

As he sits there waiting for you to finish with Cedric, the words Berkshire said can’t leave his mind. Cedric’s soulmate walks up to the table with a smile greeting Y/N, his arrival makes Cedric get up and says goodbye to you.

Nott takes this opportunity to walk up to your table and simply sit down across from you, taking Cedric’s former seat. You simply stare at him, not knowing what to say. His eyes are so brown, his hair looks so soft, and his sweater looks so warm you just want to reach over and feel every part of him.

You’re both staring at each other in silence, both afraid to make the first move, your heart is beating so fast and you can’t think of a single thing to say to him.

He takes a deep breath, looks in your eyes and says, “I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now but I can’t stop thinking about you and colors are brighter when you’re in the room, I need to see your smile and hear your laugh everyday or else I- I can’t think about anything else and you seem so okay but I-”

To say you’re in shock is an understatement, you’re afraid to open your mouth unsure of what will come out. You reach over the table and hold his hand in an attempt to calm him down, “I’m not okay,” you say looking down at your hands as he starts drawing circles, “I think about you all the time, it’s exhausting.”

“I never thought finding my soulmate would feel like this, I never thought choosing my own path would be the wrong option.” You give him your biggest smile and he stares at you with a glint in his eyes you’ve never seen before. “So, how should we go on about this? Do we tell everyone now?”

You let out a nervous chuckle, “How about we start to get to know each other first?”

“I already know everything about you. You love blueberry muffins, cats, you don’t have a favorite flower because they’re too hard to choose from, you don’t drink your drink until after you finish eating, you hate people who chew with their mouth open, you-”

“Okay! Wow, you really do know me. Have you been purposefully following me?” You say in a teasing tone, your heart warming at the fact that your soulmate knows you, the real you.

You see his cheeks heat up and his head lower, “What? No! Uh-no, I-”

“Nott,” you say pulling your hands back from his, giving him a small smile, “I’m just joking around.”

He grabs your hands back pulling them into his, the warmth of his hands helping with the cold of the library. “It’s Theo.”

Your cheeks warm up, “It’s Y/N.”

-

It’s been a week since the conversation in the library and having a soulmate was better than you have ever heard. Theo and you haven’t gone further than holding hands in secret and sharing pecks on the cheeks and the corner of each other’s mouth. It has been excruciating holding back from kissing him, but you want him to make the first move.

For the past week, you woke up early in the morning to meet with Theo before breakfast. You told your friends you went to the library to get some extra study hours in. For some reason, they never questioned you and you never questioned that.

They don’t know you meet Theo in either The Room of Requirement or an empty classroom and just talk about anything and everything. Before it was blueberry muffins and now this is the best way to start your days.

This morning you’re laying on the couch in the Room of Requirement with him on top of you as you play with his hair in silence. “Can I admit something to you?”

“Of course you can,” you say furrowing your brows.

He looks up, grinning like a devil, causing you to stop playing with his hair. “I tripped you. When we met, I saw you walking, I saw you in your mind and for some reason I just wanted to…touch you. Which I knew I needed to do because I’ve never felt that way. I’ve never wanted to feel someone’s skin against mine. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you.” His voice getting deeper as he talks and your heart beating faster as the air grows thick with something you’re unfamiliar with.

You can’t look away and your skin is burning. Was it always so hot in here? You don’t know what to say. His eyes are so brown, the brown you love. You only have one thing to say, “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t hesitate, holding himself up with his right hand so you’re laying underneath him. He grabs your jaw with his left hand and immediately places his lips on yours. The kiss starts off gently, with you running your fingers through his hair, as you pull on it he immediately begins deepening the kiss, his left hand now cupping the back of your head pulling on your hair.

-

Typically when walking towards the Great Hall with Theo, you both arrive before anyone and walk to your separate tables, waiting for your friends without suspicion. However this time, with everything that happened, you two were a little late.

You both arrive at the Great Hall and see your friends sitting together, giving you both looks as if they’ve been expecting you. Now your mind is racing with probabilities. Is your shirt ruffled? Is your hair out of place? Are Theo’s buttons unbuttoned? Is Theo’s hair ruffled?

Theo and you sit down seats away from each other as casual as you can as if that would be less suspicious. You serve yourself breakfast, ignoring the silence and obvious topic you’re trying to avoid.

Riddle scoffs, “Okay, I’m tired of this, when are you two going to tell us?” He says looking only at Theo.

“What are you talking about?” Theo says, furrowing his brows feigning confusion.

Ariana speaks up, “Y/N, we really thought you would tell us if anything happened.”

“I understand why you wouldn’t but finding your soulmate is something massive that you needed time to process-”

You cut Sophia off, “Soulmate? So you all know then.”

“We know.” They all say in unison.

“Wait, how? Besides Berkshire who promised not to tell…” Theo said.

“Wait Berkshire figured it out?” You ask.

Berkshire nods his head as he says, “Oh c’mon it was so obvious. He was stalking her, obsessed with blueberry muffins, his mood would change when she was around, he switched seats to be near her, guys around her would suddenly not be-”

Theo narrows his eyes, “Okay, you could’ve stopped a long time ago. We get it.”

You look at your friends, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys, it was all just complicated.”

They all look at each other and Violet smiles, “We get it Y/N, we all noticed you’ve been happier too.”

Ariana adds in a teasing tone, “Plus you two weren’t that secretive walking back to the dorms before curfew. I must say though, you actually looked cute, his arm around your shoulder.”

Your cheeks warm up, the fact that they know and it’s now official, setting in.

You turn to Theo, finding him already staring at you. You immediately give him a smile and look into his eyes, his eyes are so brown, the brown you love. He smiles back and-

“Yuck! You two are disgusting, I’m trying to eat my breakfast here,” Malfoy says.

“Alright Theo, let go,” you say getting up from the table ready to get away, “we’ll see you guys later.”

“Theo?” All the boys say in unison.

Theo intertwines your fingers together, glad he doesn’t have to hide you two anymore. “Just keep walking,” he says. However as he leads you out of the Great Hall you don’t miss the teasing “Aw’s” coming from your friends.

He leads you out of the Great Hall, into an empty classroom. He closes the door after you enter and presses you up against the door. He holds your face in his hand, “Please tell me they didn’t scare you off.”

You tilt your head back while laughing, “Of course not.” You peck his lips and pull back too fast for his liking.

“Good because, for whatever it’s worth…I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?” He says looking down at you with a shy smile.

You wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head, “I love you,” pulling him down so your lips could meet.

You pull back and stare into his eyes, his brown eyes, the brown you love so much.

—

send any requests you would like thank you

I totally edited this after I posted

I know theo doesn’t have brown eyes btw it’s more of a reader(me) thing thanks

[vincinnamontoast]

HIII OMG IDK IF UR TAKING REQUESTS (OR IF THIS COUNTS AS ONE??) BUT I CANT WAIT FOR ANY OF YOUR VI FICS 🙏 LIKE OK IM SAT 🪑 YOURE GONNA SLAY!!

sweet consumption ꒰ა♡໒꒱

goddess vi! x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: honestly not really much of a plot besides vi and reader being in love and obsessed with each other.

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

CONTAINS: smut!, cannibalism as a form of expression, consensual choking, mentions of blood and slight violent actions, religious overtones. p.s I always try to keep clothing and reader’s physical descriptions out of my stories, so readers can resonate with it more. but for this story, reader wears a dress. kind of proofread ? act 3 vi!

AUTHORS NOTE: ^^ omg thank you so much love <3! you’re so sweet, that does mean sm! MINORS/MEN DNI PLS!!

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.¨*:·.∴

the soft piano traveled throughout the corridors as you sat toying with the edge of your silky, sage dress - eagerly waiting for your presence to be requested. the smooth, dark marble beneath your feet caught your attention. you swore it swirled in little patterns right before your eyes. the walls of her quarters were coated with various meaningful art pieces and the pillars stood tall where beautiful women were chiseled into the top and bottom. her love and respect for women —for her community, was so admirable. before your mind could wander farther, you were interrupted.

“our goddess, violet, requests you.” a fellow angel proclaims as they seep into your view.

'our goddess?' your mind repeats. It was true. she was a goddess of the people and of the angels. she portrayed that in the most genuine way. however, you still couldn't fight the slight nerve to be a bit possessive. you nodded and smiled to the woman dressed in a silky emerald gown, their wings slightly curled around their hips. taking a deep yet staggered breath, you walk down the corridor that lead to violet's chamber. soon enough, you stood before her arched door. It was vast and encased in fuschia and black jewels. gems and crystals in their purest form blended perfectly above, as gold curled around the edges of the large door frame. before you could even bring your fist up to grab at her door chime, it swings open gently. she sensed you.

It was dark in her chambers. your eyes waited to adjust to it as the fireplace was the only source of light. the soft gothic piano contrasted the crackling of the fireplace. this genre of piano soothed vi’s nerves. your eyes averted as slight movement was caught in your peripheral. and then...you are met with her. she stood right before her large windowsill - it portraying a perfect view of the nightlife that was her domain and the beautiful river encompassing it. she was beyond alluring, truly. words could not describe violet's beauty. for she was the prettiest and the strongest goddess there was. the handsomest soldier that would ever fight on the battle field.

her pinkish red hair peppered with streaks of black, like fire and ash, rested over her right side. her blue eyes like stained glass that always outed her every emotion never failed to capture you. her freckles kissed upon her nose and cheeks like a field of wildflowers in april. oh how cute she was when she scrunched her nose when upset or angry. violet was revered in her looks by the other celestial beings, but they doubted her ideals. violet. sweet violet. her heart so gentle but her face stern. she stood for peace—for equality. but she tended to get too passionate in protecting others and standing for what she believed in. the other goddess's teased her about her name. vi for violence. some pretty butch brute with too much power they'd say. she wished they'd respect her name. and how you wished they would know her. violet. sweet violet. vi.

“you're staring again. hmmm and nor did you acknowledge me when you came into my quarters." she pouts, inching closer to your still being. her hips swayed gently as she walked down the little steps, fists at her side. so ready to protect, like she always was. her beauty put you in a trance as your eyes adjust to the glow of her bronzed freckled skin.

"I'm sorry, my love. It's darker in here than usual." the words jumbled out nervously as the luminescence of her eyes consumed you.

she gently drug her fingertips against the apple of your cheeks. "mmm I am in a mood of sorts today. what do you have for me, beautiful?"

your words caught in your throat and your body shivered. angel's were only allowed to see their goddess' once a month to report to them. you were violet's trusted designated angel that gave her updates of information that she needed to rule her domain, so naturally you saw her a bit more often. the lack of her presence made your yearning beyond intense. the only angel and being that vi had ever touched and she made that clear constantly. but why were you so special? you doubt you'd ever ask. to even be breathing the same air as her was a blessing so you never dare question her.

"I brought all angel reports for last month as well as letters from the goddess's. they seem to have important news to share with you." you nodded, too nervous to glance into her eyes. she loved how nervous she made you.

"so obedient, my sweet girl. I will have to get to it all later." she curls her fingers under your chin. "come.”

she steps away from you to sit on her velvet claudette chaise lounge. she gazes at you intently - waiting. her eyes were warning you as she was often impatient. you walk towards her gently on the tip of your toes. you could never seem to get used to her intensity. she just stares at you often. it's a bit creepy, but you know she is just curious and expressive. reading vi through her eyes was easy for you. she was intrigued.

you kneeled before her as her leg peers out from the slit in her grey throw over dress. she nudges it out to you gently as invitation for you to touch her. as they open, it exposes a delicious amount of her skin that you wanted to just devour. slowly, you bring your hands to glide up her leg. her soft skin feels electric and you swear every muscle in your body relaxed after you touched her. closing your eyes, you nudge your cheek into her skin. you locked eyes as you kiss up her leg, lifting yourself to make your pecks to the inside of her thigh. the feeling of her smooth creamy skin was enticing, the smell of her. vanilla, musk, firewood —brown sugar. the way she was lent back, looking down at you with her legs spread wide was so seductive and sensuous. her arm hung over the couch and the other gently grazed your hair as you nipped at her inner thigh. she had stretch marks on her hips and a bit on her inner thigh. you kissed at them gently. the soft chuckle she let out made your ears ring. goodness. she made you weak.

your breathing got heavier as you inched closer between her dress and to her core. your fingers snake through and move it aside. no underwear. looking up at her, she slightly smiles and blushes. "I was waiting for you — I always do." she breathes out like a whisper.

your cheeks turn a fiery shade of pink. you were then blessed with the sight of her beautiful flower. the heat and scent of her core was close to sending you into a frenzy. tufts of pink hair and puffy lips. you were addicted to her. to her taste. your mouth started to salivate. she bit at her lip and opened her legs wide as if inviting you to enjoy her delicacy. your arms curled around her thick thighs as you grip the soft skin. you press your lips to her clit and suckle. like sweet butter, she melts in your mouth. the sweet but salty taste of her made your toes curl. she was glowing. she threw her head back and her hair flowed over the soft velvet couch. gentle wisps of her hair danced over her lips from her desperate panting. she lets out a gentle moan and entangled her fingers writhin your hair. the feeling of her pussy tangled around your tongue was enough to send you into psychosis. you dug your face into her gently as you could not seem to get close enough. curling and twisting your tongue around her, she panted and whimpered little praises.

her moans increasingly got louder. she was always so vocal. and to say you loved it was an understatement. soft as a harp, her moans flowed through your ears like a gentle river. like a song that soothed your soul. shoving your face into her cunt, your mission was to devour. the feeling of her on your tongue — on your finger tips. her moans, her voice. you were made for her, to please her. to give her the love that she deserved as your goddess. she was under appreciated. you are so deep in thought you failed to realize how tight your grip had become on her shaking thighs. she was overstimulated, yelping and arching her back. she attempted to gently move you. pulling away from her gasp, you muster out, “my goddess. please forgive me. I got carried away. I-“

gripping your cheeks softly, she shoved you back on your knees. her face followed yours closely. "oh how i missed you." she growled.

hearts swam in your eyes. drool and her sweet slick coated your lips and the area surrounding. you look dumbed out. her body was a drug. she was your drug. sweet violet. without the hold she had on your face, you'd fall. she licked at your throat as her calloused fingertips drug your dress down your body. she softly grazed her tongue over the edge of her teeth. she gripped your hips and drug her hands all over your body. the need she had for you was insatiable. untamed, disgusting, and full of teeth. she would kill and stain her hands with blood of the innocent for you. and that was a lot to put down as a goddess for her people. but the way she needed you was vile. the yearn she had for you made her sick. sick and rotted with desire. need. you. a mere angel. nothing compared to her. oh but you were.

her lips captured yours quickly. immediately her tongue swallows yours. her lips were succulent like ripe grapes. to kiss vi was to be refreshed, replenished. revived. crawling down to your level, on the floor, she kneeled with you. not once did she slow her pace and stop the movement of her lips on yours. a kiss was the beginning to her cannabilism. she was kneeling with you. someone as gorgeous and high being as her sat on the dirty floor tangled in front of you. your saliva mixing and tainting her own. she didn't care. your differences didn't make her ill. she was a goddess who could love who she pleased, but she could tell this made you uneasy.

"my love. the floor." you pulled away from the kiss, gently cupping her flushed freckled cheeks. her eyes shone such a radiant blue. she was content.

"I am not above sitting on a dirty floor. I've been in worse. and for you — I would lick the filth from your skin with the blade of my tongue." she whispered, licking the shell of your ear. her cool breath sent shivers down your spine and your heart sunk.

both of her hands held your cheeks, as she curled her tongue over your lips. she pecks them gently and then again, glides her tongue over the plump of your lips. your mouth slightly parted with the pressure and need for her mouth on yours. before you could give into her kiss, she pulls away swiftly. nodding her head in the direction of her sleeping quarters. "on the bed."

you sway your naked body away from her, making your way to her giant canopy. sitting on the edge of the bed, you softly grip her black silky sheets. vi sashays towards the edge where you were and pushes you softly into the middle. standing tall, she drops her dress off of her shoulder. all you could do was stare at her awe. her biceps tensed slightly with her breathing. her subtle abs shone in the light covered in minimal sweat. her tits sat perfectly and exposed. her collar bone, sharp and tempting. the scars painted on her body. her pussy on display and so enticing. again. you could happily die between her legs. everything she did had your pussy melting and pulsating. she crawls towards you and kisses up your body slowly. not breaking eye contact once. she drags her canines against your calf and presses gently, making her way up to your lips.

she’s perfectly above you now, stopping at your face. your eyes are captured in hers and you can’t look away. you smacked your lips onto hers and she burst into a giggle as you peck her lips over and over. pulling away, you let her catch her breath and rub your fingers against her face. you press a kiss to her forehead, her nose, the apple of her cheeks, her eyelids, chin, and then her lips again. then you kiss her hands again, and again, and again. she didn’t like her hands. you knew that. but every sliver of her was perfect to you. she presses her forehead to yours as she gnaws at her lip.

"I want to feel you. to let go with you.”

before you can process a single thought, she eagerly parts your legs wide and squats herself above your cunt. you can feel everything. like her soul and her bones were intertwining with yours. her pussy slid against yours. gripping your legs, she quickens her pace. every touch of her hands on your skin sent your body into shivers. you craved her. you wanted vi to use her calisoused fingers to pry your ribs open and lick your heart and your bones. to live inside of you to protect herself. to connect your organs and become one. to be loved by vi was to be consumed by her. you’re snatched back into reality at the loud sounds of the both of your moans blending together like symphony. she gripped at you like she could not live without her claws and bare teeth sunken into your skin. you chant her name like a prayer, her eyes rolling into her head as all she can think about is you. the sound of you. your skin. your flesh. you. she attempted to cage you in so you couldn't move away from her.

"oh baby i know." she groans into your ear as you whimper closer to your release.

the primal desire for you was unquenchable. she can feel you pulsating against her, she knew you were close. so was she. her right hand tangles around your throat as she begins to squeeze. your eyes rolled so far into your head and all circulation began to cut off. and by the goddess's near, this was the most amazing feeling. to die by violet’s hands. the way she is touching you and staring into your soul. it wasn’t pain. it felt like freedom.

"you belong to me, say it. please." her eyes turn soft and tear up. they were like a gentle void, a void of so much emotion. your vision started to turn white and you could only feel her engulfing you. your orgasms overtaking the both of you like wildfire. you could feel the electricity from her fingertips coursing through your veins and your blood. she loosens her grip as you gasp for air. every touch of hers on your body like a cold breeze. the beautiful pit that was her eyes enveloped you. you both stare at each other in a pant.

"we are all yours, vi." you giggle, referring to the angels and her terrain. gently, she collapses on your chest. you graze your fingers against her back, tracing her tattoos.

she hums, "mmm but they are not." she looks up at you, curling your hair between her fingers. "you are. and for you, i am my rawest form. the yearn I have for you is too much. It hurts." she pauses, and takes a deep breath. "I hate when you walk out that door."

her eyes are entangled in yours. the other celestial’s would say that the love between an angel and a goddess was unruly and dangerous. that didn't matter to you. nor did it matter to vi. they don't know what it was like to kneel at her alter. to be loved and wanted by her. they have not heard her gentle giggles and murmurs throughout every kiss. they haven’t seen her wide set grin and the smile lines surrounding her heart shaped lips. nor have they tasted her divine fruit. they haven't gazed into her eyes and seen right through her heart. to be loved by vi was to be consumed by her.

“my love and loyalty has always lied with you, my sweet violet.” and into her lips, you collide. underneath the fiery touch of vi’s fingertips, you become poetry.

AUTHORS NOTE: ugh yes…cannibalism as symbolism for lesbian love and obsession again>>> of course, it’s literally my favorite and if you get it, you get it :3 anyways, caitvi scene made me scream as hell. everything made me scream and cry omfg. so many thoughts. If you’re reading this, have a great day, night or evening! mwuahhh <33 hope you liked !

[v1sexual]

always forever ; vi (arcane) part three !

a collection of (modern) domestic life activities with vi ! college au , modern au , self indulgent

part one, part two, part three, part four soon !

note : this one’s a short one *sighs* i promise part four will be longer (& juicier, can’t wait for vi to meet the parentals)

content warning : swearing, nsfw (will let you know when the nsfw content starts!)

drable three : officially yours

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who ever since you guys made it official(ish), became more comfortable in parading around the apartment shirtless. sometimes she’ll have a sports bra on or a wrap around her chest, but most of the time she’d just have her bare titties out (especially during warmer weather). sometimes when you scold her, she’d even joke around and ask you to join her. “free the nips baby!”

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who’s your stereotypical masc lesbian. hello ?? the red/pink hair color, the one side of her head shaved, the tough exterior but is actually a softy deep down? i mean the woman looks tough and acts tough. despite that though, vi would 100% combust and explode into flames whenever you call her “my pretty girl”, “my baby”, “my girl/girlfriend”, most especially when you call her “my pretty violet”. if vi was a cut she’d be purring whenever she’s around you, if she was a dog her tail would be wagging 24/7z

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who definitely has attachment issues :( she hasn’t really opened up everything about her past (which you don’t mind, you know that she’ll tell you eventually when she’s ready), but you know that something bad has happened in her childhood that affected her mentally.

ꕀ ever since you and girlfriend vi ! became a couple (officially), you noticed how she became clingier and touchier than usual. cooking? doing the dishes? rest assured that vi would be standing behind you. her front against your back as her head rested on top of yours, her arms resting around your waist. showering? taking a soak in the bath tub? the next thing you know vi would be knocking on the door and asking if she could join you.

during times where she felt as if she’s being too much she would try to distance herself, which you’d notice of course and it would always end up to you two cuddling. you know damn well that you’re as clingy as her.

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who has never slept in her own bed ever since she told you she loved you. to be honest, it doesn’t really matter where she sleeps as long as it’s next to you. staying over at ekko’s for band rehearsals? you bet your fine ass she’s crashing there as well. visiting your childhood home for the weekend? your phone would always end up dead in the morning, the battery drained from being on call with vi the whole night.

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who loves spoiling you. during the days where she’d wake up earlier than you (because of rugby or hockey practice), she’d always make sure to drop by the coffee shop you fell in love with to grab you your usual coffee and pastry combo. whenever she’s running late and doesn’t have the time to wake you up, she’d leave the food on your bedside table accompanied by a sticky note containing her scribbled handwriting.

to: the prettiest girl

from: the love of your life :p

good morning baby :D i hope you had a good sleep (pretty sure you did, you snored so loud last night lol) anyways, sorry for not waking you up and giving you the pastry and coffee. we finished practice late and i had to attend heimerdinger’s class :< i hope you have an amazing day mi luv <3 enjoy the food.

p.s pls text me when u wake up ;)

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! absolutely loves buying the two of you matching outfits, especially if they’re the stupidest, funniest, brainrot thing ever. she got you two matching fairy princess batman boxers, hello kitty x batman pjs, and the corny sexual shirts from spencers. she’d also plan couple halloween costumes in the middle of december.

“baby! i know what we’re gonna be for halloween next year?”

“omg what??? i love matching costumes.”

“sukuna and cinderella!! i can be sukuna and you’ll be cinderella of course.”

“… what?¿”

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who loves taking you out for a late night drive, especially if you haven’t seen each other the whole day because of school, work, and extracurricular activities. vi hates it when she doesn’t get to spend time with you (yes, cuddling in bed before sleeping isn’t ‘spending time with you’). when both of you are finally home, she’ll offer to take you out for a drive immediately. doesn’t matter what you guys do or where you guys go, vi did not care.

feeling down in the dumps? had a rough day? failed a test? your girlfriend would immediately take you on a 30 minute drive to the nearest beach to stargaze (and maybe take a quick dip). hungry? vi will drive you downtown to ya’lls favorite fast food joint that’s open 24 hours.

ꕀ i think we all agree that girlfriend vi ! is a gamer. she has a gaming setup that costs around $5000 (probably more tbh), a ps5, and fucking nintendo switch. one day you got curious and asked vi to teach you how to play some of her favorite games and boy was she ecstatic ya’ll basically spent the whole day playing games, switching from the ps5, to the switch, and even her pc.

