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dreaming-medium · 8 months ago

Text

Language Barrier

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 7K

Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers

Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.

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A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.

‘How are you?’ - English

‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean

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Luck was not on your side today.

It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?’, the universe takes it as a challenge.

Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.

Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.

Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.

“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”

You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.

It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!

Where is it? Where is it?

There!

You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.

A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.

The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.

It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.

Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.

After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.

Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.

Is that a 6 or an 8?

Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–

There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.

You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.

His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.

The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.

You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.

The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.

Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?

Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.

Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.

There’s a beat.

You try again, really putting your back into it this time.

“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.

“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”

You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”

The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”

You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.

Another series of blinks are exchanged.

“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.

You nod. “No… no Korean.”

A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.

“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.

“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.

“No.”

Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.

“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.

The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.

Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?

After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.

“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.

“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”

“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.

A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.

Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.

If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.

He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.

But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.

The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.

“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.

Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”

“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.

You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.

All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.

Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”

Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.

The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.

Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.

He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.

“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.

“A car accident?”

He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.

“Car accident,” he says in Korean.

“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.

Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.

“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.

The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.

You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.

The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.

He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!

Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.

The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.

After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.

‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.

The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.

“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.

“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.

Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.

‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’

Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.

‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’

A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.

‘Try learning Korean.’

Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.

‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’

Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”

He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.

‘You don’t have an umbrella.’

Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.

But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.

You type a message back to Minho.

‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’

He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.

“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.

Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.

Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.

You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”

A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?

No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.

Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.

Back to the app.

The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.

‘What do you do for work?’

Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.

So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.

‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’

Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.

‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’

A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.

‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’

Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.

Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.

He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.

Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.

You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.

Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.

‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’

His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.

“You are welcome,” he answers in English.

His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.

After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.

‘Your turn. What do you do?’

Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.

His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.

You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.

He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?

Eventually, he turns the phone around.

‘I’m an idol.’

“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”

Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”

The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.

You type in your phone.

‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’

With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.

‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’

Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’

“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.

‘When do you go back to America?’

‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’

A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.

You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.

‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’

Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.

‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’

Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.

‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’

Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.

‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’

‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’

Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.

Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.

Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.

It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.

The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.

In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.

You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.

“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.

Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.

A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.

“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.

Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.

“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.

An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.

Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.

A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.

“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”

He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.

“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.

“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?

A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”

“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.

Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.

He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.

“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”

“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.

“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”

“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”

A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.

“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.

“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.

Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”

A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.

Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.

He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.

Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.

Is this really happening?

A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.

He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–

He’s shrugging off his hoodie.

Oh, he thinks you're cold.

Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.

Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.

It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.

Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.

“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.

Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.

There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.

It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.

‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’

Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.

‘I’m usually not.’

You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.

‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’

The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.

You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.

A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.

Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.

You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.

There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.

Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,

“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.

Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.

But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.

How is this even possible?

You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.

Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.

His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.

Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.

Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.

Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.

The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.

He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.

His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.

A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.

Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.

Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.

Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.

His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.

Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.

The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.

“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.

“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.

More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.

Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.

His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.

“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”

Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”

His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.

There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.

Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.

Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.

Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.

His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.

Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.

Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.

Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.

Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.

In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.

Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.

“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.

“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.

“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.

“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.

You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.

“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”

“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.

Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.

‘Can I please buy you a drink?’

A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.

“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”

He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.

With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.

“Come,” he says confidently.

“Lead way.”

#Lee know x reader #Lee Minho x reader #Skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #Lee know x y/n #Lee Minho x y/n #lee know reader insert #Skz x y/n #Lee know fluff #Skz fluff

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sturnlsstuff · 13 days ago

Text

⸻ PUSH AND PULL

— fratboy!chris x sassy!reader

— includes: smut, dom!chris, sub!reader, a lot of bickering, cursing, mentions of alcohol & weed, making out, dry humping, eating pussy, unprotected p in v, a lot of dirty talk, pet names (slut, baby, sweetheart), etc. - english isn't my first language.

chris is cocky and persistent, all about getting what he wants until he accidentally runs into you at a party. your sarcastic attitude, and the way you refuse to fall for his charm, is both incredibly hot and frustrating— challenging him in ways he never experienced before.

requested by anon. | words count: 13k

he never met anyone like you before. your first interaction was two weeks ago at a frat party.

the bass was pounding hard enough to rattle your ribs, and you couldn't believe how badly you needed to pee. you practically sprinted down the hallway, weaving through drunk frat guys and half-conscious sorority girls, until you finally spotted a bathroom with no line. a miracle, seriously. you knocked twice, the music was way too loud for you to even hear the answer. so you pushed the door open, relief already blooming in your chest, only to freeze in horror.

the random girl's moans immediately fill your ears, she's bent over the bathroom counter, getting backshots from a guy in a backwards hat. shirt halfway off, the hem of it caught between his teeth, pants pulled down around his ankles. the girl's eyes were squeezed shut as she grips the edge of the counter tightly, but the guy turns around, hearing the door opening.

"occupied," he mumbles unfazed, not even slowing down his movements. you blink, getting out of the trance, slamming the door shut with your eyes widening, already feeling your cheeks heating up with embarrassment and annoyance.

were they serious? the ache in your bladder was painful from how much you'd hold it in, and you couldn't even pee in peace 'cause some freak had to get laid first? did they really have to do this in the bathroom?

you scoff, embarrassment slowly changing more and more into irritation. you knock on the door again and again. all you could hear is the girl getting louder to the point it was cutting even through the music, making you grimace with disgust.

chris stumbled out of the bathroom over five minutes later, with a smirk on his face and his arm draped casually around the waist of the random girl he’d just been with. she was still giggling, oblivious to the fact that they’d kept someone waiting, and that you basically walked in on them. chris was satisfied with himself, not caring about the fact someone saw him fucking a girl. he had no shame and he was used to getting away with things anyway.

but as soon as the door opened, and chris locked eyes with you, it felt like everything stopped for him because now he was fully capable to pay attention to you.

you were standing there just a few feet away, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. your face flushed from alcohol and irritation, eyes narrowing at him with a look that made his stomach tighten. he's never seen you before, but definitely couldn’t ignore now. you were gorgeous, no question about that.

there was a fire in your eyes, a sharpness in your gaze that immediately set you apart from everyone else in the house. though it was your attitude that made chris pause.

"are you serious?" you ask with disbelief, scoffing. "are you even aware that people might want to use the bathroom? fucking freaks."

he expected whoever walked in on them to be more embarrassed than annoyed, or even maybe jealous since girls are usually that, hoping to be the one he picked next so he was used to it. not some girl standing there shooting him a full-on death glare, looking disgusted and pissed off.

he stands there just staring at you as you go on rambling about how gross him and the girl are for occupying the bathroom. the blond girl beside him laughed and bumped his arm playfully, oblivious to the sudden tension, and clearly not understanding why you're so annoyed. but chris's entire focus was entirely on you standing in front of him, and cursing him out. he wasn't even sure what you were saying, he was staring at your plump lips moving, thinking of how good they would feel on his own. what the hell was going on?

no one ever made him speechless in his life. normally, chris would’ve cracked some offhand joke, a smooth comment, maybe even give you more of that lazy smirk he knew worked more often than not. flirting came easy to him, it was muscle memory at this point, but in that moment he just stood there. it was something about you that threw him off balance. you didn't look familiar at all, he was sure of it. he would've remembered you and made a move already if he'd seen you before. you'd probably became one of his favorite hookups, someone he keeps coming back to. but he doesn't recognize you, doesn't know you— yet.

the way your eyes were locked on him, not with admiration, but with pure annoyance, something about it had his mouth shut, not quite sure what to do.

the random girl beside him went on talking, telling you to calm down or some stupid shit like that, but chris could barely catch the words, like they were coming from behind a wall.

"...are you gonna stand there all night or actually apologize for being disgusting?" you snapped, your sarcasm dripping with disdain.

chris blinked, a little rattled. apologize? you wanted him to say sorry? for what?

"girl, relax, there's nothing to be sorry about. i'm definitely not, and chris isn't either. we had a fun time—" the blonde girl next to him keeps on mumbling, but you cut her off with one simple scoff, clearly done waiting for any kind of response from him.

"next time maybe don't keep people waiting. get a fucking room," you shot him a look that sent a jolt through him. chris barely had time to react before you pushed past them and slammed the bathroom door in his face with a definitive thud.

for a second, he just stood there, staring at the door. his mind was still spinning. who the fuck was that?

chris thought about it for the full week.

this wasn’t how it usually went. no girl ever gave him attitude like this. he usually had them eating out of his hand the second he flashed that smile. but you were looking at him like he wasn’t the king of this party, like he was just another idiot wasting your time, and maybe that was true. the way you'd looked at him, the way you had completely shut him down without even trying. no girl had ever treated him like that before, and he wasn’t about to let it go.

chris saw you again at another party a week later.

he was sprawled out on the couch, joint in hand, a familiar haze settling in as the party raged around him. he had two girls on either side of him, laughing and talking, but his attention was elsewhere. he wasn’t really listening to them, his focus was completely on you since he noticed you just moments ago, dancing and having fun with your friends. for now he was only watching, not being able to move his gaze away from you.

you were moving to the beat so effortlessly, like you'd always been meant to be the center of attention, even when you weren't trying. the lights hit you just right, illuminating your beauty and you looked even more gorgeous than he remembered. the music thumped in his chest, but all he could hear was the sound of his pulse in his ears.

chris felt something dangerous stir in him, his body lit up with a fire he couldn’t ignore. he felt the sudden urge to get closer, to do or say anything that would make you his tonight.

he took another hit of the joint, trying to ground himself, but the high only made the feeling more intense. his mind started to work overdrive, thinking of how could he get you alone and what to say that wouldn’t have you walking away. his thoughts raced, calculating every possible move, every word that wouldn’t set you off, cause there's no way he was letting you slip away again. he shifts on the couch uncomfortably, adjusting his pants, knowing that he has to have you.

but then, as if the universe was playing some cruel joke on him, you turned around and walked out of the living room, disappearing into the crowd. he was looking for you for the rest of the night, but it was no use. you were gone and left him frustrated.

but tonight was the night— one week after he last laid eyes on you, he saw you again, and this time, he made sure you wouldn’t disappear from his sight.

the sound of loud music and scattered laughter from the party in the next room seemed muffled in the kitchen, where only the hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of glass filled the air. chris leaned against the doorframe, watching you without realizing he’d been doing it for a few seconds longer than he intended. you were finally alone without your friends, standing by the counter, carefully measuring out a drink, looking like you didn’t have a care in the world.

he pushed off the doorframe, striding into the kitchen with an easy, practiced smirk, the kind he knew would get any girl's attention. “well, well, well... funny runnin' into you again," he said, leaning casually against the counter, watching you make your drink. "who would've thought?"

you glanced at him, eyes narrowing as recognition hit you. the same black backwards hat, the chain bracelet on his wrist and the red solo cup in his hand. it wasn't hard to recognize his face, even if he haven't crossed your mind even once after that little interaction in front of the bathroom a while ago. he just had this whole vibe going on, making it impossible not to remember him, especially that annoying expression on his face.

“oh. it's you.” you said flatly, your tone already giving off that uninterested vibe. “great."

chris's smirk grown, unfazed. "didn't think you'd remember me, but i definitely remember you. pretty hard to forget someone who was so vocal about needin' to take a piss." he tilts his head, eyes moving up and down your body which causes you to raise your eyebrows. "we didn’t get a proper introduction last time, did we?” he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a low, playful tone. “i'm chris.”

your eyes scan him up and down as well, but clearly unimpressed by him. "maybe if you and your friend weren't so vocal inside the bathroom, then i wouldn't be so loud about needing to do my business."

"oh, c'mon, sweetheart." he rolls his eyes playfully. "can't a guy have a little fun?"

"y'know, rooms exist. there's a lot of them in this house, i assume. you ever thought about it?" you put some distance between the two of you, adding some more juice to your drink, and making sure he's far enough not to touch it. "and don't call me sweetheart. i'm not in the mood for throwing up yet."

noticing that you had moved away slightly along with your red cup, chris caught the hint and decided to stay where he was, not wanting you to think he was some kind of weirdo, even though his pride was slightly bruised. however, he understood that you didn't know him yet, and you were just being careful. smart girl.

"a'ight then, my bad," he said, raising his hands in surrender, getting a suspicious glance in return. "'bout pickin' the bathroom instead of a room, not about callin' you sweetheart. ‘cause, in my opinion, it fits. you're just so nice," his tone sarcastic.

"no one asked about your opinion though." you remarked, focusing back on making your drink. and hoping chris will leave you alone.

he grins, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you. "damn, you're a sassy one. how come i've never seen ya 'round before?" he tilts his head to the side, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. "before you yelled at me for takin' over the bathroom, i mean."

you shrug casually, "maybe you did, but don't remember. i'm just not the type who throws herself at guys, so i probably haven't caught your attention."

you were sure he hadn't seen you before, because you had just arrived in this city over a month ago, but you wanted to mess with him a little.

your friend who was going to college nearby dragged you to a few frat parties, saying that you needed to relax a bit, after the terrible relationship you had ended a few months ago. you still hold a grudge against men and you thought it was totally stupid to start going to parties, but it seems like maybe it would do you well to have some fun. you didn't pay attention to any of the men though, every one of them was shallow and acted the same, and you're not exactly the one night stand type.

"naaah," he cooed, his tone amused. "i'd definitely remember someone so.... gorgeous." he stops himself at the last moment from calling you sexy, cause he's pretty sure you'd be closer to punching him in the face than you already are.

you scoffed, finding him completely ridiculous. another frat guy with a god complex and a playlist full of future. all bravado and loud charm, like he thought the party revolved around him, and maybe it did with the amount of people he had wrapped around his finger. everything about him screamed performance— the way he walked, the way he talked, like he'd rehearsed this a hundred times, and he probably did. you weren't impressed at all. though, your eyes lingered a second longer than you meant them to. he was hot, ridiculously so. almost as ridiculously as his stupid personality.

chris caught that, of course. his confidence increased even more than possible.

"i've never gotten your name," his voice drops an octave as your eyes meet again. he had pretty eyes.

but still— hot didn't mean interesting. or worth your time.

your fingers wrap around the red cup as you flash him a fake smile, almost giving him hope that his charm started working on you. it always works on everyone, his ego started immediately raising higher.

"and you never will."

the words leave your lips and you drifted towards the hallway, disappearing into the crowd of people faster than he could react. he's still looking at the spot where you were just standing, a smirk frozen on his face at the realization you've just completely turn him down. he blinks a few times, slowly following your path with his gaze, a frown appearing between his eyebrows.

"damn," he mutters to himself, shaking his head and taking a sip of his drink. weren't you just a ray of sunshine?

~~~

for the rest of the party chris tries to find you but it's like you vanished from the world. at some point he just goes back to his typical game— manspreading on the couch with two girls on each side of him and a joint between his lips.

the party was slowly winding down, and you were doing your best to take care of your friend, who had gotten far too drunk and ended up throwing up in the bathroom. you couldn’t help but feel sorry for her as the girl sat slumped on the floor, repeating over and over that she’d never touch alcohol again, which was a promise you both knew wouldn’t last.

the hallway was a warzone when you finally left the bathroom. beer-soaked carpets, someone’s sneaker dangling from a light fixture, and bodies either passed out or making out in random corners. your arm ached from dragging your friend’s half-conscious weight down the corridor, towards the front wide-open door where drunk people kept coming in and out every now and then.

every few steps, the girl mumbled something about taco bell, other girls being bitches, or how the world was definitely spinning. it was all a mess, and thank god you weren't wasted. then you saw him— coming in from the front steps, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, hoodie pulled halfway over his head like he hadn’t decided whether to stay at the party or go back to his room. he was the last person you wanted to see, especially like this, hauling dead weight, hair a mess, fed up with the whole night.

chris spotted you immediately, walking inside the house like he owned the place, red solo cup dangling from his fingers. he stopped right in front of you, blocking your way. his eyes dropped to your friend, then back to your face, and that stupid little smirk pulled at his mouth like it lived there. "you stalkin' me?" he asks sarcastically, wanting to get a reaction out of you.

"huh?" you raise your eyebrows.

"it's either this or destiny, 'cos no way that outta all these people here, we're runnin' into each other again."

at first you look at him fully dumbfounded, then roll your eyes, not being in the mood for his games. you try to slip past him, but it was no use. an annoying scoff leaves your lips, "move."

"ah, but why?" his tongue clicks against his teeth. "you're not happy to see me?"

"no," you say honestly, holding his gaze, the drunk girl groaned, head lolling on your shoulder. chris tilted his head, clearly amused. “you wound me.”

"good. now move." you attempted to maneuver past him again, but he stepped slightly to the side, still blocking part of the hall. not fully, just enough to be annoying. "seriously, chris," you said, glaring up at him. “get out of my way.”

the smirk on his face grows, "awww, you remembered my name. how nice. i still haven't gotten yours though."

you would've facepalm right there and then, if you didn't have to keep your drunk friend upright. "and i said you won't."

"you always this mean or is it just me?"

"just you."

chris was, in fact, amused. no girl had ever resisted his charm for this long, with such consistency. most would've caved by now, but you held your ground, meeting his gaze with fire and shooting back with witty remarks that caught him off guard more than he cared to admit.

he appreciated your looks a lot, you were hot as fuck and he would do everything just for one night with you, but your attitude was getting more and more to him with each word you spoke, making him intrigued. you seemed so completely unaffected by his attention that it frustrated him, yet still it was addictive. but he could also see the way your eyes sometimes wander down his body, before you catch yourself and look away. that's how he knows he has the chance and you're just playing hard to get.

you try to move past him again, stepping forward, close enough to brush past his chest if he didn’t move. which he obviously didn’t.

the pause was sharp. your friend mumbled something unintelligible, slumping heavier into your side. the warmth of his body makes your stomach flip.

"i can help if ya want,” he points at the girl. his voice was smooth, too smooth, and there was that same smirk on his face that you'd told him to shove earlier. "you look like you 'bout to drop her."

"i don't need your help," you shot back. "all i need is to leave, and maybe a bottle of water. you're neither."

chris raised his hands, backing off an inch, fighting the urge to close the distance between the two of you. your lips were so tempting. “a'ight," he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, looking away for a moment, the smirk not leaving his face. "i can get you a water though—" he cuts himself off at the glare you give him. “c'mon, ma, just lemme help.”

you sighed, more to yourself than at him. “why are you so persistent?”

chris shrugged, throwing the empty red solo cup aside and shoving his hands into his pockets. you could tell it's because you've told him no, that you didn't crack. he was down bad, it was obvious by the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long, by his flirtatious smile and words. chris wanted to fuck you, simple as that. but you weren't fooled. you won't be just another girl on his list of hookups, no matter how good he smelled, how blue his eyes were, how soft his hair looked, or how pink his lips were—

woah. hold on.

before any of you could say anything else, your friend lifted her head and slurred, “waaait... wait, is that the guy? the one you said is stupid but has pretty e—"

your eyes widen as you froze in place, your hand automatically slapping over the girl's mouth, cutting her off. your stomach literally dropped, it was like time paused.

your eyes slowly move back to chris, whose grin was wider than ever. his eyebrows raised, and you point your finger at him, shaking your head, immediately staring to deny everything, even if the blush on your face was clearly betraying you. "no— i did not say that.... c'mon...–" you mutter, keeping the hand on your friend's face, ignoring the pouting and unintelligible mumbling from the girl. "she's tripping. completely wasted and apparently hallucinating. we gotta go, bye!"

chris blocks your way again when you try to move past him. he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning casually against the doorframe like he'd been waiting for this moment the entire night.

"so," he said slowly, clearly savoring this. "what exactly did you say? i heard somethin' about pretty—"

"pretty damn stupid," you reply, not missing a beat and clearing your throat. "that's what she meant and that's what i've said— mentioned, actually. it's not like i would talk about you."

chris's eyes locked on yours, that irritating, satisfying smirk not leaving his face. it makes you want to both punch him, and maybe even kiss him a little, which was extremely inconvenient. "you sure?" he asked, tilting his head just enough to make your blood boil, still effectively blocking your exit. "'cause i'd reaaally love to hear more 'bout what you think of me."

you let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. "oh, i'm sure you would."

chris raised an eyebrow. "so you did say somethin'."

you scoffed, shoving past him with all the strength you had, your shoulder colliding with his chest. he moves, giving you hope that he'll let you leave, but no. his hand caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it tight enough to stop you.

you froze as your eyes locked with his, and the intensity in it makes your head spin. he was close, his breath warm against your face.

"oh, c'mon, don't be like this," he murmured, voice low with desire. his gaze dipped, lingering on your lips for a second too long, your heart pounding in your chest.

you get out of the trance when your drunk friend mumbles something, which helps you come back on earth, realizing what was happening. if you don't move...

"good fucking night," you snapped annoyed at yourself and him, pulling your arm free and moving past him, leaving the house. you take your hand off your friend's mouth, telling her to keep quiet in a hushed voice.

"see you at another party?" he called after you, and by the tone of his voice you just knew that this damn smile of his was glued in place, like he was enjoying every second of your frustration— and he probably did.

"if you're lucky," you answered, not even slowing down or looking back.

and damn, he hoped he was lucky.

you made it to the curb without your friend collapsing which was a miracle, honestly. the uber was already waiting, headlights cutting through the dark, engine humming like it was impatient. you yanked the car door open and guided your friend inside with the grace of someone just barely hanging on. slamming the door shut, you walked around to the other side and paused, your hand hovering over the handle.

you could still feel the heat of his body too close, the way he looked at you like you were a puzzle he was actually interested in solving, just to see what would happen if he pushed a little harder. you hated guys like that. guys who didn’t take no like an answer, just a challenge. what was worse is that something in your chest had fluttered when he kept standing there like he belonged in your way, like he knew you'd remember it later.

you scoff, getting in the car and slamming the door harder than necessary without saying a word. your friend was already out cold, head against the window, mascara smudged like a painting. the driver gave you both a look through the mirror but didn’t ask questions.

chris already lightened up a cigarette and exhaled smoke into the cool night air, watching the uber's taillights disappear around the corner as the car drives away. he stood there a moment longer than he meant to, half a smirk still clinging to his face like muscle memory. he shakes his head amused, feeling like he somehow won. yes, you were being sarcastic, playing hard to get and all that, but your friend's slip-up told him everything he needed to know. especially the way you tried to deny it. maybe it was petty but he couldn't help the satisfaction that settled in his chest— he got to you, even if just a little.

he knows you'll crumble soon enough.

~~~

the living room was quiet, a half-drunk iced coffee sat sweating on the coffee table, you curled up on the couch, oversized hoodie drowning your frame, fuzzy socks peeking out from beneath a blanket. a reality show murmured in the background, one of those trashy dating competitions where every contestant was more emotionally unstable than the last, while you were mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

just when you chuckled at some funny instagram reel, the apartment door flew open without warning.

"bitch, it's me!"

the screech was followed by the thud of boots kicking off and the unmistakable jingle of bracelets. only one person had the audacity to break into your apartment like that.

you didn’t even look up. “hi, riley."

riley tossed her bag onto the armchair and flopped down next to you, full of caffeinated energy and smug satisfaction.

"you owe me,” she announced dramatically. “like majorly.”

that caught your attention. you arched a brow, looking at your friend and dropping your phone on your lap. “what did you do?”

“i did what you asked,” riley said, eyes gleaming like she’d cracked some kind of sacred code. “i went full FBI on your guy. and girl, you aren't ready.”

right...

after the frat party two days ago, you told your friend about chris being all over you, also mentioning how riley drunkenly blurted out that you said something about chris being stupid but pretty, which meant one thing. his ego was already high but now it was definitely through the roof, while you were embarrassed, not wanting him to get any ideas. you didn't care about this guy at all, but curiosity got the best of you. that's why you asked your extroverted friend, who knew the whole campus, for help and she happily agreed.

"i owe you?" you look at her in disbelief. "girl, you were the one to almost tell him that i said he has pretty eyes. if anything, you owe me for putting me in this position."

"okay, but i was drunk. and it's not like i actually said the whole thing."

"but you dropped the word pretty while talking about him. he might be an idiot, but he can do basic math. he now thinks i'm into him."

your friend rolled her eyes, knowing damn well she kinda fucked up, but it's not like you were really mad. and after all, you asked her to find more about chris.

"alright, you wanna know or what?"

your eyes narrow slightly as you look at the girl whose smile was only growing wider.

“not sure if i'm still interested." you said flatly, but the way your spine straightened slightly betrayed you. "and he's not my guy." you add after processing her previous words.

"right," riley cackled, brushing her hair off her shoulder. she looked too excited for your liking. "you literally told me to find out everything about him. and i have receipts. literally.” she pulled out her phone, opened the notes app, and turned it toward you. “okay, so my friend has a friend who's friends with the girl whose sister was bestfriends with another girl who was sleeping with chris, so i have all the info. look."

you grimace, glancing over at the screen before riley starts speaking again. "christopher sturniolo, junior, business major, frat boy. delta chi."

you groaned, dragging the blanket over your head. just as you expected.

“oh no no no, you wanted the tea, so now listen,” riley insisted, tugging the blanket down like she was unveiling a masterpiece.

“he's textbook,” she continued, scrolling. “he's been in the frat since freshman year and he's very popular. my friend said that he's seen at least three different girls leaving chris's room in the same week, and that happens all the time."

"that's disgusting," you shaked your head.

“he's a frat boy, obviously he's gonna be gross, girl." riley replied. “my friend said he's cocky as hell, you saw that for yourself. the kind of guy who doesn’t just know he’s hot, but uses it. also he doesn't commit. most girls fall for him, but he doesn't really care."

you scoffed. “well, i'm not most girls.”

“that's exactly why he’s interested,” riley said, voice laced with amusement. “you told him no. do you know how rare that is for someone like him? he's literally a hot, emotionally unavailable, walking red flag."

"yeah, well, all of this is pretty obvious."

"some of my friends were the girls who hooked up with him and they say it's worth it though."

"oh, c'mon," you roll your eyes. "there's plenty of him. literally, the whole frat house is full of dickheads."

"true," riley agrees. "but he's popular for a reason, babe."

she reads you some more random informations, things that you could've expect. then there was a moment of silence between you two, filled only by the soft chaos of the tv show in the background. then riley snapped her fingers, eyes lighting up. "oh, and he's a triplet."

"a what?" you raise your eyebrows, looking at your friend. "a triplet," she repeated.

"great, could it get any worse?" you huff. "not one, but two more of him? holy fuck."

"now when i think about it, i'm pretty sure one of them is in my photography class. he seems less intimidating than chris though." riley gets lost in thought before shrugging.

"how is it possible you don't know him?" you look at her. "i mean, girl, you literally know everyone and you're constantly partying."

"oh, i knew he existed, just never really talked to him. and he didn't try to hit on me either, everyone knows i'm lesbian, so..."

"right," you hum.

riley adds, "you know, he might be a dick, and don't get me wrong, i know you should be careful, but... it wouldn't be bad for you to have a little fun. chris is there, trying to get your attention, so why not play around? and that was the point for you to start going on parties and loosen up a bit, so..."

she has been telling you that for a long time now, and deep down you knew she was right. it had been a few months since you left your toxic ex, and you were tired of being miserable, especially since it wasn't a part of who you were. you had always been confident, but when your ex cheated on you with another girl, it felt like your self worth got kicked in the gut. and now you had someone like chris, who was popular and handsome, and tried to get your attention, even if it was just for a one night stand with you.

"and you think chris is a good option?" you ask rhetorically, scoffing. "please."

"welllll, no, but he's not ugly and he wants to fuck you." riley says bluntly with a shrug. "when was the last time you got laid?" you don't reply. "exactlyy."

you keep silent for a moment, deeply thinking about it, even if you knew it was a bad idea. you grabbed the remote, changed the show to some trashy murder doc, and nestled deeper into the couch, trying to focus on something else.

“have you checked his Instagram?” riley asks after a moment, a small smirk forming on her face.

you frowned, "no?"

"you haven't?" the girl's eyebrows shot up. "girl, why aren't you simping? finally some not ugly guy wants you! shoot your shot?"

"i don't care," you scoffed. "that's just stupid." riley rolled her eyes, already reaching for your phone that was on your lap, "liar."

"riley—" you groaned, trying to take it from her, but she was already unlocking it— yeah, never giving her a password ever again.

“what? i'm just saying. you can tell a lot from someone’s insta. like if he’s actually a full time frat boy or some gym influencer?" her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"he probably only posts thirst traps for his hoes," you comment, rolling your eyes. "i'm not looking at that shit."

“okay,” riley said, clearly not meaning it. “i will though." she starts typing something on your phone, quickly finding his account. "but just so you know, his username is christophersturniolo, he's got a lot of followers, and... damn— yeah, he follows a lot of girls too."

"basic ass username," you huff, not losing the chance to hate on him a little. "and that already tells me everything i need to know..." you mutter, trying to seem uninterested.

“ohhh my god,” riley said suddenly, holding your phone out like she’d just spotted a ufo. “he's actually good looking. like i knew he was cute, but girl, he's so photogenic.” the girl looks at chris's posts with her eyebrows raised. "that's actually unfair."

riley was the biggest girls lover you know so when she calls a guy attractive, you know she means it.

you shook your head, forcing yourself not to look. “of course," another scoff leaves your lips.

"there's a shirtless mirror selfie and i can see the veins on his hands. i mean, ew, but also… wow.” riley was clearly exaggerating on purpose, just to get you to glance at the photos. she knew you're a slut for a man's hands.

"i don't care," you mumble, keeping your gaze on the tv, but feeling the growing urge to look at your phone.

"sure," she smirked. "i'm just gonna leave your phone here, totally unlocked, screen on, showing his feed. do with that what you will.” she set it down carefully on the couch cushion between you both, like it was a loaded weapon.

you rolled your eyes and for a solid ten seconds, you kept them glued to the screen, determined to prove a point. but then— just a quick glance. just one.

and there he was.

shirtless at the beach in one post, with a smirk that practically screamed i know you’re looking. in another, he was in some white tank top with a cigarette between his lips at a gas station. then there were a few group shots with his friends, him in the middle, always grinning, always effortlessly magnetic.

you tried to act unimpressed, meanwhile riley was living, her smile widening. "ugh, this is the worst. why is he fine? it's offensive." riley grabs the phone, clicking on some photo dump and swiping her finger. "aww, he has a dog! look at this one— oh, those are his brothers, wait..."

you just couldn’t help it and finally leaned in, peeking over riley's shoulder. "matt and nick," the girl says after tapping on the tagged people.

"damn, they're identical—" you raise your eyebrows, looking at the picture. even if the other two were just as handsome as chris, your gaze kept wandering to him. "okay, he's... not bad."

“not bad?” riley laughed, looking at you. "girl, you're full of bullshit, looking at him like you wanna—"

“shut the fuck up," you cut her off. "i'm not looking at him in any way,” you insisted. she just shaked her head at your delusion and kept scrolling. “he’s a walking red flag... a walking red flag with insane blue eyes...—" you get too focused on the picture, your voice trailing off as you take the phone from riley to see better.

“which you are currently double-tapping.”

pause.

no, no, no. there's no fucking way.

you froze, looking at the screen with wide eyes, your thumb hovered over the screen like it had betrayed you. right under his photo was a bright red heart. you actually liked chris's post from over five months ago.

you immediately unliked the photo with a horrified gasp, feeling your heart racing and cheeks growing hotter in embarrassment. but even if, you couldn't erase the digital footprint you'd just left. it was too late and if he had his notifications on, you were fucked.

"oh my fucking god— it was a slip! my thumb slipped!” you looked at your friend who tried not to laugh for your own sake.

"well, that's...." riley looks at the screen and back at your panicked expression. she also knew you were doomed.

"i'm gonna die," you mutter, staring at the phone like it could explode any second. "i'm actually killing myself. i'm gonna vanish from the earth."

"that's a bit dramatic," the girl says amused, but you didn't find it funny at all.

"dramatic?! girl, i was acting like i hate his guts at the party and now i just liked his fucking post? i might as well just shoot myself, holy shit."

"okay, look for the good sides of this..."

you look at riley as the girl tries to make you feel better, but clearly is struggling to find anything positive about what just happened. "like what?!" you finally snap." there's no good sides. he's gonna think i'm into him now." you groaned, "ughhhh, i hate my goddamn life."

"aren't you though? into him?" riley blurts out.

"riley?! no! hell no," you scoff, shaking your head. "he's an idiot."

"even a littleeee bit...?" she asked with a teasing grin, pinching her fingers together, just a tiny gap between them to emphasize her words.

you looked at her in full disbelief, slapping her arm slightly. "no!" you sigh, rubbing your temples.

"okay, relax, maybe he won't even notice." she tries to reassure you. "he's probably busy with something, it's not like he would be on his phone in this exact moment, and see that you liked his photo...."

the girl's voice trailed off when your phone buzzed and you both looked at it. a notification from instagram.

[ 1 new message...]

christophersturniolo: look who couldn't resist

then another one.

christophersturniolo: was starting to think i dreamed you up

the phone nearly slipped from your hand.

while you were close to ending up in an asylum, chris was sprawled across his bed in the frat, shirtless, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily scrolling through his phone. he was halfway through a reel of a guy trying to bench press a couch, when a notification popped up at the top of his screen. one new like from yourusername. he barely glanced at it and probably would ignore, but the photo someone liked was an old one, he could see. and he had this feeling in his gut... so he checked it, brow furrowing just slightly as he taps at the profile of the girl with only two posts. four mutual followers, cute little profile picture that looked suspiciously like someone he recognized, the unfamiliar name in the bio. then he checks the recent posts and that's when he sees you.

bingo.

a slow grin curled across his lips and he just couldn't believe his luck. his ego practically purred— you liked his photo. you found him, and that meant you had to search for him. not only this, but he also knew your name now, and he wouldn't be him if he didn't take advantage of it, would he? he follows you immediately.

“oh my god,” you choked, after the small moment of horror, throwing your phone across the couch. your heart was instantly in your throat, pulse drumming in your ears. “oh my actual god.”

you look at riley with wide eyes, the girl's jaw almost on the floor as she stares back at you. your entire body was stiff, the panic creeping up your neck.

"oh girl..."

"fucking shit," you mutter, shaking your head. "i swear, i'm gonna die." you buried your face in your hands while riley scrambled to grab the phone. "this is so humiliating. i look like some weirdo now, stalking him." you look at your friend again, "it wasn't even a recent post. it was a post from almost five months ago. five! i can't even imagine how satisfying it has to be for him."

riley looks at the screen, "he followed you too."

"what?!" you reach for the phone, needing to see it with your own eyes. "oh, fucking great. even better."

"you gonna reply?"

"are you crazy? what would i even say? 'yeah i was stalking you and my thumb slipped?' oh, please." you scoff at your own stupidity. "i am not replying."

"yes, you are."

"nope. not happening. i'm deleting my account or moving back to my hometown. i'm gonna raise goats and forget what wifi even is."

"or,” riley said, forcing the phone back into your hands, “you could be normal for once and text him back.”

"girl, no. i don't know what to say. he already thinks i searched him up and now he knows my name. i've just lost all my power.” riley rolled her eyes at your dramatic ass. “let's start with the fact you never had power, you just have a really good poker face. but now you’ve got his attention again and if you don't text him back, it'll be more embarrassing than liking his picture by accident."

you chewed on your bottom lip, staring down at the message like it might explode if you touched it. part of you wanted to toss the phone out the window, but another part wanted to type something back. still, you hesitated.

“text. him. back,” riley demanded, practically bouncing. “you don’t have to fall in love with him, babe. just mess with him a little, have some fun. he's cocky, right? so throw him off. you're good at that.”

you took a deep breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. it was easy to be unbothered by chris's charm at the party, but now you felt weak when he had the knowledge of you stalking his account.

you unlocked the phone, opening the notification and reading his messages once again. your thumb hovered over the keyboard, your pulse racing

"okay, fuck it." you mutter. riley leaned in like a nosy coach. with a deep breath and a smirk slowly tugging at the corner of your lips, you slowly started typing.

yourusername: wow already imagining me in your dreams? that was fast

yourusername: it was just a pity like dont let it go to your head

sent.

riley smiled, getting all excited about this whole thing. your nerves eased slowly as you stare at the screen, the three dots popping up and disappearing. not even a thirty seconds later you get a respond.

christophersturniolo: harsh

christophersturniolo: you were a bit nicer when you were checking me out at the party

your jaw dropped. "did he just—?”

riley screamed, covering her mouth. "before you say anything," you quickly say, pointing your finger at the girl. "i was not checking him out. just... looking. it was a glance actually. a tiny, curious glance."

which wasn't true since your eyes did wonder up and down his body a few times, you just didn't know he caught that, and that he would take advantage of it like this.

"i'm not saying anything," riley raises her hands up in surrender.

another message.

"oh my god," riley said, grinning and looking at you. "he wants you sooo bad."

you couldn't even process what just happened in the last few minutes.

"that's terrible," you mutter still in disbelief, turning off your phone and putting it down on the coffee table. "see me on friday? i'm not going to any frat party ever again."

"girl—" she gives you a glare before rolling her eyes. "you have to go, are you kidding? this guy is down bad, you can't lose this opportunity."

"opportunity for what, exactly?" you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "i'm not gonna let him hit."