! nsfw !

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! is a munch. there. i said it.she LOVES eating pussy. i don’t make the rules

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! is a giver. she’d rather go down on you than you down down on her. despite that, she doesn’t really mind you eating her out (especially when you 69).

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! is definitely a switch, but tops you most of the time. tbh she’s a service top. anyways, she absolutely loves it when you ride her and sit on her face. something about you showing the tinniest bit of dominance makes her pussy drool, oh lawd she coming.

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who loves your titties. rest-assured that she’ll either have her hands or her mouth on them all the time.

ꕀ sex with girlfriend vi ! be so good that it feels like two cis women might actually make baby.

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! likes it rough, but still prefers soft vanilla sex. her fave position (other than 69) is missionary, she loves seeing your face (especially when you come).

ꕀ ya’ll this woman’s stamina though. girlfriend vi ! can go for hours and multiple rounds. i mean she does play rugby & hockey, so it makes sense. its still crazy how long she can last though.

ꕀ girlfriend vi ! is an absolute sweetheart. aftercare is always a must. she’d wipe you down, runs you a bath (when you’re not too tired), would get you water and food as well. cuddles after sex is a must as well.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Mind Games (2)

Direct cntinuation to Mind games (til we lose control) (takes place before lost time)

Ben/Soldier Boy X Supe!Fem!reader

Summary: Herogasm proves to be a disaster for everyone involved, but at least you and Ben still have each other at the end of the night. Takes places during the Herogasm episode but like I did my own shit

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it mfs), p in v, shower sex (pls don't try to recreate this, SB has super strength, your man does not, you might break sum), oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, creampie, dom!Soldier Boy, praising kink, Ben calls her mean things a lot (but she likes it), choking, hair pulling, spitting, Soldier Boy cause mf is a warning on his own, typical canonical violence for this show, no use of y/n, Violet isn't her real name, just a nickname.

WC: 6.9k I'm so sorry

A/N: WHAT DID I TELL YALL MFSSS. Took me 2 years to revisit it but yk what it's fine cause every year is Soldier Boy's year. So yeah here we are. I will warn yall im not too good at writing action/fight scenes, like it made sense in my head but idk if that image translated well into the scene. I only know how to write smut im sorry. But to my Ben/Jensen girlie's, this is for you. I'll see yall in hell <3

Gif is not mine I found it on Pinterest

Universe masterlist | I no longer have a tag list so if you'd like to keep up with updates follow @midnightreadinglibrary

Fucking Herogasm. Christ, you didn't remember the last time you were here. Funny, the last time you went to a Herogasm party it was coincidentally with Ben. And it was in fact the last one you ever went to. It never felt right to go back without him. 

"Fuckin' Herogasm," Butcher laughed and shook his head, glancing back at you with intrigue, "You ever been Violet?" 

Your lips curled up a bit and you licked your lips slowly, glancing at Ben for a second before you found two pairs of curious eyes on you. 

"Yeah, every year for like ten years." You responded, and you were met with a look of disbelief from Hughie, and even Butcher had a slight glint of surprise in his eyes. Perhaps they didn't take you as the orgy, drugs and depravity type of supe, not that you blame them, that never truly was your idea of fun. But you weren’t entirely innocent either. "I'm serious. You can ask Ben if you don't believe me." 

Both men gave Ben a long glance and he laughed, shrugging at you. 

"She ain’t lying, I took her to her first one, in 74' was it? Should've seen her, such a pretty doe-eyed lil’ thing, with a face like hers she fooled everyone." 

"Oh, yeah, you showed innocent little me all the ropes. It was very educational." You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the small grin on your face, and Ben had one of his own. 

For a moment you forgot neither of the other two men quite understood whatever was going between you and Ben, so you missed the uncomfortable look on their faces. 

"Oh, I showed you a hell of a lot more than just the ropes, sweetheart." 

"And I'll show you both the barrel of a gun if I have to endure another second of your trip down erotic memory lane. Can we focus here?" Butcher groaned, looking both annoyed and disturbed by your relationship, like a parent who was tired of keeping his two horny teenagers in line. 

You exchanged a look with Ben, eyes big and lips pursed as you tried not to laugh and you gave him a look of having just been scolded. He simply rolled his eyes and half paid attention to Hughie and Butcher as they went back and forth about who was going in first. 

You, as always, just stood there and observed, absentmindedly twirling your knife between your fingers as you listened to them agree that Hughie should go in first so you could be in and out as quickly as possible. In between your own priorities, Ben being the main one, you had almost forgotten why you were here in the first place. Despite the fact that you were picking off Payback's members one by one, you quickly realized this wasn't for you, or Ben and his plot for revenge. No, it was about Butcher getting his. And the two of you were simply there to make it happen. 

You had begun to wonder if this was all there was to it, a means to an end, and in reality neither you or Ben had much of a chance to make it out this revenge mission alive. But if there was something you knew for sure, it was that you would die before you let anything happen to Ben again. Deep down, you hoped he would do the same for you. 

"I'm gonna go check the area before we go in, make sure there aren't any surprises." Butcher announced after a minute or two of waiting, Hughie not being back yet. He started walking, but not before turning to glance at you both with narrowed eyes, "And you two behave, last time I left you cunts alone you broke a bathroom." 

You did a mocking salute to him and snorted when he rolled his eyes at you, grumbling something you didn't quite hear as he began to walk away. He was out of your sight pretty quickly and you could already feel Ben's intense gaze burn on your face. You ignored it at first, but when he stood in front of you, eyes never leaving you, you had no choice but to look at him. You stopped your fidgeting and you looked up at him expectantly as you leaned back against a tree.

"I don't need to read your mind to know you want to tell me something, what's up?" 

"What you said back at the motel, did you mean it?" He questioned, leaning close to your face as he placed a hand beside your head. You stared at him for a second, trying to dig in your mind for whatever it was that he meant. You found his green eyes and you realized. 

Ah. The three fucking words. 

"Seriously Ben?" You groaned, your head falling to the side with annoyance, but more of all you wanted to avoid his gaze, avoid the shame of having confessed your deepest feelings, knowing feelings wasn't something either of you ever talked about let alone ever admitted to. Because feelings meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant weakness. And weakness wasn't something either of you would ever admit to.

He grabbed your chin, grip tight as he forced you to look at him, "Did you? ‘Cause I meant what I said, all of it." 

Your face softened and your lips slightly curved into a tiny smile. You never wanted to search his mind without his permission, it was like a line you never liked to cross, but you didn't need to this time. Just by looking into his eyes you always knew. You could tell a lot by looking into someone’s eyes. You searched his eyes for any kind of deceit or even manipulation, but you didn't find any. You knew what he meant, and coming from him, it meant everything. 

"Yeah," You sighed softly, "I meant what I said." 

"Good." His pink lips curved into a satisfied smirk as he squeezed your face and leaned down, capturing your lips into his own. It was slower, no rushed and desperate touches like before, but he still kissed you hard. There was nothing gentle about it, but was there ever anything gentle about him? 

His tongue slipped into your mouth as he dropped his hand, resting it on the column of your neck. He pressed his armored chest against yours, pretty much pinning you against the tree. His mouth was so skilled, like he knew exactly how to take your breath away in seconds, he knew you that well. You would never allow a man to have this much control over you. But it was always different with him. Your hands found his long strands as you explored his mouth, and you pulled hard. You felt him groan against your mouth and he squeezed your neck in response. You gasped, the sound quickly fading into a soft moan. He pulled back and watched with amusement the look of pure ecstasy on your face as he squeezed your throat. 

"You fucking slut, you still get off to me hurting you, don't you?" He bit his lip as he released your throat, thumb brushing over the skin he knew would bruise, just like everybody else's, even if it was for a little bit. 

You inhaled deeply, the short lack of airflow making you dizzy, but in the most delicious way possible. You opened your eyes, finding his green ones and god you wished nothing but to just ditch the mission and go somewhere where he could take you, over and over again. 

"Are we here to get revenge or are we here to get your dick wet? ‘Cause I'm getting some real mixed signals here." You mumbled, breath heavy and he chuckled. He leaned down, pressing his lips to your jaw before he moved them to your ear. 

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard I'm gonna break a hell of a lot more than just a mirror." He coaxed. The way he spoke in your ear made you rub your thighs together and the pool forming in your panties was impossible to ignore. It was embarrassing how quickly he could pull you apart and do with you what he pleased. "When we get back. Now pull yourself together, we're on a mission." 

And just like that he was standing a few feet away from you. He was looking behind his shoulder, almost as if he could hear someone. And of course, just in time for you to somewhat regain your composure, Butcher came back. Though it wasn't before you locked eyes with Ben one more time as you tried to control your breathing, and the cocky bastard winked at you, lips curled into a shit eating grin before Butcher actually approached you both. 

This motherfucker. 

"All clear. The twins are in there. You shouldn't have a problem going in," He said to Ben, but then looked at you, "You, though, you might get some attention. Pretty girl, dressed in black leather and strapped with knives, that's some BDSM shit if I've seen one." 

"Okay and?" You frowned, now standing by both men.

"Just stay close to him, people might recognize you and approach you. Do what you can to keep a low profile. You might have to get your hands a bit dirty." He looked between you and Ben. You stared at him with a small frown at first, but when he raised his eyebrows at you, you quickly realized what he meant. 

"Wouldn't be the first time." Ben commented with a chuckle when he caught on. You looked at him, slightly unimpressed by his lack of discretion but you simply rolled your eyes. 

Butcher sighed heavily, clearly done with your antics by then and he simply motioned you off with an unimpressed expression, "Off you go, ya dirty cunts." 

"Looks like you might get your dick wet after all." You commented to Ben as you both headed off to the house. 

He chuckled, shooting you a glance as you stood in front of the door. You were both eager to get this over with, you more than him. It was one thing for him to be able to face the assholes that betrayed him, and you were happy to do it with him. But the idea of being around dozens of supes, in an environment where there were no rules, no respect and no boundaries, made you uneasy. You didn't know if you could handle that many voices all at once. It had been a long time since you had been around other Supes, let alone that many, and you had made that decision for a reason. 

Almost as if he could feel the anxiety radiate from you, you felt a large hand fill your own. Confused, you looked down and saw he had intertwined his fingers with your own. "There's nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart, it wouldn't be the first time we do this." 

"I haven't been around other supes since…" You inhaled deeply, your throat slightly closing up at the memory. The last time you stepped foot at Vought Tower, when you realized you couldn't do it anymore. Ben looked at you, eyebrows slightly knitted into a frown, "It's been a long time is all." 

"Just stay by my side, nobody will lay a hand on you. I'll always protect you, remember?" He gave your hand a slight squeeze and the calm yet assertive ring in his voice made you feel almost at ease. Almost. 

You stayed silent, needing all your energy and focus to keep the dozens of voices beginning to infiltrate your mind one by one. The sound of Ben speaking as a very naked man opened the door sounded far, distant, you didn't catch much of what they said. You only knew to move when you felt Ben tug you along. Now the sound of your racing heart was almost as loud as the voices. So fucking many people here. So many Supes. So many voices. All at once. It was deafening. It disgusted you, to have to hear every passing thought these depraved beings had. You didn’t realize you started digging your blunt nails into Ben’s gloves.

It didn’t hurt, but your enhanced strength definitely made him feel the tightening grip of your shaking hands. He stopped and looked at you with a twisted frown.

“The fuck is wrong with you now? You look like you saw your father.” 

You eyes snapped up to find him looking back at you with both confusion, and his version of concern. You opened your mouth but you could only stammer but no words actually came out. You couldn’t think. It was so loud. Your lip quivered ever so slightly as you felt your chest start to grow heavy. Ben saw the look on your face, the way your eyes were frantically looking around the room, your jaw wound up so tight he thought you’d break it. The last time he saw you like this was when you first joined Payback and didn’t have full control of your abilities. 

“Stop that, right now.” He gripped your shoulders hard, really fucking hard, enough to make you shift your focus on him for a moment. You looked at him with wide eyes. “Hey, I need you to focus. Get your head under control. I need you to have my back here, okay?”

“I… I don’t.. I can’t get them to stop. They won’t stop.” You said, so close to being on the verge of tears. “There’s so many, I can’t get them to shut the fuck up. I--” 

“Hey,” He shook you ever so slightly, leaning in close to your face. “The fuck did I just say? Get. yourself. Together. You used to tune ‘em out, remember? So tune them out.” 

You breathed in, your chest rising as you tried to drown out the noise, focus on his face, on his voice. But you couldn’t. You hadn’t been around this many people in nearly a decade.

“I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” You shook your head frantically and tried to slip out of his grip but he didn’t let you. 

“I need you here. Just—hey,” he grabbed your jaw, looking out of the corner of his eyes to make sure you weren’t bringing in too much attention before he met your teary eyes. “Just look at me. I’m right here. Remember you used to tune everyone else out and only focus on my voice, hm? Focus on my thoughts, okay? It’s just you and me, fuck everyone else.” 

You stared at him, the green in his eyes seeming more and more green the longer you looked. You even saw a ring yellow in there. His voice. His thoughts, they had always calmed you, centered you. The voices grew more and more distant the longer you looked at him. You listened to his voice as his thoughts became your own. Until only the sound of his voice was in your head. Your breath was shaky as you closed your eyes, a laugh of relief leaving your lips.

He held your face for a little longer, his deep frown less harsh as he watched your face slowly visibly relax and the tension left your body.

“Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” You exhaled deeply and nodded at him, feeling like you were slowly regaining control of yourself. “Let’s go find the terror twins.” 

You walked around this house for what felt like hours. But it didn’t help that you were being stopped every five minutes by every naked Supe you walked by. Ben was anything but amused.

“I swear to fucking Christ if one more of these slimy jizz-covered fuck faces asks you to use your knives on them I will actually shove my shield up their ass.” Ben grumbled with a look of disgust on his face.

“They’d probably like that.” You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing at the death glare he shot you.

“Eat shit.” You actually snorted this time, and you were full on giggling when he started mumbling curses at you as he walked off. 

You ultimately decided splitting up was probably the way to go, the house was way too big and had too many rooms, you’d find the twins quicker if you each went your own way. Ben was reluctant at first, a bit apprehensive to leave you on your own after you almost broke down earlier. But you reassured him you were fine and perfectly capable of going on your own. You ultimately realized you made the right choice. You didn’t know exactly when or how but out of nowhere you heard a loud blast in the next room and you were launched right through a wall from the blast. Pain immediately started shooting through your body at the impact. You were a Supe, sure, but you weren’t Soldier Boy, you weren’t fucking invincible. You bled and you felt pain like any human. 

It took you a good minute to understand what the actual fuck had just happened. And when you did, you almost forgot about the throbbing pain going through your body. You pushed yourself up to your feet, stumbling and holding on to walls as you dragged yourself through the rubble and burned bodies. Your jaw slightly fell open at the sight of this much mayhem. You didn’t believe in God, but fuck were you praying to a higher power for Ben to be okay. 

You managed to stay on your feet despite the pain. It would go away eventually, in a day or so, but the first few hours were brutal. Still you pushed through, determined to find Ben. You stumbled into a hallway, the walls were falling apart and chunks of cement were all around the floor. But what caught your attention was the sight that fucking American flag and blonde head of hair you had grown to despise. Your heart stopped, you were frozen. You held your breath as you realized fucking Homelander was here. And he currently had Ben pinned to a wall.

This was such a bad fucking idea. You could die a very agonizing death. A bad idea indeed. 

Adrenaline kicked in, you sprinted and with a bit of momentum you landed on Homelander’s shoulders. You were surprised he didn’t hear you coming.You were thankful he was preoccupied with Ben. Your nails dug into the side of his temples and you used all of the energy and power you had coursing through your veins, and sent that straight to his brain.

You weren’t sure if it would even tickle. You tried using your shock powers on Ben once, a long time ago, just to test out how it worked on Supes with enhanced strength, he said it felt like being electrocuted. And right about now you were praying Homelander felt something, enough to stun him at least. You could kill an average Supe if you used enough power, but you weren’t so sure if you were strong enough.

You held on, but you were struggling, commanding your body to release this much energy was mentally exhausting but the sound of Homelander groaning in pain made you smile the slightest bit. The shocks of electricity weren’t going to kill him, but it sure did hurt, and it stunned him. Nobody’s brain was invisible afterall. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it motherfucker? Your body may be indestructible but your mind can only take so much before it breaks.” You spat. Sparks were coming from your fingers as your eyes flashed bright purple. “It’s fucked when its you being held down against your will, huh?”

He screamed, stumbling around as he attempted to grab at you, but this wasn’t the first time you tried to fry someone’s brain off while on their shoulders. You gasped when you saw his laser eyes go off as he screamed, leaving indents on the wall. This split second of distraction was enough to make your focus falter, and it gave Homelander the opportunity to find a grip on you. You cried in pain when he grabbed your ankle and tossed you off. 

You landed fucking hard, it knocked the air right out of your lungs. You coughed as you attempted to get up, but Homelander was grabbing you and pulling you up by your neck before you could blink. He held you up in the air as he levitated so you couldn’t find a way to escape. He held you at arm’s length so you couldn’t reach him, either. The way his empty, ice cold eyes stared you down with evil glee as you gasped for air was terrifying. 

“I always knew you were a fucking bitch. I should’ve killed you when I had the chance. Matter of fact, I’ll do that right now.” Your eyes widened when his eyes gleamed bright red. 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Ben behind Homelander, with a grin as he grabbed Homelander’s cape and pulled down, and he pulled really fucking hard. Your body collided with the ground roughly, landing on your side with a pained cry. But you still saw Ben throw Homelander around by his cape, and had you not been mere seconds away from death, you would have laughed at the comedic irony. You were in and out of consciousness, an aura surrounding your vision. But in between your delirium you could see Butcher and Hughie had arrived, and the three of them were taking on Homelander. It wasn’t long before the three of them had Homelander pinned down. You could feel yourself fade, your muscles give out and your mind shut off. You hadn’t used that much power since you were in Payback. 

You heard indistinct voices and shouting before everything went black. 

“The fuck are you waitin’ for? Blast this cunt!” Butcher shouted and Ben grunted.

“I can’t! Just—Fuck.” His eyes found you in the corner, bloodied and passed out. You couldn’t run away and you wouldn’t survive the blast, he knew that. “You—kid, take her, and get out here. Now!”

“No fucking way!” Hughie shouted back, and Ben felt the urge to blast him instead. 

“Do what he says, take the fuckin’ girl and go!” Butcher shouted at Hughie, catching on to what Ben was trying to do. But before any of them could do anything, Homelander blasted his lasers, screaming as he overpowered the three of them while they were distracted. And just like that he was gone. 

The three men sat in silence, in defeat. They had a chance and they blew it. Ben knew it was mostly his fault, he shouldn’t have hesitated. But he refused to ever let you get hurt. In silent anger he glared at both of them and he stood and walked over to your passed out body. He clenched his jaw as he picked your limp body and carried you. He made eye contact with Butcher and Hughie and it took all of his power not to shoot both of them in the face. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your whole body ached, and your head was founding. It was unbearable. You winced in pain as you began to peel layers of clothes off your body. God it fucking hurt. You closed your eyes as you attempted to hold back tears, only snapping back into reality when you felt Ben trace his fingers over your back. He noted every bruise and every cut. He knew they would heal, sure but it still made him seethe with anger. 

“What the fuck were you thinkin’, taking on Homelander like that? Did all the fucking pills you take for your psychosis fry all of your neurons or what?” He was so angry, and he never was exactly kind with his words. You always knew that, but it still hurt when he talked to you that way, especially when you had only been trying to help him. 

Your back was turned to him, so he couldn't see the hurt frown on your face but he did notice you huff at him and move away from his touch, refusing to look at him. 

“Okay.. Hey, no. I didn’t.. I didn’t mean it like that. Fuck.” He bit his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut with regret of his choice of words. You kept your back to him as you continued to undress. He groaned. “You would have died. And it would have been on me. I couldn’t live with that, is all.” 

“Well, I was passed out so it would have been a quick death, if that's of any consolation to you.” You answered shortly as you stripped down to your underwear. You don't think he understood that you stopped caring whether you lived or died a long time ago. 

“Okay, could you not be a bitch for two seconds?” He sighed, already annoyed by your attitude. 

“No. If you want a girl who doesn't talk back to you, go find Countess. Oh, wait, you can't ‘cause she sold you to the Russians. Guess you're stuck with me.” You answered with even more spitefulness, just to tick him off a little bit more. You didn't need to read his mind to know he was beyond pissed. You weren't exactly in a colorful mood, either. Your back was still turned to him as you tossed your bloodied gear in a corner. 

He breathed in deeply, pitching the bridge of his nose, “Violet, look at me when I'm talking to you.” 

You turned around with exasperation, your eyes open wide with a ‘what’ expression as you motioned your hands around passive-aggressively. 

“I didn't mean what I said. I know you were trying to help me… And I know that you can't always control your powers. I sometimes can't deal with my own head, I can't imagine having to deal with everybody else's.” Ben wasn't one to apologize. He was actually allergic to the words I'm sorry. You knew that. But you knew he at least tried to apologize using other words. So you listened. You knew he was having a hard time, too. “But I'm not really one to talk. I think I'm the one that's fucked in the head.” 

Your lips slightly parted at his words and you looked at him with a tiny bit of sadness. You never asked him details of what happened to him. Sure, you could look, but you never wanted to dig through his mind without his permission. He'd tell you if he really wanted to. But you didn't need to know everything to understand that what he went through messed him up. And it messed him up a lot. What happened at Herogasm was proof of that. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened at Herogasm? Don't make me look through your head, I don't want to.” You sighed softly, ultimately giving in, like you always did. Your delicate fingers dragged over his vest as you absentmindedly began to take off his gear. 

Ben stayed silent for a long time. He didn't think he even knew what happened. You were down to the last layer of the top part of his suit by the time he opened his mouth. 

“I blacked out. I don't.. I don't know what the fuck happened. I was talking to the fuck twins and then nothing. Next thing I remember is the burned bodies and the place was all fucked up.” He breathed out a little unevenly, a frown knitted deep on his face. He looked down at you when you stayed silent. “I didn't mean to. You believe that, right?” 

You did. But did he? 

“Of course I believe you.” You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, hands flat on his chest. He brought one of his hands to the back of your hair, holding your head in place. After a few seconds, you hummed, parting your lips slightly. “Can I ask you a question?” 

He nodded. 

“Why didn't you kill Homelander? You had a shot. Why didn't you take it? You would have done the whole fucking world a favor.” 

Ben stared at you with confusion. Did you really not get it? Were you that clueless or was he just that bad at showing his devotion for you? Probably the latter. 

“You saw what my blast did to the house. You wouldn't have survived that. I should have, I know, Butcher won't stop fucking reminding me. But he has nothing left to lose. Can't kill two girlfriends in the same week, y'know?” 

Your mouth fell open with indignation and you shoved at his chest, but deep down you felt warm at the fact that he chose you over his mission, for once. You still pretended to be angry at him, though. “Fucking prick.” 

He brought his lips to your jaw, leaving blunt kisses and you pretend to hate it. But the smile on your face was inevitable. 

“Wanna shower now or what?” He eventually said. That was the reason you were in the bathroom after all. 

You nodded. You could use the hot water on your bruised skin. You finished stripping, Ben just watched you with a perverted grin and smacked your ass before he stripped himself. 

He got in first, turning on the water and letting it run until steam began to fill the small space. He knew you liked it boiling hot. He didn't mind. You got in and immediately went under the shower head. You moaned in relief, the hot water running down your tense muscles, alleviating the soreness on your body. Ben watched you with a surprising amount of patience as he stood behind you. He leaned down and pressed his soft lips behind your neck, licking along the skin before he moved down your neck to your shoulder. He rested his hands on your hips, squeezing the skin as lightly as he could. You had enough bruises for one day. 

“I'm gonna take care of you tonight, m’kay?” He mumbled against your skin before he made you turn around. 