riley doesn't believe you.

~~~

friday came sooner than expected and after much persuasion from riley, you finally agreed to go to another party, feeling like you couldn't give chris the satisfaction. if you didn't show up, he'd think he had some kind of power over you, which he didn't.

after getting all dolled up, you and riley arrived at the frat house around 10pm, immediately finding some of your other mutual friends. the music was blaring in the house, most people were already tipsy and you actually felt a hint of excitement for the night, also hoping chris won't bother you too much. there's a high possibility you won't even see him, there's a lot of people here after all.

"girl, you won't believe who i just saw," one of your friends stumbled outside after about two hours of partying, when you and a few other girls went out for a cigarette. you look at her with a frown when she interrupts you mid conversation. "who?"

"jake's bitch is here," she says with a shake of her head, drunkenly trying to light up her cigarette.

you feel annoyance building up within you immediately at the mention of your ex's name, and that the girl he cheated on you with was at the party. it meant only one thing— your ex had to be here too.

you take a long drag from the cigarette, the wheels in your head turning. you'd see jake and that girl on instagram so many times, stalking her account to see what she has that you don't, but you never saw them together in real life.

"where?" you ask casually, exhaling the clouds of smoke. the girl shrugs, "in the kitchen." you hum and nod, finishing your cigarette before going back inside the house, not bothering to wait for your friends.

now you're more focused on your surroundings, paying more attention to people who pass by. you wanted to meet this girl, not necessarily talk to her or jake, but you wanted to see them, to be sure that their relationship doesn't affect you. it was a fact that you got over it a long time ago, but you felt that you were missing something to completely heal and maybe seeing them, realizing that you truly don't care, was just that thing.

you find yourself in the kitchen, the music thumped from the living room, but it was quieter here. a few people taking shots, some couple in the corner making out, but no sight of the girl or jake.

you decided to make yourself a drink while you're here, looking through all the alcohol on the kitchen island. there was so much of everything that you weren't sure what to chose.

"having fun?" chris walked up behind you out of nowhere, oozing confidence. after looking for you for the past hours, he finally spotted you a few minutes ago and followed to the kitchen without you even noticing. "how 'bout fireball?" he asks, seeing how you try to decide what to drink. he also notices your slight annoyance, wondering if it's just your usual attitude or something pissed you off. surprisingly, not him yet. "one shot and you'll forget anything you thinkin' about."

the sigh you let out after hearing chris's voice was amusing to him, you clearly don't enjoy his presence at all. he really picked a great moment to talk to you, just after you found out that your biggest opp is at the same party.

"so one shot and i can forget about you bothering me? tempting," you mocked him, not even sparing him a glance.

chris grabs two red solo cups and the rest of the stuff he needs, his lips twitching upwards. "just admitted to thinkin' about me. we're clearly getting somewhere."

you rolled your eyes, glaring at him while he casually starts making your drink. "if i'm getting anywhere, it's away from you."

"but why? so you could stalk my instagram in peace?" his smirk grows after locking eyes with you and seeing your expression.

a flicker of heat rises in your face and you mentally curse yourself for it, or even checking his profile in the first place. chris looked like a little kid who just opened gifts on a christmas morning. he clearly was waiting to use this whole 'stalking him' accident against you.

"i was not stalking you," you mutter, not even sounding convincing. chris hums, "oh, sure. which post was your favorite? the one you liked?"

taking a deep breath to help you cool down, you lean against the kitchen island, watching chris making the drinks. he looked incredibly fine tonight, wearing black baggy pants, his usual backwards hat and a black, pirate girl tank top with a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, as always catching your eye. this outfit made a shiver goes down your spine and you didn't like that at all. he was just a cocky, stupid guy whose live revolved around girls and parties. still, you weren't able to take your eyes off him. it was impossible to say he wasn't attractive and you didn't even try lying to yourself.

"no, actually the one with your brothers. they're so hot, especially... nick? yeah, totally my type." you fake smile, bullshitting him, your voice sweet as honey. it's not like you actually paid attention to his brothers while scrolling through chris's instagram.

but chris just grins, handing the red solo cup to you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "you wanna try to shoot your shot with him?" he asks casually. "unless you're a guy with a mustache, he won't be even lookin' in your direction."

you blink, processing his words and starts to feel even more stupid than you already were. "he's gay?"

"yeah," he nods. "and matt has a girl so i'm your only option." chris's smirk widens. "we're basically identical so sayin' that nick is your type, you just said i'm your type." he takes a sip of the drink, eyes never leaving yours. "but you did your research, i see. good girl."

his words make your thoughts wander in places you didn't want them to.

a scoff leaves your lips as you shot him a glare, finally grabbing the red solo cup from him. "don't flatter yourself. you're not my type."

"oh, no?" he raises his eyebrow. "i think we both know you're lyin', sweetheart."

“please,” you deadpanned. “you really think you’re that guy?”

chris shrugged, leaning in a little closer, deliberately invading your personal space. “why not? i'm the life of the party, girls would fight to get jus' the slightest of my attention... i don't know why you tryna hold back so much, but i'd make you feel so good. tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

your stomach flips when his voice gets lower and his eyes seem more intense. chris was on a mission tonight— to make you crack. the thing was, you knew you started giving in the moment you decided to come here tonight, even after swearing that you wouldn't. though you were still thinking of what riley said, that it's not wrong to have fun and chris was right here.

instead of answering, you take a sip of the drink he'd made you, the alcohol burning in your throat. "that's... strong," you mutter, grimacing.

his lips curled into a smirk, sensing your small frustration. "hell yeah, it is." he leaned against the counter next to you, one elbow resting on the cool surface, his body angled just enough that he was eye level with you. "you gonna ignore my question?"

"listen, i definitely—" you cut yourself off as your eyes wander to the people who just entered through the kitchen doorway.

your ex with his current girlfriend, surrounded by a few friends. they hadn't noticed you yet, which gave you a moment to look at them— how ugly he was, sometimes you wondered what you saw in him. and that bitch? her smile was faker than her eyelashes. you didn't know how she could be so chill and happy in a relationship with him, when he cheated on you with her, and you believed that someone who cheated once will do it again. maybe she was just as stupid.

"you gotta be kidding me," you mutter to yourself, eyes not leaving jake and the girl as you finally see them in real life. they were just across the kitchen, talking to some people, the grin on jake's face making your blood boil. you feel a wave of negative emotions going through you— not saddness or hurt, but annoyance and hatred. you actually couldn't care less about them, your heart wasn't sinking. jake had been gone from your life for long enough that he didn't hold power over you anymore, but he still had that smug look on his face, like he was untouchable. and that was what annoyed you.

you hadn't realized you were staring until chris spoke. "what?" his gaze followed yours, now looking at the group of people across the room, sensing your sudden annoyance. he doesn't see anything special. "you look like you wanna snap someone's neck. hopefully not mine," he adds with a hint of sarcasm, looking back at you.

you ignored his teasing, eyes locked on jake and the girl on his side. "that's my ex," you muttered, clearly disgusted.

chris raised an eyebrow, his curiosity spiked. he took a second, squinting toward where your ex was chatting up with a few people. "him?" chris grimaces when you nod, wondering how the fuck someone who looked like that pulled you. "what'd he do?"

you scoffed, a sarcastic, dry little laugh slipping out. "oh, please. what didn't he?

he didn't push you for more details, his gaze flickering between you and the guy across the room. chris thought he'd seen every single one of your death stares, since you didn't spare him and gave him plenty of them, but your gaze at that moment was even sharper than ever. this guy must have gotten under your skin really bad. jake was laughing with some people, clearly not paying attention to his surroundings just yet. chris glances back at you, "he looks like a dick."

your eyes flashed with a hint of amusement and for the first time you'd give chris a real, not sarcastic smile. "he is one," you reply, taking a sip of your drink and glancing at chris. "he cheated on me with her," you say casually, gesturing subtly towards the girl on jake's side.

chris's eyebrows shot up and he looked at the guy again. he grimaced, trying to process what you just said. "there's no way that this cheated on you," he finally mumbled, looking back at you with disbelief. "you're literally out of his league, who the fuck gave him the confidence to think he could play you?"

he thought it was absolutely ridiculous that someone like your ex had a chance with you, but you kept turning chris down and acting like you didn't find him hot. but now he understood why you were so stubborn and tried not to fall for his charm.

your gaze flickered away from jake and back to chris, for a moment the room seemed to spin around you. after emptying your drink, you put the red cup down and shrug, trying to seem nonchalant even if deep down you appreciated his words. "it's also funny 'cos he tried to get me back, saying it was a mistake, but after i told him to fuck off, he immediately went back straight to her."

chris scoffs, "yeah, too late, buddy." you both went silent for a moment, the music loud in the house yet all you heard was the pulse in your ears. "you wanna get back at him?"

you frown, watching as chris casually takes a sip of his own drink, eyes locked on yours and that familiar smirk tugging at his lip. "i don't care—"

"m'not sayin' you do, but it'd be fun to mess 'round a little, don't you think? especially that he clearly wants you back, i mean... who wouldn't?" he straightened up slightly, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. "he had to be really blind and dumb for fumbling ya."

you look up at him slightly confused. "and what do you have in mind?"

in that moment chris had a good feeling that he's actually getting somewhere. even if his excuse was to 'get back' at your ex, he clearly just wanted to get what he craved— you.

he reached out, casually brushing a few strands of your hair behind your ear, shifting just a little closer, testing the waters. your gaze followed his hand and went back to his eyes. you knew damn well that if you don't step back something will happen. he was close enough to feel his cologne, his eyes dropping to your lips.

"i've got a lot of ideas," he mutters, his voice lower. "you just gotta let me. y'know, it'd probably really piss off that dude. don't you wanna feel this satisfaction?"

your eyes narrow, knowing what chris was doing, how he tried to take advantage of the fact you might want to get back at your ex, and chris was right here, next to you. in fact you were sure that jake would tweak out 'cause even when you were together, he was always insecure about other guys. and maybe you couldn't give a fuck less about jake, but seeing his reaction would be priceless.

"you think i'm stupid?" you ask him, raising an eyebrow. "i know exactly what you're doing, chris."

"and?" he smirks unbothered, his fingers gently brushing under your chin as he tilted your head up to meet his eyes. "is that a yes or no?"

your eyes moved back to jake who finally noticed you, catching your eye. that stupid grin stretched across his face, like you were supposed to be impressed. but you could also see the small frown on his face as he sees you with a frat guy.

chris looks at you with eager anticipation as you lock eyes with him, making your decision in a moment of pure, reckless impulse. your heart raced and without thinking, you leaned in, gripping his tank top to yank him closer, he immediately gets the hint and his lips are fast to find yours.

it was quick, you kissed him back after a moment with a soft hum, his hand slipping to the back of your neck. for a second your mind went blank, the feeling of chris's lips on yours was too much to deal with, and the biggest mistake was that you didn't think about how this would make you feel, or that you're literally giving chris what he wants. you just needed to send a clear message to your ex. but in that moment, as the kiss deepened, your breath quickened and you realized that you might've done something completely different, not expecting the butterflies in your stomach, or how your body felt like it was on fire, craving more. your lips slightly parted, letting his tongue tangle with yours, his drink forgotten somewhere on the counter.

chris is absolutely in heaven, feeling your body so close to his and how responsive you are, his pants growing tighter and he never wanted anyone as bad as he wanted you. he places his free hand on your hip, pushing you gently against the counter, both of you growing more excited with each second, and you find yourself really enjoying it. he was a good kisser, better than you accidentally imagined once or twice, and it was impossible to get enough of him.

the ache between your legs started growing, the noise of the party completely fading away, his lips felt so soft and warm against yours, it was making you crazy. chris's thoughts scattered, all he could focus on was the way you taste, the way your breath hitched when his hand moved on your neck, or how you pressed against him like you needed him as much as he did.

you pulled back slightly to catch some air, your lips still inches from his, feeling your heartbeat rush in your chest. this wasn't supposed to be anything, just a quick, impulsive kiss, and yet— his hand had been too warm at the back of your neck, his mouth moved a little too well, and the way chris slowly pulled back, like he knew something unfamiliar twisted low in your stomach.

your eyes flutter open, immediately locking with his full of desire stare. he scans your flushed face closely, not looking away for even a second. "it worked?" his voice low and hoarse, a shiver goes down your spine. you could feel your panties sticking to your wet folds.

"huh?" you let out, not knowing what chris is asking about.

the corner of his mouth twitches in satisfaction. he had you completely wrapped around his finger now, he believes. "your ex," he murmurs.

"oh," you blink, only now remembering why did you and chris kiss in the first place. your gaze wandered across the kitchen, but didn't see your ex or his girlfriend anywhere, only his friends were still standing there and talking. you were sure jake saw this whole scene though, he clearly couldn't take it and had to leave.

but you truly couldn't care less when you had chris in front of you, with his hands still on your body, so close that you could feel his warm breath on your skin.

"i guess," you mutter back, trying to process what just happened and how did it make you feel. and how you didn't want to pull back from him.

chris feels your grip on his shirt loosened, but he wasn't going to let you slip away again. you finally gave in, even if it was just to get back at your ex. he didn't care, all he wanted was you with him tonight. he was too desperate for you.

he tilted his head slightly, eyes roaming all over your body like he was undressing you one thought at a time. "come upstairs with me." he says almost nonchalantly, the intensity in his eyes betrayed him though. he wasn't sure if you'll tell him to go to hell again or just finally give in, but he had a good feeling...

for a second you stared at him, caught somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. you should've said no. you're aware this is the worst idea ever and that you'll probably regret it tomorrow morning, or even in a few hours, but...

"is there anything special to see?" you ask with a hint of sarcasm, trying to calm down your breathing.

he smirks, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he glances sideways amused. it was frustrating how hot that stupid little move was, and you could've folded right there and then.

then he looks back at you, a silent challenge dancing in his eyes. "i mean, i ain't gonna tell you. gotta check for y'self."

you hum, "let's see then."

chris couldn't believe his fucking luck. maybe your ex was a dick, but he was actually grateful for his presence at this party cause otherwise, you wouldn't be following chris to his bedroom right now.

you both made your way upstairs, chris pushed open the door to his room without a word, holding it just long enough for you to step inside. that same maddening smirk tugging at his mouth and you hated how your stomach flipped at the sight.

once the door is shut behind you two, he spins you around and presses you against it, and without a warning, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a rough, impatient kiss. his hand slide up to tangle in your hair as he pours all his pent-up frustration and desire into it. you immediately respond, placing your hand on his jaw as the kiss deepened, his tongue pushing past your lips to claim your mouth.

you feel his other hand on your waist, pulling you flush against him so you're able to feel how hard he is even through your clothes. you whimper against his lips, causing his dick to throb in his pants, the heat building between your legs. his hands slide down from your hair to grip your thighs, lifting you up against the door. you wrap your legs around his hips, your dress rolls up, his hard length pressing right against your center. your fingers were already moving to his hair, your long nails grazing just enough to make him exhale through his nose, biting gently on your bottom lip in response. the cap on his head shifted, slipping sideways like it was about to fall.

"careful," he mumbled against your lips, pulling back slightly, a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. "you gonna knock it off."

you rolled your eyes playfully, about to reply with something sarcastic, but then he casually snatched the hat off and dropped it backwards onto your head, his eyes lingering on your face. "here," he muttered, voice low.

you adjust the cap on your head, looking at his swollen lips and his hair. he looked fine as fuck.

"now your hair is messy," you say, raising your eyebrows. chris shrugs nonchalantly, starting to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck as he grinds against you slowly. "make it messier then," he breathed the words against your skin, his hands squeezing your ass. you hum, tilting your head to the side to give him more room as he sucks on your neck, leaving a mark.

your fingers slid right back into his hair, your back pressed against the door. "oh—" your breathing gets heavier when he grinds harder against you, feeling how wet you're getting through your panties, satisfaction curling in his chest.

"shittt, you're so fuckin' responsive," he hisses, snapping his hips faster, dry humping you against the door. his hands move up and down your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. "ya feel what you do t'me? you like that, huh?" he stops moving, reaching between your bodies, his hand close to your heat. you bite down on your lip, locking eyes with him. "the past weeks i was fuckin' dreamin' about this."

"yeah?"

"fuck yeah," he scoffs. "you can make me hard with jus' one look in my direction, and don't lemme mention that fuckin' smart mouth of yours..." he walks over to the desk, sitting you down on the edge of it, his fingers moving along your pussy, feeling the wetness even through your underwear. "look at you," he smirks, your legs leaving his waist as he stands between them, spreading them wider. "you were acting so tough and now i got you soaked. how pathetic."

it really was pathetic, your cheeks growing hotter with embarrassment, but there was no point in denying that chris is turning you on.

"shut up," you huff, looking away from him, trying to hold on to the last scraps of dignity you had left— though those probably vanished the moment you stepped into his room.

"watch it," he warned, eyes twinkling with mischief and he tilts your chin back towards him. "eyes on me, pretty girl." he yanks your panties down, tossing them to the side and pulling your dress up around your waist. your breath hitches when he kneels down on the floor, trailing kisses up your thighs.

"chris..." you mutter weakly, clenching around nothing. the sight itself was pretty fucking hot.

"shh," he gently bites on your skin, groaning softly as he gets an unobstructed view of your glistening pussy. with a firm grip on your thighs, he draws you closer until you feel his warm breath against your entrance. "you talked back to me too many times."

he smirks up at you, his blue eyes burning with desire. he leans forward, burying his face between your legs, giving you a teasing lick up along your folds, tasting you. a quiet whimper escapes your lips, your fingers tangling into his hair for some kind of support. his tongue begins exploring eagerly, swirling around your clit and making you moan loudly.

you look down at him, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, eyebrows scrunched together like you're trying to hold back any noises but aren't able to, a few of them slipping past your lips. "oh— ohh shit.... f-fuck, chris—" you moan when his tongue flattens and licks all the way up your pussy slowly, before sucking on your clit. you arch your back, pressing against his face harder and getting a hum in response.

"please, don't— don't stop, oh my god..." your grip on his hair tightened when his tongue slides inside you, fucking you with it, his nose pressing against your swollen bud, giving it extra pressure. chris loves your reactions, he can't believe he finally has you like this, but he's not going to waste any second. his dick is uncomfortably straining against his pants.

he pulls back, putting two fingers inside you, curling them upwards to hit the spot that makes your vision go blurry. "oh, you beggin' now? don't want me to stop? where'd that attitude of yours go, huh?" he teases, speeding up his movements, the wet squelching fills the room, a warm flush spread across your cheeks from embarrassment. you bite down on your lip, tightening around his fingers and your legs start to shake. "gonna cum?" he asks mockingly and you nod weakly, feeling the pressure in your lower belly growing. "yeah, not yet."

you whine frustrated when chris pulls his fingers out of you, your orgasm just out of reach. "you're joking—"

"m'not," he cuts you off, licking his lips and fingers clean and slowly standing up, the smirk on his face still present. his chin is glistening with your juices. "you made me have to rub one out to thoughts of you a bunch of times, and you think i'm jus' gonna let you cum now?"

you look at him in disbelief, your chest raising and falling rapidly, your pussy pulsing desperately as you watch chris's hands working on his belt. "gonna show me what else you can do with that mouth, smartass?"

you nod without hesitation, slowly sliding off the desk and taking off your stupid heels. then without breaking eye contact, you sank to your knees, the floor cold against your skin. "who would've thought you gonna be such a good girl f'me?" he raises his eyebrow.

chris swallows, your hands unzipping his pants and pulling them down just along with his boxers. his dick splits out, smacking his stomach. you look at him in awe, licking your lips unconsciously, a bead of precum already at the tip. "holy shit, chris." the words leave your mouth before you can stop them, making his smirk widen. "take that off," he mutters, pulling the cap off your head and tossing it aside. his fingers swept through your hair, collecting it into a messy ponytail.

you start stroking him slowly, eyes locked on his again. then you give him a kitty lick, his dick twitching in your grip at the sudden contact of your mouth. "fuck," he groans, his head tilting back and eyes fluttering shut when he feels you slowly taking him further into your mouth. but just as fast as his eyes had shut, they snapped open again, focusing right back on you. there was no way in hell he was gonna miss the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth like that.

you hum around him, sending vibrations through his entire body, his tip hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag and pull back slightly. your tongue swirls around the head of his dick while your hand pumps the rest of him. he bites his lip, a low hiss between his clenched teeth leaves him. his hips buck slightly into your mouth, urging you to take more of him. you breath through your nose, hollowing your cheeks around him when he starts thrusting into your mouth slowly, saliva dripping down your chin as you whine around him. "yeaaaah, just like that...— holyy shiit— you're doing so well f'me, ma..." he lets out a low moan, the grip on your hair tightens. "touch y'self while my dick is in your mouth, c'mon. gonna do that f'me?" you whimper in response, your hand moving between your legs and finding your clit, starting to rub it in circles while sucking him off.

he curses under his breath, eyes fixated on you. "mhmmm, good girl," he praises, watching as you struggle, but still manage to take all of him into your mouth which was the hottest thing he's ever seen. "fuck, you look so pretty choking on my cock— shitttt—"

you moan, a few tears running down your cheeks, but he's quick to wipe them away with his thumb. you slide two fingers inside your cunt, starting to fuck yourself with them, the noises mixing with chris's low grunts. his dick twitches in your mouth and he tries to hold back, but the sight of you almost makes him lose it.

"fuck," he groans, suddenly pulling out of you, a string of saliva connecting your lips with his tip. you gasp softly for air, breathing heavily and looking at him in confusion. "almost made me nut, holy shit.... get up. don't look at me like that and stand up." he commands, kicking his pants and boxers aside and taking off his tank top with his free hand, while pulling on your hair with the other and forcing you to get back to your feet. you pull your fingers out of your hole, wiping your lips. "what—"

before you can question him, he already interrupts you. "strip and get on my bed. now."

there's not a single thought in your head, all you crave is to finally feel him inside of you.

your dress hits the floor a few seconds later, followed by your bra, and you climb onto the bed, kneeling on the mattress. "m'not cummin' anywhere else than your pussy tonight, ya hear me?"

you nod as he walks towards the bed, hungrily looking over your body. he leans forward, pulling you into another kiss before flipping you around so that you're laying on your stomach. he gets on the mattress, lifting your hips up and positioning himself behind you. his cock presses against your lower back as he runs his hand down your spine.

you whine desperately, propping yourself up on your elbows. "chris, please..."

"needy little slut," he mutters, enjoying how bad you want him, especially that you've made him wait for this moment, so he was doing the same to you now, even though he's had enough and wanted to finally feel you around him.

"shut... up..." you said under your breath, once again trying to act like you're not completely at his mercy right now. "what's wrong?" he smirks, admiring your body from this angle for a moment before gripping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. "can't handle how fuckin' wet you gettin' when i call you my little slut? scared you like it too much?" his tone mocking, yet making your pussy clench around nothing. he lets out a low chuckle after seeing that, "yeaah, you're loving that shit." he presses forward without a warning, slowly sliding inch by inch, hungrily watching as he disappears inside you.

you moan loudly, clutching at the covers, knuckles pale, your folds stretching around him. "take it, c'mon— i know you can...— fuckkkk..." he groans, your walls clamping down around him as he fills you up completely, letting you adjust to his size before starting to move his hips, thrusting into you in a slow, but deep pace.

"my god— mhhmp... c-chris, i don't know if... i can..."

"you got this, pretty." his ego grew instantly, seeing how you struggle with taking every inch of him. he reaches out and grabs a handful of your hair, pulling gently but firmly to arch your back more, his other hand moves to your hip to keep you steady as he pounds into you. "mhmm, just like that— holy shit..." he groaned at the way your cunt feels around him just perfectly, the moans leaving your mouth were like honey to his ears. he watches how his dick slide in and out of your soaked pussy, the sound of your bodies slapping together fills the room, mixed with your whimpers and his grunts. "you're so fuckin' tight, jesuss—"

"feels... amazing..." you gasp softly for air with each hard thrust. "such a good girl— fuckk, do that again— squeeze me with that tight little pussy... thereee you go..." he mutters when you clench around him. "gonna come so fast? how do you take my cock so well when you talked so much shit before, huh?"

the pleasure starts to become overwhelming, the grip on his sheets is harder as your eyes roll back, your mouth slack. "c-chris, i— ohhhh—" you stumble over your words, his tip dragging against your g-spot with each movement.

"tried so hard to be tough and now you're goin' dumb on my dick, isn't that funny?" his voice rough with lust, his hips slapping against your ass harder and faster, making you see stars.

"please, please, please—" you keep begging and moaning his name over and over like some kind of prayer. the moment so intense that you reached blindly for the nightstand, needing something to hold onto, only to knock over a can of open soda, sending it to the floor with a small thud.

chris groans, watching as you lose control and it makes his balls tighten. "godd— thaaat's it, baby... keep makin' those sexy noises, fuck—" he leans forward slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, going even deeper. "feel that? you gonna cum f'me like the good girl you are?"

"chris— mmmmhp— fuck!" you cry out, gasping for air, his words getting you to your breaking point, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you trembling and moaning loudly, your pussy gripping his dick like a vice.

he groans, feeling you clenching around him again, his release building quickly. "fuccckkk— come allll over my cock, mhmm...— m'gonna fill you up, yeah?" he grunts, hearing a whine and a weak hum in response as you ride out your high. he thrusts into you one last time, his hips jerking as he floods your cunt with his seed, painting your inside walls white. his hand lets go off your hair, letting your head fall forward on the pillow.

the room is filled with your heavy breathing, his dick still pulsing and unloading the last few drops of his cum into you. "holy shit," he pulls out after a moment, dropping down on the mattress beside you, his voice still hoarse.

"holy shit indeed," you mutter weakly, opening your eyes just to be met with his intense stare. the familiar smirk slowly creeping back onto his face.

you couldn't feel your legs.

"you spilled my last pepsi," he mumbles amused, leaning over you to grab the can out of the puddle like it was no big deal, and taking a sip to see if there was anything left to drink. he looks over at your fucked out expression, savoring this moment, feeling completely satisfied. "it was so good you had to knock it off?"

you roll your eyes at his bragging, slowly rolling over on your back, chris still hovering over you. "don't get too cocky."

"why not?" he raises his eyebrow, putting the empty can back on the nightstand. "i just had you creamin' around my dick after you swore you don't find me attractive. why would i not be cocky 'bout it?"

you sigh deeply, rubbing your temples, still not feeling the strength to even sit up. chris was actually good and you know he's got you hooked. you didn't mean to be one of his girls, but...

"don't make me regret it already," you say, only making his grin widen.

"nahh, you ain't gonna regret anythin'." he replies confidently, studying your face. "we both know you'll be back for more."

you scoff, "don't be so sure about that."

though deep down you knew he's right. there's no way you won't come back.

chris grinned unbothered, laying back with his arm tucked under his head. "your attitude being right back even with my cum still leakin' outta your pretty pussy is crazy work."

you grimaced, a small blush creeping up your cheeks. he obviously notices.

"y'know, next time i can bend you over in the bathroom downstairs." he says, referring to your first interaction. "just have a feeling you wouldn't be so mad if you weren't the one waiting outside this time."

"you're so gross..."

"am i?" he raises his eyebrow, shifting on his side and propping himself up on his elbow, his hand landing on your thigh, too close to your sensitive cunt. "or is it just you tryna gaslight y'self that you're not into that?"

you hate how he's calling you out just as much as you hate how easily you gave yourself to him for the rest of the night, letting him do whatever he wanted. you both finished too late to even return to the party, the music had stopped playing long before you were still moaning his name, and all you knew was that waking up tomorrow is gonna be fucking interesting.

a/n: i love everyone who read this whole thing 😪 credits to whoever started or wrote abt fratboy!chris x sassy!reader

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @brazyturtleneck @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs @seluky10 @chriss-slutt @icrazy106 @ribbonlovergirl @izzylovesmatt @trevorsgodmother @sturniolo101 @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @bernardsbendystraws @loser41ifee @cleolovespepsi @slvt4subchratt @oopsiedaisydeer

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x fem reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x you #chris x reader #chris sturniolo oneshot #fratboy!chris

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kateschi · 6 months ago

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get them fangirls away!

synopsis: katsuki’s greatest battle isn’t on the field—it’s surviving relentless fangirls. good thing he has you to shield him

pairing: secondyear!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

katsuki doesn’t run away from fights. he’s a fighter—loud, explosive, and always ready for a challenge.

but this?

this is different. this is a nightmare of his own making, and no amount of explosions is going to fix it.

“dynamight-senpai!” the shrill voices echo down the hallway like a siren’s call, and katsuki’s eye twitches.

his palms spark with irritation as he quickens his pace, trying to lose them in the maze of ua corridors.

but they’re relentless, chasing after him like their lives depend on it. why the hell don’t these brats know when to quit?

“dynamight-senpai! wait for us!”

he clenches his jaw. they’re like a pack of wolves, except these wolves ask for autographs and selfies instead of sinking their teeth in. still, they’re dangerous.

his eyes dart around, scanning the hallway for any possible escape route, when he spots you up ahead.

you’re leaning casually against your locker, completely unaware of the chaos barrelling toward you.

a plan clicks into place immediately.

he pushes off the ground, sprinting towards you with quick, desperate steps.

the frantic pounding of his footsteps catches your attention just as he skids to a stop behind you, ducking down to use you as a human shield.

“katsuki—what the hell are you doing?” you ask, eyes wide with confusion as you turn to face him.

“fangirls!” he hisses, crouching even lower behind you, his breath slightly ragged. his red eyes flicker toward the hallway entrance where the fangirls are rounding the corner, their faces lighting up the moment they spot him.

before you can ask any more questions, the first-years come to a screeching halt in front of you, out of breath but still buzzing with excitement.

they don’t even seem to notice you, their eyes locked onto katsuki who is half-hidden behind you like a kid caught in trouble.

“dynamight-senpai!” the leader squeals, pushing her way to the front of the group. “we’ve been looking all over for you!”

katsuki grits his teeth and curses under his breath, barely peeking over your shoulder. his hand grips your shoulder a little tighter, holding onto you for dear life.

“go away,” he growls, but his usual explosive tone is muffled by your presence, sounding more irritated than intimidating.

the fangirls, however, are undeterred. in fact, they seem even more excited by the sight of their idol so close—and apparently, within reach.

“we just want a picture, dynamight-senpai!” one of them pleads, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “just one, please?”

“no,” he snaps, but it’s lacking the usual bite. his eyes dart to yours, desperation flashing across his face for a split second. “damn it, why won’t they leave?”

you bite back a laugh. the mighty katsuki, hiding behind his girlfriend from a group of over-eager first-years. this is too good.

taking a step forward, you square your shoulders and block katsuki from view even more. “I think you heard him. he said no.”

the leader of the fangirls blinks, her enthusiasm faltering just a bit as she finally acknowledges your presence. “wait... are you...?”

you raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a knowing smirk. “yeah, I’m his girlfriend.”

the words hang in the air for a moment, and you can practically see the wave of shock that ripples through the group.

the girls exchange stunned looks, their expressions ranging from disbelief to awe.

“dynamight-senpai has a girlfriend?!” one of them whispers, her eyes going wide.

katsuki smirks as he straightens up a little behind you. “yeah, you heard her. my girlfriend. and if you don’t back off, she’ll beat your asses into the ground.”

you glance back at him, giving him a pointed look. “seriously? that’s your plan?”

“damn right it is,” he mutters, crossing his arms as if he’s made the smartest move ever. “they’re annoyin’ the hell outta me. figured I’d let you handle it.”