He crashed his lips against yours, rough fingers gripping your jaw as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You whined, already craving more. When he kissed you like this, you just couldn't help yourself. 

“Need you, please.” You were breathless against his lips, your blunt nails digging into his chest desperately. He gave your bottom lip a small tug as he pulled away. 

He made you stand in front of him, his back to the shower wall as he slowly sank to his knees. Your eyes followed him longingly.

“C'mere.” He pulled you towards him, his eyes were full of greed as he made eye contact with you while he directed you to rest one of your feet on his shoulder. 

His eyes stayed locked with yours as leaned forward and licked a long stripe from your hole up to your clit. He wrapped his lips around the bud and sucked. You gasped, instantly pressing your hand against the damp wall to keep yourself up. Your mouth fell open in delight as he dragged his tongue around your sensitive clit. 

“O-Oh. Shit. Shit, Ben.” You whined softly, your free hand falling to his wet hair. He held your hip with one hand, steady vice grip holding you in place as he pushed his tongue into your hole. You swore the cry you let out was heard in the entire apartment. “Oh, my God. Fuck. That feels so good.” 

Ben hummed in approval as you wrapped your fingers around his hair and held his face against you. As if he would go anywhere. He happily kept his mouth on you, head moving up and down as he worked you with his tongue, his nose brushing your clit with every movement of his head. To say that you were so close was an understatement. You could feel your leg start to give out under you the longer you felt that heat build in your stomach. Ben was more than happy to assist you with that, too. His free hand grabbed the underside of your thigh and forced you further against his mouth until your leg was dangling over his shoulder. His other hand stayed on your hip, vice grip holding you upright effortlessly. 

His tongue found your clit one more time, and the emptiness it left was replaced by two long fingers pushing into your cunt. Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open in a silent cry. You leaned your forehead against the tile as you dug your nails into his scalp. Fuck, you didn't remember the last time a man ate you out, let alone ate you out like this. It felt so good you wanted to cry, you didn't even remember the pain in your body, all you could feel was pleasure. 

“Feels good, doesn't it sweetheart?” He spat into your clit as he fucked you with his fingers. If the shower hadn't been running the lewd sound of his fingers dragging in and out of your wet hole would've been so loud. But he could still hear it, and fuck did he love it. He took a second to look up at you. Such a pretty little thing when you were so close. “Oh, you wanna come don't you? Mhmm, yeah, you do. C'mon, gimme what I want. I know you can do it.” 

His tongue was back on your clit, he licked harsh stripes as he slipped his thick fingers in and out of your cunt with urgency. The sounds of him licking and sucking on your clit were almost as filthy as the sounds coming out of your mouth. His fingers fucked you without mercy, there was not a single thing gentle about his touch. It was rough and relentless. Just like he was. And it had you seeing fucking white before you even realized. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, lips parting in a silent cry as you held his face against you. But it wasn't like he'd go anywhere, if anything he kept his tongue on your swollen clit and his fingers never stopped. Tears formed in your eyes as your thighs shuddered. And when he didn't stop you were pulling at the ends of his hair to pull him off you. He groaned at this. Quite unhappy to be leaving the warm place between your thighs. 

“I wasn't done.” He looked up at you with a frown. You took in a deep breath, blowing out a small laugh as you grabbed at his face, weakly attempting to pull him back up.

“You can be down there all you want later, I just..” You swallowed hard, somewhat regaining your composure as he stood up to his full height. You pulled him down by his face and kissed him, and you kissed him fucking hard. And the taste of yourself still left on his tongue made you need him even more. “Just need you, okay?” 

“Need me where?” He grabbed your jaw, fingers sprawled out over your throat as he held your face back. He stared you down, malicious eyes full of greed as he waited for your answer. And he wouldn't give you anything until you did.

“Inside me.” You muttered through gritted teeth, almost delirious as you rubbed your thighs together with anticipation. He didn't look satisfied. You breathed in deeply, the aching need between your legs unbearable. “Need your cock, inside me, right now, Ben.” 

He lifted his eyebrows up in satisfaction and gave you a simple hum before he switched positions with you, without a word pressing your front against the shower wall. 

“I fuck you once and you're already acting like a pathetic whore? Okay. But you better fucking take my cock like the good fuck doll you've always been, hm?” He kicked your legs apart with his knee, his back pressing you further into the wall as he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance. You took a deep breath. “Yeah, you're gonna take this cock like a good lil’ fuck doll.” 

You gasped when he pushed himself inside with a snap of his hips, but it quickly turned into a moan when he pushed himself to the hilt, hips rutting against your ass. You dug your nails into nothing as you closed your eyes, taking in the delicious feeling of his thick cock stretching your walls.

“What a tight fucking cunt.” He grunted, gripping your hips, not wasting any time. He barely gave you time to adjust. “So fucking wet. Just for me, huh?” 

You were nodding against the wall instantly, pushing your ass back against him as he fucked you without mercy. You felt his lips on your shoulder as he leaned over you. The lewd sound of slapping skin was drowned out by the shower running but you could hear it clear as fucking day. 

“Yes! Mhmm feels so good.” You moaned softly, mindlessly reaching behind you to touch him, any part of him. Your fingers found his beard as you ran your hand over his face desperate to feel him, then you found his hair, and you latched on for dear life as he drilled into you. 

“Yeah? Like how my cock feels in your guts? You missed it, didn't you?” He pressed the side of his face into your head, allowing himself to close his eyes and soak the feeling of your nails on his scalp, he could even feel the faintest bit of electricity shooting through your fingers. He fucking loved it. 

“Yes! God yes.” You couldn't even describe how much. 

Ben smirked at this as he wrapped his arm over your chest and his fingers found your throat. He forced your head back, making you look at him. 

“Open your mouth,” He ordered, he held his finger to your pulse as he felt the fast rate of your heartbeat. You did as he said, and with a huff he spat in your mouth. “Slut. Swallow it.” 

How he could so easily break you down to nothing and treat you like no other man could, truly was beyond your understanding. But your mind didn't have to understand it. Your body just did it. You felt a pool of wetness seep through you at the damn near animalistic groan that rumbled in his throat. 

“You're such a good fucking girl.” He spat, pressing his lips against yours in a messy filthy kiss. You could barely keep your mouth open, not with the way he was so determined to make you fall apart for him. “You're my good fucking girl.” 

“I want to come. Please I—fuck.”  Your words were broken as your whole body burned up, and it wasn't from the hot water. 

“Of course, you do. It just feels so good, doesn't it?” He squeezed your throat harder, only choked out sounds could leave your mouth as he slipped his other hand to your swollen clit and rubbed harsh circles. 

Your orgasm hit you so hard you didn't realize it until you were shaking violently, your eyes rolled back into your head as you fucked yourself on his cock. Not that he ever stopped. He moaned loudly at the feeling of your wetness seeping on him. The wet sound of his cock slapping against your cunt made him want to come, too. 

“Fuck. Fucking Christ Violet. C'mon, make me come. Fuck yourself on my cock just like that. Be a good fuck doll for me, that's it.” His hand left your throat to pull at your hair. He dug his fingers deep into your scalp as his face fell on your shoulder. With a deep grunt he held you down on him. “Fucking take it, that's it, girl. Just like that. Fuck.” 

You could feel your mixed releases slip down your thigh. You sighed deeply, allowing yourself to close your eyes in ecstasy as he pressed his lips to your jaw. You hummed softly, reaching behind you to run your fingers through your hair. 

“I never want to leave this cunt. Feels so fucking good.” He muttered against your skin. 

You laughed softly, eyes still closed, you breathed heavily, “You're gonna have to eventually.” 

“Like fuck I am.” 

Both of his hands were on your hips and he turned you around. You whimpered softly at the emptiness he left you, but it was quickly replaced by choked out gasp when he grabbed both of your thighs and effortlessly hoisted you up around his waist. Your back was pressed against the tile wall and he slipped his cock inside you without a warning.

“Ben—” 

“You wanted my cock inside you? Well you better fucking take all of it. Every fucking inch ‘til I say so. You want it, don't you?” He spat, already fucking into you like you were nothing more than a toy. He held you up by your thighs as he kept them wide open so he could take as much as he wanted. And that he did. “Of course you do, this cunt is all mine to with as I fucking want. That ain't never gonna change.” 

What a long fucking night you were going to have. But you'd take a million of this over another day without him in your life. And this? This was all you ever wanted. You didn't need anything else, just him.

[serpentandlily]

Untouchable VI - Azriel x Reader

Untouchable - Azriel x Rhysand'sSister!Reader

Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had feelings for Azriel, your court’s spymaster. But after centuries of watching him pine after your own cousin, hoping he’d eventually move on, your wish came true. He moved on—with Elain, your brother’s mate’s sister. Unable to watch him fall in love with someone else again, you flee from Velaris, from him. But things are a lot more complicated than that—more complicated than you ever imagined.

Warnings: Smut (minors dni pls), angst 

a/n: Once again, thank you for all the love you've given me on this series!! Your comments seriously make my day! Hope you enjoy this one! I think there will be maybe 9-10 parts total for this story, maybe 8 but we'll see. Thanks for reading! <3

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III ➻❥ Part IV ➻❥ Part V

➻❥ Part VI ➻❥ Part VII ➻❥ Part VIII ➻❥ Part IX ➻❥ Part X

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Part VI

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that—knelt on the hardwood floor, staring at each other. Azriel’s eyes were filled with such longing, it seemed like he was trying to will the mating bond to snap between the two of you, to free you both from the torture of his bargain. But…

Nothing.

A small tear escaped from the corner of your eye. All this time you had both longed for each other. Desired, craved, hungered after each other. And it had been your own brother standing in the way, creating the rift between the two of you. 

One of Azriel’s shadows swirled away from him, a small tendril of darkness, and brushed against the side of your cheek, wiping your tears away. You smiled sadly at the cool touch of his shadows, imagining it was his own hand instead. 

Another tendril brushed against your arm in a soothing motion.

You watched them for a moment, swirling around your skin. When you looked back up at Azriel something in his gaze had shifted. 

He stood finally, holding out a hand to help you from the floor. You raised your eyebrows in question as he stared down at you with an intensity that had your cheeks turning pink again. 

The stray shadow brushed against your cheek again, then down your jaw to your throat. You shivered at the feeling and Azriel’s gaze darkened, a new hunger in them that had the butterflies in your stomach returning. 

Azriel stepped closer and wrapped a piece of your hair around his finger. “I just realized something.”

“What is it?” you breathed out.

His face was half lit by the faelights as he stared down at you, still playing with your strand of hair. 

“I might not be able to touch you,” he whispered. “But my shadows can.”

“Huh? What do—”

Azriel hushed you, turning you around to face the mirror on your vanity instead. You stared at him through the mirror in question, but his eyes were roaming your body instead. 

He brushed your hair over to one shoulder and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the now exposed skin before standing up to his full height, making you feel so small in comparison. 

His eyes met your own and your heart jumped in your chest. Azriel’s hand ghosted up your arm, hovering over your shoulder as he stared at you intently as he ran a finger under the thin strap of your nightgown. Your skin prickled under his touch.

His pupils were blown-out, his once hazel eyes now almost black, as he stared at you with a look that had your thighs clenching together.

Your breath hitched as he began to push down the strap of your nightgown.

"A-Azriel?" 

You tilted your head back to look at him but he grabbed your chin with his other hand and directed your attention back to the mirror. 

"Watch," he commanded, his voice dangerously low. 

It was a thrilling sight, the two of you together. The dimmed faelights in the room bounced off his brown skin, turning him golden and made your violet eyes glow. 

He was the neverending night, the shadow always lurking even during the day, the embodiment of the dark side of the moon. And you were his night-blooming flower, made for his gaze. 

A shiver ran through you as the strap fell down your arm. The other one followed not even a second later. The silk of your nightgown brushed against the pebbled tips of your breasts before it pooled on the ground, leaving you nearly bare in front of the shadowsinger. 

Azriel let out an inhuman growl at the sight of your breasts, his hands fisting at his sides as you watched him restrain himself from touching you. Heat was pooling in your core. You needed him to touch you, needed some relief from the pounding inside of you that begged for him. 

Azriel's shadows cascaded over your shoulders, one swirling away to brush against your jaw, as the others made a path to your bare breasts. Your breath hitched, your back arched, as they lightly brushed against your skin, twirling around each nipple.

You gasped as some broke away to travel down your stomach, to circle around your thighs. The shadows applied more pressure to your breasts and you bit your lip, closing your eyes as you tried to imagine Azriel touching you instead.

Azriel's hand wrapped around your waist, laying flat against your stomach as he yanked you back into his hard chest. You could feel his arousal pressing against your ass causing your heart to spike.

"I told you to watch, Princess,” he purred into your ear.

You whimpered, your eyes flying open to stare at him through the mirror before they lowered to your own body, watching as his shadows spun around you, touching you in the places he had been forbidden to.

A stray shadow stroked against your clothed center, drawing a moan from your lips. Your legs were shaking now, goosebumps covering your skin. You couldn't help but rub against his hardened length, whimpering again.

Azriel let out a grunt that sounded like a mixture of both pleasure and pain, his fingers digging into the skin on your stomach. His hand slipped down to finger the waistband of your lace underwear. He made eye contact with you again. You bit your lip and nodded, knowing what he was asking.

He slowly began to push your underwear down your thighs until it fell to the floor along with your nightgown, leaving you completely naked in front of him. Azriel groaned at the sight.

“Gods, you are so beautiful,” he murmured. Your cheeks heated as he hungrily soaked in the sight of your naked body, feeling vulnerable being so bare in front of him while he was still clothed. 

His shadows swooped in the moment you were unclothed, their cool touch sending fire roaring through your veins. Your chest was heaving up and down with your heavy breaths, the butterflies in your stomach going wild. 

"Azriel," you begged. "Please."

You weren't even sure what you were begging for. But gods, you needed him. Needing him to do something about the ache between your legs, the burning hot desire coursing through you. 

“Please what, Princess?”

His voice made another shiver run through your body. So dark and sensual, just like the shadows roaming over your entire body. 

Tendrils of his shadows crawled up your legs, brushing against your pulsing core and causing you to gasp as a wave of pleasure hit you. 

“I need…” Another gasp as his shadow brushed against your clit. “Gods, Azriel, I need…”

You couldn’t even put it into words, your mind empty because of the pulsating feeling creeping inside of you. 

Azriel’s fingers ghosted over your cheek. “I know, princess.”

You moaned as his shadows continued their assault, stroking your core, circling around that sweet bundle of nerves. You trembled beneath their touch. 

He pressed another kiss to your bare shoulder before lifting you into his arms and taking you to the bed. He laid you down gently, so softly as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. 

He stood at the end of the bed, his eyes raking in the sight of you flushed with pleasure and laid bare before him. “Gods, what I wouldn’t give to touch you right now,” Azriel mumbled.

You wished more than anything that he could. You needed him. 

More shadows cascaded down his body and fluttered to you, encasing you in swirls of darkness. Your arms were yanked above your head, your wrists pinned down to the mattress by his shadows. You whimpered as his shadows swept over your breasts again, your stomach, your thighs. 

Azriel reached forward to spread your legs apart, a groan leaving his lips at the sight of your glistening center. His hands left you far too quickly and you bit your lip, staring at him. His wings were spread wide, his hair tousled against his forehead, his gaze dark. He was straining against his pants, his own hand palming his dick to ease the pressure. 

His shadows skimmed your thighs and hip bones until they met together at your core, stroking against your clit and your entrance. You writhed, still encased by his other shadows, and mewled at the touch of his shadow hands. 

“Fuck, Princess,” Azriel growled as he watched the shadows he controlled continue their assault on you. He quickly undid the ties to his pants, pushing them down and pulling his dick free and standing between your legs. He stroked himself as he watched his shadows ravish your body.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sight of how large he was, at the image in your mind of him fucking you. 

“Keep your eyes open,” Azriel ordered, his voice filled with a dominance that only further increased the fire inside of you. “I want you to look at me while I make you cry.” 

Your eyes shot open, meeting his feral gaze. You groaned at the sight of him touching himself to the image of his shadows ravaging your body. The pleasure was almost unbearable and you could feel your orgasm building quickly as his shadows swirled around your clit, teased your entrance, over and over again. 

“Faster,” he commanded his shadows, who were all too happy to oblige, as he fisted his cock. 

Your eyes trailed over Azriel, over his beautiful, devastating face, the muscles in his arms clenching as he stroked himself, his huge wings twitching. He looked like a fallen angel standing before you as he used his shadows to push you further and further to the edge.

“You couldn’t even imagine the things I wish to do to you, Princess,” he groaned as you continued to wither on the bed, moaning in a pool of his shadows. “How I would ruin you, make you forget your own name.”

“Azriel,” you mewled. “Please, I…don’t stop.” 

You arched off the bed. Your skin was on fire. Each stroke of his shadows over your breasts, thighs, down your center, around your clit. It was too much. You were falling. 

“Fuck. That’s it, Princess,” he grunted, his own hand moving faster. “Let my shadows make you come for me.” 

His words pushed you over the edge, your vision nearly going white, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through your body. You mumbled his name over and over again as lightning shot through your body. Your back arched off the bed, your arms strained against the shadows holding you down.

And then you went limp, panting as you came down from your high. Azriel was cursing under his breath, stroking himself faster and faster, his gaze on your dripping core. You sat up, still breathing heavily. You wanted nothing more than to touch him, to make him come. But you couldn’t. Not without causing him pain.

But you had your own arsenal of powers, you realized.

“Close your eyes, Azriel,” you purred. He met your gaze, the absolute longing in his eyes caused your heart to ache. He did as you said and you closed your own, stroking a claw made of darkness against his mental barrier.

He let you in without hesitation. 

You couldn’t touch him in the real world. But here, through the connection in your minds…

You painted him a beautiful picture of you on your knees before him, staring up at him through your lashes as he continued to stroke himself. You licked your lips before replacing his hands with your own. He let out a loud groan, causing you to smile.

You slowly leaned forward until your lips brushed against his tip. You stuck your tongue out, swirling around the head of his dick. He cursed at the image you were putting in his head, his hand moving faster and faster.

You opened your mouth and took him in as far as you could, gagging as his tip touched the back of his throat. You started to bob your head, still looking at him through your lashes as you sucked him off. You showed him gripping your hair with his hands and pushing your head to meet his thrusts, fucking your face, as tears pooled in your eyes. 

He had already been so turned on watching his shadows destroy you that he knew he wouldn’t last long. 

Just as you felt him drawing closer and closer to the edge, his moans increasing, his thrusts becoming sloppy with no rhythm, you left his mind. His eyes shot open and he cursed at the sight of you kneeling on the bed before him.

He released an unholy moan, chanting your name, as he came. His hot seed shot all over your chest, marking you with his essence. 

You watched him ride out his orgasm until his hands slowed down and fell limp at his sides. You magicked yourself clean before rising. Azriel let out another curse, still panting, as he rested his forehead against yours. 

You both were silent for a moment, soaking in the tender aftermath of what had undoubtedly changed the relationship between the two of you forever. 

“The things I wish to do to you right now, Princess” he grunted, chest still heaving. “If…if only I could touch you.”

“I will find a way to break this bargain, Azriel,” you breathed out. “I will. This can’t be it for us. I..I refuse.” 

You would read every single book in the library under the house of wind if you had to. The King of Hybern had been able to break your brother’s bargain with Feyre. There had to be other instances of bargains being broken. 

“We can’t… we can’t tell your brother about this,” Azriel muttered. “If he were to find out, he’d send me away from you.” 

You wanted nothing more than to march to your brother’s office and rip him a new one. But that still wouldn’t break the bargain. And depending on how irrational Rhys was, it might just make things worse. Azriel was right, he might send him away. 

“We keep it a secret for now,” you agreed. “No one has to know.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Azriel mumbled. “I should’ve never done this to us.”

“It’s not your fault, Azriel. How could you have known?”

“I should’ve known. Even then, my feelings towards you were so consuming. I should’ve known they’d never go away. I don’t care if we’re not mates. I love you. I always have and I always will, even if we cannot be together. Even if I must go the rest of my life without laying a single hand on you.” 

Your heart broke at his declaration and confession. You sighed, closing your eyes. 

“I love you too, Azriel. We’ll figure this out. I promise.” 

He nodded, finally pulling away but you reached for his hand. “Stay, please?”

“Always,” he murmured back.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Prince Cedric pulled you aside the next morning after breakfast as his servants were gathering your luggage. He had asked for a quick moment alone and despite Azriel’s disagreement, you sent him away. Still he stayed within eyesight. 

“So, I’m sure your brother has informed you of my true intentions towards you, Princess,” Cedric said with a soft smile on his face. 

“He has,” you answered, quietly. You had been dreading this moment since you came. 

“Have you made a decision yet?”

You genuinely felt bad for the Prince. He had been nothing but kind to you since you had known him. Had treated you well your entire stay. But none of it was ever going to matter. Your heart laid with Azriel and Azriel alone.

“Prince Cedric,” you started, then paused trying to find a way to word your answer politely. “I do appreciate how kind you have treated me these last few days but you must understand, it is a big decision to make. To leave my family and live so far away—”

“It’s okay, Princess. You don’t need to make any excuses. I’m not blind nor dumb. Just perhaps a tad bit too hopeful.”

“What—”

“It’s the shadowsinger, right?” he said with a sad smile. “He’s the one who’s truly won over your heart, hasn’t he?”

You stumbled over your words, eyes widening. Had it been so obvious? You had tried very hard this morning to scrub yourself clean of his scent. 

“It’s okay,” he continued quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “Your secret is safe with me though I do feel a bit of jealousy towards him, I must admit. You would’ve made a beautiful queen.”

“Cedric, I-I don’t want you to think I’ve led you on. I did want to get to know you, to see if we had a connection. But—”

“But the heart wants what the heart wants. I understand, y/n. I would not want to take a wife who longs for another anyway.”

You bowed your head, still feeling a bit guilty.

“I did truly enjoy my time here, Cedric. I will look back on it fondly, despite how it turned out.”

“Me too, Princess,” he replied with a smile. “My castle doors will always be open for you, even as a friend.”

“Thank you, Cedric,” you smiled. “I hope you will still consider an alliance with my brother.”

“I will be in touch,” he confirmed with a nod of his head.

You said your goodbyes after that before it was finally time to return home, back to the Night Court.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A few weeks went by. You scourged the library for any books that talked about bargains and bonds, exhausting yourself with your research. Azriel helped when he could, though he wasn’t always around, so as to not draw attention to what the two of you were doing.

You couldn’t help but give your brother a bit of a cold shoulder. You felt betrayed by him. You had always known he was protective, but this had crossed the line. You spent more nights at the Moonstone Palace, claiming you had work to do regarding the Court of Nightmares, which wasn’t entirely a lie.

It made being with Azriel easier. Each night he snuck into your room and left before the sun came up, just in case anyone decided to drop by. A rose was always resting on your bedside table in lieu of his presence when you’d wake up alone. 

But it was hard even being together. It was agony to barely be able to touch each other, for Azriel to have to endure pain for as long as he could just to kiss you or to stroke your cheek. Your daemati powers and his shadows had been useful but it was nothing like being able to truly touch each other.

You were not going to give up. You would find a way to break the bargain. You had promised after all.

But part of you began to doubt how long this could go on. Would Azriel grow tired of only ever using his shadows with you? Would he resent you? So many questions like that swarmed your head despite Azriel trying to assure you that he only wanted you.

Hiding your relationship didn’t help with that either. Elain was still enamored with Azriel, still followed him around like a lost puppy dog. You had to clench your fist every time you were in a room with the two of them despite Azriel not reciprocating her feelings or entertaining them. 

That didn’t stop her from constantly sitting near him, resting her hands on him, batting her eyelashes in his direction. It caused something vile to coil in your stomach every time you had to watch her brush her fingers against his, rest a hand on his arm.

It was just a reminder that you couldn’t do that. That every touch you gave him resulted in pain.

And that part of you that was insecure wondered if Azriel would eventually give in to her. After all, he could touch her, feel her, do whatever he wanted with her…unlike you. 