one of the girls in the back gasps, clutching her hands to her chest.

“wait, we didn’t mean to upset him! we’re just...we’re such big fans of dynamight-senpai! he’s so amazing!”

“yeah!” another chimes in, her eyes wide and pleading. “we didn’t mean any harm!”

you sigh, looking them over. they’re not bad kids—just... overly enthusiastic.

but katsuki is your boyfriend, and while you’re used to his temper, you’re not about to let anyone, even a group of fangirls, mess with him.

“look, I get it,” you say, your tone softening slightly, though you still keep it firm.

“you’re excited and all, but katsuki isn’t some kind of photo op. he’s just trying to get through his day. how about you give him some space?”

the leader looks embarrassed now, her earlier excitement faltering. “we didn’t mean to bother him...”

katsuki huffs from behind you. “you did.”

you glance at him over your shoulder, shaking your head slightly. “so helpful.”

he grumbles under his breath but stays quiet, letting you handle it. you turn back to the girls, offering them a small smile. “just...be respectful, okay?”

the leader nods quickly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “y-yeah, we’ll leave him alone. sorry for bothering you, dynamight-senpai and h/n-senpai.”

katsuki grunts, obviously relieved they’re finally getting the hint. the group lingers for a moment longer before they start shuffling away down the hall, their chatter much quieter now.

once they are gone, you turn to katsuki, raising an eyebrow. “so... hiding behind your girlfriend now? that’s a new one.”

he scowls, though the faint blush creeping up his neck was hard to miss. “shut up. I wasn’t hiding.”

you can’t help but laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “sure, ‘cause using me as a shield isn’t hiding.”

“tch. you handled it, didn’t you?” he shoves his hands into his pockets, avoiding your gaze. “better than blowin’ ‘em up.”

you smile, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “you’re lucky I’ve got your back.”

he grumbles something under his breath, clearly too stubborn to admit you were right, but he takes his hand out of his pocket to intertwine your fingers together.

of course, that isn’t without a side-eye when you grin.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x y/n #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x y/n #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki bakugou x you #bakugou x fem!reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugou x female reader

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yuzujjn · 7 months ago

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` ꣑꣒‎ ONE WIN, ONE DATE : 심재윤 ─── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

ʬʬ. football player!jake x cheerleader!reader 𖥔 ݁ ARCHiVE 7OO wordcount fluff . . . skinship, kisses ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ happy bday to jakey, && for my juni bby

YOU'RE STANDING ON THE SIDELINES, pom-poms in hand, watching jake tear through the field like he owns it. he’s got this intensity in his eyes, the kind that makes your pulse pick up because you know he’s giving it his all—just to win this game. all for one reason: he bet you that if he wins, he gets to ask you out.

it’s been a fun, flirty thing between you two for weeks now, but this? this is new. he made sure the whole team knew about his little bet, which has them teasing him endlessly about finally "making a move on his dream girl." you catch a few of his teammates smirking and nudging him before the game starts, and jake just rolls his eyes with a lopsided grin, eyes glancing at you every now and then. you swear you can feel his gaze even from across the field.

the game is close, way too close for your liking. you’re on edge, practically jumping each time he gets the ball, and maybe you’re clapping a little louder than anyone else (not that you liked him, or maybe you did). in the final minutes, it’s tied, and jake’s team has the ball. you watch as he gets the ball, weaving through the opposing team with an ease.

the crowd holds its breath, and so do you.

with a swift, clean kick, jake scores, sealing the win. the stadium erupts, but jake’s eyes find you instantly, a smug, triumphant smile on his face as he’s mobbed by his teammates. when they finally let him go, he sprints over to you, his eyes lighting up with joy.

“so…” he starts, leaning over, hands on his knees, slightly out of breath but still managing to look cocky. “still gonna pretend you’re not into me?”

you roll your eyes, though your cheeks are definitely giving you away. “who said i was ever into you?”

“i could tell.” jake flashes that heart-melting smile, moving closer. you’re aware of the other cheerleaders watching, and you’re definitely aware of his hand grazing your waist, lingering just long enough to make your heart race.

“oh, yeah? you’re that confident?” you ask, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice betrays you.

“confident enough to win a game for you,” he says with a smirk. “and i did say i’d ask you out if i won.”

“so ask away, sim,” you challenge, folding your arms.

he lets out a chuckle, his fingers brushing yours as if testing the waters. “okay, let me ask properly, then.” jake clears his throat dramatically, taking your hand in his. “y/n, would you do me the honor of going out with me?”

you’re pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach are doing somersaults, but you manage to keep your cool—sort of. “hmm… maybe. depends. what kind of date are we talking about?”

jake grins, squeezing your hand gently. “whatever you want. something fun. something that’ll make you smile like that.” he nods at you, obviously noticing the way your lips are curving, despite your attempt to stay composed.

“fine,” you say, relenting with a playful eye roll. “but only because you tried so hard.”

he leans in, closer than before, his voice just above a whisper. “only the best for you.”

your heart skips, and you glance down, trying to hide the way his words affect you. but jake isn’t done; he tilts your chin up, meeting your gaze. "guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“guess so,” you whisper, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as you realize he’s not moving back. his hand is still at your waist, his thumb gently tracing circles on your hip. the stadium is still loud around you, but it feels like it’s just the two of you here, his face inches from yours.

“think i can get a ‘good game’ kiss?” he asks with a wink, his voice teasing but hopeful. you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way you’re smiling now.

“don’t push your luck, sim.” but before he can respond, you lean up, giving him the quickest, softest peck on the lips. it’s barely there, but it’s enough to make his eyes widen in surprise and a smile spread across his face.

“you’re making me want to win every game now,” he says, looking down at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“i guess you’ll just have to keep scoring, then,” you reply with a grin, stepping back slightly, though your hand stays in his, fingers tangled together.

“oh, trust me, y/n,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you, “i’ll be scoring a lot.”

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jamietarttsnorthernattitude · 1 year ago

Note

For word thing: stairs, hurt, bed

Thank you thank you friend!

All from thought i wanted love ('til you showed me what it was):

Bed

Jamie heard the door open, and his skin prickled in warning. He had to get out of here. He had to go. The nurse turned her head and spoke to the man. “He woke but started to become agitated. Not uncommon with head injuries. Especially if he was mugged, poor lad. We’re giving him something to calm him down.” Mugged? Had he been mugged? Where? When? The doctor injected something else into his IV, and the man stepped closer, and the nurse moved to allow him space. Jamie tried to move deeper into the bed but whatever they gave him was working, and he was struggling to stay awake. Jamie felt his eyes drift close, but they snapped open as the person by his bed spoke. “It’s okay, I’m here now,” Every voice in his head screamed at him to get out of there, but the darkness pulled him farther and farther away from consciousness. The man’s words reached through the void, grabbed him and held him down as he struggled to free himself. “You’re safe, son.” Dad.

Hurt

“Did, did they call Mummy-Mum?”Jamie coughed, Dad wouldn’t like him calling Georgie Mummy. He’s not going to like Jamie asking after her at all. “Did they call Mum?” Mummy was his emergency contact and they would’ve called her. She and Simon will be here soon. They’ll make Dad leave. They’ll sort it all out while his brain was too concussed to do it himself. “They said they did, but the woman didn’t answer. Probably busy working or with that husband of hers. You know how she is.” No, James didn’t know how Mummy was. She had never put Simon before him. And bless Simon, he had never expected or wanted anything different. If Mummy knew he was in hospital she would be breaking all sorts of speed limits and sound barriers to get to him. Fuck, his head hurt.

Stairs

“Dad?” Jamie called out weakly. He didn’t want to attempt the stairs on his crutches when he was already unsteady, but he also knew he should be resting his ankle. “Dad?” he tried again. Jamie wasn’t sure if he wanted his father to hear his cry or not, but Jamie didn’t have any longer to think as James appeared at his bedroom door. “Ah, he’s awake,” James smiled, and Jamie got fresh goosebumps on the back of his neck.

As for the sprint, I did a total of 45 minutes and added 700ish words, some concussed Jamie spiralling for your pleasure.

Roy was going to fucking kill him, letting his father back into his life like the fucking idiot he was or if he really had gone and gotten himself mugged. Either way, he would be in the dog house at the dog track. “Didn’t even have the prick signal, and you managed to out-prick yourself anyway,” the older man would likely say, or something similar, because pissing off a stranger seemed much more likely than a random mugging. Roy would be pissed at him, but Jamie couldn’t deny the safety he felt at the thought of his friend and coach. He’s here, he’s there, he’s every fucking where Roy Kent. Well, where the fuck was he now? Disneyland Paris with Phoebe, he remembered belatedly. Fuck.

#thank you thank you thank you #nativestarwrites word and sprint challenge #lets see if i use different tags for each of these lmao #fic: thought i wanted love ('til you showed me what it was)#aka the misery fic #cw implied abuse #jamie tartt #fuck jamie's dad #mentioned roy kent #fic: TIWLTYSMWIW

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daylighted · 6 months ago

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LIVEWIRE — jj maybank x reader.

livewire (n) — an energetic or unpredictable person; a force of nature. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthat boy is a livewire; he'll ruin you, or die trying.

. . . or, jj's crashout — featuring you.

includes, SEXUAL CONTENT! MDNI. kinda pwp. crashout!jj. best friend!fem!reader. forced proximity. high stakes. dirty talk. jj is vocal. p in v. unprotected sex ( do not do this they r just so ridiculous & horny ). ( semi ) public. he has absolutely no pullout game but he's forgiven for it </3

NOTES. if the door logic doesn't make any sense realistically ... that's not my business. i'm not writing for realism i'm writing for the JJ GIRLS who want 2 fuck CRASHOUT JJ. also my apology for the quote in the tagline ik its too soon still but i joke 2 cope.

Red and blue littered the autumnal afternoon sky, sirens overshadowing the lyrical chirps of the birds, the scattered winds blowing red and orange leaves down the Kildare streets.

JJ Maybank is a fucking force to be reckoned with. In his wake, town hall’s alarms reared their deafening screeches, the aforementioned chilly winds blowing in handfuls of leaves to scatter the podiums and the foldout chairs. There’s a lone chair on its side in the middle of the well-kept grassy front courtyard. There’s glass burrowing itself in the dirt, reflecting the golden sun’s light at every which way when you turn your head.

The other pogues are screaming at him to go, to run, and he’s shocked for a moment. Stood like a deer in headlights at the actions that he took. Who knew how much one boy was capable? All of the destruction that two hands could elicit?

Oh, and what an empowering thought it is, too: realizing what you are capable of doing when you are pushed to the brink.

There’s that look in his eyes, before he turns on his heels and takes off into the wood, disappearing like a speck in the small bit of forestry separating town hall from the rest of the downtown area.

You know what that look means. This is merely the first in his rampage. Fire burns blue in the thin line of his irises, everything else overtaken by adrenaline and fucking rage.

“Someone has to—” Kie starts, and you realize that you’ve been staring straight ahead at the trees he vanished into, eyes locked on the exact path he took. “Someone has to go, go make sure he’s okay—”

Sarah’s eyes lock on yours. John B grimaces for a second, like he’s considering it, before he looks at you, too. Kie’s words, albeit vague, had never sounded so directed before. Pope—

Pope is getting tossed against the hood of a cop car, and suddenly, the pogues aren’t looking at you anymore. Their gazes break and shatter away from you like the shards of the window surrounding your feet.

Your heart is racing. You. Chase him down. And what did they expect you to do? To tell him that this wasn’t him, and to stop while he’s ahead, and to hold his hand and guide him back to safety away from the cops’ sirens and cars that had already broken away from the crowd to hunt for him?

No. This was JJ, and he wouldn’t stop while he was ahead, and he was going to take the cops on his tail like a challenge to keep going until he cracked — or they did.

You were the only one that ever understood him, really. That was why their eyes immediately shifted to you when the topic came up that someone had to find him, because even while they wanted to help, they would only drive him further away. Not you. Never you.

You’re turning on your heel and sprinting before anyone can realize what you’re doing. Not the screaming kooks, demanding lawyers and justice to the unlistening winds. Not the pogues, banging on the remaining cop cars to free him, free Pope, stop this fucking madness—

It’s like a thin line is painted on the ground between you and JJ. An invisible rope, loose but growing more taut the closer you follow on his tail.

You follow it. Follow that red string into the trees, letting it tug you along until you break out of the shadowy wood and onto main street.

A car alarm blares. Glass shards on the trunk of it, surrounding the asphalt around it. You slow to a stop to avoid catching any of those sharp, loose pieces in your shoes. Even now that the imaginary red line has faded, you can see traces of where he went in the path of destruction he made.

A shop’s window busted a few feet away from the car. A street pole sparking and buzzing lowly, electricity humming through the air like a siren’s song, tempting anyone it came across to touch it. Touch the livewire.

Just a few feet away, there he is. JJ has an outdoor seating chair in his two hands, and he’s seconds from tossing it through the glass window of the cafe it was in front of.

“JJ!” You shout, your voice faint beneath the sound of the car alarm, the sparking of the electrical fire, the hum of electricity buzzing all around you.

His head swivels to look back at you, and he looks fucking vicious. He looks like no matter what you say, he’s not going to stop. Not here. The electricity coming from the dented-in box on the street pole is feeding directly into his veins.

“Not supposed t’be here,” he calls back, and now that fury is directed at you. As if he ever could have stopped you from following the breadcrumbs he only ever left for you. “Can’t fuckin’ stop me.”

You crunch glass beneath your feet as you run toward him. It’s too late to do anything about the cafe window; its pieces spill onto the glossy wood floor, some splayed onto the sidewalk.

“Who said I’d try and stop you?” You ask him once you’re close enough. His hand runs through his mussed blonde hair, tugging the strands straight up.

His eyes flit to you, eyebrows raised behind the loose strands falling back down over them. “M’not letting you get into this shit, too,” he says just as sternly. “It’s my fuckin’ life I’m ruining.”

“Why?” you ask him, and it is a genuine question, even though you don’t think he’s going to answer. So you start to spit out your own theories. “Because of your dad? Because of what Luke did?”

His eyes drop to the ground, squinting like he’s looking for something through the shards surrounding his feet. The bat. The end of it sticks out in front of your shoes.

You bend down to grab it, holding the hitting end out toward him. His eyes are so dark when they glance at it, and then back up to you. His eyes were always oceanic, but now they seemed to be drowned out by the stormy black clouds that were his pupils.

JJ’s eyes linger on yours. He’s never really made an effort to read you before, more of a take it on the chin sort of guy when it came to how people were, and what they meant to him. But he studied you now, and it was almost unnerving, trying to guess what exactly he saw reflected back to him.

His fingers close around the hitting end of the bat in a tight grip, using it to pull you closer to him. He’s holding it out to the side, just so that it can’t go taut and rigid between the two of you, allowing you to be tugged closer than you would have been able to be.

His breaths come in furious pants, audible once you were close to him. He was a livewire. He was sparking, burning everything he touched, trying to take it all to the ground.

Destruction was always so pretty when it was at his hands. He did everything with purpose, whether it was for the good of who he cared about, or for his own grievances.

And this sort of destruction, the kind you saw his eyes fall into once you were close enough to share breaths? It was golden and fiery, and full of promise that would break the thin line between your friendship and something else.

You knew it in the same way that you knew how to follow that red, invisible line to him. Red because it was a bad idea, a waving red flag, telling you to stop, stop, stop. But it connected the both of you, regardless of its color; so how were you expected to?

“Feelin’ hungry?” JJ asks, voice low and almost sinful with the way that it rasped.

You don’t mean to balk, but you do. It wasn’t a question you expected him to ask, but the double meaning in it, the innuendo laced words, had you stifling on your own words. “For what?”

The bat slips from his grip, and it falls to hang loosely at your side. “We broke it, we buy it,” he says with a nod toward the shattered gap in the cafe’s window. “Or… not buy it.” His eyebrows bounce when he looks at you, and he leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Did you think I was talkin’ about something else?”

Your face flushes. Then, you drop the bat to shove at his chest with both hands. “Shut up.”

“What, you feelin’ all hot and bothered, sweetheart?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tryna get some fugitive dick before it’s tossed in the slammer?”

Your face is hot, the trail of heat from your reddened cheeks traveling like a river stream to your lower stomach. “Shut up, JJ,” you seethe, though it has none of the fire you wish it did. You didn’t know why; you had so much of it running through your blood then that it should have made you sound more fiery than you did.

“Uh huh,” JJ cackles, his hand lifting to the back of your shoulder, pushing you toward the broken window. Once you’re a few steps ahead of him, his hand claps on your ass. “Andele, andele! Cops on the horizon.”

It takes every bit of your willpower to not whirl around and smack him back. You don’t, because unfortunately for you, the sting only adds to your stomach becoming molten liquid, and for the other, more pressing matter, of the cops’ lights glowing red and blue at the very end of the street.

You duck into the hole in the glass, feet crunching down on pieces of glass and debris. He follows immediately after, though when he slips into the building, it’s more stumbling than anything graceful.

“Head t’the back,” he huffs, nodding toward the push-to-open door behind the front counter. “M’not gettin’ fucking caught before I fuck up that goddamn realtor’s house.”

Arguing with him is a bit useless. JJ’s never been one to listen to anyone when his mind is set on something. You knew this from the moment that you took off in his direction to find him. Still, you almost open your mouth to make the effort to stop him, so at least you could say you did try.

He cuts in front of you, stepping around the chair he tossed through the window, hopping over the countertop. He stops when he’s leaned against the door, holding it propped for you.

“I’d say ladies first, but someone’s takin’ their sweet ass time,” he prods, nodding in gesture to the kitchen.

You scoff, shaking your head, as you circle around the counter, shoving your shoulder into him when you duck underneath his arm. “Some of us aren’t so akin with vandalism.”

“Some of us,” JJ mocks, his fingers digging into your ribcage as he falls into step behind you, “need t’lighten the hell up.”

“I’m sorry, but are the cops not literally outside? End of the road?” It’s useless to humor him and his pestering, but it makes your heart beat a little bit faster, so who are you to make it easier for him and just go along with his ploys?

He tsks. “Semantics.” His head spins around as he takes in the room surrounding them; typical bakery style kitchen, mixers and cutting boards and ovens, sinks lined up on the back wall. There’s tall fridges and deep freezes on one side of the wall, and parallel to it was— “Aha, there we go.”

JJ cuts in front of you again, doing a little hop and a skip as he bumps his hip into this new door, tugging the handle down as he opens it. “Pantry, or whatever,” he scoffs, his face twisting up, “doesn’t matter to me what the hell it is. Gonna have to camp out in here, you and I.”

Of course you were. You’d signed up for this, getting involved in this round of his criminalistic habits, but that didn’t mean you didn’t have the right to be annoyed. Weren’t you lot chased by the police enough as is?

Still, you step into the pantry, the smell of chocolate chips and something else sugary hitting your nostrils the moment you’re inside. Boxes of ingredients line the shelves, including the ziploc bag of chocolate chips.

JJ’s snatching it up before you can even process it, diving his hand into it and popping the handful between his plush lips. “Told you. Break it, we bought it.”

Your eyes roll. Vandalism and theft. Probably a hefty sentence, nothing that either of you could afford with Poguelandia on the brink of destruction and your debts already piled high.

He zips the bag back up and tosses it back on the shelf. “Walkin’ around like you got a stick up your ass, sweetheart,” JJ muses, his fingers closing around your elbow. “Told y’to relax, didn’t I?”

“No,” you say slowly in response. “You told me to lighten the hell up.”

One side of his mouth quirks in a half smile, dimple gracing his cheek in the process. “Semantics,” he repeats, and he uses the grip he has on your arm to tug you back into his chest. “I could help you lighten the hell up.”

“I sincerely doubt it, JJ,” you huff, your expression as unimpressed as one’s could be. “You’re the entire reason—”

His mouth crashes against yours before you can finish that sentence. His mouth is as soft as it looks, the inner shell of his lips chapped. He tastes like weed, like the taste of it is so familiar in his mouth that it embedded itself into his taste.

You almost don’t kiss back. It’s one of those things that feels like a bad idea because it is. That pointless rule about no kissing on other pogues went out the window the moment Kie and Pope got their hands on each other, but it still felt wrong, to break one of the rules that cemented the glue that held this group together.

You kiss him back anyways. The moment that you start to respond to his advances, his tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, pushing his way in. He starts walking the both of you backwards, deeper into the pantry, until your back hits the wall.

JJ’s hands drop to your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly to wrap your legs around his waist. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him further in until his chest presses against yours.

His hands let go of you, the press of his body against yours on the wall and your legs tight around his waist keep you held up. His fingers close around the hem of your dress’s skirt, tugging it up.

Your eyes pop open, falling down to your exposed panties pressed against his denim jeans. When you glance back up at him, lips still lightly pressed to his, they’re blue again, and glimmery.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, stealing another kiss in the process. “Just… tryna get your mind off of—”

“The manhunt?” You finish for him, and he laughs breathlessly against your mouth.

“Mm, m’not doing a great job at distracting you, then,” he teases, one of his hands letting go of your dress, the other fisting the fabric as he holds it up. The free hand’s fingers slide down, down, down, until their tips are pressed on the edge of your panties. So close he could probably feel the slickness leaking through the fabric.

“This all for me, baby?” he asks with that infuriating amusement curled around his words. “Or is it the danger of all this, too? Like bein’ an outlaw with little ol’ me?”

You aren’t even going to dignify him with an answer. Your bottom lip wedges itself between your teeth, your hands curling into fists against the fabric of his shirt.

His middle finger starts to rub slow, lazy circles over your swollen clit through the damp fabric of your panties, his lips parted like he’s going to say something stupid about the whine that falls from your mouth—

When the sirens get so loud that it echoes around the small pantry. They don’t dissipate, either, which means…

“The door,” you choke out, nodding behind JJ to the pantry door. He’d shut it behind the both of you, but there’s a lock by the top of it, one of those chain link ones. “The lock—” You try to clarify, your brain a bit muddled.

JJ’s head turns to glance behind him, and you watch his eyes dance up to the chain, too. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Such a damn worrier.”

“I’m not—”

Always useless arguing with him. He cuts you off by gripping at your thighs again with his lithe fingers, lifting you off of the wall and tugging you into his chest.

You grab fistfuls of his shirt so you don’t fall backwards at the sudden movement, your lips curled into a scowl.

He doesn’t seem to notice. He holds you in his arms as he walks to the door, pressing your back against this one so he can remove one hand from your leg, and lifts it to chain the lock.

“Better?” he teases, and you’re about to scowl at him again when you watch the smile drop from his lips.

Just as suddenly as he’d yanked you from the wall, he’s dropping to the ground, your body falling right along with him, knees crashing into the hardwood floors as you land into straddling him. Your mouth opens to gasp, or swear, or gasp and swear, when his fingers close over your lips.

The cops. You hear them, then, the muffled voices and muddled words. Through the crack beneath the door behind JJ’s planted ass, you see their flashlights, too.

His eyes meet yours, and he nods once, his expression grim. You blink, and his eyes are again filled with that glimmering mischief that never, in his life, has meant something good.

And it was truly delinquent of him this time, as his hands drop to the button and fly of his jeans. Your mouth opens and closes in protest, because there’s no way he’s thinking that you two are going to fuck on some cafe’s pantry’s floor with cops right there—

“Oh, get that look offa your face,” he whispers, nosing your chin up and stealing a kiss when you’ve met his eyes again. “As long as you be quiet, what’s the big deal?”

“You have nothing but awful ideas in that head of yours,” you snap in a low whisper, through your gritted teeth. “I’m not having sex with you right now—”

JJ’s eyebrows raise. His eyes fall down to your slickened thighs, to the panties beneath the dress pooling his waist that he knows are wet with your arousal.

“Fuck you.” It’s so pathetic to say, such a weak argument, but it’s the only thing that you can even think right now. Your heart is pounding in your chest with adrenaline and need and the fact that you can feel his hard dick straining in his jeans against your pussy.

JJ tips his head in a nod, his lips still quirked. “Aye aye, captain.”

He undoes the restraints on his jeans, and his fingers disappear into the flyguard. Your eyes bounce between his face and his hands, his expression contorted in pure concentration that would be adorable if it wasn’t so seriously not. His tongue’s poking between his teeth, panting like an excited puppy, and you just want to—

“Hop on, baby,” he says triumphantly, and those stupid lips curl into an even more stupid grin. His hands pat his thighs to draw your attention downward.

Fuck.

Your eyes must darken at the sight of him, hard and leaking precum, because he starts cackling like there aren’t police on the other side of the door, trying to cuff him and throw him in the backseat of a police car. “C’mon. Don’t be stingy now, baby, I see how bad you want it.”

There are rare moments that JJ is right. Broken clocks right twice a day, or something like that. When he’s right, he’s always dead on, and it’s infuriating.

You glance up at the little window in the door, and for then, at least, it’s clear. No shining flashlights beaming into the pantry you’re both camping in…

You make bad decisions far less than JJ does. Still, like broken clocks, you both align sometimes.

Lifting your hips off of his lap, his hands grasp at the backs of your thighs, guiding you onto his waiting cock, slapping it lightly against your pussy a couple of times before he lines himself up and drags the swollen head of it down your folds beneath your panties. He doesn’t give any warning before he pushes himself into you, a hard thrust that brings him all the way to the hilt at once.

Your lips fall open in a sharp gasp, and just barely does his hand make it over your mouth before the moan falls out of your mouth. One hand over your mouth, the other on your ass, guiding you into moving.

“As much as I love that mouth of yours,” JJ groans into your ear, low and rough like the words are being pried out of his lungs and torn through his ribs, “gonna have to keep it down this time.”

He’s such a fucking hypocrite, though — the moment you adjust to the size of him filling you completely, stretching your inner walls to accommodate to him, and you start to move on your own? His head tips back against the door, guttural moans underneath his breath.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he manages, and you slam down on him again, his hand dragging your hips forward to grind your aching pussy against his pelvis in slow circles. “Oh, fuck, baby—”

“Shut up,” you muffle through his hand, even though it’s getting to you too, his palm stifling every gasp and breathy whimper before it leaves your parted lips.

His hand clasps tighter around your mouth, his heavy, half-lidded eyes boring into yours. “You’re not the one in control here, baby.”

It’s easy to forget, with him stretching you out and being relatively gentle right now, that he’s higher than he’s ever been. Adrenaline turns people into carcasses of themselves; wearing them down to the bone, using every scrap of energy available.

His blown pupils are glimmering with it. He’s daring you with nothing but a look to see what happens when you keep running your mouth. His hand relents its hold on your mouth, and the other stills your hips as you stay suspended halfway down his cock.

The whine you let out is something you’ll deny later. The gravelly laugh he lets out is something that indicates he won’t let you.

JJ smears his hand across your mouth, taking the saliva from the corner of your lips and spreading it across them, your cheek, before his two fingers slide into your mouth. “Not so bossy now, are you, baby?” he asks under his breath, as he thrusts his fingers in and out, as he slams his hips up in that same relentless pace as them. “Not so bossy when I’m fucking that mouth and that pretty little pussy.”

His words burn from your lower stomach to up your spine, electric everywhere they reach. You can do nothing but take it, your hands on his shoulders for some sense of stability.

Each thrust has the tip of his cock against your cervix, has his fingers clawing along your tongue as he presses them down on it just enough to pry your jaw open.

“Lemme see that smile, sweetheart,” he murmurs, those two fingers spreading out into a V, forcing the corners of your lips up and into a wide grin. You sneer, and all that does is make him pound into you harder. “Don’t act so fuckin’ fussy, you’re gettin’ what you wanted, aren’t ya?”

His fingers press on your tongue again, and your lips close around them again. It’s a good distraction from the way you want to scream. Not like you’d ever put that thought in his head with his ego.

JJ slows his pace, but each thrust is just as hard, so deep in you that you can feel each of them, each minute detail; the thick head of his cock against your cervix, every inch that stretches you further with each of those thrusts, the obscene sound in the silent room of skin slapping against skin.

“Baby, m’not gonna last much longer,” JJ pants into your ear, his voice still as rough but with an air of desperation. “Not like this, not with how fuckin’ good you’re bein’ for me, nice and quiet while I fuck your juicy pussy— fuck, baby.”

He drags his fingers over your lips again, this time down, down the valley between your breasts, your stomach, your navel, until they’re planted right in the hot wetness of your folds. They find your clit and begin to rub the swollen nub, slow and gentle and completely at odds with the brutal fucking.

You’re good, though, even without his hand covering your mouth. Even with—

A flashlight beams through the glass window above the both of you. Your eyes glance up to see it, and JJ’s staring at the spotlight of gold in the center of the room, just inches from his extended legs.

It flicks left, right, and you see the glimmer in the eyes of the officer right there, face pressed to the glass, hear the doorknob jangle against the chained lock—

JJ doesn’t stop. His pace becomes quicker, more erratic, more desperate. Your jaw trembles with the effort to keep your parted lips from making any sound at all, the precipice so close that you’re terrified of whatever noise is going to come out of your mouth when you cum.

The beam from the light swings away, disappearing as the officer walks away, muffled words through the walls separating you and JJ from them.

It’s just in time, too, because you cum with a soft and breathless gasp, your walls pulsing around his cock, your head falling forward to bury into his collar. His moans begin to shudder in your ear, and you know that he, too, is cumming. Feel it seconds later, when your head starts to clear from the haze of ecstasy, as the warmth of his cum fills you, his cock twitching inside of you.

JJ lifts his fingers from between your legs and pops them into his mouth, the sound of him sucking the essence of you off of them making your legs tremble around him. “Like fuckin’ sin,” he whispers reverently.

He’s so pretty like this. All spent and molten, softening cock inside of you like an extension of you now. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, thumb brushing stray hairs off of your face in the process.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, just as reverently as before, voicing the same thoughts you’d been having about him.

“You’re so stupid,” you say in response, not capable of telling him how much you love him, feeling it to be the wrong time, too cheesy, another thing he’ll tease you about later.

It’s there, though, on the tip of your tongue. I love you. And you do, so much that it aches. This man that’d been your best friend since you could remember anything. This man who sacrificed everything constantly for everyone.

He wouldn’t have to sacrifice anything anymore, you wanna say. He could rest now, you wanted to say, too.

But it feels wrong. And there’s always another time to tell him when it doesn’t just seem like bliss-driven thoughts. There’s always another day.

notes, thoguht my grief was over but the ending made me cry for some reason that's how u know this death hit deep bc why am i crying over like four lines in a Smut pls

#dahlia's ☆ journal #dividers by cafekitsune #pogue!reader #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #outer banks #obx #outer banks one shot #obx one shot

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strangersatellites · 3 months ago

Text

posting this feels like I'm crawling out of my grave and gasping for air

anyway- inspired by this post by @inthedarknessofnight

here's 1.3k of concert photographer!Steve and rockstar!Eddie because I couldn't get this out of my head

gimme, gimme more

1.3k words | this is the most g-rated thing I've ever written, it won't happen again

Steve’s feet hurt.

They always do after a show, but this one was particularly hard on him.

He’s been at this venue for two years now and shot countless shows in that time. But never in his career has he been challenged so– athletically.

The photo pit at this place is light years better than his last venue. There’s more than enough room for all of the photographers and their gear without stepping on each other. Usually Steve is grateful for this because surely there is only so many more beatings his 35mm can take before it kicks the bucket. Today though, he’s grateful for the space because of the full-tilt sprint this band had him in.

He’s never seen anything like it.

Well, less so did the band have him in a sprint and more so the frontman but, semantics.

The guy is everywhere. Steve could barely keep up with the way he ran around stage, jumping, climbing on equipment, leaning off-stage toward the barricade.

It was fun but Jesus, what is his deal?

Steve hadn’t even known who Corroded Coffin was 24 hours ago. Now he’s burned through two SD cards in an hour and a half.

The guy’s hot and a good photo subject, sue him.

Well, he thinks he’s a good photo subject at least. He won’t know until he’s culled through every single shot. Steve’s a good photographer, took to it naturally the first time he picked up a camera. His downfall though, according to his college professors at least, was that he pays absolutely no attention to what he’s shooting while he’s shooting it. Hence the overshooting.

On more than one occasion he’s gotten started on editing and someone is wearing an outfit he’s never seen before, someone’s got sunglasses on in every photo, a tag hanging off their jacket. All he’s concerned with is the framing, the lighting, and the focus. The content can be a problem for Future Steve. Everything can be fixed in post.