Elain could make him feel pleasure without the curse of pain being attached. She could touch him, fuck him, do all sorts of things to him. Things you couldn’t.

How long could he truly go without the touch of another? What if the bargain could never be broken? 

You let out a sigh, dropping your head against the book you were currently reading about bargains. So far, nothing had been useful and you just wanted to scream and scream. 

“You should take a break.”

You jumped, surprised at the sudden voice in the room. You lifted your head to see Azriel leaning against the doorframe that led out to your balcony. Behind him came the noise of music and laughter as dusk was falling and the people of Velaris were coming alive into the night. 

“I still haven’t been able to find anything about breaking bargains. You’d think it would be a more popular subject.” 

Azriel strided towards you until he was next to where you sat in your chair at your desk. 

“It is a taboo topic,” Azriel replied. “Bargains are magic bound by the Cauldron. Breaking them goes against the Mother, or so it’s thought.” 

“Being able to make them in the first place seems to be against the Mother,” you mumbled under your breath. Because how could a stupid bargain be keeping you from being with the one you loved? That didn’t seem very divine. 

Azriel grabbed your chair and twisted it so you faced him, moving you as if you weighed nothing. You let out a small noise of surprise. 

Azriel kissed the top of your head, stroking your hair. “Just take a break, Princess. You’ve been at it for so long today. You’re going to drive yourself mad.” 

You let out a huff before a feline grin spread across your face. 

“I suppose you might be able to convince me to take a break,” you purred, looking up at him through your lashes. 

You stroked a claw against his mental shields and showed him a pretty image of you bent over the desk while he took you from behind. 

Azriel’s gaze instantly darkened as he groaned, his shadows swimming around him like they were already anticipating being used. He smirked, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I can do more than convince you, Princess.”

Azriel balanced himself with his hands on the back of your chair and leaned down to kiss you on your lips causing butterflies to erupt inside your stomach. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, your chest already heaving as his lips met yours. 

A knock against your door had the two of you flying apart. Your eyes widened as you stared at Azriel.

“Dove, it’s me.”

You mouthed a curse at the sound of your brother’s voice. The door started to creak open. 

“Hide,” you whispered to Azriel.

He was already sinking into his shadows just as the door to your room flew open. Your heart was still pounding as your brother strode in, his eyes falling on you. He raised an eyebrow.

“Was someone else in here just now? I could’ve sworn I heard another voice.”

“And I could’ve sworn I locked my door,” you grumbled, smoothing your hair down. 

His eyes darted around the room and his nostrils flared. You saw the immediate realization as he recognized Azriel’s scent. 

“Azriel was here just a minute ago,” you hastily answered. “He was dropping off some books for me.” 

“Books? What for?”

As he walked closer, you slammed the book on your desk shut, not wanting him to see the section you had been reading. 

“Just some stuff I’m doing research on to do with Hewn City.” 

Rhys’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything else about it thankfully. 

“Well, tell Azriel the next time he drops something off for you, he can come through the front door,” your brother said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You bristled at his tone, the hidden frustrations you had with him breaking through for a second as you snapped back, “What does it matter?”

“It matters because I needed to discuss something with him and it would’ve been nice to know he had dropped by.” Rhys gave you a look, one you knew all too well. 

Rhys’s eyes roamed over you, then darted around your room again. “Does Azriel make it a habit coming into your room at night?”

“No,” you answered quickly. “You’re the one who made him my personal guard. I don’t need a guard in Velaris so he helps me in other ways, like fetching books from the library for me.” 

“Fine. Well if Azriel decides to come around again, send him to my office.”

You only nodded in response, trying to hide your anger. You had to play this game for now. You wouldn’t ruin what little you and Azriel had. “Is there a reason you barged into my room?”

“We’re working on a new trade deal with Thesan and I need an update on how much iron they’re mining on average each month in the Court of Nightmares.”

“Alright, I’ll work on a report for you and Feyre. Is that all?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “So eager to get rid of me, dove? What’s gotten into you lately?”

“Nothing.”

Rhys waited for you to keep speaking but you refused. You were still so angry with him and you knew if you kept talking, there was a chance it’d all spill out. 

“Nothing? That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Rhys? There’s nothing wrong.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been acting strange for a few weeks now. What’s going on with you?”

“Like I said, nothing. I’ve just been busy. I did ask for more responsibility, after all.” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back in your chair, trying to give off a casual demeanor. 

“Being busy doesn’t account for your snappy mood.”

You scoffed. “Well, maybe I’m just tired of you hovering over my shoulder all the time! Gods forbid you let me handle things on my own once in a while.” 

Rhys took a step back as your words hit him. You expected anger but we’re shocked to see a bit of guilt and sadness cloud his face. “Okay, okay. I know I’ve been overbearing. I’m sorry, dove, I just…it’s hard not to see you as the little girl I took care of all those years.”

You sighed, not expecting this. Perhaps you had been right when you told Azriel that the two of you should go to Rhys. Maybe he would be open to helping you both try to find a way to break the bond…maybe it was a mistake to hide it from him.

“I know, Rhysie, I just…I want to feel like I’ve done something important on my own for once, alright?”

“Okay,” Rhys said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll leave you alone.”

He made to leave finally and you let out a small breath of relief.

“Oh, and we’re having a family dinner tomorrow night at the House of Wind. Helion will be attending as well so wear something nice,” Rhys said, moving back towards your door. 

“Alright, I will,” you answered, wanting him to just go already. 

He paused with his hand on your doorknob, looking back at you for a moment. “I love you, little dove. I know you said nothing is wrong but I hope you know you can come to me about anything. I will always help you in any way I can.”

“I know, Rhysie. I love you too.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied for the moment and left finally, closing the door shut behind him. You flicked a wrist to lock it with magic, as well as put a shield around the room.

A smile overcame your face as Azriel stepped out of the shadows. You were worried that your brother had killed his mood, would send him running but thankfully, Rhys hadn’t seemed to deter him at all. In fact, the thrill of it all seemed to only spur him on more.

He strided to you and locked you in a passionate kiss that had you gasping, his tongue immediately claiming your mouth. 

When he pulled back to look at you, he was grinning wolfishly. “So, where were we?”

You giggled as he lifted you off your chair and sat you down on your desk. You looped your arms around his neck, carefully to touch him as minimally as you could. “I believe you were about to convince me to take a break with you.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“I told you. I couldn’t get her alone. That fucking shadowsinger wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Though now I know it’s because he’s fucking her.”

“I don’t care for your excuses, Princeling. I told you to bring me the girl. That was our deal.” 

“What’s so special about her anyways? Certainly there’s something else I can do for you, something else you need.”

The other male studied the Prince for a moment until the younger male seemed to cringe under his stare, slight fear in his eyes. 

“If you must know, the moment she stepped foot on these lands I felt the spike of power coming from her and I knew I had to add her to my collection. You want my help overthrowing the King, you bring me that girl.”

The prince sighed, frustrated. “And how do you suppose I do that? She’s being watched like a hawk by both her brother and the shadowsinger.”

“That’s your problem to figure out. You have your own magic, no? Time to get clever, Princeling. My patience is running out.”

Prince Cedric clenched his jaw but nodded, knowing it wise to not argue with the sorcerer. 

Koschei gave him one last look before retreating into the shadows leaving the Prince standing alone at the shore of his lake. 

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

a/n: sooooo, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!! hahah What do we think the prince is gonna do to kidnap our girlieee? and do you think she should tell Rhys what's going on with Azriel? Do we think her brother has regrets about making that bargain and would actually try to help them break the bond? hmmm who could possibly know

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[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 4)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3610

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Notes: Don't judge this part feels kinda meh.

Also in honor of being in Seattle tn and seeing the kraken play 😋

_________________________________________

Un-fucking-likely, indeed, your mind unhelpfully supplies on Monday night when Rhys barges into the study room looking like sex on legs.

His dark hair is damp from the shower he had to hastily take after practice. It’s disheveled as if he’s been running his fingers through it on his brisk walk from the arena to the library. There’s a soft pink to his tan cheeks that makes him look even more fuckable than usual, and you find yourself entranced as you trace the lines of his face.

The cut on Rhys’ lip has scabbed over nicely—you can’t help but notice—and the bruise setting in on his cheek is a mottled Picasso of green and yellow. The sight would make you grimace, but the wound only makes his violet eyes pop. The color draws you in, hypnotizes you as he stares back, until his bag slips off his shoulder and hits the ground with a loud thud that startles you both from your ogling.

You rip your gaze away from his, checking the time on your phone.

He's late. By twenty-two minutes.

“There’s no way.” You say when you manage to find your words. This cannot be happening. You don’t know if you’re struck more by the fact that he’s your tutor or because he looks utterly delectable in that tight black t-shirt that strains against every muscle packed onto his shoulders, arms, and chest. It’s almost as attractive as the gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and the sliver of skin that calls to you like a siren. You carefully steer clear of that area and swallow harshly. “You’re my tutor?”

Rhysand’s eyes glitter when he tilts his chin to look at you. Normally, a man staring down at you like this doesn’t feel quite as heady as this, but the way that he’s looking at you makes your body tingle, and those tingles quickly converge between your thighs when he drags his fingers through his hair again and his shirt lifts, widening the peekaboo of skin you were eyeing only moments ago, revealing more of the cutting muscle of his hips.

You clutch your pen tightly in your fist because he looks like the king of Velaris University like this, all tall and handsome and knowing.

When he smirks, you consider shoving all your books and notes to the floor and spread yourself across the table, offering yourself up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Rhysand collapses into the chair across from you. It evens the playing field but not by much. He still towers over you, even when he begins leaning so casually in the chair like it isn’t the most uncomfortable piece of plastic you’ve has the displeasure of sitting on. His lap looks like a much more comfortable place to sit, you think, and immediately reprimand yourself for the thought. You mentally scold yourself, removing your gaze from him completely as you try to focus on keeping your mind from wandering to no-no land.

He looks exhausted, like he’s run himself into the ground during practice. Rhys releases a hearty sigh, rubs his eyes, and winces when the bruises protest under the pressure of his fists.

“You know, I pride myself in my knowledge of psychology, but I can’t tell if your shock is from the fact that I’m a very attractive man or if it’s because you think I’m a jock and can’t hack being smart, too,” he says, as his gaze trails you slowly, stopping where the table hides your thighs that are clenched tightly together from his slow perusal.

He’s looking at you like he also wants you laid out before him, and when he meets your gaze again, those violet eyes are hot, playful. Paired with the wink, he seems very pleased with himself. “I can assure you, it’s both.”

Your cheeks flush. He is hot, even more so with those bruises painting his skin and the tight-fitting clothing that leaves little to the imagination. You ache to reach across the table and dust your fingers across his wounds, press an ice pack to them and nurse him back to health. All while straddling his lap.

Woah, girl. Keep it the fuck together. You’re not that desperate.

“Wow,” you scoff, and it gives you the chance to clear your tight throat when Rhys leans over to pluck a few books from his bag. They thunk against the table, filling the room with something other than your erratic heartbeat. He glances at you as he begins to flip through the pages. “For someone who’s twenty-two minutes late to their tutoring session, you sure are cocky.”

Rhysand winces, shooting you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You’re stunned silent. There are no excuses. It’s a blunt, honest apology and a promise this isn’t going to be a reoccurring thing. He cares about his commitments as much as he cares about his sport, and it surprises you so much that you’re unsure of how to answer.

You don’t need to anyway, because Rhys continues swiftly, firing off questions in a way to catch up on what he’s missed. “What are you learning right now? What are you struggling with the most? We’ll start there and work our way back to the stuff you feel more confident in, so we don’t waste any more time.”

“We’re learning about behaviorism right now,” you note, looking down at the page your textbook is open to. You don’t catch the heated look Rhys pins you with, and there’s a fleeting thought that crosses his mind at your mention of behaviorism, an explicit one, because he can think of many hands-on approaches of how he’d like to teach you about conditioning and reinforcement, positive and negative reinforcement.

He hums noncommittally, flipping through his notes.

You tap the back of your pen against your textbook. “I have a quiz on Friday afternoon and a test two weeks after.” You sigh, returning to the same paragraph you’ve read three times tonight. You tried highlighting what was important according to the hand-out your professor gave you, but the entire paragraph is a block of yellow. “I can’t seem to keep it all straight.”

“Well, that’s because you highlighted the whole book,” Rhys’ eyes widen in disbelief as he cranes his head to look at your psychology textbook. “Seriously, did anyone teach you how to take notes?”

“I thought you were supposed to help me,” you huff, tossing your pen into the spine of your book and crossing your arms over your chest. You pin him with your most unimpressed look that transforms into a harsh glare when you see his gaze flick up from your chest.

Rhysand doesn’t have it in him to look ashamed. He’s fucking exhausted, and his two-a-days are catching up to him quickly. But he has his own psych paper to write by Wednesday night, right before they head out the following afternoon for a game against the Stags.

“Here,” Rhys says, and flips his book around so it’s facing you. He slides it across the table, shoving all your markers and poorly made flashcards with it. With a scowl, you lift the book and drape it over your own, drinking in the marks he’s made.

The lines are drawn neatly, not too many words highlighted, especially not paragraphs like you’d done in your own book. Your eye easily follows the words, picking up the important words covered by a bright blue.

“Holy shit,” you’d whistle if you could. “Color me impressed.”

Rhysand laughs, and your stomach flips. “See? Pretty and smart.”

The man wasn’t wrong.

You quirk a brow, resisting the urge to pull out your phone and snap a few photos of the excellently organized notes. And maybe a few of the boy who’d taken them himself. That preening smile gracing his lips and glittering eyes is something you want to commit to memory, but if you had the picture of it, late nights might not be so lonely.

“Oh, it’s pretty, now, is it? Describing yourself as hot was too…” You trail off, mulling your words in amusement. Rhysand’s smirk cracks wider, showing off his pearly white teeth, perfectly straight, and all the words you were trying to fumble for melt into a puddle of want.

“Spot on?” Rhys offers, waggling his brows. You carefully tuck your lip between your teeth, smothering a smile of your own. You shouldn’t be amused by him at all, especially since he all but demanded you weren’t to flirt with any of his players.

Rolling your eyes takes some force, but you manage. “Try pretentious.”

“Pretentious or not, it’s true.”

“Alright, Mr. Self-centered,” you roll your eyes.

Rhys cuts you off, “Actually, I’m just a regular center. And captain.”

 You blink at him, the joke almost falling as flat as your empty practice test taunting you on the table. Rhys cracks a wry grin when you shake your head. “Can we get to the important stuff now?”

“Right,” he nods firmly. “Behaviorism. Where should we start?”

You blush heavily. “The beginning, please.”

Rhys’ eyes widen and you groan in acknowledgement. You’re in desperate need of help. You weren’t kidding.

“No problem,” Rhys says, slipping his phone from his pocket. He types quickly, and you only wonder what he’s doing for a moment because he says aloud, “We’re going to need some coffees, it’s going to be a long night. What’s your order?”

Hours later, when you break for the night, you’re in much better spirits.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Rhys curses frantically. His violet eyes don’t meet your confusion, instead he’s looking around as if the small bushes you’re walking beside are big enough to hide a 6’3” hockey player with both his bookbag and his gear bag.

“What? What’s wrong?” His suddenly frenzied energy is rubbing off on you. You search your surroundings, your heartbeat drumming in your chest. It is night out, but you’re not seeing anything except the occasional student making their way across campus or the headlights of a car passing by. You have no idea why Rhysand is freaking out.

He turns to you so abruptly you stop in your tracks.

“Hide me,” he pleads, and you pull a face of confusion.

“What?”

“Hide me, please.” You catch the way his eyes flicker toward the path back to your dorm and you can’t help but follow his line of sight, ignoring his hiss of disappointment when you do.

There’s a girl walking your way, but she’s entranced in her phone. Her dark hair is braided long over her shoulder. It stands stark against her snow-white skin that seems to reflect the moon beaming down onto campus tonight. Her full lips are painted stark red, and the color does nothing to improve her color.

As if she can feel your gaze on her, she looks up. And when she notices Rhys, he goes still beneath her stare.

“Rhys?” She asks in surprise. He doesn’t answer, but she confirms it herself, a huge smile forming on those lips. It looks scary, evil, almost.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and you don’t have the chance to question him before she’s striding towards the both of you like a viper personified. The look in her eyes is sultry, lethal, and the smirk on her red-painted lips has the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

“I thought that was you,” she purrs. You frown, and then it deepens when Rhys slides his arm across your shoulders, tugging you tightly into his side.

The girl’s gaze drags to you and the way that she’s looking you in up and down doesn’t make you want to cringe and fold yourself into Rhys’ arms like a shy girl. No, it makes your spine straighten, and you lean further into Rhys’ side, even going so far as to wrap your arm around his waist.

You think you hear him release a breath or relief.

“Amarantha,” Rhys greets, and there’s no warmth in his tone. There’s no anything in his tone, her name is spoken with the inflection of a brick.

You bite your cheeks to hide your smile.

“Where have you been?” Amarantha asks, stepping closer. Rhys’ body coils beneath your touch, and you can tell he’s fighting every urge not to step away from her, even though you think he maybe should. “I haven’t seen you around tri-delta much lately.”

Ah, a sorority girl, you think. That checks out.

Of course, a hockey player would have tried his chances with a sorority girl. You’re sure she’s not the only one either, and the thought of the amount of women Rhys has slept with has a knot forming in your stomach. He’s an athlete for fuck’s sake, and athlete’s always score.

“That’s because I’m off the market, Amarantha,” he says, and you think there’s more to that story that you want to know. If this whole tutoring thing works out, maybe you can hassle Rhys into telling you later. “This is my girlfriend, (Y/N).”

You almost don’t understand that he’s talking about you until he tucks you closer. You stumble and plant your hand against his chest for balance, glaring up at him. It’s exactly what Rhys wants.

Your mouth all but drops in shock. You open your mouth to protest, but Amarantha cuts off any complaints sitting on the tip of your tongue. “Your girlfriend?”

Her tone is pure acid. She almost spits the word, like you’re trash beneath her feet. Your mouth snaps shut with an audible click, and you tear your glare off your “boyfriend,” shooting her the most tooth-rotting, sweet smile you can conjure. “Hi. Amara, was it?”

Her teeth grind and the sharp look she offers would melt you into the pavement if you weren’t immune to bitchy girls who think they deserve what they don’t. Especially when that thing is the gorgeous hockey player at your side.

“Amarantha.”

“Right,” your giggle is fake. “Oops.”

Rhys’ body shakes with laughter and you can’t help but to preen a little. It feels good and his body is warm. The lightning zipping under your skin and the look on his ex-girlfriend’s face lights you up.

“Well, I was hoping maybe we could talk sometime, about what happened with us?” Amarantha finally says, turning her gaze to Rhys. Her face transforms from hatred to innocent in the time it takes you to blink, like Rhys might just feel bad enough for her to give her what she wants.

Rhys hums thoughtfully, like he might actually agree to finding the time to meet and speak with her. Amarantha’s eyes sparkle. She must be thinking the same thing you’re thinking. You don’t like the thought of them alone together, of all the things they already have done together, but Rhys isn’t you boyfriend. No, he’s hardly your friend at all. Actually, he’s your best friend’s cousin, and your mind should not be wandering towards Rhys’ actions in the bedroom, let alone be acting like this with him.

“I’ll think about it, Amarantha,” he finally decides, and you don’t think you like that answer at all, but you shove your thoughts deep, deeply inside of you.

Amarantha steps closer, bats her eyelashes up at him. “I could send you some things for you to think about,” she says sultrily. You scrunch your nose up in distaste. Forward, much?

Rhys gives her that some noncommittal hum he gave you earlier in the night. “We’ve got to get going now,” he answers, tugging you around his clingy ex. “Lots of studying to do.” He lets the innuendo hang in the air. “See you around.”

He doesn’t wait for her to respond, dragging you in the direction of your dorm.

You think you wait an appropriate amount of time before you’re shoving his arm off your shoulder. “What the hell was that?”

Rhys groans and runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know what that was, not really. All he knows is that he’d do whatever it takes to get Amarantha off his case and scrubbed from his memory, and he used you to do it tonight.

He feels like shit for doing that to you, especially when he barely even knows you.

Mor would have a fucking aneurism if she’d seen that.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, staring down at the sidewalk. “I panicked.”

“I’ll fucking say,” you scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. It’s a balmy night out, but without the heat of Rhys’ body beside yours, a chill sweeps over you.

“That won’t be the last of her,” he sighs long and forlorn. It almost makes you feel bad for him, if the next words out of his mouth didn’t make your entire world flip. “I might need you to pretend to be my girlfriend again.”

You’re pretty sure your jaw hits the ground so hard it cracks the concrete beneath your feet. You halt so abruptly, Rhys doesn’t notice for a few steps, too lost in the idea he just blurted out and how perfect it might be. He could rid himself of Amarantha for good.

“What? No way!” You protest, and you’d really like to stomp your foot like a petulant child, but it seems your soles have melted into the sidewalk.

Rhys frowns, and you find you don’t like that look on his face. “Why not?”

What does he mean why not? There are a trillion reasons why this is a bad idea, but you blurt the one that bubbles to the surface first. “I can’t have your team, what makes you think you can have me?”

Rhys’ entire demeanor changes. He straightens his shoulders and stands taller, every muscle going taut with your words.

He raises a single brow. “How many of my teammates do you have your eye on?” He asks, prickling with jealousy. He shouldn’t be, except for the fact that he quite literally ran into you first, and if he can’t have you, then neither can his teammates.

Your cheeks flare with embarrassment. “I—what?” You stutter.

“How many of my teammates do you have your eye on? Or do you need me to rephrase.” Long gone is the cheeky tutor from the library. Now, he’s transformed into some sort of angered jock, like you just told him he’d be on the bench for the rest of the hockey season.

And it hits you, his words. Why would he care if you had your eye on one player or more? He doesn’t own you; he doesn’t even know you, and he’s making assumptions that frankly, are far from fucking true.

“I don’t have my eye on any of them, asshole,” you spit back your lie because it tastes like shit on your tongue. You have your eye on one. Or should you say had your eye on one. Knowing what you know now, you would happily go back in time and run into someone else.

It would never end well, you and him. And it’s the ultimate best friend betrayal.

You glare at Rhys, and he glares at you. You’re sure he’s used to people taking orders from him, but you’re not one of his teammates, and you’re too stubborn to back down.

When it’s clear that you’re not going to entertain his lewd questioning, he rips his gaze away. “C’mon. I have shit to do tonight and it’s getting late.”

“I can walk myself,” you grumble, shoving past him.

You hear his strides before he appears in the corner of your vision, catching up easily with you. Neither of you speak as you continue the last few blocks to your dorm. When you see the tall, looming building, you almost sigh in relief.

Until, of course, Rhys opens his mouth and spouts of another one of his stupid ideas.

“What if,” he starts, and you’re already rolling your eyes. “I help you with psychology, and you pretend to be my girlfriend, so Amarantha gets off my back.”

“Um, no.” You protest, because what the actual fuck is happening right now? “That’s what you agreed to before we ran into Amarantha.”

He shrugs, and it takes all your remaining willpower not to sprint the last block to your dorm. “My terms have changed.”

You scoff in utter disbelief. The nerve of this man. “Fine.” You haul ass to your dorm, more than done with tonight.

“Fine?” Rhys echoes. He sounds shocked. Which he should, because you know he’s taken your reply the wrong way. “You’ll do it?”

“No,” you spin on your heel and almost run face-first into Rhys’ chest. He catches you around your waist, steadying you. You didn’t hear him trailing you, and you don’t know how someone so large can move so silently. You clear your throat, ripping your focus from the tingles on your arms that seem to be coming from his touch, trying to reignite the flare of annoyance that he just smothered. “Not fine as in ‘I’ll do it.’ ‘Fine,’ as in, ‘I’ll find another tutor.’”

“What do you want? Please,” he begs, and he sounds good doing it. His violet eyes are soft, pleading, strands of his black hair falling across his brow. You want to reach up and brush them back for him.

“I want you to teach me how to pass psych,” you answer simply. “Without an ultimatum.”

Rhys’ shoulders fall, but one of you must relent, and it’s not going to be you. Over your dead body. “Fine.”

“Fine as in yes, or?”

He shoots you an unimpressed look. Too soon. You wince and smile apologetically.

“Fine, I’ll help you.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry

[goldenhypen]

hi there can you recommend me some enha writers please.

hiii OMG YES OFC i love this questionnn

(listed in alphabetical order, also disclaimer, there are sooo many enha writers i wish i could include and still wanna get to know better. this is just who i can think of on the top of my head atm):

@atrirose - seiu is such a legend and everybody loves her works. owns some of the most iconic enha work to exist on this sight 😌🤭

@boyfhee - cae is suchhh a talented writer omg so if you want well written work and good plot or just fun works to read, this is one of the ways i recommend going 😌 she’s also a super fun and funny person so 12/10 recommend 👍🏻

@delcakoo - i literally strive to be ema omg her works are so fun and creative and so well put tgt. i’ve enjoyed reading every single one 😭 missing new works from her (she’s on hiatus rn if you didn’t already know) but i hope she’s happy rn and is doing well <3

@heeracha - (rey imy 🫶🏻) there’s a reason why heeracha is so popular (even tho she’s ghosting 90% of the time 🙄 /j) it’s cuz rey’s works are so genius and so entertaining and creative and cute yet heart wrenching and the slowburn in a lot of her works just has you hooked in a way that is not easy for writers to do but she does so effortlessly 😔

@isoobie - if you want a go to for cute works i def recommend ri <3 also her aesthetic is always on point so 😌 she’s also super friendly and nice. def someone i recommend <3

@jaeyunverse - pls sage has some of the best works on here no joke. her plots are so genius and her works are so entertaining to read and so well written. go check her out fs <3

@jayflrt - one of the first enha writer’s i read for even before starting this blog,,, so you can kinda say it’s thanks to alice that goldenhypen even exists sjsnd and i think that alone says enough 😌

@sungbeam - beam currently isn’t writing for enha (← beam, correct me if i’m wrong djdjdj) but she has a bunch of enha works for you to check out. and i highly encourage you to bc her writing style is honestly one of my favourites i’ve ever found. she’s sooo talented and so hard working 🫶🏻

@tyunni - also such a legend. one of my fav ppl <3 and i’m not just recommending may cuz i’m being biased. no she’s sooo talented with some of the most fun and entertaining works on this site <3 all of her works are a must-read tbh sorry i don’t make the rules 🤷🏻‍♀️

and some bonus honourable mentions <3:

@byhees - sooo many cute and fun reads here. every time i read smth from violet i always leave kicking my feet and giggling to myself :’>

@heeliopheelia - ahh carly’s works are so well written and put tgt, enjoyable and (most of the time) fun to read (if not fun then heart breaking,, but in the best ways possible omg) def a writer you need to check out if you haven’t already <3

hope this helps anonnie and to anyone who wants to find some new writers to read from/support! ^_^ <3

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡sketches 🎨

you've ordered: a fizzy plum soda w/ mint! enjoy!

"painter, baby, you could be the muse"

gregory violet x reader | word count: 597 words

summary: gregory seems to have a new muse :) 🎨

warnings: none! just fluff <3

note: he's literally so cute, i love him pls- 💜 might be ooc, idk, i tried

you sat in the art room with gregory, lightly chatting with him as he sketched away. you kept trying to sneak glances at what he was working on, only to be stopped as he clutched the leather bound sketchbook to his chest, an almost unreadable expression on his face as he'd shake his head.

"come on, gregory! please let me see what you're drawing. pleaseeeeee?" you begged, your boyfriend rolling his eyes as he shook his head once again.

"no, it's not done." he said the same thing the last time you asked and the time before that. you frowned, laying down and resting your head in his lap (you two were sitting on the floor).

you could see his concentration break a little as a tinge of pink dusted over his cheeks, his eyes glancing down at you for a split second before he went back to drawing. so you decided to patiently wait, rather than continuing to pester him about it.

"gregory, would you ever draw me?" you asked, messing around with the rings on your fingers.

gregory stopped mid pencil stroke and glanced down at you, your eyes meeting his.

"depends..." he muttered, his two toned hair falling in his eyes a bit.

"on what?" you asked, reaching your hand up to move the black and white wisps away from his violet eyes before letting it settle on his cheek.

gregory was obviously affected by your actions, his cheeks warm to the touch. gregory didn't answer and instead, placed his sketchbook down. he gently held your hand that rested on his cheek and kissed the inside of your palm, your heart skipping a beat.

"you really want to see what i've been drawing?" he mumbled into your hand, your head nodding.

he let go of your hand and picked up his sketchbook again, flipping to the page he'd been working on for what seemed like hours.

"here..." you took it, your fingertips brushing against his for a moment. when you turned it right side up, you felt like your heart would burst. on the page was a drawing....of you.

you were smiling brightly, your eyes half closed as a result. he'd done an amazing job capturing the likeness of your face, it was as if you were looking at a photograph.

"gregory....this is beautiful..." you muttered, still surprised by the drawing.

"i was going to give it to you on your birthday, but since you were so eager to see it-" you mentally slapped yourself as he said that, realizing you'd ruined his surprise.

"this was going to be my birthday gift? oh...i-i'm sorry i ruined the surprise...." you hung your head, feeling bad that your impatience got the best of you.

you felt gregory place a hand on your shoulder, telling you to look up at him. and when you did, he cupped your cheek, just like you'd done to him. you knew he wasn't very keen on physical affection, but he was slowly getting used to it.

"don't beat yourself up over it. i can always make you a new one." he reassured you, a small smile on his lips.

you wrapped your arms around him in a hug, catching him a bit off guard. but he still hugged you back, gently holding you as you two sat on the floor of the art room.

"you're the best partner i could ever ask for~" you hummed and gregory felt his heart warm up. he really did love you a lot, more than he could say. "i'm glad my sketch made your day~" 🎨

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[ruru-me]

hiii! idk if this has been asked yet, but can i get more lore on the kids’ mothers & their relationships with the dads (strade, lawrence, rire, ren!) are the moms still alive in some cases or are they dead? i’m really interested to know! :3

Hey anon!

The answer to this may be a bit long, so I'll put it into topics and organize them from the best to the worst parental relationships :D

(also some images I found on Pinterest to illustrate cuz I find it funny)

REN

The best among them fr

Bro is living the dream with his children

Manipulative and overprotective at times but it's because he really fears that his babies will go through something like what he went through with Strade.

The mother is still alive (happily married, thank you).

She works as a programmer and ren is a relatively big streamer in the specific internet niche he works in (I leave it to your imagination what that might be)

All his children appreciate their father and love him

The cool dad all kids want to have (me too pls)

Strong emotional bond, he always knows if something is wrong with any of them

10/10

Lawrence

He's only before strade because his anxiety wouldn't let him forget to buy baby formula for violet

Honestly not the best father figure, but violet really likes their dad

Emotional dependence is the basis of it.

It's not healthy but neither of them seems to care

Violet's mother unfortunately died after an infection caused by Lawrence and his idea to remove her limbs.

Unpredictable some days, can be a caring father or an anxious mess (nothing in between)

CPA has certainly gone after violet

6/10

STRADE

More like a cool uncle who offers alcohol to minors than a father

no paternal sense, plus places no limits on the things Hertha does

Regarding their relationship, Hertha doesn't have a good impression of her father and Strade couldn't care less.

Strade shows "affection" by pampering her with everything she asks for (for him it's much more practical than being emotionally available)

One of the reasons Hertha actively tries to F strade when adult and shows no remorse about her actions

Her mother unfortunately took her own life when she was still young

She was probably the only person Hertha could empathize with and care about (genuinely)

5/10

RIRE

Self-explanatory image

The worst of them

He doesn't even think about trying to be a good father figure

Rire is the father who goes to buy cigarettes and disappears and magically appears again when you're an adult to ask you for a favor

Probably his only contribution was the names Severus and Linden

Their mother is alive and lives with them in a house (almost all Rire's proof)

The twins fear their father like the plague. They have no sentimental attachment to him and prefer to stay that way.

Not to be unfair, rire even showed up a few times to check on them (for some unknown reason) but the twins ran off as if they'd seen a monster.

Theoretically they did

-100/10

Ok that's all, hope I've answered ur question.

Feel free to send another (if u feel like)

*dies*

[bdayangel]

౨ৎ upcoming bdays : march ౨ৎ

𓈒⠀𓏸⠀𓇼 . 🐳 welcome to the first ever bday post on this account this one will be for all march lovies pls read and remember to wish all these precious and gorgeous people ! thank you <3

march ¹ noun ;

⊹ The name March is ultimately derived from the Latin word Martius (named after Mars, the Roman god of war).

“ To welcome her the Spring breath's

forth Elysian sweets ; March strews the

Earth With violets and posies ” 🌊 ̽ ۪

ꕤ ┈ march 2 : @y-vna @phuoris

ꕤ ┈ march 12 : @jeonzio

ꕤ ┈ march 13 : @wonysela

ꕤ ┈ march 16 : @fairytopea

ꕤ ┈ march 17 : @jangism

ꕤ ┈ march 19 : @kdcrz

ꕤ ┈ march 27 : @vivrhan

ꕤ ┈ march 29 : @yrminji @bunchofroses07

ꕤ ┈ march 30 : @koosuvi

𓈒⠀𓏸⠀𓇼 . 🫧 Aquamarine is the birthstone for the month of march ! it represents happiness, hope and everlasting youth. In ancient times, aquamarine was thought to protect those at sea.

𓈒⠀𓏸⠀𓇼 . 🌊 happiest birthday in advance to all of these angels ! i hope you have a really good day and month as well ! you deserve so much i hope you find all the happiness ! pls remember to wish them ! reblogs to spread + remind are appreciated <3 tysm for reading luvs

౨ৎ song of the month :: 🥂 ( sotm )

- xo , vini

[househrt]

househrt's Non-Physically Hurt fic rec list

Fic recs where Wilson and/or House is emotionally/mentally hurt (obligatory: mind the content warnings/tags). I've tried to tag authors' tumblrs where they exist, but pls tell me if I've missed any!

Hurt!Wilson and Hurt!House

Involuntary Commitment by ignaz Creator's summary: House heads to rehab. Things go pretty much as well as you'd expect. Rec notes: 42k. Established Hilson (established in this fic, where they get married for Reasons). Wilson is sad and lonely, House is in rehab and detoxing. They both (separately) get dragged to therapy, as god knows they need

and i fight time (it won in a landslide) by vadeofspades Creator's summary: But the image of Wilson eating the garden, the morning sun on his aged face, the wind in his fully gray hair, and the smile, on his cracked, ever so slightly cyanotic lips, is enough. It has to be. It is time with Wilson. They got five months. Then they got two weeks. Now they have one day. On Wilson's final day, House gets stuck in a time loop. Rec notes: 6.6k. Hilson. Time loop on Wilson's last day. Made me sob

hail mary by ictus Creator's summary: House can't let go. Rec notes: 12.8k. Hilson getting together. House doesn't accept Wilson's diagnosis, and does morally dubious medicine to try and fix it. Made me cry (not a death fic)

Hurt!House

my blood is water with red dye i'm hollowed out with nothing inside by wishbone Creator's summary: What happens after House tells Cuddy he's not okay. Rec notes: 1.1k. Pre-Hilson. 5x24 missing scene. House is hallucinating, crying, and Wilson takes him to Mayfield

Being There by Flywoman Creator's summary: When things get bad, he’s all you can count on. But when things get really bad, it’s impossible to be certain even of him. Missing scenes from 5X24, “Both Sides Now.” Rec notes: 1.9k. Gen. House is hallucinating, having a bad time, and Wilson looks after him

At the Violet Hour by Topaz_Eyes Creator's summary: Wilson's done some hard things in his life. This counts among the hardest. Rec notes: 2.1k. Gen. 5x24 missing scene. Wilson taking House to Mayfield

my armor falls apart by orphan_account Creator's summary: Unintentional touches from Wilson made House realize just how touch-starved he was, but he’d be damned if he ever showed it. Wilson catches on and cares for House when he starts to spiral. Rec notes: 8.8k. Hilson getting together. Touch-starved!House is lonely and sleepy and sad. Wilson is concerned and caring and they're soft together :)))

the amber bracelet by blackbeardskneebrace Creator's summary: The woman laughed, her red glossed lips parting and outstretched her hand. “Rina.” “Hou-” House went to take her hand and froze. Hanging off the wrist of her proffered hand was a bracelet, translucent and honeyed. “Hal?” She asked, brow furrowed, confused at this sudden shift and the hand that stopped inches before hers, now trembling. House got up, gripping his cane tightly and taking a step before mumbling, “I have to go,” over his shoulder leaving both Wilson and Rina bewildered. or: House gets triggered by someone's amber jewelry Rec notes: 1.5k. Gen. House has a panic attack and feels guilty about it

'Samson's Mistress Cut His Hair, Thus Removing His Strength' by Sparklesinthewater Creator's summary: Set in season 3. Stacy doesn't come back. Tritter doesn't interfere. But the drugs and the infarction keep getting House into trouble anyway. Wilson is trying his best (but his best may not be what's best for House). Or: House gets himself a girlfriend. Life goes downhill from there. Rec notes: 129k. Hilson getting together. House is in an abusive relationship with an OC, Wilson is well-intentioned but keeps doing the wrong thing (for a while), House suffers

help me (make it through the night) by vadeofspades Creator's summary: It is Wilson who arrives at House's apartment when he almost relapses. Rec notes: 3k. Hilson getting together. Emotionally hurt!House

and you're trying not to tell him that you love him by Anonymous Creator's summary: House finally registered two hands holding his face so softly it was like they were afraid he’d break. He wasn’t just staring at the bathroom tiles anymore, either. Now there was a body in front of him; rumpled shirt, slacks, dress shoes. A familiar tie he remembered hating. He hadn’t even heard the front door open. He held himself back from yelling. It’s not as if he didn’t want Wilson here. Christ, House thinks he’s the only person besides maybe Cuddy who he’d tolerate at that moment. But seeing him ached. aka what if it was Wilson who showed up at the end of 6x22? and also what if there was even more pining and near missed kisses? Rec notes: 2k. Hilson getting together. Hurt!House

Machete by orphan_account Creator's summary: After the events of One Day One Room, House makes a drunken confession. Wilson turns to Chase for advice. Rec notes: 5.6k. Established Hilson. Wilson learning about and (poorly at first) dealing with House's past trauma

Now What? by mnwood Creator's summary: With Wilson only having five months left to live and House faking his own death to avoid going back to prison, they hit the road with the goal of going to as many national parks as possible. Thinking it's now or never, they get together. Then, Wilson doesn't die. Rec notes: 21k. Hilson getting together. Post-canon road trip, jealous!House

Hurt!Wilson

Control by apographical Creator's summary: All of his life Wilson has felt powerless, out of control. After the whole debacle with Tritter he decides to take control in the one way he can, his diet. Rec notes: 6.6k. Hilson getting together. Trans Wilson has an eating disorder, House is caring (in a canon-typical way)

Illusions to Live By by willywonka3435 Creator's notes: Wilson kills himself slowly. No one notices. Rec notes: 4.2k. Gen/Hilson. Wilson has an eating disorder, House helps (in a canon-typical way)

the arms of the ocean delivered me by RMarie124 Creator's summary: "People are talking around him, but Wilson barely registers what they’re saying. He should be paying more attention, he knows he should. He’s the head of the department, and it’s his responsibility to listen and be the compassionate, patient, caring man they’ve all come to know. The man they expect. That man is nowhere in sight. He hasn’t been for days." Rec notes: 2.4k. Hilson getting together ish. Wilson is depressed, dissociating and vaguely suicidal

thumb, index, palm by PaintedVanilla Creator's summary: Wilson takes his mood levelers. He takes his antidepressants. He has has good days and he has great days and fine days and okay days. He has bad days. He has abhorrent days. Some days he’d like to curl up in House’s arms and be talked off the edge. But he can’t ask for that. He has no reason to be on the edge in the first place. Rec notes: 4.1k. Established Hilson. Past child abuse (Wilson). Wilson has BPD and has a bad time that he (attempts to) hide from House, who runs a DDX on him, trying to figure out his trauma

pills & drinks don't mix by cafewrites Creator's summary: Wilson glances at their glasses stained with alcohol and suddenly remembers his psychiatrist’s words. "Anti-depressants don’t mix well with alcohol," she had warned. "I recommend you lay off drinking until your body grows accustomed to the medication." Rec notes: 1.1k. Hilson getting together ish. Wilson having bad side effects/reactions from drinking on anti-depressants. House helps (in a canon-typical way)

Like Cinnamon and Sunflower Oil by Reddish_Wolf Creator's summary: He could still feel her last breath, warm on his skin, still remembered the grip of her hands on his arm. Wilson pressed his face into her neck, clutching at the hospital gown around her shoulders. OR Amber is dead, and Wilson is great at coping /sar Rec notes: 2.5k. Wamber and Hilson. Grieving Wilson having a bad time feat. canon-compliant hurt!House

Camel's back by fayding_fast Creator's summary: Everyone has a breaking point. Rec notes: 1.4k. Gen. Wilson has a mental breakdown and dissociates (continues in this series)

Three Months by willywonka3435 Creator's summary: "Three months," he said. "Three months since anyone's--" And Wilson's voice trailed away. He knew House didn't go for that kind of thing, and it was a ridiculous admission under the best of circumstances. Rec notes: 3k. Hilson getting together. Touch-starved!Wilson and House who cares in a canon-typical way :))))

Here and Now by hoppa12345 Creator's summary: Set before 1.10 Histories. Wilson has a panic attack. His trigger: losing people. Rec notes: 1.4k. Gen. Wilson freaks out, House helps

Don't Touch Me by OneLastTime (this is me. hi) Creator's summary: James Wilson hates physical contact. It makes his skin itch, his teeth vibrate, and he needs to shake his hands out to remove the residue from the touch. People keep touching him and he wants to scream. Rec notes: 2.3k. Gen/Pre-Hilson. Wilson is austistic, trans, touch-averse and having a very bad time about it

i keep so quiet (it's hard to tell i'm alive) by itooaminthisepisode (anarchy_opossum) Creator's summary: “You’re alone,” he mutters to himself as he paces the room, clawing at the suddenly-too-tight fabric of his tie. “He’s not here, he can’t get you, Wilson, you’re okay...” If he says it enough, maybe it’ll come true. or: A face from Wilson's past returns to haunt him. Rec notes: 1.3k. Gen. Wilson with past trauma being triggered and having a panic attack (Part of Whumptober 2024)

got a sunset in my veins by itooaminthisepisode (anarchy_opossum) Creator's summary: 'He should have seen the signs. Wilson’s been withdrawn for days now, this air of melancholy about him that House had puzzled and pondered and pestered him about to no avail. Then just yesterday he had come alive again, that ruddy flush to his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes, and House had thought everything was right again, and they would continue on like usual. Then came the call. or: Wilson tries to kill himself. House does his best to pick up the pieces. Rec notes: <1k. Gen. Depressed!Wilson in the aftermath of a suicide attempt (Part of Whumptober 2024)

at the rind by ShanaStoryteller Creator's summary: Wilson keeps having nightmares about House dying. They feel more like memories. Rec notes: 18k. Hilson getting together. Panicky, stressed Wilson dreaming about House dying (in all the ways he almost/could've died in canon).

[feel free to send me fics you think should be on this list and I may add them. The rest of my fic rec lists are here. Last updated 05 October 2024]

[rrxnjun]

i felt younger when we met | n. yuta

nakamoto yuta was your hero. as the lead singer of the rising punk band takes you along with him on his journey to stardom, you realize that you never knew heartbreak could taste so sweet.

PAIRING: nakamoto yuta x fem! reader STARRING: lead singer! yuta, guitarist! doyoung, bassist! johnny, drummer! mark GENRE: rockstar au, band au. angst, suggestive. WC: 17k (17.630) WARNINGS: age gap, mentions of alcohol, weed and hard drugs, yuta and his band actually played the warped tour (canon!) pls somebody tell me yall get the reference, cheating and breaking up

PLAYLIST: honey - l'arc en ciel ; i felt younger when we met - waterparks ; your power - billie eilish ; motion sickness - phoebe bridgers ; guys my age - hey violet ; praha/vídeň - calin ; drugs - cheridomingo

A/N: oh yall are gonna HAATE this one. thank you arden @zhongriot for brainstorming with me about this it was greatly appreciated <3 growing up is realizing doyoung was actually the only decent one and that jaechan was right. also the original title of this wip was honey so sweet bc of the honey cover just so yall know lol

I. honey, so sweet

The last few tones of a G chord resonate through the garage, the platinum blond’s raspy voice fading out into silence as you watch the band in front of you with stars in your eyes, breathless and with your ears ringing only slightly due to the noise that’s been happening for quite some time now. Feeling yourself clap and squeal at the little show you just finished watching, you’re brought up to your feet as you jump around enthusiastically, the sound of the thick sole of your boot against the ground waking you up only slightly from the weird state of euphoria you’ve been in until now. 

You’ve known Yuta for quite some time now, but this was the first time he let you watch his band practice. Everything you’ve known about the music he plays was through the headphones sneakily passed to you when you had a night shift at the diner, or from the voice memos he’d send you very early on in the morning when you were supposed to be asleep, and everything you’ve known about his band members was through his words shared in the comfort of his car seats or the benches in the park. You’ve seen Mark once before, when he had late dinner with Yuta while you were working at the diner downtown, but your interaction didn’t go further than a polite greeting and a boyish grin sent your way from the charming drummer. 

It’s only natural that everything about the late night feels ecstatic to you now. The tones of electric guitars and the rhythm of the drums making your heart beat faster than before, Yuta’s sharp, yet hearty vocals calling to you like sirens in the middle of the ocean. Tonight’s one of the few nights you don’t have night shift at the diner– since you usually take all Friday night ones; you get paid more for them and with your schedule at school, you can’t afford to work more night shifts throughout the week– and Yuta took that as an opportunity to invite you over to his garage to listen to his band play. The lead singer made eye contact with you throughout each song, and you felt yourself flush at the thought that the words coming out of his mouth might have been addressed to you, written about you, adrenaline soaring freely through your veins. 

“That was amazing! Wow, like,” you throw your hands up, at a loss for words, “I literally couldn’t believe my ears.”

“You expected less of me, babe?” Yuta grins at you from his place at the microphone stand, taking a step back from the device to put away the guitar hanging around his neck. You watch his movements intensively, eyes scanning the outline of his biceps and the loose hems of his jet black shirt, the platinum white hair falling into his eyes. “I thought you already knew what we were made of when I let you listen to our songs back then.”

“Well,” you sheepishly hum, “it’s different to hear it live.”

The singer snickers, shrugging to himself. “Told you to prepare yourself.”

“I don’t think I could even if I tried,” you compliment the man, eyes watching the rest of the band as they put their respective instruments away. And again, you don’t know these men that well– you’re not as familiar with them as you are with their frontman, since you haven’t spent much time around them just yet– but there’s something joyful in the bassist, Johnny’s smile when he meets your eye before he puts away his guitar into its dark blue case. 

Their band– Neo zone– consists of four members. Yuta, your friend, plays the guitar and sings. He’s the frontman of the group and also the person that founded the band; at least that’s what he told you. He met Johnny at college– both of them majoring in Finance before they decided to drop out in their sophomore year– and soon after, he recruited his friend to be the bassist for his band. The two of them met Doyoung, their lead guitarist, at a concert of an underground band some years ago through a mutual friend Taeyong, and they all hit it off so well that when the thought of a band first came to light, Yuta wasted no time in chatting up the charming male for the position. And lastly, their drummer Mark– he was the youngest of them all, the most quiet one, and from what Yuta told you, he met the man through his younger brother. The two of them were friends at college, so Mark spent a lot of time over at Yuta’s house, and he knew that the male could play the drums– so after a casual conversation over a beer one evening, here they were.