Almost.

Anyway, his feet hurt and he hates culling, so he pours himself a full glass of wine and plops down on the couch in front of an episode of trash tv with his laptop and props his feet up. Settles in for a long night.

2,461 images.

He throws his head back with a groan. Ugh.

The first hundred or so are garbage.

They always are.

A few shots spent fucking with the exposure, a few the focus, some the flash.

He denotes the purple flag as his ‘good’ tag and orange as his ‘trash’ tag. The orange is stacking up fast. Around 163 he starts finding some good images. Ones that aren’t tainted by motion blur from his running around after this frontman.

His photos of the drummer are pretty sick; he can't lie. The lights and the smoke and the near-manic smile on his face make for great photos. He’s not even this band’s personal photographer but he can imagine at least one of these will get posted to the band's socials. He’s good, what can he say?

He has a good bit of the bassist, his energy infectious enough you can almost feel it through the screen. Purple is making a comeback.

He finally gets through some crowd pics, some more drummer, some guitarist, some detail shots before he finally makes it to the frontman. 731 photos later.

What did Wikipedia say his name was? Eddie, he thinks.

Weird, the very first shot Steve has of him he’s making fierce eye contact with the camera.

Ew.

No matter how long Steve does this, photos of people looking directly at the camera never get less jarring.

Orange tag. Trash.

The next one is exactly the same.

Shit.

He’s really bad to fall victim to the high speed shutter on this camera and often finds himself with a dozen copies of the same picture. Looks like he’s done it again.

Orange.

More piercing eye contact.

What? He squints and flips back and forth between the last two photos.

They’re not even remotely similar. As a matter of fact, Steve was in a completely different location in the pit for the second one.

Green tag. Come back to this.

Taking a long swig from his glass he shifts so his laptop is closer to his face. Thinks that surely he’s not seeing this right.

He takes to forgoing his tagging system and just flipping through every photo as fast as his fingers can press the arrow keys.

He’s clicked through about 200 when he starts getting worried, his heart rate speeding up. Surely he got something usable.

“What the fuck?”

He’s clicked through 50 or 60 more when he decides that, no he did not fall victim to the shutter speed at all. This guy is just making direct eye contact with his camera in every single photo.

Steve’s not mad, the opposite really. He didn’t spend much time looking at the guy during the show and now he gets to have an eyeful while he works. What’s there to be mad about?

He is, however, mildly concerned that he won’t have a single decent photo to use for the venue socials when he posts about this show.

Whatever. Maybe fans of their music are also fans of uncomfortable eye contact. Who knows?

He finishes sifting through the rest of the photos, Eddie staring directly down the lens in every one, one’s where he’s not the subject included. Throws them all in an editing software and mass edits them all at once. He’ll detail edit later.

While the eye contact was a little unsettling, he did get one photo he’s particularly happy with. One that makes it look like the staring was on purpose.

It’s during the second to last song, a ballad– or as close as you can get with a metal band. Eddie’s standing center-stage and Steve had snagged the spot directly in front of him. He’s looking straight down, backlit with red spotlights, surrounded by smoke pumping from side-stage, and just close enough that Steve can see the sweat dripping down his neck. He looks a little bit scary, but that’s how Steve likes ‘em.

That’ll be the cover photo for sure.

He shoots an album link to his boss to review before he distributes them anywhere, then spends the next twenty minutes laughing to himself while he collects the goofiest photos of Eddie staring straight at his lens.

He puts them in a new album and copies the link.

When he opens up Instagram and searches Corroded Coffin he lets out a low whistle at the six million followers. Maybe he really should know who these guys are. With that many followers he doubts they’ll even see a message from his personal account, but whatever. He clicks on the message button on their profile and hits paste.

@ steveharrington.jpeg Great show tonight! Somebody tell this guy that he is allowed to look away from the camera though…

He only waits a few minutes for the reply.

@ corrodedcoffin HOLY SHIT THAT WAS YOU

@ corrodedcoffin Wait hang on

His phone pings with a message from a new account.

@ whoiseddiemunson HOLY SHIT THAT WAS YOU

@ whoiseddiemunson Sweetheart I wasn’t looking at the camera

Steve furrows his brows, confused. Starts typing a response but gets interrupted by another message.

@ whoiseddiemunson I was looking at the smoking hot guy behind it. Kinda hard to get a good look when he’s hiding behind the camera though.

Steve feels his cheeks flush and huffs a laugh to himself.

@ steveharrington.jpeg Well the guy behind the camera did manage to get a few good ones even though he was under surveillance the whole show. Wanna see those?

@ whoiseddiemunson Hell yeah I do. I just scrolled through your profile, your work is amazing. Do you want to show me the rest? Maybe over coffee tomorrow?

Steve smiles. His earlier heart palpitations replaced with butterflies.

@ steveharrington.jpeg Is this a date?

@ whoiseddiemunson It better be

#gin writes #I never thought that tag would see the light of day again #gin wrote #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #shot of gin #I am a photographer and have way too much inside knowledge to NOT write something with this #allow me to info dump at you rq #steddie fic #this is only 1.3k words and it took a LOT out of me #how I ever used to write full length fic is beyond me #good on past gin #because #present gin is WORN OUT #author has been listening to a lot of Britney Spears #hence the title #you can just be literally so back whenever you want #and I’m so back

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wonderlandwalker · 2 months ago

Text

The promises we cling to | Finnick Odair x reader

thg masterlist / inbox / part two

summary: this is basically just me starting with the "people are watching / then lets give them something to look at" prompt and maybe getting a little lost in the process

word count: 3.6k

tags / content warnings: angst, fluff, violence, blood, injury that whole shebang, I actually proofread this one but that doesn't mean I spotted everything sorry in advance

a/n: apparently the only time I'm capable of writing is when im less than a day away from my constitutional law final and delusional because i've been awake for 38 hours so hopefully this will give me enough dopamine to actually get a passing grade

Finnick knows how this works; he’s known it since he was fourteen years old and first stepped foot in an arena. Since the moment he lost sight of you, since the bloodbath separated you, Snow’s words haunt him with every cannon he hears: "She is just another thing I can take from you."

And yet—

He still dares to believe you’re alive.

Not because the Capitol hasn’t tried. Not because the odds are kind. But because you promised. You swore you’d fight. And Finnick clings to that vow like a prayer, even as the arena’s cannons rattle his bones. Last night, he’d counted the fallen—your name absent from the sky’s grim ledger. But three more cannons have split the air since dawn, and now—

Now he’s not sure what to believe. The rational part of him—the part carved into survival by years of Capitol cruelty—knows the truth: They’re playing with him. But the other part, the raw and bleeding thing behind his ribs, doesn’t care. The rebels’ plan echoe in his head, "Stay put. Wait for extraction." But he’s itching to move, to act, to do something besides sit here and wait. Every muscle in his body is filled with restless energy, his fingers tapping a precise rhythm against his trident. The inaction is worse than any challenge the arena could give him. He wants to run back into the jungle, to tear through the branches until he finds you, but he knows you. That's the cruellest part.

He knows how you think, the way you map escape routes before you even enter a room, the way you always have a back-up plan for your back-up plan. And right now, this beach is your plan. It’s the rendezvous point you had all agreed on before the Games even began, a secret strategy the rebels had managed to lay out. If he leaves, he risks missing you. If he stays, he risks leaving you to die alone. The dilemma claws at his ribs, and around him he can hear the others strategise, but their words blur into static. All he can hear is the phantom echoe of your voice in his head as you tell him it will be okay. Johanna catches his eye from across the beach, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Stop pacing. You’re making me twitchy.” He forces himself to let out a deep breath, focusing on the movement of the water in front of him. He needs to put himself back together; he needs to stay here.

But then—your scream. It tears through the jungle, a sound so visceral his body moves before his mind catches up. He’s already sprinting, the grip on his trident tight as his instincts kick in.

"Finnick, stop—!" Johanna’s voice is lost to him over the rushing of blood in his ears. The trees blur as he runs; he doesn't think about the careers that could be close by, the traps that he could trigger or the fact that he’s doing the exact opposite of what he’s supposed to. The flicker of movement to his right catches his attention, and he’s about to change directions when the jabberjays descend. They’re a swarm of wings and needle-sharp cries as they surround him, their voices stitching together into an illusion of you: your gasps, your sobs, the way you’d whispered his name before being forced apart. He stops moving and staggers to his knees. It’s not real. He knows it’s not real. Knows that Snow’s fingerprints are all over this new form of torture. But logic means nothing when his hands are shaking, when his lungs refuse to work, when every instinct screams to run, find, save—

Johanna grabs his shoulder, her nails biting through his skin. "Breathe, Odair."

The jabberjays' cries fade into the jungle's chorus, leaving Finnick hollowed out and raw. Johanna's grip on his shoulder remains, her fingers digging into muscle like she's the only thing keeping him from splintering apart.

"Get up," she hisses, voice low and urgent. "We need to move before those things lure anyone else here." Finnick's hands still tremble as he pushes himself to his feet. The phantom echoes of your voice cling to him, sticky as blood. He wants to argue, to plunge back into the green hell after you, but Johanna's right—the sound of the jabberjays could be a beacon for every tribute left in the arena.

The walk back to the beach is a blur of snapping branches and Johanna's muttered curses. When they break through the treeline, Beetee's head jerks up from the makeshift radio he's been tinkering with, his glasses flashing in the sunlight. "Did you find—?"

"No," Johanna cuts him off, shoving Finnick toward the water. "Go clean up before I toss you in the water myself.” Finnick's gaze drifts to the treeline, his fingers twitching at his sides. You promised you'd fight. He just needs to believe you're still fighting.

You wake to the taste of copper and dirt. The world swims into focus slowly—first the ache in your ribs, then the sticky warmth of blood matting your hair to your scalp. Somewhere in the chaos of the bloodbath, a blow to the head had sent you sprawling into the undergrowth, separating you from the others. The jungle hums around you, deceptive in its tranquillity. Every rustle of leaves could be a mutation, every snapped twig a Career hunting for stragglers. The beach is your only chance—you know Finnick will be waiting there, even if it kills him. You press your back against a tree, lungs burning, and your ribs scream where a Career’s boot found its mark yesterday, but you know you need to keep moving; too much time has passed already. You know the way his voice cracks when he’s trying not to beg, the way his hands shake after nightmares, you know he’s counting cannons, just like you are—each one a fresh wound. So you bite down on the pain and move.

The arena doesn’t kill you quietly; it creeps in through the cracks—the stench of rotting foliage, the too-sweet tang of tracker jacker venom lingering in the air, the way your own sweat stings the cuts on your palms. So you move in bursts, pausing to listen between steps. The arena's traps are everywhere.

When the jabberjays come, their shrieks weaving together your name in Finnick's voice, you almost believe it's real. Your chest cracks open with want, but you bite your tongue until you taste blood. The jabberjays' voices fade, but their poison lingers in your bones. You press a trembling hand against the rough bark of a tree, counting breaths until the phantom sound of Finnick's screams stops echoing in your skull. Every rustle of leaves sends your pulse skittering. The wound on your ribs throbs in time with your footsteps, a fresh bloom of pain with each misstep. You try to focus on the memory of Finnick's hands steadying you after nightmares – his thumbs brushing your wrists in slow circles. Breathe. Just breathe.

The first hint of salt air cuts through the jungle's rot. Your knees nearly buckle at the scent – it smells like Finnick's skin after swimming, like promises whispered against damp hair. The ground begins to slope downward. Somewhere beyond the trees, waves crash in a rhythm you'd know blind. You're close now. So close. A twig snaps; you freeze, muscles coiled.

Then—a sound. Not a cannon. Not a mutation. A rhythmic tap, too precise to be accidental. You know that sound, like you know the hitch in Finnick’s breath when he wakes from nightmares. Like you know the way his fingers drum against your hip when he’s impatient, when he’s afraid, when he’s trying to pretend he isn’t either. The beach is close. You know that rhythm, the way his hands move when his mind is racing, when the nerves he’d never admit to are fraying his control. And just like that, you’re running; you’re reckless. You can smell the sand now; you can almost hear their hushed voices. But the arena has one last cruelty in store.

You feel it before you see it, that split-second prickle at the back of your neck, the sudden hush of the jungle like the arena itself is holding its breath, and you know the fatal mistake you’ve just made. Memories crash over you like a riptide. The bouncing of his knee under the kitchen table on the morning of the reaping, the way he’d flinched when your fingers brushed his wrist, then clung to you like you were the only anchor in a storm. You remember the Tuesday he’d shattered a teacup at 3 a.m., his breathing coming out in jagged bursts. You hadn't asked him why; it didn't matter why. You had just slid down beside him, pressing your forehead to his temple until his lungs remembered how to work.

And that damned peach pie, the memory of flour dusting his lashes as he’d laughed at your frantic perfectionism, only to turn pale as a ghost when you’d yelped at the oven’s burn. His hands, so careful, always so careful, cradling your blistered palms while his voice stayed as steady as the tide. “Breathe, sweetheart. It’s just pie.” It had been his mother’s recipe, the first thing he trusted you with that hurt to share, and you were more upset over messing it up than the burn on your hands. And that night on the beach, salt air clinging to his lips as he whispered “Promise me” with a desperation that carved itself into your bones. The version of Finnick the Capitol moulded was gone; there was only the raw, trembling truth of him.

It had reminded you of the first time you met. The way Finnick’s laugh had faltered when your eyes locked across the room years ago—like he’d been sucker-punched by his own heartbeat. The Capitol’s golden boy unravelled in an instant. The sun was starting to rise over the water, the soft light showcasing the tension in his shoulders.

You’ve seen Finnick Odair wear a hundred masks, but this—this restless hesitation, his fingers worrying the edge of his sleeve—is new. You open your mouth to ask him, but he speaks first. “I know you like to tease me about the clichés I tell you.” His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming into the tide. “But I need you to know I mean every fucking word.” When he turns, the look on his face steals your breath. This isn’t the polished charmer from your early days or even the fractured man who once sobbed into your collarbone after a Capitol party. This is something rawer. Something terrified.

Your fingers find the nape of his neck on instinct, threading through sweat-damp curls. He shudders, leaning into your touch like a dying man offered water. “I know,” you whisper. “No.” His hand clamps over yours, pressing your palm flat to his pulse. It’s racing. “When I say I’d die for you, I mean it. Let me mean it.” The words are a blade between your ribs. “Finn—”

“We’ve both known what will happen at the reaping, even if we pretend we don’t.” His thumb traces your knuckles—so gentle, so at odds with the fire in his eyes. “You’d walk into that arena alone just to spare a stranger. That stubbornness is why I—" He chokes. “But you have to let me be selfish too.” A tear slips down your cheek, but he catches it before it can fall from your face. “Promise me.” His voice cracks.“Promise you’ll survive, even if I don’t.”

You want to argue. To shake him until his teeth rattle. But the plea in his gaze is a mirror of your own soul. “I promise.” His exhale is a seismic thing, like he’s been drowning for years. You seize his wrist before he can pull away. “Promise me too. That you’ll fight, no matter what.” There’s a flicker of agony in his eyes, but just like you had known, he knows you need to hear him say it. “I promise I’ll try.” There are so many unspoken words as he looks at you. So many more clichés you know he wants to give to you, so many reassurances you wish you could give him, but the one promise you have always shared is louder than ever: you won’t let them have the satisfaction of knowing they can break you.

So maybe this is how it was always meant to be. The thought comes to you with eerie clarity as Brutus enters your line of vision and his fingers crush your windpipe. You’ve kept your promises, you’ve fought like hell, and now—now you’ve made it back to him, even if only for a final heartbeat. Your vision tunnels, and every gasp is like a knife being dragged through your lungs, but you don’t stop moving. Your fingers reach for the blade embedded in your palm — the one you’d taken from another tribute hours ago, the one still slick with your own blood. Brutus snarls as you drive it into his wrist, and for one glorious second, his grip loosens. You suck in a fractured breath, but then his other hand slams you against a tree. “Is that all you’ve got?” His breath is rancid, and stars burst behind your eyes, the world around you fracturing into fragments as he lifts you off the ground, once again stealing your breath from you.

You think of Finnick, the real him, the one who kissed you like he was starving as he trailed a path all over your body, who whispered against your thighs like he was reciting a prayer. Just as you’re about to give in to the memories, throught the static in your ears, you hear it, and Brutus’ head snaps toward the sound.

"Get your fucking hands off her."

The voice is raw with fury, edged with something worse—terror. Brutus actually flinches. It’s a voice you’d recognise anywhere; you’d know it underwater. In a hurricane. At the end of the world. Finnick.

You hit the ground hard, your lungs screaming as they try to reclaim the air you’ve been gifted once more, but all you can process is him. The unmistakably feral look twisting on his face as he slams into Brutus like a tidal wave, the sickening crunch of his fist meeting jawbone—once, twice—each blow precise and vicious, the way his trident lies abandoned behind him; he didn’t even bother using it. This isn’t combat; this is butchery. Your vision swims as you stagger upright, only to collapse again. Every gasp feels like swallowing broken glass, but you have to get to him—

Crack.

The sound isn’t just heard. You feel it in your bones. Brutus’ head snaps sideways, his knees buckling as Finnick drives an elbow into his temple. There’s no finesse, just a boy who’s spent too many years sharpening himself into a weapon, finally cutting loose.

A wet cough wrenches from your throat, and Finnick’s head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t break. For one fractured second, his rage falters. You’ll remember that look forever. How his eyes went wild, how his breath hitched—like he’d just watched you die. The sound of your wheezing seems to snap him out of his trance. Though he’s covered from head to toe in blood spatter—none of it his—he has never looked more fragile to you. He rushes to your side, dropping to his knees as one hand cradles your face while the other takes yours, pressing your palm against his ribcage to help you steady your racing breaths. His thumb strokes your cheek in slow, uneven sweeps—a nervous habit. The blood smearing your skin is thick, still warm, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when Finnick is looking at you like this, like you’re dawn breaking over the ocean after the longest night of his life.

Despite the ache in your arms, you lift your free hand and catch his—the one that had been tracing restless patterns against your skin—and press his palm to your chest. You know the steadying rhythm of your heartbeat is one of the few things that can anchor him now. A spark flickers to life in his eyes as they roam your face, as if he’s memorising the proof that you’re here, alive.

“I’ve missed you.” The words are too small for the weight in your chest, but they’re the only truth you can grasp. His chuckle is rough, warmth bleeding into the sound, and it reignites the dull ache in your heart—then fans it into a wildfire when he murmurs, “I missed you more.” You can feel the want boiling inside him—the way his adrenaline sings for him to crush you against his ribs, to kiss you like he’s pouring every unsaid vow into your lungs. But he hesitates, fingers twitching against your collarbone. Still afraid, still fragile.

“I’m okay, Finn. I promise.” A smile ghosts his lips, but his next words are barely audible. “Everybody’s watching.” He doesn’t need to say anything else. You remember the first oath you ever swore to each other: Don’t let them in. Don’t let them twist this. Your relationship was never just yours—it was a stage play for all of Panem, a performance where even you sometimes forgot where the script ended and the truth began.

Yet here he is, clinging to another promise—the one where he swore to shield you, even from himself. You see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands hover like he’s afraid touch might shatter the illusion of control. He’s trying so damn hard to be what you need: steady, selfless, safe. But the irony is delicious. His restraint is the proof you crave. It screams what the cameras will never understand—that this, right here, is the most real thing either of you has ever had. So you tilt your chin up, your voice a challenge and a dare as you scan his face: “Then let’s give them something to look at.”

Your words are another whisper, so quiet you fear they might dissolve before they reach him—but then his head snaps up, his gaze scouring your face like a man reading a map in the dark. And then he breaks. He lunges forward, lips crashing into yours with a desperation that steals your breath. It’s overwhelming, it's perfect, the familiarity of his mouth against yours is everything you had been craving since you last saw him. You kiss him back like it’s the only language left to you, pouring every unsaid ‘I love you’ into the press of your lips. His touch is featherlight yet feverish, hands tracing your arms, your spine, as if trying to memorise you through his fingertips. And in this fragile bubble of shared breath and tangled limbs, you find it—the truth you’ve been starving for.

Finnick kisses like it’s his salvation. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, insatiable, while his arm bands around your waist, hauling you flush against him until not even air separates you. You feel the frantic thudding of his heartbeat where your chest meets his, a wild counterpoint to your own. When he groans into your mouth, it’s a sound you want to bottle. It’s not enough. Even now, with his skin against yours and his pulse thundering under your palms, you’re already aching for more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he makes the world vanish.

A very deliberate cough shatters the daydream you’d been lost in, and the two of you spring apart like kids caught making out behind the gym. “You two never fail to disgust me.” Johanna’s voice is flat, devoid of even her trademark sarcasm, and the heat that floods your cheeks is embarrassingly familiar. “If you’re done trying to swallow each other’s faces, we’ve got shit to do.”

Finnick snaps back to reality first, hauling himself upright before pulling you up with him. His hands linger, like he needs the contact to convince himself you’re really here. Johanna rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t stick, already stalking back toward the clearing—but not before you catch her gaze flickering over you, her lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile. Of course she cares, she's the one who introduced the two of you to begin with.

“I think she might actually be glad I’m not dead.” You murmur, and his laughter is warm against your ear. The sound settles something in your chest, a reminder: You’re here. You’re together. Maybe, against all odds, things will be okay.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he jokes back. “She’s just relieved she won’t have to suffer through my moping anymore.” The lightness in his grin tells you everything—he’s found his footing again. And so have you. But as Finnick’s thumb brushes your wrist, you both hear it: another cannon in the distance. The Games aren’t over yet.

[prequel: The masks we wear]

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carnalcrows · 3 months ago

Text

NO WAY OUT – THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x bottom male reader

synopsis: Trapped in a nightmare disguised as a quiet town, you make a desperate deal with the devil in a suit.

content warnings: 18+, dubcon (borderline noncon), gore, death, coercion, spit used as lube, painful penetration, a gun. dead dove do not eat

word count: 1.8k

The town had been quiet. Too quiet.

You had arrived with a small group, dumped in this unfamiliar countryside village with little explanation beyond the cryptic instructions: Survive until dawn, and you will be rewarded.

There was no mention of what you were meant to be surviving. No clarification on who, or what, might be out there.

It looked real enough—a cluster of rustic houses, a few scattered street vendors, a convenience store at the corner, and a small diner where an old radio crackled with static-laced music. There were people, too. Locals, you assumed, tending to their shops, walking lazily down the street, chatting as they leaned against their bikes.

And yet… something was off.

The air felt too still, like the town itself was watching. The people—while convincingly real—had a strange, rehearsed quality to them, like actors in a poorly directed play. A woman behind the fruit stall smiled at you, but her expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. A man sitting on a bench flipped through a newspaper, but his gaze never actually moved across the page.

You weren’t the only one who felt it.

“This is weird, right?” one of the others muttered beside you.

You nodded, keeping your voice low. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”

“Where even are we?”

No one had an answer.

Then, the first shot rang out.

A loud, piercing crack split the air, echoing between the buildings.

You barely had time to process it before a man in the center of the street jerked violently—his chest erupting in a burst of blood. He staggered backward, mouth opening in shock, hands clawing at the gaping wound before his legs gave out beneath him. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

For a moment, no one moved.

The woman at the fruit stall blinked at the corpse as if unsure how to react. The man with the newspaper lowered it, his lips twitching downward in something almost like annoyance.

Then the second shot rang out.

A woman’s head snapped back, a spray of red painting the shop window behind her. Her body crumpled.

Panic detonated.

Screams tore through the air. The "locals" abandoned their pretense of normalcy, scattering into nearby buildings, locking doors behind them. The other participants—actual people—bolted in every direction, sprinting for cover, shoving past each other in blind terror.

You ran.

Your breath burned in your lungs as you tore down the street, dodging past fallen bodies, slipping in their blood. You barely registered the faces around you—people who, just moments ago, had been joking nervously about what the challenge might be. People who were now dead or dying.

Someone tripped in front of you, hitting the pavement hard. They barely had time to push themselves up before another crack split the air—blood spattered across your face. Their body slumped forward, unmoving.

You kept running.

The town was a trap. The entire thing had been staged—a perfectly crafted illusion of safety, meant to lull you into a false sense of security before the real game began.

And now, the hunt was on.

You skidded around a corner, chest heaving. The bullets weren’t stopping. The laughter—the laughter—of your unseen pursuers echoed between the buildings. This wasn’t just a game to them.

It was fun.

Your stomach twisted violently. You had to hide.

The convenience store was the first thing you saw.

You ducked inside, slamming into the nearest shelf, sending a few snack bags tumbling to the floor. The store looked untouched. Too normal. The flickering lights, the neatly stocked shelves—it all felt like a cruel joke.

You pressed yourself into the corner, crouching low. Your hands were shaking. Your breath came too fast, too loud. If they found you—if they saw you—

The bell above the door jingled.

You went rigid.

Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate.

And then—

"You shouldn't be out here alone."

Your blood turned to ice.

The voice was smooth, velvety—too calm for a situation like this.

Your breath caught in your throat as you turned, pressing your back harder against the shelves. He stood just a few feet away, partially silhouetted by the convenience store’s flickering fluorescent lights. His suit was crisp, clean—untouched by the chaos outside. He looked completely at ease, like he’d just stepped in for a late-night snack instead of stalking a blood-soaked battlefield.

Your gut twisted.

He wasn’t one of you.

"You… you have to help me," you forced out, even as your voice wavered.

His expression didn’t change. "Help you?"

Your chest heaved. "They’re killing people out there—I don’t know what’s going on, but we have to get out of here before—"

He took a step closer.

You froze.

Something was wrong.

His gaze dragged over you, slow and measured, like he was considering something. You swallowed hard. He hadn’t looked surprised when you mentioned the killings. He hadn’t asked what was happening. He hadn’t even looked concerned.

Then it hit you.

He already knew.

Your stomach dropped.

He was one of them.

Panic clawed its way up your throat. You tried to move, to run—

Too late.

He surged forward, faster than you could react. A hand slammed into the shelf beside your head, cutting off your escape. The other gripped your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His touch was deceptively light, almost gentle—but beneath it was an unspoken force that made your pulse hammer in terror.

"Now, now," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Where do you think you’re going?"

You shook.

He was playing with you. Toying with you.

Your survival instincts kicked in, overriding every other thought in your head. You grabbed onto his wrist, voice cracking with desperation. "Please—I’ll do anything—"

Something in his eyes gleamed.

Oh.

Oh, you’d just said the magic words.

The corners of his lips curled into a smile. It wasn’t reassuring—it was wrong, twisted by something dark and knowing. He leaned in, tilting his head like he was thinking about what to do with you. His thumb traced absently along your jaw, a touch too intimate for a situation dripping in blood and fear.

"Anything?" he echoed.

You felt sick.

Before you could take it back, before you could rethink—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow.

It was hungry.

His lips crashed against yours, rough and possessive, as if tasting victory. His hand tightened on your jaw, angling you up to meet the force of it. The kiss was messy, feverish—sloppy. His tongue swiped against yours without hesitation, deepening the kiss with a level of control that made your knees weak.

Your mind was screaming.

This was wrong. So wrong.

And yet—your survival instinct told you to go with it.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, gripping it like a lifeline. His breath was hot, uneven, and the way he moved was deliberate—like he was savoring this, drinking in every little shudder, every sharp inhale you made.

You didn’t want this.

But you wanted to live.

His grip on you was suffocating, his body caging yours against the shelf. You whimpered into the kiss—half from fear, half from the raw intensity of it. He devoured you, taking his time, making it clear who was in control.

And then, finally, he pulled back.

A strand of saliva still connected your lips.

His thumb ran over your bottom lip, almost affectionate, before he leaned down, his voice a breathy whisper against your ear.

"Good boy."

The realization hit you like a freight train.

You weren’t escaping this.

You had already been caught.

His hand trailed from your jaw to you neck– almost choking you as his other hand went to the hem of your pants, pulling them down with a swift tug.

Reality hit you, and you looked up at him– wide eyed. His hand left your neck

“Hey– maybe this isn't a good idea–”

You were silenced by a gun pressed to your throat.

“I don't think you're in the position to make demands here, hm?” He questioned, revelling in the way your eyes widened with fear.

He trailed the gun down from your neck to your boxers, pushing it down gently to reveal your erection.

“So you do enjoy this… And here I was thinking I was the bad person.”

You shuddered as he nudged your cock with his gun– you were fucking terrified.

The hand that wasn't holding the gun went to your lios6, parting them open.

“Suck.”

You merely obeyed, sucking on his digits until they were slick enough.

He removed them with a pop and suddenly turned you around, so that your back was facing him.

He must've put the gun aside, but a guy feeling told you that you shouldn't try to run.

He prodded a finger at your hole– making you gasp. This wasn't right, this–

You screamed as he pushed his finger through the tight ring of muscle, the pain being almost too much to bear.

Without concern, he pushed two more fingers in, making your back arch into him.

His other hand held you close, digits pushing in and out of you, squelches filling the air.

The pain was soon overcome by pleasure, and you found yourself moaning softly, eyes drooping.

“Please–” “Please what? Use your words.”

“Fuck me– god–”

You didn't even get to finish your sentence before he removed his fingers from your hole and replaced it with the head of his cock.

You whined at the sudden intrusion, feeling so, so full.

He pushed his entire length in, until the tip almost hit your prostrate, before pulling out to the head and slamming back in with full force.

Your back arched, a loud moan leaving your lips.

Both his hands steadied themselves on your waist, holding you upright as he fucked into you like an animal in heat.

This man must be really pent up.

Your hands held onto the nearest shelf, the packets on it nearly falling out due to the heavy movement.

He practically pushed you into the shelf, your face getting smushed into the ramen packets.

Without a care in the world, the man continued fucking you animalistically, using you for his own pleasure.

Suddenly, without warning, he came into your with a low groan, hiding his face into the crook of your neck as he painted your insides white.

He pulls out of you as you come undone, coating the food that (hopefully) no one was going to touch.

He got up and adjusted his suit, reaching for this gun as you slowly turned yourself around, arms shaking.

You felt your eyelids close before you heard the cock of the gun.

You looked up in shock to see the gun being pointed straight at you, the man looking completely nonchalant.

“But– you said you would let me go–”

“Well… I lied.”

The gun fires.

535 notes · View notes

bartonomy · 3 months ago

Text

OF STRAY CATS AND MISTAKEN IDENTITY

PAIRING Ravenclaw! Barty Crouch Junior x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS Barty is 101% convinced that the stray cat was his girlfriend. But after being hit with horror, he was left wondering- who the hell was he kissing?

CONTENT WARNING fluff, james & sirius mentioned, barty losing his mind, I love ravenclaw barty sm, mention of hospital wing, established relationship

WORD COUNT 2.8 k words

library.

Barty had never considered himself delusional.

A bit eccentric? Sure. Dramatic? Occasionally. Unhealthily obsessed with his girlfriend? Absolutely. But delusional? No.

At least, that’s what he told himself- right up until he locked eyes with a stray cat in the middle of the courtyard and thought, with absolute certainty, That’s her.

It had your eyes.

Same sharp gaze. Same depth of intelligence. Same quiet challenge, like it was judging him for existing.

The fact that it was also a literal feral animal didn’t quite register.

Barty blinked.

The cat blinked back.

Something cold slithered down his spine. No fucking way.

“…Love?” he muttered hesitantly.

From across the courtyard, James, who had been lazily tossing a Quaffle back and forth with Sirius, immediately paused mid throw.

James turned, brows furrowing as he watched Barty talk to a stray cat with the softest, most devastated expression on his face.

“What the fuck?” James muttered.

Sirius followed his gaze and snorted. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Meanwhile, Barty took a cautious step forward, heart pounding. “I- how did this happen?” he whispered.

The cat, being a cat, did not respond. Instead, it arched its back and hissed.

Barty flinched. His breath caught in his throat.

“No, no, it’s me,” he pleaded, taking another slow step forward. “Don’t be scared, love, I’ll-”

The cat bolted.