“I’m heading home,” says the drummer, waving at the rest of the group, “I have a thing I’m supposed to attend with Jaehyun today.”

“Aight,” Yuta hums, nodding, “good job today, Markie. See you next week!”

The male disappears out of the rusty garage in no time, and with him follows the tall one– Johnny– saying he has a morning shift at the store he works at tomorrow, excusing himself out of the after-practice hangout. That leaves only you, Yuta and Doyoung in the room, and while you’d like to get to know his friends and bandmates better, you’d be more satisfied if either all of them stayed behind, or if the only one who stayed was anyone but the lead guitarist.

See, you don’t know Kim Doyoung that well. All you know about him is that he’s a year younger than Yuta and that he’s painfully good at what he does. You also know that he has a sharp jawline and even sharper eyes, which he gladly lands on you whenever he hears you talk, and that motion makes you self-conscious and insecure on most instances. He also has a sharp tongue, which you learned not that long after being first introduced to him this afternoon, and while you don’t know what you did to get on the man’s nerves so much, you figured it’s for the best to interact with him as least as humanly possible if you wanted to spare your feelings and not get yourself hurt.

“Today was good, but try getting over the last song on your own again,” Doyoung offers to his friend, watching him with cold eyes. Yuta makes his way around the room and takes a seat next to you on the dusty, maroon sofa, his legs spreading wide making your eyes drift towards his lean figure. You watch the exchange silently, picking at the skin of your cuticles anxiously, hoping for it to be over quickly.

“The Departure?” Yuta assures himself.

Doyoung nods as he hides his guitar into his case as well, handling the instrument with utmost care. “You went a little off-beat in the last part.”

“Got it, chief,” Yuta jokes, saluting the man, a lazy grin overtaking his features. “Wanna grab a beer and stay over for a bit?” he asks, the question making your insides heaten up with anticipation, stinging a bit of an anxious fear.

It’s almost as if the guitarist feels that you’re afraid of his presence– it’s not like he scares you, to be exact, you’re just slightly intimidated by the serpent-like male– as he meets your eye before he turns towards the frontman. “Nah,” he shrugs, “I’m good. Maybe next time,” he adds, taking the guitar case off the ground and heading towards the door.

“Whatever floats your boat.”

“Try not to fuck the kid on the couch, right? We sit there sometimes,” Doyoung snickers before he’s off, his raven bangs bouncing up and down when he skips out of the old-smelling garage. The remark stings you a bit, the harsh words, although you hate to admit it, feel like salt thrown into a fresh wound, having you chew on the inside of your cheek as you listen to the door close behind the male, leaving you alone with Yuta.

The male next to you clears his throat, easing the tension in your muscles when you look up at him and see him smiling softly at you, a twinkle in his eye. “What?” he asks you, sensing that you’re feeling a little down.

“It’s- it’s nothing,” you nod to yourself, not really wanting to be as vulnerable in front of your friend. You treasure Yuta more than anyone else, since you always somehow feel like your souls are connected on a level you haven’t felt with no one your whole life, but sometimes, you feel a bit shameful to admit to your worries in front of him. To the male, the world is his sea, his place that he swims through with passion and enthusiasm. He doesn’t seem like the type of person to worry about what your friends would think of him, no matter how bad it could be. He doesn’t seem like the type of person that would understand you if you worded your anxious feelings out loud, the type of person who’d reassure you without making you feel foolish. 

Still, somehow, he sees right through you. “Don’t worry about Doyoung. He’s got a stick up his butt on most days, it’s nothing to have with you,” he says, offering you the gentlest of smiles, poking your cheek a little when he sees you pout.

You heave out a sigh, but offer the man a loop-sided smile– the kind you fake, but hope the receiving side is satisfied– watching him as he scoots closer to you and puts an arm around your shoulder. The scent of his cologne hits your nose and you feel yourself easing into him, the gesture somehow protective and affectionate in your eyes, but the proximity still makes your heart thump fast against your ribcage. Taking a shaky breath through your nose, you find yourself staring intensely at his face.

“So you’re saying you enjoyed hearing us play?” he asks you, tone of voice kitten-like, yearning for praise. He sounds coy, confident, but still searches for hearing you say it out loud. Sometimes you think he enjoys listening to you talk about him. It makes him feel good when you flutter your eyelashes at the male in the middle of the diner and tell him you love the way he sings, it makes his ego grow when you gasp at all the right parts and compliment the lyrics in the chorus. And you don’t think it’s a bad thing– you think you’d do the same if you were in his shoes.

Hushed voice, you nod eagerly, grinning. “Yeah,” you agree. “I also enjoyed seeing you play,” you muse, watching as the satisfied look on Yuta’s face grows and his excited eyes gleam with more intensity. 

“Did you?” he teases, head ducking closer to you, the proximity making your breathing catch in your throat. You bet he knows about the effect he has on you by now– you bet he realizes that each time he talks to you with that tone, the flirty hint of it in his voice, you feel weak in your knees, ready to fold for him. You bet he is aware of the fact that you watch him all the time, eyes glued to his confident figure, amazed at the way he moves around the garage with his guitar, tinted with a hint of jealousy when the girls that go eat at the diner at the same time he visits you on your night shifts ogle him and he sends some a shameless wink. You’re almost sure he knows about the dreams you have of him at night, about the fact that you fantasize about him writing songs for you and singing them on stage, letting the world know that your feelings might be reciprocated. 

The idea makes you cave in on yourself. “Yeah,” you breathe out, feeling heat rising to the tips of your ears. 

“That’s good,” he hums, “wanna hear a little secret?” he asks, eyeing you with a glimmer in his eye. You hum in response, eager to be let in on the confidential information. “I wrote the last song about you,” he whispers. “Maybe I’ll release it one day.”

The sentence startles you, the comment makes all sorts of warm gold sprawl around your stomach, the tips of your ears burning and the nerve endings on your fingers tingling from excitement. “Really?” you gasp. You never imagined having a song written about you. You never imagined someone caring enough– never imagined having someone sing to you, about you. Sure, you fantasized about it happening, almost a little foolishly and childishly, but you never once dared to think of the fantasy as true.

Yuta laughs at your composure. You bet you look small in his eyes. “What? Are you shy about it, pretty girl?” 

“No,” you peep, averting your gaze from him and aimlessly searching through your surroundings, watching the unmoving garage. Your eyes glue to the white wall in front of you, ignoring the fact that Yuta’s face is only an inch away from yours, your hands now clammy as you rest them in your lap.

“It seems that you are,” he grins, “you don’t have to be, though,” he notes, a finger hooking around the bottom of your chin, a gentle hold making you turn your face towards him, eyes locking in a dangerous blink. 

Gaping, not breaking eye contact– too afraid to break the spark– you wait for what’s about to come, welcoming it with open arms. The air around you gets thicker and the silence becomes overbearing, you find yourself counting each white strand that falls into his eyes, when the male leans in to you, the sudden shift making your eyes flutter close on themselves.

It happens, the moment you’ve been dreaming about; the moment you’ve wanted to experience ever since you first met the male, all real and only yours to live over and over in your memories– Yuta kisses you, gently at first, lips playing with yours in a way that makes the soft sense of nervousness flutter like butterfly wings in your stomach. Your shy hands grip the front of his shirt when he deepens the kiss, makes it more firm and urgent, teeth clashing against each other in the messy cacophony of your souls, a sound of a heavy breath flying into your ear as the male grips your jaw and angles your face the way he wants it to, testing the waters with a bit of tongue.

You invite him in, parting your lips and letting him explore, letting him win the battle for dominance– not that you even wanted to be the one in charge in the first place– and although you feel a little overwhelmed, a bit too lost in the moment, you find yourself moving from your place and straddling his lap, the hands that were once cradling your face falling off and gripping your hips, keeping you right where you are. 

When you feel your lungs being knocked out of all oxygen, you pull away from the male, eyes locking with his swollen lips, and you feel a bit satisfied with yourself– having him like this, eyes blown-out and staring at you like you were the only thing in the whole entire universe that mattered right in this moment. There’s something about the wrinkles on his shirt from how you’ve been gripping on it, about his flushed cheeks, that makes you feel proud of yourself. You did this to him, you smile, you are the reason why he looks like this.

Pressing your forehead against his, eyes still staring into his deep, dark orbs, the singer breaks out into a boyish grin, shaking his head in disbelief, wanting to bring himself back to the present moment. “So I’ll take it as my pretty girl will come watch me play more often, right?” he hums.

A fluttery feeling erupts in your chest, warmth spreading all the way to the tips of your fingertips. “Your pretty girl?” you ask.

Yuta nods, snickering to himself. “My pretty girl,” he mumbles, and before you get a chance for a rebuttal, he pulls away an inch, cradling his neck up to press a peck to the middle of your forehead. 

The adrenaline, the smell of his cologne, the excitement seeping right through you and to the space all around– you never knew Yuta would taste this good. You never knew he could taste this sweet.

II. the rush of adrenaline, I'm not scared to jump in

The smell of burned oil and grease fills your nose as you make your way through the kitchen, figure skipping through the whole diner in irregular intervals during yet another one of your Friday night shifts. Taking the plate filled with chicken nuggets, potatoes and ranch dressing, you offer a quick smile to your coworker Jaechan as you walk out of the back, ready to serve the food to one of your regulars. 

As you finally get out of the heated and humid place, back to the main dining area that has air conditioning on, your eyes catch with a certain someone waiting for you at the pult, a grin settling onto his features when you light up at noticing his presence.

“I’ll be right with you,” you say to him as you pass his body and walk over to one of the tables in the corner of the room, smiling at your customer when you give him the plate. Your steps are lighter and more enthusiastic when you get back to Yuta sitting at one of the tall stools, his face still adorned with a soft smile. The male watches you as you work, and you feel warmth envelope your insides. 

“Weren’t you supposed to have practice tonight?” you ask him, settling behind the pult. There aren’t many people in the diner right now, and the work during the night is slow– you kind of despise the fact that you’re open 24/7, but that’s what you get for working at a diner– so there’s no issue in you chatting away with your friends that come visit when you have the time. You always make sure to do your job well and put the customers first, so your boss never really complained. 

“It’s over already,” he says, “we got over the songs quite quickly,” he notes, seeing you nod and smile at his response.

“That’s good,” you say, “I’m glad. Do you want something? Fries? Coke? On the house, obviously,” you grin, making the man eagerly nod to your question, eyes lit up in joy.

“Just a glass of coke is fine,” he says. 

You turn away from him for a mere second, taking one of the clean glasses to your hand and then walking a few steps to the right where the coolers are, taking out a glass bottle of Coca-Cola. Offering the drink back to your boyfriend, you watch him as he pours the black liquid into the tall glass, the two of you enveloped in a comfortable silence. The diner doesn’t play music after 10 PM, and somehow, you’re glad. It gets kind of annoying to listen to the same few songs on loop the whole night– because the speaker system is old and doesn’t have an AUX input, you have to listen to the same 3 CDs over and over again the whole year– and so whenever Yuta comes to visit you during your night shifts, the silence only adds to your sense of intimacy and comfort with the man.

“Was Doyoung less snappy today?” you ask, watching the male grin and shake his head at your question.

“A bit,” he admits, “not too much, though. Don’t know what’s gotten into him lately, but he’s been a real bitch.”

You hum at his response, eyes tracing his features. “Maybe he’s stressed about something,” you propose, and you don’t really put much meaning into your own words– you don’t know the man enough to know how he reacts under pressure, nor do you really care– but the man in front of you only squints his eyes in thought, shrugging.

“Could be it,” he agrees, “I mean, there’s a lot happening with the band right now, so it would be only natural,” he says, making you furrow your brows at him in question. You weren’t aware of anything big happening– maybe the news were recent, you didn’t know, but judging by the fact that you’re pretty updated on things concerning the band, you wouldn’t be surprised if they were. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, folding your hands at your chest and leaning on the counter, your face now closer to Yuta’s– god, you’ll never get used to just how beautiful this man is in your poor eyes.

The singer grins to himself, acting innocent. “Just… some stuff,” he says.

“What is it?” you ask again, this time with a coat of persistence in your voice. You don’t want to say it out loud, but you’re getting kind of worried– Yuta doesn’t usually hide things from you. Hell, you’d even go as far as saying that you are the first person he comes to when something happens, no matter if it’s good or bad, and with the suspicious way he’s acting right now, your mind can’t help but wander.

“Nothing,” he peeps, taking a sip out of his glass, making you sigh and roll your eyes at the male. You point your finger to the middle of his forehead, poking him– his head lulls backwards a little, making you heave out a soft giggle– before you squint at him in annoyance.

“Come on,” you huff, “you’re not gonna tell me?” you pout, mastering your best attempt at puppy eyes– something inside of you tells you that no matter how stubborn Yuta is, he’s kind of weak for you when you look at him like that– and the man only snickers at you as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“I will,” he admits, smiling at you. The gesture has you soften a bit, your muscles losing their previous tension, because come on– if he’s smiling at you like that, there’s no way the news could be bad– but before you get a chance to pry him about it, the ring above the door makes a sound and your eyes trace the figures of two girls, both a bit older than you, smiling at someone in particular.

And that someone isn’t you– of course, why would anyone smile at their server, am I right? – that someone is Nakamoto Yuta, the man sitting in front of you, and you’re already familiar enough with the two girls to know what’s about to happen next. 

See, you are aware that Yuta is attractive. Hell, you blushed under his gaze when you met him in this diner for the very first time, his hair back then raven black, falling into his eyes. You’re painfully aware of the fact that you’re not the only one who finds him beautiful, but there’s something about the very obvious gazes and giggles the girls who frequent the diner send to him that has your stomach turn, making you see red and feel very obvious green, and no matter what you do or try to tell to yourself, you can’t battle the feeling out of your veins.

The scenario is one you’ve seen before– the girls giggle out as they arrive, sharing a knowing look, before they pass the pult you two are standing behind, sending very obvious looks to Yuta as they reach for the table in the corner. They greet him with their soft, honey voices, they say “Hi Yuta!”, because he’s known around the town– everybody knows the name of the rising band’s lead singer, everybody wants to take a glimpse of him, shoot him a flirtatious smile, because once he makes it big, you can tell yourself you knew him, he knew you, he looked at you and said hi back. Yuta looks at them and grins, sends them a wink, greets them with his raspy voice that says “Hi ladies,”, and it makes your stomach growl, it makes your gaze harden, but most importantly, you feel acid on your tongue when the man in front of you sends them his usual wink.

Clearing your throat as all goes exactly how you remember and expect it to go, you watch as Yuta looks back at you with an innocent smile, not really minding that he told you you were his pretty girl just last week, not really caring that now, his actions have very different consequences. Back when you were uselessly pining over him, you knew your jealousy was foolish– you didn’t really have a reason to feel possessive over the man, because he was very clearly single. Now, things have changed, though, and you kind of expected his behavior to alter around the girls– the girls that are a few years older than you, a few inches taller than you, a bit more mature and a bit more pretty.

“Something’s wrong?” he asks you, face coy and feline-like. You glare at him, knowing he’s aware of what you’re implying, but still, he does nothing to apologize as he only giggles at you and leans in, pecking your lips. 

“Everything’s peachy,” you mumble, shaking your head as you take the menus from the counter, ready to serve the customers. 

As you’re about to exit the pult and pass your boyfriend, he grabs your wrist and spins you so you face him, making you watch as he downs the last remains of the Coke in his drink, offering you another smile. “I’m gonna get something at the gas station real quick,” he muses, “I’ll wait for you in my car after you get off?” 

Sighing, still acting a bit annoyed at his behavior– but knowing, sensing that you already forgave him the moment he spared you a single glance– you nod. The male pulls you closer to him, sending another kiss, this time firmer, to your lips, and if he wasn’t in control of the situation, you know you’d get too lost in the moment, too distracted to do your job– but before you know it, he leans away and stands up from the tall chair, pats your bottom and walks over to the front door.

Watching as he disappears behind the glass, laughing to yourself when he waves at you and blows you a kiss, you shake your head as you walk over to the table with the two girls sitting at it, their mood not as bright as it was before, and with a victorious smirk, you realize, with a hint of joy in your heart, that they’ve been watching the exchange.

The singer waits for you in the parking lot, his figure leaning on the 2007 Volkswagen golf he sometimes drives you home in, and although it’s already 4:45 AM (your shift ends at 4:30, but you have to count up the register and change before you go), you find yourself walking over to him with a pep in your step. The platinum white falls into his eyes as he grins at you, reaching his arms out once you’re close enough, pulling you into a hug. 

You and Yuta never really hugged much. You can’t say you dislike the change. 

“How was the rest of the shift?” he mumbles into your hair, holding you close to his chest. His arms feel almost possessive, making you feel secure, and something about the whiff you get of his cologne makes your head spin a little when he lets go, watching you as you walk over to the passenger’s side and get into his car.

“It was okay,” you admit, shrugging, “not busy.”

“That’s good to hear,” he nods, getting in as well and fastening his seatbelt, putting the car into reverse and slowly driving out of the parking lot. The radio is turned off at this hour– a thing that rarely happens in Yuta’s car, because he always has to have music playing in the background of his life– and the silence envelopes you in an intimate, comforting atmosphere.

Hence, why you ask the crucial question that’s been bugging you the whole night. “What did you want to talk about earlier?” you mumble, the tone of your voice light and coated with tiredness. You’ve been up the whole day, since you have classes in the mornings, but now that you know there’s something Yuta’s been keeping away from you, you know you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep even if you tried, overthinking making your mind too busy to lull you into the dreamland.

“Are you up for a drive? I’ll tell you and then drop you off at dorms,” he asks, eyes locking with yours for a split second before he focuses back on the road.

Humming, you agree with his idea. You give him some time while he takes the turn that goes out of the city and towards the ring road, tracing his actions with your hazy, half-asleep eyes. The car takes a steady speed, one that’s neither alarming nor too slow, and Yuta’s palm easily takes a hold of your thigh, the steering wheel now being operated with only one of his arms. The affectionate action makes you feel heat in the tips of your ears and on the highest parts of your cheekbones, gaze shifting away from the male next to you towards the empty road. Everything about the things you’ve been dreaming about– the subtle touches, the glances, the pet names– makes you shy away from the man. It’s not that you don’t enjoy it, you would be a liar if you said you didn’t, but still– the novelty of it all still surprises you, keeps you on your feet.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a bit before proceeding, “you know how I told you we now practice more often than we used to?” he asks, eyes peering at you with expectation, waiting for you to answer. You offer him a tired hum, too sleepy to really master up anything else, and when it reaches his ears, he takes it as his lead to continue.

“Well, it was for a reason… at our last gig, there were some scouting people, or whatever you call it… and I didn’t tell you before, because it wasn’t certain and I also don’t really know how these things go– y’know, that’s Doyoung’s thing, sorta– and I also didn’t wanna sound silly if things didn’t work out,” he explains, deep voice resonating through the low hum of the engine, keeping you awake, “but things did work out and we got signed to a label.”

Yuta gives you a minute to process the information. He doesn’t say anything for a bit, only waiting for you to reply back to him– to react, in any way, really– and when he doesn’t get any words out of you, he looks at you with a look so fragilely expecting that you almost want to coo at the male and hold him in your arms, tell him you’re just as excited as he is, because it’s the truth, and you are; you just can’t really find the right words to express so right now. 

“Wow,” you heave out, half-lidded, something warm and proud bundling up in the depths of your chest, “that’s- that’s awesome,” you mumble, watching as the male next to you visibly relaxes at your response.

“Yeah,” he nods, suddenly more energetic than before, and you chuckle at the realization of just how important your opinion was for him– even though it shouldn’t be, really. It’s always been his dream, and what you think of the matter shouldn’t be any of his concern. “So they heard us play and listened to our songs and stuff, and they said we can record an album somewhere towards the end of the year, but they said we gotta promote ourselves a bit first, so…” he freezes a little, chewing on the bottom of his lip.

Suddenly, he seems nervous again. It’s a strange sight– you don’t often see Nakamoto Yuta so worried about the opinion of other people. You don’t often have the privilege to see the singer so open and so vulnerable, so easy to break. It only happens with stuff important to him, you think– the band is always his priority, and you’re more than happy that he’s finally getting the recognition he deserves and strives for. Hand slowly reaching for the one that’s resting on your thigh, you interlock your fingers with him and squeeze his palm in a reassuring manner, as if to tell him that he doesn’t have to be afraid, that you’re his biggest supporter, that you’re always here for all the news– good or bad.

“So…?” you prob him.

“So,” he clears his throat, smiling at you when he gets reassured, “we’re going to tour this one festival. It’s only for a couple of weeks, and it’s around the country, so we don’t have to fly out and all, but… I’ll be out of the city for a while, is what I’m saying.”

The confession makes your stomach churn in fear. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware of Yuta’s worry about talking to you about the topic. Somehow, you understand him completely. Ever since you met Yuta, you haven’t gone more than three days without seeing each other. You two are like puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly, always searching for the other pair when it’s not in its place by your side. Your relationship is very fresh, very new, and although you know your bond is stronger than the distance, you can’t help but feel a bit of worry in the tips of your fingertips, in the pit of your stomach. And also, there’s this silly feeling– small, but yet so overbearing– that comes with the image of not being close to Yuta for weeks, of not being able to see him every day and find the light in his eyes to get you through the week. There’s this silly feeling of missing him, of yearning for him to be there with you every minute and every second of the day, and hell, sometimes you miss him even when he’s away for a day, and you don’t know what you’ll do if it’s gonna be weeks, a big, nasty thought that’s both unreal and too realistic prickling your brain– how will you even survive when he’s not by your side? Without Yuta, you’re nothing. No one.

Still, you’re not about to ruin this for him. You’re not about to act sad, or act disappointed, because you’re not, at the end of the day. At the end of it all, you’re aware that this has always been his dream. You are happy for him– you’re ecstatic. And that’s exactly how you’re gonna react.

“That’s awesome, Yuta,” you muse, and you’re glad the tone of your voice stays genuine, “that’s big news. I’m so happy for you,” you say, seeing as the male next to you breaks out into a boyish grin, excitement spreading into every inch of his body, fingers tugging at yours to bring your interlocked hands into his lap. 

“It’s gonna be over soon and then I’m right back by your side,” he hums, and you shake your head at him.

“I’ll wait however long it takes,” you disagree with his statement, “don’t you worry. I’m gonna cheer for you every night.”

The road in front of you signals a turn back into the city, Yuta’s car naturally and smoothly driving back towards the center of life. You subtly hear your partner talk excitedly about all his dreams and all the visions he has of the festival tour– how he’s going to have the time of his life, how the boys will make it big, how he can’t wait to show everyone what they’re made of– and although you’re happy and content, the buzzing excitement of his voice does nothing to keep you awake in the late hour. You feel a peck pressed to the back of your hand, your sleep-filled eyes meeting with his, when he shakes his head at you in disbelief.

“We’re almost at yours now,” he hums, “I’ll wake you up in front of the building.”

Smiling, you nod. Somehow, you drift off with thoughts of full crowds cheering for Yuta, with thoughts wishing for him to make it just as big as he’s always dreamt of. You battle your own worries away, telling them you’re silly for thinking that things will change between the two of you when he’s away, writing them off to be your own unreasonable anxieties. 

Things won’t change, you repeat to yourself, and if so, only for the better.

III. a little bit of California with a little bit of London sky

Life has stilled into a pleasant, comfortable routine for the two of you. You admired just how easily Yuta fit into your daily schedule, just how easily he managed to get used to the cycle of your days, and the knowledge makes you that much sadder to let him go. You go to class from Monday to Friday, snatching mostly the morning ones this semester, which is a thing you’ve grown to be appreciative of, since it means you have time off in the afternoon for your shifts and hanging out with Yuta. On Friday evenings, you take the night shift and have your boyfriend drive you back to dorms when you’re off, and on Sundays, you and Yuta go out to eat in your favorite sushi restaurant downtown as he talks to you about the events of the whole week. He talks your ear off with his excitement, sometimes not even giving you a chance to speak yourself– which he apologizes for on most days, and you’re not mad at him, because truly, you understand– telling you about how practice is going and how their new manager, a thing they haven’t had before, is keeping everything in check for when the festival tour happens. 

You went to listen to them practice one more time. You don’t really dare to go close to the garage anymore, since Doyoung has not grown warmer to your presence, but you still enjoyed yourself as you realized that their mutual passion only made them perform better. 

And with days going by slowly like this, you almost don’t notice when it’s time for Yuta to leave, and suddenly, you’re standing in the crowd of the first show of their first festival tour– the thing that’s supposedly going to make their career take off– as they play songs you know like the back of your hand by now for thousands of people around you in your hometown. Something about the first stop of the tour being your hometown made you feel a bit unsettled– isn’t it always the other way around? Aren’t you supposed to reunite with your lover while he plays his last show back home? But then you realize that it’s a festival, and not their own tour– they aren’t as big to have one themselves yet– and you’re understanding of the logistics. They can’t all play the last show in their hometown.

You brought your roommate Aeri along with you to the show, both of your outfits matching in shades of black and red as you make your way towards the front row, making sure you have good enough of a view to see your boyfriend on the stage. There’s a nervous pep in your step when you wait for the band to arrive, the knowledge that your roommate has never seen Yuta before; you wonder if this is how he felt when he was introducing you to his bandmates all those weeks before, and if so, why he didn’t tell you about it.

Murmurs of the people in the crowd fill your ears, and you watch them with a horrifying realization that you don’t seem like you belong here– so out of the general aesthetic of the crowd, making you feel not cool enough, not punk enough, not good enough to be by the side of someone like Yuta– but before you get a chance to really vocalize your thoughts, there’s a sound of a drum coming from the front of the stage that makes you turn your head forward, watching as Mark grins at the crowd with something you’d call a nervous, yet excited smile, starting off their gig with an up-beat song.

“They’re kinda good!” you hear Aeri scream into your ear, and something about the compliment makes you relax. This is a good thing, you think– she doesn’t hate it, which means she probably won’t hate the members of the band themselves either. 

Once Yuta walks on the stage with his guitar slung over his neck, playing the chords you’d be able to name by memory– having your boyfriend repeat them to himself for a few good minutes once when you came over to his house and he was practicing the song by himself– and even though you wouldn’t be able to play it, you’re sure you’d recognize this song even if you were woken up in the middle of the night, slightly sleepy and still out of it. The crowd cheers, and you find yourself smiling in a sense of euphoria. 

Jumping around with the rest of the population, you get lost in the music. Their set plays out for a good hour and a half, combining cover songs and their own originals, the sun setting with the sound of their eclectic guitars. There’s always something about concerts that makes you lost in time, not really register the way it flows by and leaves you unknowing in the spiral. You didn’t even realize it– you don’t think you even fully registered the experience of seeing Yuta play live on a stage for the first time– and it’s over and you’re catching your breath, feeling your ears ring from the noise that’s been there for the last hour or so and now isn’t, everything around you muffled and a little bit hazy.

“Let’s go, we gotta catch them in the back,” you hurriedly mumble into Aeri’s ear, the girl following you with excited steps as you drag her around the crowded space. Yuta told you he is leaving as soon as the festival ends so their van can drive over to the next city as soon as possible, and since they were the second to last to go on, you feel a threatening bubble growing in your chest.

There’s a group of girls waving at the band leaving off stage, and you pray that you can somehow catch Yuta before he has to walk over to their van.

You catch a glimpse of the platinum white bangs when you jump around and try to see them, and as your eyes meet, the singer breaks out into a smile before he turns towards the rest of the band, waving at them and telling them that they can go and that he’ll find his way back in a bit. The gesture warms your heart, a sense of relief settling onto your shoulders. 

“You were amazing!” you holler as you get towards the metal gate that keeps the artists away from the crowd, your body getting into contact with the cold material as you throw your hands around your boyfriend’s neck, grasping him harder than ever before. His arms reach around your waist, squeezing out all of the air in your lungs, as a laugh bubbles out of his chest and makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

“I was singing the songs for you, babygirl,” he hums into your ear, heat rising to your cheeks at the sentiment. When you pull away visibly flustered, Yuta laughs at your face, making you swat his arm in an act of playfulness. “You must be Aeri!” the man notices your roommate tagging along, smiling at her with his welcoming, warm smile. 

The girl nods at him, greeting him almost a little too politely. “Yeah! I heard a lot about you, so I’m glad Y/N wasn’t lying, y’know,” she giggles, and you roll your eyes.

“See, I would never lie to you,” you snicker, and as you put your arm on the metal gate to steady yourself, you feel warmth cover it as Yuta’s own palm envelopes it in a sweet gesture that still surprises you whenever it so effortlessly happens, but also puts you at ease all in one minute. 

“I liked the drummer,” Aeri muses, making Yuta laugh at her.

“I’ll let him know,” he salutes, and with that, he turns back to you with wide eyes, a thousand glimmering stars behind them making you admire just how beautiful and full of life the man in front of you suddenly looks. It tugs at your heartstrings– it’s only the first show and it’s already gone so well, he was born for this, you think, and even though it’s difficult, you suddenly feel like letting him go will be so much easier after the sight, because you’ll be doing it with the knowledge that it’s the best possible thing for him, something you would never be able to give to him if he was stuck with you back home.

“It went exactly how we wanted it to go, it was- it was so great,” he sighs, the crowd behind you suddenly disappearing and grouping around the front of the stage again, signaling that the next band is about to play and finish off tonight’s stop, “thank you for coming.”

“I wouldn’t miss it, you know,” you shrug, gazing into his eyes. There’s a lot of noise around you– the sound of the people talking and cheering behind your back, the beat of the drums, the shuffling of feet– yet, you feel like in this moment, everything else tuned out, everything around you disappeared for a second and left only you and Yuta in the big place, eyes and hearts for each other.

“I’m gonna–”

“Don’t say it,” you hush him, chewing on the inside of your cheek in nerves. You don’t want to hear it– you don’t want to hear him say it, because then, it would make it feel more real, more raw. You wanted to name the sensation when it comes to you, not have it in your brain before you even get a chance to get it, but Yuta shakes his head at you and sighs.

“I have to say it.”

“No, you don’t,” you giggle, amidst a little sadly.

“I do,” he nods, “because it’s true. And you deserve to hear it face to face, not over the phone,” he says, and you heave out a sigh at his words.

“Fine,” you grant him permission. Get it over with.

He shakes his head at you in disbelief, his hair bouncing in the motion. It makes you want to reach over and brush back the damp locks, put the wet strands into their place, but you don’t– and why you stop yourself is a question you don’t get to ask. “I’m gonna miss you,” he completes, and you nod.

Tears prickle at the edges of your eyes, and you promised yourself you’re not going to cry when Yuta goes– something about it feeling childish, too overly dramatic for a fact that he’s gonna be away only for a couple of weeks– and that’s exactly why you didn’t want him to say it, why you didn’t want to hear the words before he’s miles away and talking to you through the phone, because crying seems foolish in this moment. It seems stupid, dumb, dramatic, because tonight’s a good night– one that should be celebrated– and you feel like you’re ruining it.

“I’m gonna miss you more,” you muse, choking through the tears, battling away the heat in the corners of your eyes and begging that no tears actually fall down your cheeks– you could handle tearing up, but crying was a bit too much– but when the man softly scoffs at your state and brings you towards his chest, you feel them escape and fall freely, wetting his sweaty shirt more as you hold him closer, trying to hide into his body.

Who knows? Maybe if you hug him hard enough, you’ll be able to fit into his skin so he could bring you with him. Maybe you won’t have to be apart. 

“Don’t cry, you dummy,” he sighs as you push yourself away from him, trying to laugh through the pain that’s hitting you in your gut right now, praying hard you can ease the situation, “I’ll be back in no time,” he says, wiping at your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs– one of the only fingers that aren’t calloused with the force he plays on the guitar– the action so tender you swallow in on yourself.

His voice is as soft as it can get over the loud music, and you nod at him, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth so you can stop it from trembling. “Come here,” he hums, tugging you into him once more, but before you get a chance to hide your face into his chest, the male leans towards you and kisses you on your lips, a firm, sweet contact with the chapped surface.

When you pull away, he goes in for another, a starved man wanting more, and you try to remember the imprint of his lips on yours so you don’t miss it on lonely nights, so you can remind yourself of it whenever he’s away. 

There’s an arm on his shoulder when you pull away from him, a tall figure tugging him backwards, and before you have a chance to register what’s happening, you recognise Doyoung telling your boyfriend that it’s time to go, we gotta get on the road soon, and you’re left aimless and lost in the crowd, the hollowing feeling in your stomach only deepening once Yuta nods at his bandmate and turns to you again, smiling.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, hating the fact that you can barely see him over the tears, but not really caring enough to try to stop them now. 

“I will,” he reassures you, hand coming up to your hair to pet it, a soft laugh escaping his throat. “I gotta go now, baby.”

“Okay,” you nod.

“Okay,” he repeats, taking a few steps back from you. You watch him, his figure skipping away from you, when he turns and hollers over the loud set. “Love you!”

You don’t get a chance to react before he disappears out of your sight. You don't even get a chance to say it back after hearing it from him for the first time, and something about the fact brings countless worries to your chest. Still, you chant to yourself– nothing’s gonna change. And if so, only for the better.

IV. no matter where you go, somebody follows

Navigating through the foreign city with the hood pulled over your head, the plastic bag full of take-out hanging loosely from your hold, you squint at the buildings around you and sigh in relief with the recognition of your surroundings– you didn’t get lost, despite your biggest concerns, and you’re at the parking lot behind the venue, multiple buses parked right in front of you. Jogging through the space, your sneakers hitting the pavement in a sound you find satisfactory and calming to your nerves, you reach one of the older buses parked in the corner of the parking lot, the windows dark and the vehicle painted in a chipping, rusty white color. Still, it’s a tour bus– an upgrade from what Yuta and his band departed in from your hometown just three weeks ago– and you feel a sense of pride swell inside of your chest at the sight. 

Yuta’s band has been growing successfully and steadily– just like his new manager thought would happen. Their songs are catchy, their fanbase is growing in amount, their exposure is getting bigger on social media and some of their songs even play on the radio. Sure, you wouldn’t call them radio hits– it’s not like your parents or your professors would recognize the band or know the lyrics if you showed them the tune– but it’s still something, and even that something feels tremendously big in your eyes.

The decision of skipping school for a few days and coming up to visit Yuta on his tour was spontaneous. It came to you after you missed him particularly much one night, going to sleep without his call– he apologized a day later, telling you he’d been too busy to talk– and after you counted up the money you saved up from working at the diner, you realized you can afford going on a little getaway to meet up with your lover. Yuta was delighted to hear about your plan and even got you a free ticket to the festival, and after watching him and his band play, you decided to get McDonald’s as a form of a late night snack. 

You expected your boyfriend to follow you, but he didn’t. It was okay, though– he was probably tired. Traveling both gives and takes a lot from you, and while Yuta was given a thousand opportunities over the past few days, his energy has been slowly receding. You understand– as his girlfriend, it’s your job to.

Knocking on the door of the bus– and hearing the ruckus coming from the inside, making you gaze at the darkened windows in suspicion– you get inside after the driver opens the door for you and nods at you in acknowledgement. The tour bus is kind of old, again– Yuta isn’t at a point in his career yet where he could afford the latest gadgets– but although the lights aren’t neon and the space isn’t big and modern, it still serves its purpose. It has a functioning bathroom in the front, with a surprisingly working lock on the door, and it also has a kitchen area that’s big enough to host a couple of people behind the efficiently placed table. The bus has a corridor with bunk beds on the sides and a small bedroom in the very back of it all, which is used by their manager Sangyeon. 

Usually, the bus stinks a bit. You don’t really know what it is, but you can’t really get the bad smell out no matter how hard you try. Now, though, the bus stinks even worse– and although the smell is a tad bit different than the one you’re used to (even though you’ve only been here for 2 days, with the next day being the morning of your departure back home, to your ordinary life), you can’t quite put your finger on the cause. 

You walk over to the kitchen area, the plastic bag full of food still loosely placed in your grasp, and the noise gets even louder now, the laughter and the loud music over the speakers mixing together in a way that has your head pounding similarly than to what you experience when you stand front-row during the festivals, and when you put your head through the entry to the small area, the sight in front of you has you gasping. There’s a bit more people in the tour bus than you’d expect– you mentally count the heads, realizing there are four unfamiliar faces in the small crowd– and that’s what initially makes you shy away and want to hide. See, your experience with Yuta’s band mates wasn’t the brightest– that’s why meeting another potential friend group of your boyfriend has you shrinking away in worry.

“You’re back already?” Mark asks you, your presence noticed by the man first. You nod at him, offering him a tight-lipped smile as you hold up the plastic bag in the air, showing him its contents. He smiles at you, but doesn’t pay you much attention after, instead focusing back on the commotion in front of him. 

Disappointment washes over you when you realize your presence hasn’t been acknowledged by your boyfriend– mainly because everyone else at least offered you a nonchalant nod of a head, Doyoung included– and that’s when you sigh to yourself and move closer to the small table, ready to put the food in the middle and try to join the conversation. You’re taken by surprise when you realize it’s harder to find an empty space on the crowded surface, bottles of beer, shot glasses and a bottle of tequila settled all around, a potato chip bag thrown in the corner, almost falling off. An ashtray in the middle of it all, almost full to the brim, something white and messy lined up on the other side of the table, folded arms falling to the surface with a loud thud that have you snap your head around and watch Yuta as he settles his chin on them and closes his eyes and then slowly opens them in a hazy blink, pupils almost as big as his whole iris.

This has you stopping in your tracks, this has you slightly wake up in a cold sweat, making you too aware and alert of the situation. 

Your eyes scan the surroundings again. The four men at the table seem a bit older than your boyfriend, and you’re sure you saw them on stage a few hours ago, playing their own set. The bottles of alcohol are almost empty, the ashtray filled with cigarettes, your gaze finding the source of the weird, sweet, yet earthy smell when you see a bag of dried weeds loosely thrown behind a beer bottle, rolling papers settled on the side. Finding the platinum blonde head again, the line of white substance close to Yuta’s elbow, chills run down your spine when the male looks at you with big eyes, his smile slightly out of it, yet amazingly satisfied.

Suddenly, you’re terrified. You’re scared and afraid, and you wonder how things could have gotten so out of hand in the time you were gone. Surely your trip to McDonald’s didn’t take more than a few minutes, or did it? 

“What’s all this?” you ask Yuta, your voice hush, yet loud enough to be heard over the music.

“What?” he asks, voice coated in a blissful sweetness that has your hair stand up, goosebumps rising all over your body. Frustrated, you run your hand through your hair, seeing that your interaction doesn’t have many viewers comforting you only the slightest.

“What’s all this, Yuta?” you ask, pointing everywhere around the place, but mainly to the substances found on the small, dark-wooden table.

“We’re just having fun, baby,” he says lazily, grinning at you from under his eyelashes. Were the circumstances given to you different, you’d admire his features– his flushed cheeks and his strangely starry-glazed eyes, the satisfied and comfortable smirk playing with his flush lips. But now, you feel shaken-up; a strange kind of terror you’ve never experienced before, and frankly speaking, one you wouldn’t imagine experiencing even in your worst nightmares.

“This is fun to you?” you ask, scoffing. “Is- what happened here?” you keep dumbly asking, not finding any more coherent thoughts in your brain that could be expressed by words. Somehow, the whole situation is painted right in front of you, yet, you don’t think you have it in you to describe it or admit it to your brain.

“Why are you freaking out?” he asks, reaching out one of his hands to you to hold your hand, but you shake it off with a different sense of vigor. 

Why are you freaking out? Is he out of his mind? Does he not understand the consequences of his actions; the full implications of everything that’s going on right in this moment? Are you overreacting? You find it hard to think that’s the case.

You scoff at him, not really believing you’re in this situation right now. Something in you feels a bit shameful to be acting like this, now that you’ve been called out on it. You’re in a battle of opinions– one side telling you to drop it and let him live his life, because he’s an adult and he knows what he’s doing, the other one shouting at you that this is not okay and you need some space to breathe and get away for a second. Yuta said he was having fun, but to you, none of this was even close to funny.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, moving away from him and sending him a gaze you hope signifies the turmoil of emotions on your insides right now, your hands shaking as you cross your arms on your chest. You’re not met with the desired reaction, though. Somehow, Yuta makes the matters even worse as he scoffs at you, shaking his head and pointing it towards the group as he mutters something under his breath.

“And you’re being unreasonable.”

The argument makes your blood cold, your eyes widen. You’re being unreasonable? In your eyes, you’re being ignored. You’re being put on the very end of the ranking of his priorities, and you’d understand it if the first one was held up by his career, his dreams– you’re not willing to battle for that place with alcohol and drugs, though. You’re simply not.

Storming out of the area, suddenly feeling like there’s no air in your lungs, no oxygen in the whole planet Earth, you run through the small and crowded place, making eye contact with no one as you run out without a plan. You bump into a slender figure as you plan on escaping the vehicle, right in the place where the stairs down are located, crossing your paths– one going in and the other one out. The person smells of cigarette smoke and when you look up to find a raven-haired boy staring at you with a glare, the plan of leaving sounds even more urgent in your head.

“Where are you running off to?” Doyoung asks, voice laced with indifference.

“I don’t want to talk right now,” you snap at him, trying to push through the small corridor past him so you can get out and get some air.

“Saw something you didn’t like?” he mocks, laughing at you.

“Doyoung-”

“Those places aren’t for college kids like you, Y/N,” he snarls, huffing out air as you push against his chest to get him out of the way, “this is how this world works. Get out before it gets you too, kid.”

V. you're the only one I'll miss when I'm gone

The coldness of the liquid spilling down your throat makes you cool down noticeably, your fingers working on the lace around your waist to loosen up the apron you’ve been wearing for the last couple of hours. You sit on one of the tall bar stools, facing the diner with your back, as you scroll through your phone and look through all your social media. You’re working another one of your night shifts, the diner surprisingly empty as you allow yourself some time to just sit around and do nothing– it’s not like you have anything else to do or any customers to serve in the first place.

Checking your messages– and finding none, much to your dismay– you move over to other apps, opening up Instagram with a swift tap of your finger, eyes tracing the posts appearing on your phone screen. There are some from your favorite music artists and some from your friends from high school, and you’d usually find an Instagram story from your boyfriend’s band right at the very beginning of the little reel on the top as well, but ever since they got signed to a label, their page is hands of their manager Sangyeon, so the account is no longer as active and as unserious as it was when Yuta was the one behind the posts. 

Scrolling down a little, your eyes zero in on a post of the mentioned account– a carousel of professionally-looking pictures of the band on the stage, taken from multiple angles and in perfect quality, colors most likely edited and lightning adjusted so they look as nice as they can. You were in the crowd just a week ago, and although you only left your visit recently, you already miss seeing Yuta in real life, playing and talking to you, existing by your side. 

You haven’t heard from him much since the day you left. Still shaken up from the sight in front of you that one night, the band’s manager let you sleep in the only bedroom of the tour bus before you took off to the station in the early morning, having Yuta groggily press a kiss to your forehead as a goodbye, telling you to stay safe as you travel, before he went back to sleep. The events of your last night with him went unnoticed and unmentioned and you’re not exactly sure if it’s for the best– you two barely call nowadays, since your schedules don’t align, and it’s kind of hard to talk about it over a text, especially when the conversations are short and dry, like they’ve been for the last few days. 

Zooming in on the picture, fingers pinching the screen to take a closer look on Yuta’s face, you chew on the inside of your cheek, letting your thoughts run a thousand miles an hour. What did you do wrong? Or was he just busy? 

That must be it. He’s in a band. A touring, rising band. He must be busy.

“What are you staring at?” you hear a male voice coming from your right, making you jump in your seat. Eyes landing on Jaechan, your coworker from the kitchen, you watch as he throws a damp kitchen towel to the counter and takes a seat on the chair next to you with a sigh. You shrug. The male takes a peek over your shoulder, craning up his neck to get a closer look, a hum escaping his throat at the sight. “Is that your boyfriend? I heard he’s in a band.”

You find yourself humming in agreement at his question. Jaechan nods at you in acknowledgement, resting his head into his palms, eyes zeroing on your stoic face. “Did something happen between the two of you? You don’t sound too happy talking about him right now.”

Sighing, you put the phone down, the screen still on and displaying the professional picture their photographer took, showing Yuta with his platinum blonde hair damp and all over the place, the singer in the middle of a song gripping his microphone tightly, veins protruding due to the notes he’s singing on his sweat-covered neck. Once again, you find yourself shrugging. “I don’t know. He’s just… not really talking to me?”

“Did you two have a fight?” 

“No,” you shake your head, “not really. It’s not like he’s not talking talking to me, it’s just that he’s not doing it as often as he used to before,” you explain, chewing on your bottom lip as you tear your eyes off the picture and glue them to your companion instead, seeing as the older male hums, pressing his lips into a tight line. 

“He must be busy,” you say, not really knowing who you’re saying this for. Is it to prove to Jaechan that your relationship is completely fine, that there’s nothing shifting in the dynamic you had with Yuta, or is it to reassure yourself, try to manifest the thought into life? You’re not quite sure at this point.

“Well, he texted you a lot more often before,” he points out, “how busy can a singer really be, you know what I mean?”

“There must be something that’s taking up so much of his time,” you sigh, the male in front of you scoffing and rolling his eyes at your naivety. 

Jaechan argues with you, and something about his sentence makes your mood even gloomier, your composure shake further. “I mean, what does a singer even do? He plays a gig in the evening and then he’s lazing off the whole day, it’s not like he’s recording an album or something, do you feel me?”

To this, you shrug. What does Jaechan even know about this? He’s never dated anyone in a band before. He’s never been in one either, so he can’t know how this life works. Maybe he’s just jealous that your significant other is famous and his is not (because it’s non-existent, just for the record), and that’s what’s making him say all these things.

“What do you know?” you scoff.

Jaechan looks at you with a softer look in his eyes now, the black bangs falling into his forehead serving as a sort of a curtain when he smiles sadly at his next words. “Enough to see when a guy gets bored, Y/N. If he had time before, he just can’t be assed now. I’d hate to see your heart break over him,” he says, each word like a sharp knife to your heart, a stinging pain erupting into each crevice of your body. Your mouth opens to reply to him, to argue that he is clueless, he is snide, he is acting like a know-it-all, when the bell above the entrance rings and a small group of teenagers enters the diner.

Before you get a chance to stand up from your place to re-tie your apron and serve them, Jaechan, who doesn’t usually serve– since cooking is his job around here– beats you to it and pats your shoulder as he goes. “I’ll get it.”

You’re left sitting at the bar, eyes bearing into the screen of your phone, gazing at Yuta on the other side of the country, almost begging him with your eyes to text, to call, to do something, before the screen darkens and your phone eventually locks, the time running out already.

VI. and he holds me like a woman

Prepared for another night of staring at the ceiling, not even the sound of Aeri’s snoring present to lull you to sleep with its monotonicity, since the girl went out and stayed over at her (as she calls him) sneaky link’s place, you settle into your bed sheets and pull your blanket close to your neck. Unlocking your phone and scrolling through social media, planning to do so until your eyes are droopy enough that you don’t have much time to overthink in the late hours of the night, waiting for sleep to take you, your finger moves through all the different apps, begging for your brain to stay occupied. You have to treat yourself like you’d treat a little child while trying to get them to sleep– except you don’t watch Cocomelon, instead you settle on the latest episode of your favorite podcast– and it starts working eventually, until you’re woken up with a knock to your door, cursing at the person behind the wall for disturbing your routine, because now, you’ll have to do it all over again.