“WAIT!” Barty lunged, nearly tripping over his own feet as he sprinted after it.

Sirius howled with laughter as James gawked, watching as one of the most (maybe only) unhinged Ravenclaws in school history tore across the courtyard chasing a cat like it owed him money.

“WHAT IS HE DOING?” James demanded.

“I don’t know,” Sirius gasped, clutching his stomach, “but I am loving it.”

Barty, meanwhile, had completely lost the plot.

Because obviously, obviously, something had gone terribly wrong.

His girlfriend, the love of his life, had somehow been transformed into a cat and was now running away from him.

Was it a curse? Were you a secret animagus without telling him? (He very much hoped not). A transfiguration accident? Had some idiot Gryffindor (probably Potter) hexed you for fun?

He would kill them.

“LOVE, PLEASE!” Barty called desperately.

The cat did not care. The cat was tired of his bullshit.

It darted around a group of fifth-year Ravenclaws, who shrieked in alarm as Barty barreled through them, sending books and parchment flying.

“CROUCH, WHAT THE HELL—?!”

“NO TIME,” Barty yelled over his shoulder. “THIS IS A RESCUE MISSION! LIFE OR DEATH!"

The Ravenclaws watched him go, stunned, before one of them turned to their friend. “Do you think he finally lost it?”

“I think he lost it a long time ago.”

Barty chased the cat all the way past the Greenhouses, through the courtyard, and around the castle walls before jumping on a pillar and out of sight.

He was heartbroken.

Barty Crouch Junior was losing his goddamn mind.

“I saw him again,” a fourth-year Hufflepuff whispered behind him a few days later as he stalked past the courtyard, eyes scanning the treetops.

“No way.”

“Yes way! He was behind Greenhouse Three, just squatting in the bushes—”

“What, again?”

Barty ignored them, running a hand through his already messy hair. He had barely eaten. He had barely slept. Every time he so much as blinked, all he could see was you- or rather, the cat- flitting through the castle grounds, always just out of reach.

Evan had noticed.

“What the fuck are you doing, Crouch?” he had demanded over breakfast, watching in horror as Barty practically inhaled three pieces of toast in under a minute. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge.”

Regulus, sitting beside him, had barely spared Barty a glance before going back to his book. “He has been dragged through a hedge.”

Barty had scowled. “I’m fine.”

“You rearranged your entire schedule to be free at dusk.”

“I did not-”

“Yes, you did,” Regulus had interrupted, still not looking up. “I saw you bribing McLaggen to go to your Herbology classes.”

Evan had narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

Barty had hesitated. Then, after a long moment, he had sighed and muttered, “It’s her.”

Evan had blinked. “Who?”

“Her. You know.”

A long, agonizing even, silence followed.

“… Mate.” Evan’s voice had been so cautious, so deeply concerned. “Are you telling me you think your girlfriend turned into a cat? That she was stuck in a cat form for three days straight? I thought you Ravenclaws were supposed to be bright but I guess the hat made some mistakes after all”

Barty had stiffened. “It has her eyes.” he sighed dreamily. "And Oi! Dare I remind you that I am exceptionally intelligent! I wouldn't run after some animal if I wasn't 100% sure if it was my dazzling girl. She's been stuck in the hospital wing for days now and I've been banned from entering it if I wasn't injured. Pomfrey's too bloody intimidating to say no to." He muttered the last part grumpily.

That had sent Evan into a full body wheeze in the middle of the great Hall, while Regulus had just pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I need new friends’.

But now, about 4 hours later, standing outside the castle with a bundle of blankets and a plate of stolen roast chicken, Barty knew he was right.

Because there- slinking through the grass with a very familiar look of absolute disdain- was you.

Or rather, the cat.

“Come on, love,” he murmured, crouching down. “Just a little closer…”

The cat eyed him warily. He lifted the plate of food.

A pause.

Then, finally, finally, its little nose twitched.

Barty grinned. “Got you.”

With one swift motion, he scooped it up, ignoring the furious hissing as he bundled it in his cloak, clutching it to his chest like a priceless treasure “You’re safe now,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to its little furry head. “I’ve got you.” and sprinted for Ravenclaw Tower.

“Nothing to see here!” he called as a group of first-years stared at him in horror. “Just taking my girlfriend for a walk-”

The cat sank its claws into his sleeve, but he barely felt it. Because finally, after three days of agony, he had you back.

And now? Now he was never letting go.

You knew Barty Crouch Jr. was bloody unhinged, but this was a new level.

At first, it had been a joke, something Evan and Regulus found amusing enough to tease him about in the common room. But the moment you heard the rumors by some second-year hufflepuff in the infirmary that a Ravenclaw student had been seen talking sweetly to a mangy black cat behind Greenhouse Three, you knew exactly who was responsible.

Because if anyone at Hogwarts was insane enough to mistake a random stray for his own girlfriend, it was Barty.

And of course, when Regulus, and Evan confronted him about it, he had scoffed, sneered, and shrugged it off like the very idea was beneath him.

But now, after class ( which he was very much absent from), you were all standing in the doorway of his dormitory in in the Ravenclaw Tower, You had expected something when you entered Barty’s dormitory that evening.

Maybe some scattered parchment filled with messy scrawl, half finished homework dumped onto the floor, or the usual stack of contraband items he kept hidden from Filch. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he was cackling over some new prank he had cooked up, or plotting something ridiculous, like replacing all of Flitwick's quills with sugar quills to see how long it would take him to notice.

But watching in stunned silence as Barty- your Barty- lay sprawled across his bed, stroking the very same stray cat like it was the love of his life.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of its head. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

You exchanged a slow, horrified glance with Regulus and Evan.

The cat, curled up in Barty’s arms, flicked its tail in disinterest. It looked particularly smug for an animal that had spent the last few days hissing at him and bolting at the first sign of movement.

Regulus was the first to break. “What,” he said, voice completely flat, “the fuck am I looking at?”

Barty yelped.

Like, full body, thrown-into-the-Black-Lake and-mauled-by-the giant-squid yelped.

He shot upright so violently that the cat in his arms went flying, landing on the floor with an indignant screech before bolting under the bed.

Barty, still half dazed, whipped around to face the three of you.

Then he saw you and his entire body locked up.

He stared, completely frozen, eyes darting between you- very much human, very much not a cat- and the actual cat now hiding under his bed.

For a moment, his brain clearly struggled to process the reality of the situation.

Then, slowly, horrified, he turned back toward the bed and whispered, voice trembling,

“Then… who the fuck is that?”

Evan wheezed. Regulus made a noise that sounded like a mix between a groan and a prayer for patience.

You just stood there, arms crossed, watching your boyfriend’s entire grasp on reality unravel before your eyes.

Barty, still looking like he had just witnessed a bloody murder, pointed at the bed. “I- I thought- ” He gestured wildly at you. “It had your eyes! It looked like you!”

Evan wiped at his eyes, barely breathing through his laughter. “Oh, mate-”

Regulus rubbed his temples. “This is painful to watch.”

Barty suddenly lunged toward you, gripping your face with both hands. His blue eyes were comically wide, scanning your features with frantic intensity, as if trying to confirm that you were, in fact, real.

“You- you’re human,” he whispered.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s usually how it works, yeah.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “But I-” He turned back to the cat, still cowering under his bed. “But you- ” He let go of your face and ran both hands through his hair, looking genuinely distressed. “Oh, fuck.”

Barty looked absolutely bewildered. His gaze again darted from the three of you standing in his doorway to the empty space in his arms, then back again, like his brain had momentarily shut down.

Regulus, arms crossed, gave him a withering look. “Explain.”

Evan snorted. “*Yeah, Barty. Explain why you’re making out with a bloody cat.”

“I- I wasn’t- What?” Barty spluttered, still looking thoroughly rattled and perhaps on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His cheeks were pink, his hair a mess from where he’d been lounging against the pillows. “This isn’t- You don’t-”

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Oh, please. You kissed it.”

“I did not!”

“You definitely did,” Evan drawled, smirking. “Called it darling and everything.”

“I was-” Barty stopped, face twisting in horror as realization finally dawned. He turned toward the bed, eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose like he was in actual, physical pain. “You genuinely thought that was her?”

You crossed your arms. “And this is why you’ve been skipping meals and sneaking off every evening?”

Barty groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, fine. I may have… mistaken a cat for my girlfriend. Briefly.”

Regulus turned to you, looking deeply unimpressed. “This is your fault.”

You scoffed. “How is this my fault? I spent the last week listening to children groaning and Pomfrey praying for a quiet night.”

“You’re the one dating him,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Barty, who was now staring at the underside of his bed like it had personally betrayed him.

Evan grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Did you know your boyfriend had fur kink?”

Barty turned a deep scarlet. “Evan!”

You snorted, but made the mistake of picturing it. Barty, draped across his four-poster bed, murmuring sweet nothings to a cat that clearly wanted him dead and immediately had to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

Regulus sighed, looking more disappointed than anything. “Merlin, Barty. Why?”

Barty groaned again. “Okay, listen, I swear it looked like her from a distance—”

“Oh?” Evan interrupted, grinning wickedly. “Tell me, Barty, exactly which part of your human girlfriend reminded you of that flea-ridden animal except for the eyes”

Regulus nodded, giving him a deadpan look. “It has yellow eyes."

Barty shot him a glare. “Well-" But then he hesitated. “They… they glowed in the dark?”

“Unbelievable,” Regulus muttered.

“You know what?” Barty huffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Oh, but you do,” you said, grinning. “Because I’d really, really love to know how long you’ve been calling a feral animal by your girlfriend.”

Barty looked deeply uncomfortable.

Evan cackled. “Mate, we should check if you’re cursed. I’ve never seen a wizard be so devoted to a cat before.”

Regulus frowned. “Wait. How did you even catch it?”

A moment of silence fell yet again and Barty coughed. “… A trap.”

You gaped at him. “You set a trap for it?!”

“A very nice trap,” he defended. “With food! And a blanket! I made it comfortable.”

Evan finally lost it. Evan actually had to lean against the doorframe for support, wheezing, gasping for breath. “I can’t- Barty, you insane bastard- ”

Regulus sighed heavily. “Unbelievable.”

You, on the other hand, were struggling between mild horror and the overwhelming urge to laugh.

Because Barty- your very devoted, very dramatic boyfriend- had spent days thinking a feral cat was you.

You cleared your throat. “Just to be absolutely clear- you’ve been talking to this cat like it was me? I wrote a letter to you when I was gone”

Barty looked like he wanted to die.

“I may have… mistaken it for you,” he muttered. "And I thought that you just wrote it with your tiny little paws! Kick my balls for thinking that my girlfriend is brilliant even as a little animal."

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Merlin help me.”

Evan, tears in his eyes, managed to choke out, “Did you kiss it?”

Barty recoiled, offended. “Of course not!”

You raised an eyebrow.

He faltered.

“Okay, maybe once,” he admitted, looking disgusted with himself. “On the head! Not on the- ugh.” He shuddered violently. “Oh, Merlin, I’m going to be sick.”

Evan was on the verge of collapsing. You, finally unable to hold back your laughter, let out a loud, delighted cackle.

Barty’s head snapped toward you, looking utterly betrayed. “You’re enjoying this?”

You grinned. “Oh, immensely.”

“You don’t understand,” he groaned, looking back at the cat with actual horror. “I cuddled with it.”

Regulus sighed, looking genuinely exhausted. “This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

Barty buried his face in his hands. “I need a memory charm.”

Evan wiped away another tear. “This is what happens when you skip meals and stalk animals in the middle of the night, mate.”

You smirked, stepping forward until you were right in front of Barty again. “You know,” you mused, voice teasing, “I’ve never seen you look this flustered.”

Barty groaned into his hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can,” Evan said cheerfully. “You’re absolutely deranged.”

Regulus gave him the second long, deeply unimpressed stare of the night. “Right.” He turned to you. “This is the man you chose.”

“I’m reconsidering,” you said, still giggling.

Barty’s head shot up. “Oi! shut up-”

Before he could finish, the cat, who had apparently had enough of this conversation, darted out from under the bed and made a break for it. It leapt onto the windowsill, tail flicking, and then, in one swift motion, it launched itself into the night.

“No!” Barty lunged for it, but the cat was already gone.

Regulus, Evan, and you watched in stunned silence as Barty remained frozen at the window, staring out like a heartbroken widow in a tragic romance novel.

"Is it dead?" you whispered in horror.

Evan was laughing again. “Mate. That was the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Barty turned around, pointing an accusing finger. “You did this.”

Regulus scoffed. “Oh, yes, we personally convinced you to fall in love with a stray animal.”

“I did not- ” Barty stopped, exhaled sharply, then pointed at you. “You! We’re leaving.”

You blinked. “Leaving where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here,” he snapped, marching toward you. “I refuse to be subjected to this abuse any longer.”

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your hand and dragged you out the door into the hallway, muttering about how no one appreciated his suffering.

You grinned and clenched his hand lovingly. “Don’t worry, love. At least now you’ve got a backup girlfriend.”

He looked pained. “Don’t say that."

Still in the room, Evan nudged Regulus. “Do you think it’s still got fleas?”

Barty let out a distant strangled sound. “Oh my god.”

Regulus, ignoring him, simply said, “I hope so.”

Barty ran back into his dorm, dragging you with him and ignoring your yelp of protest and immediately lunged for the cat, now frantically inspecting its fur.

Evan and Regulus walked out laughing.

And you? You just stood there, watching your deranged boyfriend have a full breakdown.

#barty crouch jr fluff #barty crouch jr #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr fic #barty crouch junior fic #barty crouch junior imagine #barty crouch x reader #barty crouch junior x reader #barty crouch junior #the marauders x you #the marauders era

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callsigns-haze · 4 months ago

Text

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 3

Part 1 here Part 2 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters.

Word count: 18.3k

“Uncle Cassy? Rhysie?” she tried again, her voice louder this time but shaky.

A gust of wind rushed past her, and she stumbled, dropping her stuffed toy in the snow. Kaia gasped, quickly bending down to retrieve it. When she straightened, her eyes caught movement—a flicker of brown fur darting between the trees.

“Bun-bun!” she exclaimed, her fear momentarily forgotten. Her small legs carried her forward as fast as they could, her wings flaring with determination.

She followed the bunny deeper into the woods, unaware of the growing distance between herself and safety. The snow was deeper here, and she struggled to push through it, her breaths coming in soft puffs.

Finally, she came to a small clearing. The bunny had stopped in the middle, its nose twitching as it nibbled on something hidden in the snow. Kaia’s face lit up with delight, and she dropped to her knees, crawling closer.

“Hi, bun-bun,” she whispered, her voice soft with awe. “Kaia not scare you.”

The bunny twitched its ears, watching her cautiously but not running this time. Kaia reached out a mittened hand, her tiny fingers trembling with excitement.

But before she could touch it, another strong gust of wind blew through the clearing, sending a flurry of snow into the air. The bunny bolted, disappearing into the trees.

Kaia froze, her outstretched hand hovering in the air. She blinked at the spot where the bunny had been, her heart sinking as she realized it was gone.

“Bun-bun…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The clearing felt empty now, and the cold pressed in on her small frame. Kaia stood up, hugging her toy close and looking around. Everything looked the same—the same tall trees, the same snow-covered ground. She spun in a slow circle, panic beginning to bubble in her chest.

“Dada?” she called, louder this time. “Rhysie?!”

Her voice echoed through the woods, but no one answered. The realization hit her all at once—she was lost.

Tears welled up in her big hazel eyes, spilling over and freezing on her flushed cheeks. Kaia sniffled, wiping at them with her mittens, but they kept coming.

“Kaia sowwy…” she whimpered to no one in particular, her small frame shaking as she clutched her toy tighter. She took a shaky step forward, then another, unsure of where she was going but desperate to find someone—anyone.

“Kaia cold…” she whispered, her voice breaking as she trudged further into the unknown, the trees swallowing her tiny figure in their shadowy embrace.

-----

Cassian and Rhys sprinted through the snow, their boots crunching harshly against the ground as they called out for Kaia. Their voices echoed off the trees, but all they received in return was the sound of the wind howling through the forest, the world around them unnervingly silent.

"Kaia!" Cassian shouted, his voice hoarse with a mix of fear and desperation. His wings flared behind him, instinctively seeking altitude, trying to get a better view, but the snow and trees blocked his sight.

Rhys was no better. He was using his magic, casting them out like dark tendrils, hoping they would find her scent, hoping they would be able to pinpoint her location. His face was taut, the normally calm and collected High Lord now fraught with panic, his chest tight as he pushed forward.

"Where the hell could she be?!" Rhys snapped, his teeth gritted as he forced himself to stay calm, despite the growing panic clawing at his chest. His magic stretched across the landscape, but they couldn’t seem to find her.

“Kaia!” Cassian yelled again, his voice cracking as he scanned every tree, every path they’d passed. “Baby, where are you?”

His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and it felt like every second that passed only made the distance between them and her grow wider. His mind raced—she’s too small to be out here alone. She’s too young. The snow— His breath hitched, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Rhys, we’ve searched everywhere. We need to—” Cassian stopped mid-sentence, his gaze frantically darting between the trees. He could hear nothing except his own frantic breathing. No sign of her, not even the faintest trace. His wings rustled anxiously as he moved through the snow, but it was like she’d just vanished into thin air.

“No,” Rhys whispered under his breath, shaking his head as if to push the thought away. “She can’t be gone.”

Rhys's eyes were wild as he searched the surroundings, his gaze sweeping over the trees. His usually calm demeanour was slipping, his worry palpable in the way his posture was stiff and rigid. “Cassian, we need to find her. We—”

Suddenly, Rhys’s hand flew to his chest, his breath catching. A surge of panic surged through him, and he spun, locking eyes with Cassian. “We can’t lose her. We can’t…”

Cassian’s wings twitched as his frustration boiled over. “We won’t. We’ll find her, Rhys,” he barked, his voice louder than before, but even his own words didn’t seem to soothe the storm of worry that was overtaking him. "Kaia! Come on, baby, where are you?"

They both continued to push forward, searching for any sign, but it was like the forest itself had swallowed her whole. The snow crunched beneath their feet, but every direction they turned only seemed to get colder, darker, and more empty.

Rhys was beginning to lose his focus, the lack of any trace of her driving him to the edge of his control. "She has to be here," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Cassian. His shadows were no help, his power failing him in the vast expanse of the woods.

Cassian glanced over at Rhys, his face pale with worry. The wind picked up, biting into their skin, making it harder to breathe and focus. The trees seemed to loom taller, closing in on them with every step they took, the very environment mocking their efforts to find her.

"Kaia!" They both shouted again in unison, their voices overlapping, but the silence that followed was deafening.

"I— I can’t—" Cassian’s voice faltered as he stopped abruptly, taking in a shaky breath. The panic was suffocating, his heart hammering in his chest like it would burst. His thoughts raced through his mind in a chaotic mess, and his wings drooped slightly in exhaustion. The cold gnawed at him, but it was nothing compared to the terror swelling in his chest.

Rhys stepped forward, his eyes scanning every direction. He reached out with his shadows again, desperation thick in his voice. “Kaia...”

They both paused, hearts pounding, waiting for some sign of her—anything to guide them. But nothing came.

“Where the hell are you, Kaia?” Cassian’s voice broke through the quiet, his hands clenched into fists.

They were losing time. Each minute that passed felt like an eternity, and with every step, the dread sank deeper into their chests.

The temperature was dropping quickly, and both Cassian and Rhys could feel it—sharp and biting against their skin. The once soft, powdery snow now seemed to cling to them, heavier, as the wind picked up, howling through the trees with an eerie howl. The cold was seeping deeper into their bones, an oppressive chill that made their breaths come out in white puffs, cutting through the silence around them.

Cassian shivered despite the fire in his chest, the cold gnawing at him in a way that he couldn’t ignore. He looked up, squinting against the wind, his heart racing in his chest. "She’s too small for this..." His words were barely audible against the wind, but the deepening cold in the air only made his worry grow worse. She can’t be out here, not in this.

Rhys clenched his jaw, his usual calm demeanour cracking under the weight of fear. "It’s getting worse..." he muttered, his hand instinctively moving to his chest as if to steady the growing panic inside him. He called to his magic once more, desperate for any sign of Kaia. Where are you? His mind screamed, but the answer never came.

Cassian’s wings twitched uncomfortably as the freezing air wrapped around him, pushing against him as if the forest itself were trying to separate them from the rest of the world. The cold was only getting sharper, and it felt like it was closing in on them. The once beautiful landscape, full of snow-capped trees and quiet serenity, now seemed like an endless maze, trapping them in its grasp.

“The wind’s picking up... she’s not prepared for this,” Rhys said, his voice tight with concern. He turned to Cassian, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of dread and frustration. "We have to find her. Now."

Cassian nodded sharply, the cold digging into his bones as if trying to freeze the fear within him. The air felt heavy, pressing in on him, as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation. His wings were flared again, and he was desperately searching for any movement in the trees, any glimpse of Kaia’s small form.

"Kaia!" Rhys shouted once more, his voice cutting through the cold silence. “Where are you?”

The wind howled in response, but there was still no answer. Nothing but the crushing silence and the cold, creeping into their bodies, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Cassian’s breath hitched in his throat as the realization set in. The temperature was dropping, and it was doing so rapidly. If they didn’t find her soon, the cold could be more than she could handle. Her wings weren’t built for this—too young, too small, and unprepared for the harsh winds that swept through the mountainside.

Rhys’s expression hardened, his power flaring around him, but even his shadows couldn’t find her. "We need to move faster, Cassian," he urged, his voice tight with urgency. “If she’s out here in this, she won’t last much longer.”

Cassian didn’t need to hear any more. His wings beat hard against the icy air, carrying him deeper into the forest, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, but the cold kept pushing back against them. The chill pressed into his skin like a vice, and his heart pounded in his chest, matching the fear that rose within him.

The two of them continued to search, but the weight of the freezing air, the deafening silence that surrounded them, and the growing panic made it harder to focus. She has to be out there. They both thought. But each second felt like an eternity, and with every passing minute, the temperature dropped further.

"Kaia!" Rhys called once more, his voice almost a growl, but still no response came. The wind cut through him, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of dread that churned in his stomach.

The cold wasn’t just a physical threat—it was a symbol of the fear that had lodged deep inside them both.

-----

Kaia crouched under the large tree, hugging her toy tightly to her chest, her small wings wrapped around her body for warmth. Her toddler instincts had led her deeper into the forest, further away from the safety of the cabin and the sounds of her uncles’ calls. The cold had numbed her little hands and made her cheeks flush a bright pink, but she was determined to stay where she was, feeling safer in the shadows beneath the thick branches.

The wind howled above her, the snow swirling like a blizzard as the forest seemed to close in on her. The trees creaked, their branches swaying violently in the wind, but Kaia barely noticed the icy cold seeping deeper into her bones. Her wide, innocent eyes were focused on the soft movement around her—just a small speck of motion that caught her attention. Her instincts tingled, a small sense of curiosity overriding any lingering fear.

From the corner of her eye, a figure emerged from the shadows—tall, cloaked in dark, tattered fabric that fluttered eerily in the wind. Kaia’s eyes narrowed as the figure came closer, her small body still trembling from the cold. The figure’s face was hidden beneath a heavy hood, but Kaia could see the sharp outline of its face—a hollow, ghostly shape that sent a brief pang of unease through her chest.

But then the voice came—low, croaky, as if it had been unused for far too long. It rasped through the air like dry leaves.

"Come here, little one..." The figure’s voice was unnaturally soft, almost coaxing, as it reached down towards Kaia. "Come with me... I’ll keep you safe."

Kaia blinked, her confusion clear on her face as she looked up at the figure. She didn’t recognize the voice, but the words... they were so familiar. Safe. It sounded so comforting in her small, innocent mind, a reassurance she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

Her little hands grasped her toy tighter, but the figure’s voice soothed her, and the warmth in its tone seemed to push away the lingering fear from the cold and the isolation.

“Come... you’ll be warm with me. I’ll take you somewhere safe, where no one can hurt you...” The figure’s hand extended further, reaching for Kaia with long, skeletal fingers, the tips twitching like a spider’s legs. It was as if it knew the deep vulnerability of a child alone in the snow and how easily it could be manipulated.

Kaia’s eyes flickered from the figure’s hand to its face, but she didn’t see the danger, her dada always protected her from it. All she saw was something that promised warmth, protection—things that she needed in the moment. Her tiny mind, too young and trusting to see the threat, reached out and took a hesitant step toward the cloaked figure.

“Safe...” Kaia muttered, her toddler speech slurring as she spoke the word with complete faith. She moved forward a few steps, the wind biting at her cheeks, but still, the figure seemed to offer something she couldn’t resist.

The figure’s hand hovered just out of reach, beckoning her closer, and Kaia took another step, her wings twitching with uncertainty but not enough to stop her from moving forward.

"Yes, that’s it. Come with me, and you’ll be safe," the voice croaked again, and it felt like the only thing Kaia needed to hear in that moment.

She took another step, the promise of safety outweighing the concerns in her tiny heart. The figure’s cold presence was nothing more than a shadow against the warmth of the words it spoke.

And for the first time since running away from the cabin, Kaia felt a flicker of something warm inside her—something that made her trust this cloaked stranger without hesitation.

-----

The snow was heavier now, falling in thick, relentless sheets. The once-silent woods had transformed into a labyrinth of white, where each tree and path seemed indistinguishable from the next. The wind whipped through the branches, howling like a creature in pain, and the temperature had dropped further. Every minute they spent out here was a risk they couldn't afford.

Rhys and Cassian had been searching for over an hour, their hearts pounding in their chests as they called Kaia’s name again and again, but the only answer was the howling wind and the creaking of trees. The world had become a blur of white, the snow underfoot crunching with every step they took, but it was as if Kaia had vanished into thin air.

Rhys wiped the snow from his face, his violet eyes darting over the trees, his senses straining to catch any trace of her. He could feel the overwhelming panic creeping into his chest, a tightness that refused to loosen. Kaia’s small, fragile form—so vulnerable in this brutal environment—was all he could think about. The thought of her out here alone, with the temperature continuing to plummet, made every inch of his body ache with worry.

“Where is she, Cass?” Rhys snapped, his voice tight with barely contained frustration. He knew they’d searched every inch of this area, and yet there was nothing. No sign of her footprints, no faint trace of her presence, no little voice calling out to them.

Cassian was no better off. His wings were heavy with snow, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he scanned the woods. His heart had started to race long ago, the cold starting to settle deep in his bones. "We can’t keep doing this, Rhys," Cassian said, his voice strained, “We’ve covered every inch of this damn forest. We’re not going to find her out here like this.”

Rhys' face twisted in frustration, his mind whirling with guilt. “We can’t stop searching! She’s out there somewhere, Cass. We can’t—”

Cassian cut him off with a sharp shake of his head, his voice low and pained. “If we stay out here any longer, we’re going to freeze. The temperature’s dropping fast, and we’re losing our daylight. We can’t keep going like this, not without risking more lives.”

Rhys clenched his jaw, his hands balled into fists as the realization sank in. He knew Cassian was right. Their wings were covered in snow, their bodies cold and numb from the exposure. And worst of all, their search wasn’t yielding any results. They were only growing weaker and more disoriented by the second.

The harsh reality struck him—Kaia couldn’t survive out here for much longer. The cold, her wings still so new and fragile, and the isolation. She wouldn’t have the strength to make it on her own for long. Rhys’ heart dropped like a stone in his chest.

“We need to go back to the cabin and get help,” Rhys said, his voice low, filled with the weight of dread. “We can’t risk any more time out here.”

Cassian nodded grimly, and they both turned, reluctantly heading back in the direction they had come from. The snow had begun to swirl around them more violently now, their path obscured with each passing second.

It felt like the entire forest was conspiring against them.

They moved with urgency, but there was no escaping the sinking feeling in their stomachs. With every step, their hopes seemed to slip further away, the cold gnawing at their very souls. Cassian’s thoughts were consumed with guilt—how could he have let this happen? How had he failed to keep an eye on her? Kaia was just a baby, so small and so trusting.

“How long until she can’t survive out here?” Cassian muttered, his voice tight with emotion. Rhys didn’t answer, because they both knew the answer. The temperature was dropping so rapidly, and Kaia was just a little girl with tiny wings—she could be so easily lost to the cold. And truly Rhysand knows she'd be dead by now.

“Don’t talk like that, Cass,” Rhys snapped, his voice strained, his fists clenched tightly as they pushed forward.

“Just saying it like it is,” Cassian muttered back, his voice rough.

The moment Rhysand and Cassian reached the cabin, exhaustion hanging heavy in their bones, Rhys wasted no time. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of their failure in not finding Kaia pressing down on him like an iron vice. His wings were stiff with the cold, and his breath came in ragged gasps as he staggered into the warmth of the cabin.

He didn’t even take a moment to pause. His mind was already reaching out to Morrigan, his thoughts sharp and urgent.

Mor, he projected mentally, his voice laced with panic, get over here, now. Bring Emerie with you.

He felt a brief, sharp moment of silence, then the flicker of Morrigan’s presence, her steady, confident tone coming through in response.

On our way, Rhys, Morrigan’s voice came through, smooth as silk but filled with a clear sense of urgency. What’s happening?

Rhys didn’t have time for pleasantries. He inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing with barely controlled panic.

Kaia’s gone, he said, his voice heavy with the weight of his words. She’s somewhere out there, and we’ve lost her. We need help now—Emerie’s skills will be vital.

There was a pause. He could sense the shift in Morrigan’s thoughts, her usual unshakable calm now touched with concern.

We’re winnowing now, she replied quickly. Hold on, Rhys.

And just like that, the presence of Morrigan and Emerie vanished from his mind. He reached for Cassian, who was pacing by the door, his face pinched with guilt and frustration.

“They’ll be here,” Rhys said firmly, trying to give his friend something to hold onto in the face of the uncertainty. “Mor and Emerie are on their way.”

Cassian didn’t look reassured. His eyes were still filled with the same terror Rhys had been carrying since they first realized Kaia was missing. But at least they had done something. At least they had people on their side who could help.

The air in the cabin felt suffocating as they waited, every second dragging by in painful silence.

Rhys glanced back toward the door, the tension hanging thick in the air. Every time the wind howled outside, it felt like a reminder of how much time they were losing. How much they couldn’t afford to waste.

Then, with a crackle of energy, the faint sound of the winnow shimmered in the air, and the door slammed open. Morrigan and Emerie appeared in an instant, stepping into the cabin with force and purpose.

“Where is she?” Morrigan asked, her voice firm yet laced with concern as she took in the sight of both males standing there, clearly drained.

Rhys exhaled sharply, his voice tight. “She ran off into the woods. We’ve been searching, but we’ve hit a wall. The cold’s gotten worse, and we can’t afford to waste any more time.”

Emerie was already moving, her dark eyes scanning the room. “I’ll go with Mor,” she said quietly, her voice unwavering. “We’ll track her together.”

Morrigan nodded and winnowed again, Emerie following right behind her. Rhys and Cassian shared one last look before Rhys reached for his brother's arm.

“We’ll be here,” Cassian said quietly, his voice strained. He swallowed hard, doing everything in his power not to show the fear gnawing at him.

“Do what you have to,” Rhys replied, clapping Cassian’s shoulder briefly before turning back, where they would wait. It was all they could do. All they couldn’t do, it felt like.

Rhys stood in the center of the cabin, the silence suffocating around him. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he stared at the door through which Morrigan and Emerie had just left, their forms already vanished in the winnow. His body was still tense, but in his mind, the only thought running over and over was how he had failed.

He had failed you.

He had failed Azriel.

And worse of all, he had failed Kaia.

The knot in his chest grew tighter as his hands clenched at his sides, the cold bite of his fingers doing little to ground him. Kaia, his niece—the child he had vowed to protect—was out there in the forest, alone, in the freezing cold. The thought of her vulnerable, small wings not ready for the chill that was settling over the land, it felt like a blade twisting inside his gut.

He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—let that happen.

His thoughts turned to you. He couldn’t even imagine the fear you would feel when you woke up and found that your daughter was gone. You had enough to deal with, with Kaia’s early birth, the struggle it took to get her healthy and safe. Rhys had promised himself that he would always be there for you, that no matter what happened, you and your family would never suffer in silence.

And now, he’d failed.

The weight of the responsibility, the lives of everyone he cared about—Azriel, his brother who had already been through so much, had been through hell just to get to where they were—pressed on Rhys’s chest like an anchor. How could he have let this happen? How had he not seen the signs earlier, that Kaia might slip away, that she might wander off like this? He had taken his eyes off her for seconds.

Seconds.

It was those seconds that had been enough for her to slip away, enough for the cold to set in, enough for everything to go wrong.

Rhys stepped toward the window, the weight of his own failure nearly crippling him. His wings hung heavily behind him, almost dragging the ground as he stood there. The wind outside howled with fury, the snow piling in thick layers. It was as if nature itself was mocking him for not being able to protect his family.

His mind flashed to Azriel—the look in his eyes when he realized Kaia was missing, the way Azriel had begged him to find her, his quiet desperation filling every word. How could he explain to Azriel, to you, how he had failed them both?

“You promised you’d keep her safe, Rhys,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the howl of the wind. “You promised.”

It was an empty promise now, hanging in the air like a ghost. The weight of the world, the weight of his promises, felt like it was about to crush him.

But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t break down completely, not now. Not when Kaia was still out there, not when there was still a chance to bring her back.

He pressed his hands to his face, taking a deep, shaky breath. His mind began to race again, to push through the overwhelming grief and guilt, forcing himself to think. They would find her. He wouldn’t give up.

But the guilt of failing—of letting you down, of letting Azriel down, of letting Kaia down—was going to follow him for a long time.

Cassian sank down onto the couch, his body heavy with exhaustion and dread. His legs felt like they might give out beneath him, the weight of the search, the worry, and the guilt pressing down on him in waves. His hand ran through his hair, gripping it as though he could pull out the frustration, the fear, and the helplessness that had settled deep inside him.

His breath was ragged, his chest tight with the panic of what had just happened. He could still feel the cold of the forest, the snow biting at his skin, the echo of Kaia’s laughter ringing in his ears, the way she had run off so carelessly. He had let his guard down, he never does that. He had promised to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was safe—and he had failed.

He looked over at Rhys, who was standing near the window, his posture rigid, his face drawn with the same pain that was gnawing at Cassian. They both knew what this felt like—what it meant. It wasn’t just about Kaia being out there in the cold. It wasn’t just about the dangers she might be facing. It was the weight of responsibility, the crushing sense of failure that came with not being able to protect the ones you loved.

Cassian’s heart clenched at the thought of you, of how you’d feel when you woke up and realized Kaia was missing. He couldn’t bear to imagine the horror in your eyes, the panic, the worry that would consume you. And Azriel… Azriel, who had already been through so much. He would be devastated. How could he look him in the eye knowing that Kaia, his little girl, was lost?

Cassian’s hands balled into fists, but he didn’t have the energy to release the tension in his body. His eyes flickered to the door, his mind racing, trying to come up with a plan. They couldn’t give up. Not now. They couldn’t let the cold or the darkness defeat them.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, the nagging doubt crept in. What if it was too late? What if the cold had already taken Kaia, already—

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tight with emotion. He slammed his fist into the cushion, trying to release some of the frustration, the helplessness, the overwhelming guilt.

He had failed. He had promised he would protect her, and now…

Cassian clenched his jaw, trying to hold it together. But the weight of the failure, the guilt of what had happened, settled deeper into his bones.

“We’ll find her, Cass,” Rhys’s voice broke through his thoughts, a quiet but steady reassurance. But even Rhys’s calm tone couldn’t fully mask the fear and guilt they both shared.

Cassian nodded, though he didn’t believe the words as much as he wanted to. The thought of Kaia out there alone, vulnerable… it was too much.

He had to hold onto the hope, but in that moment, it felt like the darkness would swallow them all.

Nearly three hours had passed, and every minute felt like a lifetime. The cabin was heavy with the silence of defeat as Rhysand and Cassian anxiously paced back and forth, each man lost in his own tortured thoughts. The cold outside had only grown more intense, and the weight of the search hung over them like an unbearable cloud.

Finally, they heard the unmistakable sound of the winnow, the sudden rush of air that signalled the arrival of Morrigan and Emerie. But as the door opened and the two women stepped inside, there was no joy in their faces, no relief in their posture. The hope they had arrived with seemed to have dissipated, replaced by something heavier—something darker.

Morrigan’s jaw was set tight, her eyes dark with the same frustration and helplessness that had taken root in both Rhys and Cassian. Emerie’s face was even grimmer, her usually sharp, determined gaze clouded with the weight of failure.

“We’ve searched every inch of the area we could,” Morrigan said quietly, her voice tight, as though even speaking the words was too much. She let out a slow breath, trying to steady herself, but the sorrow was clear in her expression. “The wind and the snow have wiped away any tracks. We couldn’t find anything, Rhys. Nothing.”

Rhys and Cassian both stood frozen, the reality of her words sinking into them like a cold, hard stone.

Cassian’s heart twisted painfully in his chest, and for a brief moment, the room seemed to spin. He wanted to argue, to fight, to demand that they keep searching, but he knew deep down that Morrigan was right. If she couldn’t find her, no one could.

“What do you mean nothing?” Cassian asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the desperation was clear. He wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. “You’re telling me she’s… gone?”

Emerie, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, her voice quiet but heavy with the weight of the truth. “The snowstorm is getting worse, and we’ve done everything we can. I’ve searched the forest using my power, but there’s no trace of her. No scent, no sign. It’s like she vanished.”

“Damn it…” Cassian’s voice cracked as he tried to control the rising panic in his chest. His fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes blurred with unshed tears. He couldn’t process what he was hearing. His little niece, the one he had promised to protect, was… gone.

Rhys looked over at him, his eyes filled with a kind of understanding, but it didn’t help. Cassian didn’t need understanding. He needed Kaia.

“I don’t…” Rhys started, his voice faltering for the first time since they’d arrived. “I don’t understand. How can she just vanish? Where the hell is she?”

“She’s lost in the woods,” Morrigan said softly, shaking her head as though she too couldn’t believe it. “But it’s not just the woods. The weather’s too much, and her wings… they aren’t fully developed. It’s too cold for her out there. We all know that.”

Cassian couldn’t breathe. Every word felt like a punch to the gut, and yet there was no escape from the weight of them. He had failed her. He had promised to protect her, and now he had no way to make it right. He didn’t know how to even begin to fix this.

“Are we… are we just giving up?” Cassian asked, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, but they all came back to the same horrifying conclusion. They had lost her.

Morrigan and Emerie exchanged a glance, and the silence between them was deafening. They knew what he was asking. They had searched. They had exhausted every option they had. But even they couldn’t bring themselves to say the words that hovered on the edge of their lips: they couldn’t find her.

“I wish I could say something different,” Morrigan said finally, her voice strained. “But we have to face the truth. The longer we wait, the colder it gets out there. And Kaia… she’s so small, so vulnerable. If we don’t find her soon, we might not be able to.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. There was no denying the harsh reality.

Rhys turned away, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried to hold himself together. His mind was reeling, his thoughts racing, but they were all rooted in one thing: Kaia was missing. And no matter how much he wished, hoped, or prayed, he couldn’t change it.

Cassian let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as he finally allowed himself to sink into the couch. His body was rigid with tension, but the weight of the situation, the overwhelming guilt and fear, left him too exhausted to even speak.

Kaia was out there in the freezing cold, alone. And no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t bring her back.

The snow outside the window had only grown more violent as the minutes passed. The winds howled like a wild animal, clawing at the cabin, sending gusts of snow swirling in every direction. It battered against the glass, a constant reminder of the storm raging outside. The once soft flakes had turned into sharp, biting gusts that seemed to cut through the air, obscuring any semblance of visibility. The wind's shrill scream echoed through the cabin walls, only adding to the tension that hung heavily in the room.

Inside, the four of them sat in grim silence, the warmth of the fire doing little to ease the chill that had settled in their bones. The storm outside was relentless, and yet, in that moment, it felt like the world was closing in around them.

Cassian rubbed his face, his hand rough against his stubble as he gazed out the window, his eyes dark with worry and frustration. The wind outside howled, a reminder of how helpless they were against the elements. He could hear it tearing through the trees, shaking the branches violently as if it was reaching out to take what they had lost. His heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts racing as the guilt continued to eat away at him.

"This storm isn't letting up," Rhysand muttered, his voice low and thick with a mix of frustration and helplessness. He stood at the window, his eyes scanning the dense snowfall, but there was nothing but a wall of white. "If the snow continues like this, we won't be able to see anything in that forest, and Kaia... she's out there somewhere."

Morrigan, standing beside him, clenched her jaw as she too watched the storm with concern. "We can't wait much longer. We need to get back out there, but the weather's getting worse by the minute. It’s dangerous."

Cassian shot a glance at her, the strain of his emotions written all over his face. "We already know that. But what choice do we have? We can’t just sit here and do nothing." His voice cracked with the weight of it. "She's out there in this hell."

The wind picked up again, howling louder than before, and the snow outside seemed to blur the world beyond. Each gust of wind felt like an attack, stripping away any remaining hope. The trees outside creaked and groaned under the pressure, bending at impossible angles as the storm raged on.

"We need to move now," Rhysand said, his voice resolute despite the growing storm. "We don’t have the luxury of waiting for it to pass. We’re already losing time." He turned to the others, his face hard with determination, even as the worry in his eyes betrayed him. "If we’re going to find her, we need to do it now. The longer we stay here, the less likely we are to make it through this."

The wind howled again, shaking the walls of the cabin, and the sound was almost deafening. The fire crackled in the hearth, but it seemed so small, so insignificant against the fury of the storm outside. The tension in the room was palpable, and the cold from the wind seeped deeper into their bones, no longer just a physical chill, but an emotional one.

Rhys turned to Cassian, his face tight with the weight of the decision. "We’ll need to go out together. We can’t afford to split up. If we’re going to have any chance of finding her, we need to move fast."

Cassian nodded grimly, though his gaze remained locked on the window. "If we don’t find her soon, the snow will cover her tracks. We’ll lose her completely."

Morrigan sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. "And if we can’t find her in this storm, we may never find her again."

As the storm outside continued to howl and rage, the cold was no longer just outside their cabin walls—it was within them too, gnawing at their hearts as they prepared to venture back into the storm.

-----

Azriel sat at the far end of a long, oak table in the camp lord’s private quarters, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of the glass in front of him. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the flickering light casting shadows that danced across the walls, creating an oddly calming atmosphere for the tense conversation. His sharp eyes, however, never stopped scanning the room, watching for any subtle movements or changes in posture from the camp lord sitting across from him.

The camp lord—a tall, broad-shouldered fae with a reputation for his cunning in negotiations—was leaning back in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand, his expression one of practiced indifference. The man’s dark, storm-grey eyes bore into Azriel as he spoke, though Azriel’s own gaze never wavered, his usual calm demeanour unbroken.

“I trust you understand the importance of this deal, Shadowsinger,” the camp lord said, his voice low but firm. “The terms are clear. We provide the resources, you offer us the protection we need for our interests. You’ll get what you want in return for ensuring my people are safe from those who might disrupt our trade routes.”

Azriel nodded, his expression impassive. “I’m aware of the stakes. But don’t mistake our cooperation for a favor. We expect you to hold up your end of the bargain.” His voice was as steady as ever, yet there was an edge to it—a subtle warning, unspoken but understood.

The camp lord smiled, a sharp, calculating grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. You’ll find that I honour my word. After all, it is my reputation on the line.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their respective roles hanging between them. Azriel's shadows flitted restlessly around the room, a reflection of his own unease. He had been sent here to ensure the safety of the agreement, to verify that the camp lord’s offer was genuine, and to keep watch over any potential threats. Yet in this moment, with the fire crackling and the wine dulling his senses, his thoughts kept wandering back to the cabin, to Kaia’s absence, to the tension he had felt when he left.

"I trust you’ve taken care of the logistical matters as we discussed?" Azriel asked, his tone almost casual, though his mind was far from relaxed.

The camp lord set his glass down, eyes narrowing as he folded his arms across his chest. “Everything is in motion. We’ve reinforced the defences around the perimeter and are increasing patrols. You can tell your people that the camp will be secure. My people are loyal.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “Loyalty can be bought. It’s trust that I need.”

The camp lord smirked, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Trust is earned, Shadowsinger. But you should know, my loyalty is not so easily swayed. We’ve been through worse. This is just another battle.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately. His fingers brushed the edge of his glass again, the coolness of the crystal a stark contrast to the heat in his chest. He was getting impatient.

“Do you think I care about your battles?” Azriel’s voice dropped, the shadows around him flickering slightly in response to his growing frustration. “I came here to see if your promises are worth anything. Don’t waste my time.”

The camp lord straightened, his smile slipping for just a moment before he regained his composure. “I assure you, the resources we discussed are already being prepared. In exchange, we expect protection, as agreed.”

Azriel’s gaze hardened as he leaned forward slightly, fixing the camp lord with a piercing stare. “Then I’ll expect you to be here when the time comes. If not, I’ll deal with it.”

The camp lord didn’t flinch, maintaining his calm exterior, but Azriel knew the threat had been heard. He wasn’t here for idle talk, and he certainly wasn’t here for more empty promises. He needed results, and he needed them now.

There was a brief silence as the two of them sat in the stillness of the room, the tension thick in the air. Azriel’s thoughts wandered once more to the cabin, to Kaia, to the storm brewing outside. He felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him, the gnawing worry creeping in.

But he wasn’t going to show it.

Instead, he stood up slowly, his movements deliberate and controlled. “I’ll check in again before I leave. Make sure everything is in order.”

The camp lord nodded, sensing that the conversation was winding down. “Of course. And I trust you’ll take care of any... potential threats while you’re here?”

Azriel’s lips curled into a thin, dangerous smile as his shadows swirled in the corner of the room. “That’s what I’m paid for.”

With one last glance at the camp lord, Azriel turned and walked toward the door, the weight of his responsibilities pulling him back to the cabin. There was no time to waste. His family was waiting.

-----

Kaia was sitting in the corner of a small, dimly lit house wagon, her tiny hands bound tightly to the wooden post. The cold, damp air pressed in through the cracks in the walls, and the musty smell of the wagon’s interior made her wrinkly nose twitch. Her little chest heaved with sobs as tears streaked down her pale cheeks, her little body trembling from the fear of her unknown surroundings.

The cloaked figure was standing near the doorway, their back turned to her as they muttered something under their breath. The harsh, scratchy fabric of the cloak swished as they moved, but Kaia wasn’t paying attention to that. Her small, frantic breaths were all she could focus on, each sob wracking her fragile frame as she strained against the ropes that bound her.

"Shut up!" the cloaked figure suddenly screamed, turning toward her with eyes that burned with anger, their voice hoarse and threatening. Kaia flinched at the sharp tone, and her body instinctively shrank back, her little hands pulling uselessly at the ropes. Her sobs grew louder, her small voice rising in desperation.

"Pwease..." she whimpered in her baby speech, her voice thin and full of fear. "Want Mama... want Dada..."

The figure took a step toward her, their presence looming over her small, curled form, but Kaia barely registered it. All she could think about was her mama and dada. The faces she missed so much, the warmth of their love and safety. She wanted nothing more than to be held by them again.

"Shh," the figure hissed, reaching out and grabbing her chin roughly, forcing her to meet their cold, impassive gaze. "You’ll be quiet, or else."

Kaia recoiled, tears filling her big, frightened eyes, and she began to cry harder, her wails echoing in the small wagon as she called out for the only two people she knew could make everything better.

"Dada!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Mama, pwease... Dada!"

She squirmed against the ropes, trying to pull herself free, but they held her too tightly. The world seemed to close in on her as the sound of her own voice echoed through the small wagon, a cacophony of fear and confusion.

Her cries filled the air, the desperation in her tone clear as day, but the cloaked figure just stood there, their face impassive, their expression unreadable. Kaia didn’t understand what was happening—didn’t understand why she was tied up, why she couldn’t feel the warmth of her mama’s arms or the comforting presence of her dada.

“Shut up,” the figure muttered again, their voice a low growl as they stepped back.

But Kaia couldn't stop. She couldn’t stop wanting to be with the people who loved her, the ones who made everything better. She cried louder, her sobs wracking her small body, her heart aching in her chest.

"Dada! Mama!" She said through hiccupped sobs, barely able to form the words as they slipped from her lips in her frantic baby speech.

All she wanted was her parents to come and take her away from this horrible place, away from this cold, unkind person who was hurting her. But there was nothing she could do. All she could do was cry, her tiny voice breaking with each word as she called for her mama and dada over and over again.

The cloaked figure moved toward Kaia with an unsettling quietness, the air around her growing colder as they approached. She instinctively recoiled, her small wings fluttering desperately in an attempt to escape their grasp. But the figure was too quick. They reached down, their hands cold and unyielding as they grabbed a firm hold of her wings—those precious, delicate appendages that had caused her so much pain already.

Kaia’s breath hitched, a sharp, painful cry escaping her lips as the figure yanked her upward, the sharp tug pulling at the sensitive skin of her wings. Tears immediately filled her wide eyes as she whimpered in pain, her wings folding tightly against her small body in a desperate attempt to protect herself.

“Shh, quiet now,” the cloaked figure murmured, but their voice had no kindness, no comfort. It only made Kaia’s heart race harder, her tiny body trembling in fear. She wanted to cry out, but the pain in her wings made it hard to form the words, and all she could do was whimper.

“Pwease, pwease,” she begged in her baby speech, her voice breaking with each word. “W-wings hurt... mama... dada... pwease!” Her hands balled into tiny fists, but they were too small to fight back. She was too small, too fragile.

But the figure wasn’t listening. They only dragged her through the cramped space, a cruel determination in their movements. With a swift motion, they shoved Kaia into a small, tight cage tucked beneath a desk—a cage so small that Kaia had to curl up tightly just to fit inside. The metal bars pressed against her tiny body, cold and unwelcoming, and the darkness of the cage enveloped her like a heavy blanket. She whimpered as she squirmed, trying to find comfort, but the tight space only made her feel more trapped.

Her breath quickened as she pressed her face against the cold bars, her little wings fluttering helplessly behind her. She wanted to get out, wanted to run to her mama, her dada—but the bars held her prisoner.

“Wanna go home…” she whimpered, her voice small and shaky, the toddler speech slipping from her lips as she curled up in the cramped cage. “Mama… Dada… pwease, pwease come… find me…” Her voice cracked with each sob, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

Kaia’s tiny hands reached through the bars, but there was nothing to hold onto. There was no comfort, no safety. The cold of the cage seeped into her bones, making her feel even smaller, even more alone. She tugged at the bars, her little body growing more frantic, but there was nothing she could do. The figure stood over her, watching as she cried, and Kaia’s heart broke with each tear that fell from her eyes.

“Dada, pwease…” she whispered, the words so quiet they barely left her lips. “Pwease…” She wanted nothing more than to be back in her mama's arms, to feel the warmth of her father's presence again. But all she could do was cry and hope, hope that somehow, someone would come and take her away from this horrible place.

-----

The wind howled through the trees as Rhys, Cassian, Morrigan, and Emery trudged back into the cabin, their faces pale with exhaustion and worry. Their clothes were soaked from the snow, their boots heavy with layers of ice, but it was the sinking feeling in their hearts that weighed them down the most.

They had spent the past five hours scouring the woods, calling Kaia’s name, listening to the howling wind for any sign of her, but it was as if she had vanished into thin air. Despite their best efforts, they had found nothing—no trace, no footprints, nothing. The hours had slipped by unnoticed as the blizzard intensified, the temperature plummeting further with each passing minute.

Rhys, his jaw clenched tight, had been the first to speak when they had been forced to call off the search, his voice hoarse from the cold. "We can’t keep going. The temperatures are dropping too fast, and the snow’s only getting worse. Kaia’s small… She wouldn’t survive out there in this storm."

Cassian had been the one to argue first, his eyes wild with panic. “We can’t just stop looking! She’s out there—she has to be! She can’t be gone, Rhys!”

Morrigan had put a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, her usual strength faltering. “We know, Cass. But it’s not safe out there. The snow’s too thick, and the wind’s turning into a full blizzard. We need to get back inside, or we’ll all be caught in it.”

Emery, normally calm and collected, had remained silent, her face hard as stone, the worry in her eyes betraying her outward composure. She had done everything she could, but even she had been forced to admit defeat when the weather had become too violent.

“Let's go back,” Morrigan had finally said, her voice soft, but firm. “We’ll regroup, and maybe we’ll have better luck when the weather clears.”

Now, back in the cabin, their clothes dripping with snowmelt, the weight of their failure hung heavy in the air. The fire was burning low in the hearth, its warm glow offering only a faint comfort against the cold that had crept into their bones.

Rhys walked over to the window, staring out at the swirling white chaos outside. The storm was relentless, the blizzard more violent now than it had been when they first set out. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of Kaia, so small and vulnerable out there, and the guilt that gnawed at his insides threatened to tear him apart.

“They’re staying at the camp overnight,” Morrigan said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. “The boys. We couldn’t risk bringing them back in these conditions.”

Cassian, who had been pacing restlessly in the centre of the room, paused at her words. “I hate this. I hate not being able to protect them. All of them.”

“None of us could have predicted this,” Emery said softly, her tone gentle as she put a hand on his arm. “You did everything you could.”

But Cassian just shook his head, his eyes distant. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

The cabin felt colder somehow, the weight of their silence filling the room as they all struggled with the same harsh truth—they hadn’t found Kaia. And with the storm raging outside, the odds of finding her now were slim to none.

As Rhys continued to stare out at the snow, his thoughts turned to you. He knew how much you had trusted him with Kaia’s safety, and now, in this moment, he felt like he had failed you too. The thought of returning to you empty-handed, with nothing but bad news, weighed heavily on his heart.

Morrigan, noticing the shift in the atmosphere, spoke up again. “We’ll go out again once the storm passes. We won’t stop looking until we bring her back.”

Rhys nodded, though the hopelessness in his eyes was hard to hide. “We better.”

Rhys stood at the window, his back turned to the others as he watched the snow and wind whip violently outside, the blizzard’s fury matching the storm raging inside him. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from retreating to the window, away from the others, the weight of the moment bearing down on him with unbearable force. The silence of the room was deafening as the fire crackled softly in the corner, but all he could hear was the thudding of his own heart in his ears.

He had failed.

Kaia was out there, alone and scared, and he couldn’t protect her. His own flesh and blood, his niece, and he hadn’t been able to keep her safe. The guilt clawed at him, like an animal tearing at his insides, eating him alive from the inside out. His hand gripped the edge of the window frame so tightly that his knuckles turned white, but it didn’t stop the shaking.

A choked breath escaped him before he could stop it.

He failed Azriel, failed you. He had sworn to protect you both, to keep you and your family safe, and now his niece was out there in the blizzard, helpless. He had failed her too. He promised your dad he'd keep you safe and he promised his mom he'd take care of everything you cherish.

And then the dam inside him broke.

“Damn it,” Rhys muttered under his breath, his voice shaking with emotion. He turned away from the window, his expression raw, vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been in years. His shoulders were slumped, as if the weight of his failure was too much for him to carry. He dragged a hand over his face, his fingers trembling, trying to push down the overwhelming guilt.

“Rhys…” Cassian’s voice was cautious, but Rhys was too far gone now. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. His walls—his usual strength—had cracked, and the torrent of emotion came rushing out all at once.

“I’ve failed,” he whispered harshly, almost to himself, as his voice broke. He could feel the sting of tears threatening, but he refused to let them fall. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who held everything together, but it felt like the very foundation of his soul was crumbling.

Cassian stepped forward, his hand reaching out, but Rhys pulled away before he could touch him. “I’m supposed to protect them,” Rhys continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Kaia, Azriel, you, Feyre... all of you. And now... now I’ve failed. I couldn’t keep her safe, Cassian. I couldn’t keep her out of danger. I promised Azriel I’d look after her and... and now...”

His voice faltered as he trailed off, swallowing hard, as if trying to hold back the full weight of the realization. The guilt gnawed at him, a gnawing, relentless force that wouldn’t let go. He felt as if his entire world was falling apart, and the pieces were slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.

“I promised Azriel... I promised YN I’d protect them. And now, what? She’s out there in the cold... alone. I can’t... I can’t be the one who failed her.” Rhys’ chest hitched with emotion as the words spilled out, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t try to keep it together. He didn’t care about being the High Lord in that moment. He was just a broken man who couldn’t save the ones he loved.

Cassian stood there, unsure of what to say, his heart aching for his brother. Morrigan and Emery both watched, their expressions filled with sympathy, but they knew better than to say anything. Sometimes, there were no words. Sometimes, a person just needed to break.

Rhys shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “How can I face YN? How can I tell her I failed her daughter... that I couldn’t protect her? YN named her after our sister and I've already lost her, I can't lose another.”

There was a pause. Then Cassian, with a quiet understanding, stepped forward, his hand landing on Rhys’ shoulder, a silent show of support. "You haven’t failed her yet. We’re still looking, Rhys. We won’t stop until she’s back in your arms."

But Rhys could only shake his head, his eyes hollow. “It’s not enough, Cassian. It’ll never be enough. I let this happen.”

The guilt suffocated him, the cold weight of it pressing on his chest until it became almost too much to bear. For once, Rhys didn’t know what to do. He had always been the one with the answers, the one who could pull everyone together in times of crisis. But now, there was nothing left inside him but the crushing realization that the one thing he had been so sure of—his ability to protect the ones he loved—had failed.

“I failed them,” Rhys whispered again, his voice barely audible. And for the first time in a long time, Rhys felt utterly, completely lost.

The sound of Azriel's wings echoed through the cabin as he entered, brushing snow off his shoulders and shaking out the cold. His hair was damp, his face red from the icy wind that had been biting at him during the flight. He stomped his boots on the mat near the door, grumbling.

“I couldn’t even fly properly in that weather,” he muttered, his voice tinged with irritation. “I nearly froze my damn ass off trying to get back here. Who in their right mind would want to live in a place like that—”

Azriel trailed off mid-sentence, his sharp eyes immediately picking up on the unusual tension in the room. Morrigan and Emerie were there, sitting stiffly on the couch, their faces solemn. Cassian was slumped in a chair, his elbows on his knees, looking wrecked in a way Azriel hadn’t seen in decades. Rhysand leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly, his face pale and drawn as though he’d aged years in the span of a single day.

Azriel frowned, his hazel eyes darting between them all. “What’s going on? Why are Morrigan and Emerie here?”

No one answered right away. Morrigan glanced at Rhysand, who didn’t lift his head, and then at Cassian, whose jaw tightened as he avoided Azriel’s gaze. The silence in the room was deafening, oppressive, and a knot of unease started forming in Azriel’s chest.

“What happened?” Azriel demanded, his tone sharper now, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.

Morrigan stood, her eyes glassy, and she whispered, “Azriel, I’m so sorry.”

Those words hit him like a physical blow. His breath caught in his throat, and he froze, the blood draining from his face.

“What do you mean?” His voice cracked, trembling as he stepped forward, his gaze darting between all of them. “What are you sorry for?”

When no one responded, Azriel’s shadows began swirling around him anxiously, mirroring the rising panic in his chest. His mind raced, and he tried to piece together what could possibly have gone so wrong. And then the realization struck him like a thunderclap.

“Kaia.”

The name barely left his lips before his legs gave out beneath him. Azriel collapsed to his knees, his wings sagging, his body trembling violently. Cassian and Rhysand were at his side in an instant, steadying him before he could crumple further.

“No... no, no, no,” Azriel choked out, his voice breaking as he tried to push himself up, only to falter. His hands clawed at the floor as his chest heaved, his breaths coming fast and shallow.

Cassian tightened his grip on Azriel’s shoulder, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “Az, we’re going to find her. We’ll get her back. She's out somewhere in the forest...”

But Azriel couldn’t seem to hear him. His hands were shaking, his usually composed demeanour completely shattered as the words tumbled out of him in a desperate, frantic stream.

“She was here—she was safe—I left her safe! How could this happen?” His voice cracked with anguish, his entire body trembling as if the weight of the moment was too much to bear.

“Azriel,” Morrigan whispered, crouching down in front of him, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch his arm. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Azriel shook his head, his throat working furiously as he tried to suppress the sob that threatened to escape. His shadows swirled more violently now, reflecting the storm raging inside him.

“She’s just a baby,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice so broken it barely resembled his own. “She’s so small... so helpless. She must be so scared.”

His head dropped, his forehead pressing against the floor as he gasped for breath, his shoulders shaking. Rhysand knelt beside him, his own expression filled with guilt and sorrow as he placed a hand on Azriel’s back.

“We’ll find her,” Rhysand said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you, Azriel, we’ll find her.”

But Azriel didn’t respond. All he could see was Kaia’s tiny face, her bright, curious eyes, and the way she always reached for him when she was scared. The thought of her out there, alone and terrified, was more than he could bear.

For the first time in centuries, Azriel felt completely and utterly powerless.

Azriel remained on the floor for a long moment, his breathing ragged and uneven as he tried to process what had happened. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his body trembling with the sheer force of his anguish.

Cassian, still crouched beside him, kept a hand on his shoulder, his own expression tight with guilt and pain. “Az, listen to me. We’ve been out there searching nonstop. Morrigan and Emerie combed every inch of the surrounding area. We’ll go back out as soon as the blizzard lets up.”

Azriel’s head shot up, his hazel eyes blazing with desperation. “She’s out there right now!” he snapped, his voice rising. “She’s out there, scared and cold, and we’re in here— waiting!”

“Azriel,” Rhysand said firmly, though his voice trembled ever so slightly. “If we go back out now, we risk losing more than just her. We won’t be any good to her if we can’t see, can’t move through the snow.”

Azriel surged to his feet, his wings flaring despite the confines of the room. “Then I’ll go alone.”

“No, you won’t,” Morrigan said sharply, stepping into his path. “You’re not thinking clearly, Az. You’ll freeze out there, and Kaia—she needs her father alive to save her.”

Those words stopped him, if only for a moment. Azriel stared at Morrigan, his chest heaving as he fought to regain control of himself. His shadows writhed around him, a chaotic swirl of despair and anger, as if they too were mourning Kaia’s absence.

Rhysand rose to his feet, standing tall as he addressed Azriel, his voice softer now. “We’ll leave at first light. The storm will break by then, and we’ll be able to cover more ground. I swear to you, Az, we won’t stop until we find her.”

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. He staggered back a step, leaning heavily against the wall, his hands gripping the edge of a nearby table for support.

“She’s just a baby,” he whispered again, his voice breaking. “She shouldn’t have to go through this. Fuck.”

Cassian exchanged a look with Rhysand, both of them understanding the depth of Azriel’s pain. Rhysand placed a hand on Azriel’s arm, squeezing it reassuringly.

“We’ll get her back,” he said firmly. “We’ll get her back, Azriel.”

Azriel nodded weakly, though his expression was far from convinced. He dropped his head into his hands, his body trembling as he tried to keep himself together.

Azriel’s breathing came in sharp, erratic gasps, his chest rising and falling so quickly it seemed he might lose consciousness. His trembling hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly that it splintered beneath his grasp, cracks spidering through the wood. His wings, normally so steady, trembled and hung low, dragging slightly on the floor as though they too were weighed down by his anguish.

“Az, breathe,” Cassian urged, stepping closer, his voice steady but laced with concern. “You need to slow down, brother. You’re going to make yourself pass out.”

But Azriel didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes, wide and unfocused, darted around the room, as though searching for an answer no one could provide. His shadows writhed frantically around him, almost out of control, their dark tendrils stretching toward every corner of the room as if trying to escape the suffocating despair emanating from their master.

“Azriel,” Morrigan said softly, stepping closer but careful not to touch him. “Look at me. Focus on my voice.”