Sighing, you stand up from your bed, lazily walking over to the door of your room– sometimes, you despise the fact that your dorm layout looks like the corridor of a hospital wing, with rooms all over the hall and a common kitchen and a bathroom at the very end, since the living space for you and your roommate Aeri is a 5x6 square meters with little to no storage room– but this time, you thank the god for this fact, since it means that nothing is too far out of reach and nothing can get lost in the small space. You think of whoever might be behind the door– is it Aeri? You doubt it’s Aeri. She usually doesn’t back out of a hook up, and even if she did, she’d text you about it before– she has her own set of keys as well, so she wouldn’t just knock. 

Is it your dorm mate? Yeji from three rooms down the corridor sometimes comes over and asks you if she can use your frying pan– since the ones in the common kitchen suck and are hardly ever clean– so maybe it’s her. However, you’re not quite sure why she’d want to cook something so late in the evening.

Shrugging, deciding that you’re not gonna dwell on the thought much longer and instead look for yourself, you unlock the door (you learned to do that every night after Ningning, the freshman that lives across the corridor from you, once stumbled into your room at 3 in the morning, drunk out of her mind, because she confused her left and right) and crack it open, shock overtaking you as you recognize the figure casually standing on the other side of the wall.

“What are you doing here?” you gasp, the man with platinum blonde hair snickering at your parted lips and big eyes.

“Visiting,” he shrugs, “I missed you.”

Taking a few seconds to process the situation, you stay standing in your place, a metaphorical loading bar appearing in the middle of your forehead. Yuta shakes his head at you in disbelief, taking a step closer towards you. “Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

“I- I am, but-” you stutter, taking a step away from the doorway, watching as your boyfriend walks in as if he owned this place, “who let you in? We can’t have visitors after 10 PM,” you mumble, suddenly aware of the fact that you could get in trouble. 

You close the door after yourself and lock it– old habits die hard– as you watch the male giggle at your shaken composure. “The doorkeeper recognized me,” he announces, “I just had to say I have a girlfriend I haven’t seen in a while living here and he let me right in,” he shrugs.

Humming, you play with your fingers as you walk over to your bed. “So you’re like, famous famous now, huh?”

“Not that famous,” he sighs, “but quite a few people know me now.”

“So I’m dating a rockstar,” you joke, taking a seat on the uncomfortable mattress, watching as the male follows you and invites himself into the sheets.

“Something like that.”

A smile overtakes your features at that, and your room breaks into silence. Something about the quiet makes your skin scatter with goosebumps, the discomfort of his stare making you almost hate the fact that he’s here now, after not talking to you properly for a couple of weeks, but at the same time, you know you don’t really hate it. You love it, actually– the fact that he came to surprise you in the middle of the night, the fact that he’s here, the fact that he thought of you, spared you the time of his day. You love it and you love him and the fact that he came back to you. He came back for you. Only you. That sounds like a prize, doesn’t it?

Still, you feel a bit of a distance in between the two of you, and you can’t believe the fact that he feels further despite being closer in space. Maybe it’s because you can’t blame his lack of words for him being busy now– he’s right in front of you, paying you his full attention.

“How long are you staying?” you ask, picking at the skin of your cuticles.

Yuta averts his gaze from you, looking almost shameful at his reply. “I have to leave tomorrow afternoon,” he whispers, “I left suddenly, but we gotta get back on the road.”

You hum at that, not offering him a vocal reply– you don’t have any words to say to him anyway. What is there to say about a fact you can’t change? You only have to accept it.

“We only have a couple more stops to go. It will take another three weeks or so, and I’m back with you,” he says, this time locking his eyes with you in a sincere gaze, “I promise.”

The sentence has you gazing at your hands, clasped in your lap, nodding. Holding eye contact with him is suddenly hard when you feel just how far away he is from you, in another world, in other circles– and you can’t help but not see yourself fitting those, you can’t help but hate the fact that you’re so far away from everything that completes him as a person now. Maybe you’re a burden now– maybe you’re a nuisance, a baggage he has to carry even though he doesn’t have to, but keeps holding on to just because of a promise.

You remember how you chanted to yourself– believed– that nothing’s gonna change, and if so, only for the better. But you’re not so sure it came true, looking at everything now. And you do admit, you feel a little silly. Both for making the promise to yourself, and both for feeling so defeated when your world is shifting. Because things did change, and you should’ve expected it, and for Yuta, they did change for the better. He’s chasing his dream and everything’s coming out well for him. You should be happy.

You should be happy that he’s texting you less, talking to you less, having less time for you. Because that’s proof of him succeeding, after all. You just wish you could’ve been there to witness it with him.

“It must be so hard for you,” Yuta suddenly hums, leaning closer to you and wiping your cheeks. You haven’t even realized you were crying– you failed to keep your emotions in control– but instead of pushing him away and not showing him just how much the distance hurts you, you only hold him closer, crying into his chest.

His hands caress your hair, smoothing down the strands and providing you comfort, your body folding into his hold. He lays you both on the bed and tugs the blanket over you, strong arms shielding you from the pain. “Are you- are you having fun at least?” you ask, hiccuping through the sobs.

“I am,” he hums, and something about the sentence comforts you, making you fail to address everything you’ve witnessed when you came to visit him and just how much it made you worry, “wish you were there with me, but I know it’s hard. We just gotta hold on and get through this, and it will only get easier as we go, alright?”

You hum, fists bunching up the fabric of his thin black shirt. “Promise me to hold on for me, pretty girl? It’s gonna be okay. I swear.”

Another silent sob accompanied by an eager nod, hands letting go of his shirt and instead sneaking around his waist, nose burying into his chest intaking his scent. “I promise. It’s hard, but the thought of you having fun and chasing your dream comforts me.”

“That’s my sweet girl,” he hums, smoothing down your hair, “now stop crying. There’s nothing to be sad about.”

Nodding, you try your best to relax. He’s right– you were being unreasonable. Silly, even. Everything’s okay and everything will turn out just fine, you just gotta hold on for a few more weeks. Once Yuta’s back, your relationship will go back to normal and things will get better.

Leaning your head back, you press a kiss to his lips. He holds you to his chest, deepening the contact of his mouth with yours, wiping the last tears off your cheeks and placing pecks all over your face. When his lips find their way back to yours, his kisses are deeper, more firm, experience making him smoothly slip his tongue into your mouth to battle with yours, passion dripping off the muscle and tasting just like honey. 

He makes your heart race, just like he did when he first kissed you in his garage, and when his lips smoothly travel down your neck, placing bites and kitten licks to smooth the area after, you let him work his magic. You relax under his touches, you let him unravel you from your clothes, big hands testing flesh, calloused fingers pressing into all the right places. It feels amazing. It feels rewarding– and even though you’ve never done this before, you’re glad he’s your first. It’s good to look back at your first time when it’s done with someone you love– someone that’s admired, older, but still so fond of you. You feel beautiful with his hushed compliments, whispered promises. It’s like you’re running on a high, and you’re not sure if and when you’re ever gonna get back down.

You ache a little when you wake up for your morning class the day after. Throwing on his shirt you find on the floor, taking a seat next to him on the bed and brushing back his disheveled hair, his arm finds yours and tugs you back towards him.

“Stay,” he hums.

“I can’t,” you reply, “I have class in a few,” you explain, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek.

He sighs, dissatisfied, but lets you go. When he chants a goodbye at you as you close your door after with the knowledge that he won’t be there when you come home in the evening, you chew on the inside of your cheek with the crushing feeling of living in a different world than he does. And it shouldn’t matter to you– because he loves you and showed you so last night– but still, it keeps annoyingly eating you up from the insides.

He’s in a rising punk band, and you… you have to get to class.

VII. he used to sing me sweet melodies

The news hit you on a Thursday afternoon, on your way to dorms after your last class of the day. You feel exhausted, both mentally and physically, and so you decide to take the bus– the journey isn’t long, but you don’t feel like walking, and so you slung your pained body onto one of the free seats after pressing your travel card against the terminal to pay for the ride.

Fingers searching through your tote bag, a small sense of victory filling your veins when you finally find your phone in the mess of things, you grip the device and unlock it, deciding to search through social media to pass time and let yourself dissociate. 

A flood of uninteresting posts flashes through your vision as you absent-mindedly scroll through your feed, unfunny memes making you roll your eyes at the absurdity of the jokes, political discourse just making you sigh. After a while, posts from Neo zone update pages that you selfishly and amidst a little foolishly followed quite some time ago start appearing one-by-one on your Twitter feed, the face of your boyfriend smiling at you from fan-taken pictures from the last few stops of their festival tour. It’s been three weeks since you last saw Yuta, and even though you’re glad he’s enjoying his life to the fullest, you can’t help but admit to yourself that you oh so desire to have him back home as soon as possible.

One post in particular makes you stop in your tracks, furrowing your eyebrows as your eyes scan over the headline of an article with your boyfriend’s face clearly staring down at you through the screen. It’s not often that Yuta or his band get interviewed– or at least, it wasn’t the standard before, but you heard from him that he did get an interview from one of the local newspapers right after he got signed to an agency– but it seems that after getting interest from the punk scene during the festival, everybody wants to know more about the lead singer and his friends; press included. The existence of the interview itself isn’t what makes you so startled, though– it’s the headline of the article, each word like a sharp knife to your heart, making you more and more confused.

“No, I’m not dating anyone right now.” Neo Zone’s frontman reveals in our latest article, the title reads, your shaky fingers pressing down on the picture to have the text pop up, making you brace yourself for the impact. You know that the press loves to twist words and put statements into people’s mouths, but you don’t really know how those exact words could come out meaning something completely different– your very much taken boyfriend told everyone he is very much single. Do you not deserve to be talked about, after everything? Is he ashamed of you?

Sighing, taking a peek out of the window to see if you’re at your stop yet– you’re not, and you think you have just the right amount of time to read the whole article before you have to get off. And so you do that– eyes quickly skimming through the words, Yuta’s answers transcribed so perfectly you can almost hear his voice saying the words in your head, the essence of him everywhere, making your chest tighten on itself.

The Seoul-based punk band Neo Zone is picking up everyone’s attention as they take over the Warped tour festivals with their ecstatic performances and amazing stage presence. Their sound is like no one else’s, making their fanbase rise quickly, the fastly growing popularity making a lot of questions rise in the heads of the public– one question in particular mostly in the female side of the spectrum. 

We met with the frontman, 28-year old Yuta Nakamoto, to ask him a few questions about the band’s slow, but steady journey towards stardom, and also a bit about his personal life. Stay with us to get all the answers to questions you’ve been wondering about!

Eyes only briefly reading over the questions that ask about their journey– since you do know how they got where they are now, being there to witness it all; from band practices on Fridays, Yuta’s worried words at midnight over your night shifts, the songwriting sessions they had with Doyoung, where Yuta would send you pictures of his lyrics, asking for advice from his one and only muse, to them getting signed and going from playing local gigs at bars filled with cigarette smoke to venues filled with thousands of fans, all in the course of a few months. There’s only one thing you’re searching for in this article– although you’d read it all anyways, taking your time to patiently skim over each sentence, cheering Yuta on silently, there’s a thing in particular that makes you so jumpy to get to the bottom of the headline.

Finally, you get to it. You can only imagine the voice of the woman who did this interview with Yuta to be annoying, her eyes sneaky and coy as she asked him the question– but you soon catch yourself and sigh at your antics, at disbelief with what you managed to turn yourself into just for attention of a man that deemed you worthy.

“I’m sure a lot of girls are wondering the same thing, Yuta– especially after seeing you play on stage. I mean, you have an amazing stage presence, one that can’t help but attract people. The public– me included– wants to know: are you dating anyone right now?”

The singer laughs at the question, shrugging to himself. The words don’t take long to come out of his mouth. “No, not at all. With how things have been going for us, it’s been really hard to find some time to date, but I’m sure that if anyone shoots me a wink from the audience, I can change my mind quickly.”

The words make you scoff. You rest your head against the seat, your tongue poking the side of your cheek, when you notice that you’re at your stop– resulting in you scrambling for your things and practically throwing yourself out of the bus so the doors wouldn’t close on you and drive you away from the bus stop you need to get off on. Yuta’s response keeps repeating in your brain– ‘it’s been really hard to find some time to date’ –  at least he’s not lying about that, you think. 

And yes, maybe you should’ve understood his motives. Maybe he wanted to protect you from the hate, maybe he simply wanted to give you your privacy, but still– something in you breaks at being denied, at being hidden, and that burning, green feeling has you dialing Yuta’s number, waiting for the singer to reply.

It takes him a few seconds to pick up the call– you expected it, since it’s an usual occurrence now, with your texts going unanswered and calls mostly ignored, if taken, then either after a lot of ringing, or being returned to you after a few minutes when you get through to the voicemail. Still, you’re relieved when you hear his voice on the other side of the line, a little low and groggy, but still familiar.

“Hello, my love,” he says, and the pet name makes you equal parts warm and furious. So now you’re his love? What about the time he did the interview?

“Hi,” you breathe, walking down the sidewalk to your dorm building. 

“Why are you calling?” he asks. Do you need a reason to? He seems to be asking this a lot lately, but now that you actually have a reason is when the question hurts you the least.

You hum into the phone, finding the right words to say. Something inside of your gut is screaming at you, telling you just how silly and childish you’re going to sound– at just how demanding and clingy you’re going to look. But still, you can’t help but let the words slip past your mouth. “I was just wondering… about the stuff you said in the interview,” you say.

The male is silent for a little, not really responding to your worries. When he seems to gather that you’re not going to explain– and you don’t have to, since you’re aware that he knows what you mean by your subtle prompt– he talks to you with lightness in his tone, something akin to playful teasing in the reply that has you feeling stupid, so stupid for calling him. 

“About that? Y/N… you know you don’t have to worry about the two of us,” he says, laughing, “it’s just… I couldn’t just tell them I’m dating. My manager said I couldn’t, since it may damage the band’s image. I have to stay desirable to keep up the interest.”

You’re silent. So he did it for the band. Not your privacy, not your safety. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’ll make it up to you when I get back, okay?”

You find it in yourself to hum at his explanation– no matter how unsatisfactory it was, no matter how it made you feel even worse about the situation than before you called. It’s okay, though– you know that his band always comes first. You can’t tarnish his dreams like that. If a secret is what you have to be, then you’re more than okay with that, if it means Yuta gets to shine like the star he’s always been in your heart.

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” he asks. “I have to go now, if you don’t have anything else.”

“That’s- that’s all, yeah,” you mumble, sighing as you walk over to the dorms, opening the door with your student ID and slipping inside. 

“Okay,” he hums, “I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

No I love you, no how was your day, no I miss you. No I’ll see you soon, no I can’t wait to see your face, no I can’t wait to hear your voice. It’s okay, though– he must be tired.

VIII. broke, but gave all money to an airline

The next time you allow yourself to travel to see Yuta (despite all your responsibilities at college, with finals coming up and assignments piling up, making you bring your laptop to work with you and type away to finish up all your essays in between customers, having Jaechan read over the passages when your sleep deprivation gets the best of you and you can’t even recognise if you’re using the correct grammar and punctuation anymore), is on the last show of his festival tour. Something inside of you is telling you that you should go watch your boyfriend’s last gig for the time being, to congratulate him and show him just how much you support him, despite your busy schedule (that he is unaware of. You don’t want him to worry). 

And on top of that, it’s his birthday– the surprise visit to the show is only an addition to the gift you bought him, though. The personalized lyric journal and a box of his favorite chocolates seems too silly of a gift for somebody like Yuta Nakamoto, but it’s all you can afford, all you can give him. Still, you hope the sincerity and love is able to be felt through the action; you hope he realizes just how much you love him and just how much you missed him all those months.

The journey to the last state was long. You didn’t get enough sleep, you felt jittery and anxious, everything in your bones was screaming at you and cursing you for allowing yourself to make such a trip so early after the old one. Traveling is exhausting, you realize– both mentally and physically– when you have to walk distances and flash all your savings down the drain just to get bus tickets, when you have to rack your brain over to not get lost and take the right directions, make the right turns and walk the right distances. You guess you could understand Yuta a little bit better now– you’re not the one traveling somewhere else every night, and still, you feel insanely tired.

You didn’t tell Yuta about your visit. All you texted him the night before was that you wish him good luck on stage today and that you’re proud of him– sentences that get a short-cut response, an uninterested tone. You guess he just got bummed out that you didn’t stay up and wish him happy birthday the first thing at midnight– a thing he did for you when you weren’t even dating yet, the action warming you up so much back then– but even though it broke your heart, you couldn’t blow your own cover. You wanted to wish him happy birthday in person, to his face.

There is a buzz in the tips of your fingertips when you arrive at the festival. You’ve watched countless of clips online, experienced the concert first-hand multiple times before– you’re sure you could recite the setlist and the exact order of the acts playing if you were woken up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat– but still, you can’t wait to see Yuta perform. You can’t wait to watch the joyful look on his face, the dreamy eyes gazing over the crowd, the raspy voice calling to you like a siren in a love song you were told was about you in the middle of the night, holding him in your dorm bed.

You didn’t stand in the front rows this time. For some reason, you don’t want the singer to know you’re here. You want to watch the show unnoticed, unannounced, enjoying it like every other fan would– except, you’re expecting to meet him after, the way so many girls dream of every night, but never get to experience.

And in a perfect reality, the show ends and you run backstage. The security acknowledges you as his girlfriend and lets you in, smiles at you and pats you on your lower back– go get him, he’s all yours– as you excitedly grin and get ready to finally close the distance between you. In your perfect dreams, that don’t become reality, you’re meeting Yuta and holding him close, chanting whispers at the universe and telling them see? We made it, no matter how many obstacles you threw our way. We made it despite the distance. 

Maybe somebody should’ve told you you were a naive dreamer before you came here to embarrass yourself. Nobody did, though– and so here you are.

“Unfortunately, fans aren’t allowed backstage,” the security says, and you understand him– your relationship is secret, not public, so really, he couldn’t have known you were not just a fan, but his girlfriend (despite still thinking that you are Yuta’s biggest fan, always. Nobody could ever support him the way you do).

“I’m not a fan, sir,” you grin, “I’m his girlfriend. I know anyone could say that, but if you just get someone from the back and tell them my name, they will tell you that I’m his partner, trust me,” you explain, a desperate inkling in your voice.

“I don’t have time for that, kid,” the man says. And it’s fair. He’s just doing his job.

“Please, I went here to surprise– there he goes!” you point towards your boyfriend walking off the stage, his head snapping towards you at the sound of your voice, still recognisable even through the flood of screams around. The man locks eyes with you and you wave at him, a fond smile overtaking your tired face, the flame inside you that’s currently giving you third degree burns of anxiety finally starts to get more subtle when recognition flashes through Yuta’s face, but again– you were naive. Naive to think he would appreciate your visit, naive to think he’d like the surprise, naive to think nothing would change between the two of you, naive to think he wouldn’t get tired and find someone new.

A naive kid.

That’s what you are.

Nakamoto Yuta runs off stage, envelopes an excited girl around her shoulders when she runs after him from backstage. Her hair is longer than yours, her face more mature, her smile similar to the ones you saw all the time at the diner whenever Yuta was around, a flirting spark somewhere in between her pearly white teeth. She kisses his jaw and he grins at her, not bothering to look around. The crowd around you gets silent, but your brain tells you it’s foolish to think everyone suddenly stopped talking– it was just your senses slowly shutting out, your vision getting blurry.

So this was the problem all along, you think.

“Anything else? If you’re done being delusional, you can get lost,” the security spits at you, and you chuckle to yourself. 

Delusional. That hits the nail on the head.

Nodding, you chew on the inside of your cheek as you stumble backwards, running off through the crowd as you try your best not to get your legs tied and fall over. Your vision is hazy and you refuse to look up, too embarrassed, humiliated by the events of the day to show your face to anyone, resulting in you bumping into someone, your figure limply falling to the ground. Sobs make your shoulders shake, all motivation to stand up and move leaving your body when somebody crouches down next to you, a considerate female voice reaching your ears.

“Everything okay, hun? I’m so sorry, I should’ve watched my step,” she says, a hand patting your back, the smell of her perfume filling your nostrils. “Why are you crying? Are you hurt?”

Shaking your head, you refuse to speak. The female considerately sneaks her arms around you, pulling you to her chest. “What is it? You can tell it to a stranger, I won’t spill.”

“Yuta-” you choke out. Embarrassment is finally the least of your concerns.

“What? What about him?”

“I loved him and he– he threw it all away,” you finish, now completely breaking.

The girl rocks you back and forth, hand running up and down your back to get you to relax. It’s strange, since you haven’t even seen her face, haven’t even asked her name– for all you know, she could think you’re just a crazy fangirl, crying for no reason. But the universe has its way of looking out after you tonight– the soul next to you holding you tight, fingers running through your hair. “It’s alright, babygirl. Cry it out,” she says, “he doesn’t deserve you… I know, I’ve been there. That’s a lesson you have to learn, though– you never date a band guy. 

He’s always gonna break your heart.”

EPILOGUE - try not to abuse your power

Yuta Nakamoto was your hero.

He was your everything. He was someone you admired, someone you longed for, someone whose attention you craved for ever since the day you met him for the first time. It’s not every day you get to hang out with a guy that’s in a band, and it’s also not every day that the said guy shows you any type of interest or gives you any type of attention– and in your foolish heart, you took all of that and ran with it, chasing down the adrenaline and calling it love.

You guess it’s never a good idea to date your hero. See, people tend to idolize the ones they admire. People tend to put their heroes on the pedestal and do everything for them, putting them as their priority and disregarding their own needs and interests just to be worthy in the eyes of the other. You were too young to differentiate between healthy love and toxic obsession. You were too young to realize the relationship you had with Yuta wasn’t built on healthy grounds.

Yuta was your hero, yet, he managed to ruin you in a little not over a year. You bet it wasn’t even that hard.

Yuta was sweet. He tasted of honey and adrenaline, of chasing your dreams and running through empty streets with sparkles in your eyes. Yuta was someone older than you, more mature, promising you security and safety that he failed to give you despite your delusional beliefs of having your haven in him. You were young; thinking that guys your age don’t know how to treat you, won’t ever know how to treat you right– being with someone like Yuta was only right in your eyes. You were his fragile piece of pottery, the thing he was supposed to handle with care, and yet, you found yourself shattering at his touches. You should’ve expected it– his fingers were always too calloused to know how to touch anything gently anyway.

And yes, you do feel guilty. You do feel like it’s your fault that you let someone do this to you. You should’ve known better– you shouldn’t have been so childish, so naive. But really, you didn’t know any better. No one ever told you it was wrong. No one warned you. No one told you how it’s supposed to look.

No one told you that you weren’t supposed to spend all your money on plane and bus tickets just to see him for a couple of days. No one told you you weren’t supposed to support him unconditionally, ignore all the bad signs and pay no mind to the way his treatment made you feel worthless. No one told you you weren’t supposed to believe his sweet words, put trust into his empty promises.

It makes you sick, in a way. He knows your freckles, he knows your skin. He knows you like the back of his hand. Maybe, just maybe, you’d still fold under his touch if he dared to get close to you again. You don’t know if you’re strong enough to resist.

And maybe you do know better now, you do hate him for what he did, but you still miss him like a little kid. It’s like you were put on a drug that made you hate everyone and make him the only one you miss when you’re gone. 

You do miss him. You do sometimes look at his social media. You do read the headlines of magazines when his face is on the front page. You do think of him whenever you wipe the counters during your night shifts, gazing at the spot he used to sit in whenever he came to keep you company, almost as if you could wish him back into existence. It’s a weird battle. The strangest type of inner conflict.

Driving down the road, back to your dorm in the car you saved up for, the radio humming lowly to keep you company in the silence, you recognize the first few tones of a G chord, the song sending chills down your spine. You listen for a few seconds, waiting for his voice to start– the raspiness, the strongness of his vocals still making you feel some type of way– before you chuckle to yourself.

You guess he did end up releasing the song, after all.

You sigh. It feels like ages have gone by since you heard the song for the first time. It feels like you aged a thousand since you last saw his face.

It’s still strange to hear him on the radio. He made it big, you think. 

After all, you still wish him well. Somehow, you still think he deserves the glory.

You skip the song.

You park the car. 

You get inside your dorm.

You live your life.