It was as though her words didn’t even register. Azriel’s knees buckled slightly, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the table harder, fighting to stay upright. His breathing turned to wheezing, the sound of it raw and strained.

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a worried glance, their minds flashing back to the last time they had seen him like this—when you were in labor with Kaia. It had been a terrifying and harrowing ordeal, your body too fragile to endure the complications that had arisen. The healers had worked tirelessly, and yet there had been a moment when Rhysand had feared they would lose you both.

Azriel had been nearly inconsolable then, pacing the hall outside the birthing room like a caged beast, his shadows snapping at anyone who dared approach. When they had carried you out, pale and unconscious, with Kaia far too small in the healer’s arms, Azriel had fallen to his knees, utterly wrecked.

Now, he was back in that place. Lost. Broken.

“Azriel,” Rhysand said firmly, moving closer despite the swirl of shadows surrounding him. “Breathe. Kaia needs you. We all need you. You can’t help her like this.”

Azriel’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I failed her,” he choked out, his voice raw and trembling. “I failed her—just like I almost failed Y/N. I—”

“You didn’t fail anyone,” Cassian interrupted, his voice stern but filled with empathy. “This isn’t your fault, Az. None of this is.”

But Azriel’s shoulders shook as he tried and failed to draw in a deep breath, his body threatening to collapse under the weight of his emotions. It was Rhysand who stepped forward, grabbing his arms and holding him steady.

“Enough,” Rhysand said, his voice cutting through the storm of Azriel’s despair. “You are not alone in this, Azriel. You have us. We will find her. We will bring her back. But you need to pull yourself together right now because Kaia needs her father. She needs you strong.”

Azriel stared at him, his breathing still ragged, but Rhysand’s words seemed to pierce through the haze of panic. Slowly, shakily, Azriel nodded, though his hands still trembled, and his wings quivered with the effort of holding himself upright.

“She’s just a baby,” Azriel whispered, his voice cracking with anguish. “She’s all alone.”

“And we will get her back,” Rhysand repeated, his grip firm. “You will hold her in your arms again. I swear it.”

Azriel closed his eyes, forcing himself to take deep, uneven breaths. The room was heavy with tension, but no one spoke, giving him the space he needed to steady himself.

It took several long moments, but eventually, Azriel straightened, his trembling subsiding slightly, though the anguish in his eyes remained. He looked at Cassian and Morrigan, then at Rhysand, his jaw tight with determination.

“First light,” Azriel said, his voice quiet but resolute. “We leave at first light.”

Rhysand and Cassian each took one of Azriel’s arms, steadying him as he tried to rise from the floor. His legs felt like lead, and his body trembled as though it might give out again, but their grip kept him upright. Azriel’s shadows were still frantically swirling around him, darting into every corner of the room, as if desperate to find Kaia themselves.

As soon as Azriel was on his feet, he turned toward Rhysand, his face tight with a mixture of anguish and barely-contained anger. “How did this happen?” he asked, his voice low and trembling. “How did she even—how did you lose her?”

Rhysand flinched as if the words physically struck him, his violet eyes closing briefly. He let out a deep breath, his face crumpling with guilt. “It’s my fault,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret.

Azriel’s gaze sharpened, his hazel eyes narrowing as the weight of Rhysand’s words sank in. “What do you mean, your fault?” he demanded, his tone rising. “She’s a toddler, Rhys. My daughter. She can barely fucking run without landing flat on her ass. How could you—”

“We turned away for a moment,” Rhysand interrupted, his voice strained. “We were talking to a messenger from the camp. The weather was turning, and I thought—” He stopped, raking a hand through his hair as he struggled to find the words. “I told her not to go far, but she slipped away. I didn’t see her. I didn’t—”

Azriel stepped closer, his wings flaring slightly, though not in aggression—only pain. “You didn’t see her?” he repeated, his voice breaking. “You were supposed to be watching her, Rhys. You promised you’d keep her safe.”

Rhysand’s shoulders sagged under the weight of Azriel’s accusations. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I failed. I failed you. I failed her. I—” His voice cracked, and he turned away, his hand gripping the back of a chair as if to steady himself. “I’ve never felt more ashamed in my life.”

Azriel stared at him for a long moment, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his composure. Cassian stepped between them, his hands raised in a calming gesture. “Az,” he said carefully, his voice low and soothing. “Rhys is tearing himself apart over this. We all are. But fighting each other right now isn’t going to bring Kaia back.”

Azriel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his shadows lashing wildly around the room. But after a moment, he exhaled sharply, some of the fire in his eyes dimming as Cassian’s words registered. He turned back to Rhysand, his jaw tight.

“You should have been more careful,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “But I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. I know you love her, too.”

Rhysand looked up, his eyes glistening. “More than anything,” he whispered. “Azriel, I swear on everything I have, I will not rest until she’s back in your arms.”

Azriel nodded stiffly, though his shoulders remained tense. “We leave at dawn,” he said, his voice low and determined. “Every moment we waste, she gets further away. I don’t care about the weather. I don’t care about the risk. We find her.”

“And we will,” Cassian said firmly, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “We’re not stopping until we do.”

Azriel took a shuddering breath, his voice quieter now but no less resolute. “Someone has to go to the Day Court tomorrow. Y/N needs to know.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a thick fog. Azriel’s shadows swirled tighter, curling around his shoulders as though trying to shield him from the unbearable thought of you finding out this way.

Cassian straightened from where he leaned against the table, his expression grim but determined. “I’ll go,” he said without hesitation. “You shouldn’t have to leave Kaia’s search, and... I’ll explain everything to her.”

Azriel nodded slowly, though his jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll tell her everything,” Cassian promised. “But Az... you know what this is going to do to her. To both of you.”

Azriel’s eyes closed briefly, and when they reopened, they were blazing with a mixture of fear and determination. “I know,” he said. “But she deserves to know. If it were me in her place—” His voice broke, and he turned away, his wings drooping as though the weight of his emotions was too much to bear.

Cassian looked over at Rhysand, who gave a faint nod, though his expression was carved from stone. “Be careful with how you tell her,” Rhys said, his voice low and heavy. “This will break her, but she has to know we’re doing everything we can.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened, and he let out a slow breath. “I’ll leave at first light,” he said. “She’ll want to come back with me, though.”

Azriel’s head snapped up at that, his hazel eyes wide and pleading. “Cass, please. Don’t bring her back here yet. Not until we’ve found her. She’s been through too much already... if she comes back and Kaia’s still missing—”

“I know,” Cassian interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “I’ll do my best to keep her there. But you know Y/N. If she wants to come, nothing I say will stop her.”

Azriel dropped his head into his hands, his fingers gripping his hair as though trying to keep himself together. “Just try,” he murmured. “For her sake.”

“I will,” Cassian promised.

The three of them exchanged heavy looks, the silence between them filled with unspoken fears. They would face whatever came next together—no matter how painful.

-----

The golden hues of dawn painted the sky in strokes of orange and pink, spilling soft light over the Day Court balcony. You stretched as you stepped out, clutching a warm mug of tea in your hands. Nesta was already seated in a plush chair, her book open on her lap, her eyes scanning the pages with quiet focus. Feyre sat nearby, her sketchpad balanced against her knees, her pencil moving rhythmically across the paper.

The air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of citrus and blooming flowers. You settled into a chair beside Nesta, exhaling a soft sigh as you cracked open your own book. “It’s so peaceful here,” you murmured, taking a sip of tea.

Nesta hummed in agreement, not looking up from her book. “I could get used to this,” she said, her tone softer than usual.

Feyre glanced up from her sketchpad, a faint smile on her face. “I think we all could,” she said. “The colours here are so vivid. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of sketching them.”

You glanced at her sketch, admiring the delicate lines she was using to capture the sunrise. “That’s beautiful,” you said. “You’ve really captured the light.”

Feyre blushed lightly but kept working, her pencil shading the edges of a cloud. “It’s easy when the view is this stunning.”

Nesta turned a page in her book, her brow furrowing slightly as she got engrossed in her reading. You noticed the title and arched a brow. “More smut, Nesta?” you teased lightly, earning a sharp glance from her.

“It’s not smut,” she shot back, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “It’s well-written romance. There’s a difference.”

Feyre snorted, her pencil stilling for a moment. “Is there, though?”

Nesta ignored her and went back to reading, though you caught the faintest hint of a smile.

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the rustle of pages, the scratch of Feyre’s pencil, and the occasional bird song in the distance. It was a rare moment of tranquility, a sliver of time where the world felt calm and safe.

You glanced at the horizon, watching as the sun climbed higher, bathing the balcony in warmth. “I wish mornings could always be like this,” you said softly.

Nesta nodded absently, her eyes still glued to her book. Feyre gave a small smile but didn’t look up, her focus entirely on her sketch.

You turned a page in your book, glancing at Nesta and Feyre as the sunlight bathed the balcony in a warm glow. A thought crossed your mind, and you couldn't help but smirk as you broke the peaceful silence.

“Do you two ever just...tug on your bond with your husbands when they’re away? You know, for fun?”

Nesta’s book lowered slightly, her eyes narrowing at you, though there was a flicker of amusement behind them. Feyre paused mid-shade, her pencil hovering over the sketchpad as a sly smile crept onto her face.

“I do,” Feyre admitted, her tone casual. “Sometimes it’s just to check on him. Other times…” She trailed off, her cheeks tinting pink.

Nesta raised an eyebrow but didn’t deny it. “Occasionally,” she said, flipping a page as if the conversation was nothing out of the ordinary. “It’s not like I need to, but if I want to make sure Cassian isn’t being a complete idiot, I might give it a tug.”

You chuckled at her response. “So you’re using it as a leash?”

“More like a tether,” Nesta said dryly, though a small smirk tugged at her lips.

Feyre laughed softly before turning her curious gaze to you. “What about you? Do you and Azriel tug on your bond?”

Your smile faded slightly, and you shook your head. “No, we don’t. We keep it closed most of the time.”

That seemed to catch both of their attention. Nesta set her book down, and Feyre rested her pencil on the edge of the sketchpad, their gazes now focused entirely on you.

“Why?” Feyre asked, her voice soft with curiosity.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and staring out at the horizon. “Azriel’s work… it’s dangerous. It’s complicated. He doesn’t want his emotions to bleed through the bond when he’s out doing what he does. And I… I don’t want to distract him. The last thing he needs is to feel my panic if something goes wrong.”

Nesta tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “But doesn’t that make it harder? Keeping it closed?”

“It does sometimes,” you admitted, tracing a finger along the edge of your book. “But we’ve always been like that. He’s so private, so controlled. Keeping the bond closed is his way of protecting me, even if I don’t always agree with it.”

Feyre frowned slightly. “Does he ever let it open? Even for a moment?”

“Rarely,” you said, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “But when he does… it’s like the world shifts. Everything feels lighter, stronger. I know how deeply he cares, even if he doesn’t say it outright.”

Nesta hummed, picking up her book again. “Sounds like Azriel.”

Feyre nodded, her expression softening. “He loves you, though. That much is obvious.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “I know. And I love him, too. Even if he keeps his walls up, I’ve always found a way through them.”

"Good morning, my darlings," he greeted, his rich, melodic voice carrying a teasing lilt. His sun-kissed skin practically gleamed under the warm light, his golden robes flowing elegantly as he approached.

On the tray were platters of fresh fruit, honey-drenched pastries, thick slices of golden bread, and a teapot that steamed with a fragrant brew. "I thought I’d join my favourite troublemakers for breakfast. You looked like you needed something to recover from last night."

Nesta quirked an eyebrow, lowering her book slightly. “You mean, you’re here to eavesdrop on our morning conversation.”

Helion placed the tray on the small table in front of you, flashing her a dazzling smile. “Can’t I do both? I’m a master of multitasking.”

Feyre let out a soft laugh, setting her sketchpad aside. “You were just jealous we didn’t invite you to drink with us last night, weren’t you?”

Helion placed a hand over his chest as if wounded. “My dearest Feyre, I would have elevated the night to new heights. But alas, you kept me away.” He winked at you. “Likely to protect your darkest secrets from slipping out under the influence.”

You rolled your eyes but smirked. “As if you don’t already know half of them, Helion.”

He grinned, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. “And that is precisely why I make such excellent company. Who else would be able to handle the three of you at once?”

Nesta snorted. “I doubt you could keep up with us.”

Helion sat down gracefully on one of the chairs, leaning back as though he owned the place. He gestured toward the food. “Eat, eat! I insist. I’d hate for my efforts to go unappreciated.”

As you reached for a flaky pastry, you raised an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t make this, Helion.”

“Semantics, my dear,” he replied smoothly. “It arrived because of me. That’s what counts.”

Feyre poured herself a cup of tea, smiling softly. “Thank you, Helion. Truly.”

He waved a hand, his tone suddenly gentler. “You’re my guests. My family. It’s the least I can do.”

The four of you ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the gentle breeze ruffling the pages of your book and Feyre’s sketchpad. Then, Helion broke the quiet with a dramatic sigh.

“So,” he said, leaning forward with a sly grin, “what scandalous gossip are we indulging in this morning? I do hope it involves someone’s husband.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Of course you’d hope for that.”

Feyre smirked, shooting you a glance. “Actually, we were just discussing bonds and whether or not we tug on them when the guys are away.”

Helion’s eyes gleamed with interest as he turned to you. “And what did you say, my lovely enigma?”

You gave him a dry look. “I said Azriel and I keep our bond closed most of the time.”

Helion leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course. The shadowsinger. Always so mysterious. Though I must admit, I didn’t expect him to lock himself away even from you.”

“It’s complicated,” you replied, sipping your tea.

Helion tilted his head, studying you. “Is it? Or does he simply underestimate how much strength you already have?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow at that, and Feyre tilted her head in agreement, but you didn’t reply, instead focusing on the beautiful view of the Day Court stretching out before you.

Helion smiled knowingly. “Ah, silence. The loudest answer of all.” He reached for a piece of fruit, his golden eyes flicking between the three of you. “Well, I, for one, am honoured to bask in your company this morning. Even if I have to endure the heavy presence of shadows in the conversation.”

Feyre chuckled. “You’re insufferable, Helion.”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied with a wink.

The peaceful hum of your morning on the Day Court balcony was abruptly interrupted by the heavy thud of wings beating against the warm air. All of you looked up in surprise as Cassian landed on the edge of the balcony, his armour glinting faintly in the sunlight. His hair was windswept, his face drawn with tension, and his usual boisterous grin was absent.

“Cassian?” Nesta said, rising to her feet as he stepped forward.

Without a word, he cupped her face, pulling her in for a quick, fierce kiss. Nesta stiffened in shock before relaxing slightly, her hand brushing his chest in confusion.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling back to search his face.

Cassian didn’t answer immediately, his hazel eyes darting to you. His expression softened with something you couldn’t quite place—remorse, fear, maybe both. He turned to you, taking a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and unsteady.

You frowned, setting your book down. “Sorry for what?”

Feyre, seated beside you, blinked in confusion. “Cassian, what’s going on?”

Helion leaned back in his chair, his golden gaze narrowing as he studied the Illyrian general. “This feels suspiciously like the beginning of bad news,” he drawled, though his tone lacked its usual levity.

Cassian ignored him, his eyes locking with yours. “I—I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

Your stomach twisted uneasily. “Cassian, just say it. What’s wrong?”

Nesta’s hand tightened on his arm. “Cassian, you’re scaring us.”

He ran a hand through his windswept hair, his wings twitching behind him. “There’s been... an incident. Kaia—”

Your breath hitched, your heart slamming against your ribs. “What about Kaia? Where is she?”

Cassian’s face crumpled slightly as he struggled to find the words. “She’s... she’s missing.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath you, the weight of his words crashing into you like a tidal wave. Feyre gasped beside you, her hand flying to her mouth, while Nesta froze, her eyes wide with shock.

“What do you mean she’s missing?” you demanded, your voice sharp and trembling.

Cassian reached out, his hands shaking as he gestured toward you. “Rhys, Azriel, and I—we’ve been looking for hours. She wandered off during a trip outside, and we couldn’t—” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry. We’re doing everything we can to find her.”

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as your mind raced. “She’s out there in mountain weather?” Your voice rose, panic thickening every syllable.

Feyre grabbed your arm, trying to steady you as Nesta stepped closer to Cassian, her face pale with fury. “How could this happen?” she hissed.

Cassian didn’t flinch under her anger, his guilt evident in every line of his face. “We didn’t mean for it to. One second she was there, and the next—”

You didn’t wait to hear more. Your bond with Azriel, always kept tightly shut, pulsed faintly at the edges of your mind, and you reached for it instinctively, your panic bleeding into the connection.

Helion stood as well, his usual calm demeanour replaced by a grave expression. “We’ll find her,” he said firmly, though his words did little to calm the storm brewing inside you.

“She’s out there,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears blurred your vision. “My baby is out there.”

The world spun around you, and a sharp, nauseating wave of panic swept over you like a tidal wave. Your breath caught in your chest, and your stomach churned violently. The last few minutes felt like they were moving in slow motion—Cassian’s words, the overwhelming realization of what had happened, the shock that froze you in place.

“I—I’m going to throw up,” you muttered, barely able to form the words, your hand clutching at your stomach. The feeling was suffocating, and before anyone could react, your body lurched forward.

You barely had time to brace yourself as your stomach emptied, the contents spilling out onto the floor in front of you. The gagging sound seemed to echo in the room, your vision blurred with tears of frustration, fear, and helplessness.

Nesta cursed under her breath, rushing to your side. “Y/N, breathe,” she urged, kneeling beside you. She gently rubbed your back as Feyre stood frozen, her own face pale, her hands clenched at her sides.

You gasped for air, still fighting the urge to be sick, but the panic was unbearable. “Kaia,” you whispered, your voice broken and weak. “She’s out there. She’s all alone.”

Cassian’s face was stricken with guilt, his hand reaching out but stopping short. He didn’t know how to fix this. None of them did.

“Y/N, you have to stay calm,” Nesta said, her tone firm but caring. She didn’t pull away as she continued to soothe you, though you could hear the tightness in her voice, the same fear you felt.

But it was too much. The weight of it all—the danger Kaia was in, the impossibility of the situation, the sheer overwhelming terror of losing her—was crushing you from every side. You could feel it suffocating you.

“I can’t… I can’t lose her,” you choked out between ragged breaths. “I can’t.”

Your body trembled, still caught in the aftermath of the sickness, but your mind was clearer now, focused entirely on one thing: getting to Kaia.

“Cassian…” Your voice was low, almost desperate as you looked up at him, your hands reaching out toward him. “Please. I need to go to her. Bring me to her.”

Cassian hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the others in the room, but he remained firm in his response. “Azriel said you need to stay here, Y/N. You’re in no condition to travel. You’re still… you’re still not yourself.” His voice was gentle, but the firmness in it was unyielding.

You clenched your fists, frustration and worry bubbling to the surface. “I don’t care what Azriel said. I need to go, Cassian. She’s my daughter, and I—” You cut yourself off, choking on your words, your breath ragged as the weight of helplessness settled on you once again.

Cassian’s jaw tightened, clearly torn between your pain and his loyalty to Azriel’s wishes. “I know you want to be there for her, but we need you to stay calm. We’ll find her, I promise.” His voice softened, though the unsaid words hung in the air between you both. He couldn’t bear to see you suffer like this, but he was equally unwilling to go against Azriel’s wishes, especially given the state you were in.

“You can’t promise that, Cassian,” you whispered, your eyes filling with tears. “I have to go. I need to see her.”

The words hung heavy in the room, and for a moment, the only sound was the thrum of your pulse, the pain in your chest. Cassian stood still, staring at you with sympathy, but his resolve remained.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But for now, Azriel’s decision stands.”

You felt the frustration and helplessness bubbling inside you, finally boiling over in a burst of raw emotion. Without thinking, you screamed at Cassian, the force of your voice nearly knocking you back.

“How dare you?!” Your words were sharp and full of pain, your body trembling as you stood, your fists clenched at your sides. “How dare you keep me from my daughter? I’m her mother! You don’t get to tell me I can’t go to her, Cassian!”

The words sliced through the air, filled with all the worry and fear that had been tormenting you since the moment Kaia went missing.

You were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling with the intensity of your emotions, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care that you were yelling, that your voice was breaking. All that mattered was that you needed to see Kaia.

“I need to go to her!” you shouted, your voice cracking with the weight of your own helplessness. "I don't care what Azriel said! I am her mother, and I will not stay here while she's out there alone!"

Cassian’s face paled, and for a moment, you could see the weight of your words hit him. He flinched at the force of your anger, but his expression was filled with the same sorrow he had when he tried to hold you back.

“Y/N, I know you're hurting—” he began, but you cut him off, the pain driving you to keep pushing, keep screaming.

“No! You don’t know!” you yelled, voice rising again. “You don’t know what this feels like! You have no idea what it’s like to be so close, but still feel like you're losing everything, again. FOR THE SECOND TIME IN MY LIFE! You don’t get to make this decision for me!”

You didn’t know where the strength to scream came from, but you felt like you might collapse after releasing it all.

Cassian’s face softened, and he took a step toward you, his own frustration and sorrow evident. “I’m trying to protect you, Y/N. Azriel’s trying to protect you. We’re all trying to make sure you’re okay.”

But you were done listening to him. You shook your head, wiping at the tears that had fallen without your consent, and you stepped back.

“I’ll find her myself if I have to,” you spat, your voice low and dangerous now, the anger still buzzing in your veins. You knew you couldn’t—knew you’d never leave without their help—but the desperation in your words was undeniable.

Cassian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Y/N. But I can’t let you go right now.” His voice was quiet, filled with the weight of his own guilt.

You glared at Cassian, your body still trembling from the intensity of the emotions you’d just unleashed. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now there was an edge of frustration too. How could they forget? How could they forget who you were, who your family was?

You stepped closer to him, your voice low but seething with sharpness. “You and Azriel are so stupid,” you bit out, your words slicing through the air. “Did you really forget that I’m royalty? That I can winnow wherever I want?”

Cassian’s eyes widened in surprise, the realization dawning on him, but it didn’t stop the irritation that continued to rise in you.

“I don’t need permission from anyone,” you continued, your voice growing louder, filled with the weight of your frustration. “I’ve been through more than you’ll ever understand, and you both are sitting here acting like I’m helpless. I’m not.”

Your heart raced, the anger and panic swirling together as you took another step closer. “I’ve lived for centuries. I’ve faced things that you can’t even imagine, and you still forget who I am.”

Cassian stood frozen, and for a brief moment, you saw the guilt in his eyes. But you couldn’t hold back anymore. The emotions, the stress, the overwhelming need to find Kaia—they all surged to the surface.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you hissed, each word filled with a raw power. “I’ll find my daughter myself.”

With that, you focused, your power thrumming beneath your skin. In a heartbeat, you winnowed out of the room, leaving Cassian standing there, his face stricken with shock.

You were done waiting. You were going to find Kaia. And nothing was going to stop you.

-----

You landed on the icy ground outside the cabin, your power swirling around you like a storm. Snow whipped through the air, the biting cold doing nothing to quell the fury blazing in your chest. You didn’t wait for an invitation. You pushed the door open, the warmth of the cabin contrasting violently with the icy wrath in your veins.

Rhysand was in the middle of the room, his hands braced on the edge of the dining table, his shoulders slumped in a way you rarely ever saw. At the sound of your arrival, his head snapped up, and his face paled as he saw the fire in your eyes.

“YN—” he started, his voice soft and broken.

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice trembling with rage. “Don’t you dare try to explain this away, Rhysand.” You stalked toward him, each step heavy with the weight of your fury.

He held up his hands, his expression pained. “I know, I—”

“You let this happen!” you shouted, cutting him off. “How could you, Rhys? She’s my daughter!”

Rhys’s shoulders sagged further, his violet eyes shining with guilt. “It’s my fault,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I should’ve been watching her more closely. I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight.”

The admission only fuelled your anger further. “You’re damn right it’s your fault!” you yelled, your voice echoing off the wooden walls of the cabin. “You, of all people, Rhys! You were supposed to protect her! And instead, you let her out of your sight? You let her disappear?”

Rhys flinched as though you’d struck him, but you didn’t stop. The pain and anger pouring out of you were unstoppable.

“And then,” you continued, your voice shaking with emotion, “you let Azriel tell me to stay behind? You let him keep this from me, let me sit there while my daughter—” Your voice broke, tears blurring your vision as you struggled to find the words.

“I thought I was doing what was best,” Rhys said, his own voice raw. “I thought if you came back, it would only make things worse. I didn’t want you to—”

“To what?” you cut in sharply. “To do exactly what I’m doing now? To fight for my daughter?”

“I didn’t want you to break,” he whispered, his voice so soft you almost missed it.

Your chest heaved, the pain in his words digging into your heart, but you couldn’t let go of your anger. “You think I haven’t already broken?” you demanded, your voice cracking. “You think I could sit there and not know? Not fight for her? She’s my daughter, Rhys. My world. And you—”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you shook your head, taking a step back from him. “You failed her, and you failed me.”

Rhys looked devastated, his usually calm demeanour completely shattered. He took a shaky breath, running a hand through his dark hair. “I know,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I know I failed you. I failed Kaia. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right.”

But his words weren’t enough. They couldn’t undo the hours Kaia had been missing, the fear clawing at your chest, or the image of your baby girl out there in the cold.

You turned away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself as the tears came harder now, the anger giving way to despair. “I’m her mother,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve been the one to protect her.”

“You will,” he said softly. “We will. I swear to you, Y/N, we will bring her home.”

Rhys gently reached out, his hand brushing your shoulder as he tried to draw you closer, but you resisted. The sobs wracking your body were almost too much, your anger still boiling over despite the tears streaming down your face.

“Don’t—don’t touch me!” you choked out, but he ignored your words, pulling you into his chest.

“Let it out, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice soft and pained. “Just let it out.”

The dam broke as soon as you felt his arms wrap around you. Your fists came up, weak and sloppy, as you hit his chest over and over again. “How—could—you—let—this—happen?” you cried, punctuating each word with another hit.

Rhys didn’t flinch, didn’t move to stop you. He just stood there, holding you close, letting you take out every ounce of anger and heartbreak on him.

“I trusted you,” you sobbed, your punches losing strength as you buried your face against him. “She’s—she’s my baby, Rhys. She’s my baby…”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his hand smoothing over your hair as he held you tightly. “I know, YN. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You clung to him now, your fists balled in his shirt as you sobbed uncontrollably. The room felt smaller, heavier, as the weight of your anguish filled the space.

Rhys just held you, his own tears slipping down his cheeks as he whispered apologies, his heart breaking alongside yours. “We’ll find her,” he said again, though his voice was hoarse and strained. “I swear to you, we’ll find her.”

But his promises felt hollow, the fear and pain overwhelming every other thought in your mind. You could only cry, clinging to your brother, desperate for the nightmare to end.

The door swung open with a gust of icy air as Azriel stepped inside, brushing snow from his shoulders. His hair was damp from the storm, his face etched with exhaustion and anguish. But the second his eyes landed on you standing there, dishevelled and tear-streaked in the middle of the room, his expression froze in shock.

"Y/N," he breathed, his voice rasping with disbelief. "What are you doing here? I told Cassian to—"

"Don’t even start fucking with me right now," you cut him off, your voice trembling with fury as you pulled away from Rhys. Your fists were clenched at your sides, your body taut with barely restrained emotion. “You told Cassian? You told Cassian? Azriel, my daughter is missing, and you thought you could order me to stay put like I’m some helpless bystander?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darting between you and Rhysand in the room. “I didn’t want you in danger,” he said, his tone low but defensive. “The storm—”

“The storm?” you snapped, stepping closer, your voice rising with every word. “I am her mother, Azriel! Do you think for one second that I would let a little snow stop me from trying to find her? You had no right to keep this from me!”

“I was trying to protect you!” he countered, his own voice rising now. His shadows curled around him, restless and agitated. “You don’t understand how dangerous this is, YN! You didn’t see what we found out there—”

“And whose fault is that?” you shouted, your hands trembling. “You left me in the dark, Azriel! You left me behind when I should’ve been here, with her, with you!”

Azriel took a step closer, his face contorted with pain. “I didn’t want you to go through this. Not again.”

His words hit you like a physical blow, the weight of them sinking into your chest. “Do you think I’m not already going through it?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Every second she’s out there, I’m dying inside. You should’ve trusted me, Azriel. You should’ve told me.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by your ragged breathing and the distant howl of the wind outside. Azriel looked at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I didn’t want to lose you too,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your fury wavered for a moment, replaced by the raw ache in his words. But the pain of Kaia’s absence burned brighter, and you shook your head, stepping back. “This isn’t about me, Azriel. This is about her. And we are wasting time.”

Azriel’s shoulders sagged, his shadows wrapping tightly around him as if to shield him from the weight of your words. “You’re right,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “You’re right.”

Azriel flinched as if you had physically struck him, his shadows recoiling and tightening around him. His eyes, which usually held warmth and steadiness, now mirrored the brokenness in his soul. You stood in the middle of the room, trembling with fury and heartbreak, your voice sharp enough to cut through steel.

“After everything we’ve been through, Azriel,” you began, your tone low but seething, “after all these centuries, I never thought I could look at you and feel this... this rage. This disappointment.”

��Y/N, please,” he started, his voice cracking as he stepped toward you, his hand half-reaching. But you took a step back, holding your ground.

“No!” you shouted, your voice shaking the room as much as your hands were. “You don’t get to plead with me. Not after what you’ve done. You made a decision for me, for us, without even giving me the chance to fight for her. Do you know how that feels, Azriel? Do you know what it’s like to feel useless when your child—our child—is out there, scared and alone?”

“I was trying to protect you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roaring fire in the hearth. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you going through this—”

“You didn’t protect me, Azriel,” you hissed, tears streaking down your face. “You betrayed me. You made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like I couldn’t handle the weight of this, when all I wanted was to be by your side. And now? Now I don’t even know if I can look at you without—”

You choked on the words, your throat tightening. But you forced them out, every syllable laced with venom and heartbreak. “I’ve never been so disappointed in my mate before. I didn’t even think it was possible, but you’ve proven me wrong. You’ve hurt me in a way I didn’t think you ever could, and I—”

You paused, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I think I hate you for it.”

Azriel froze, his entire body stiffening as your words sank in. His shadows stilled, no longer flickering with life but curling around his boots as if in mourning. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

The silence was deafening, the air between you thick with pain and regret. Finally, he whispered, “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You let out a hollow laugh, wiping angrily at the tears streaming down your cheeks. “You can start by finding our daughter, Azriel. Because if you don’t…” You shook your head, unable to finish the sentence.

Without another word, you turned away from him, your heart shattering into a thousand pieces as you left him standing there, broken and alone.

You stormed toward the door, grabbing the first coat you saw on the rack. Your movements were quick and fuelled by pure adrenaline, your mind racing with thoughts of Kaia out there somewhere—scared, cold, and alone. As your fingers fumbled with the buttons, a shadow darted in front of you, blocking the doorway.

“YN, stop,” Rhysand said, his voice steady but laced with desperation. His hand was outstretched, palm up, as if he were trying to calm a feral beast. “You can’t go out there. Not in this storm. It’s too dangerous.”

You turned on him, your eyes blazing with fury. “Move, Rhys. I’m not asking.”

Before he could respond, Azriel appeared beside him, his shadows curling protectively around his frame. His face was pale, and his golden eyes were glassy with guilt and pain. “Please, don’t do this,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “It’s too dangerous out there. I can’t lose you too.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” you snapped, your voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Neither of you do. My daughter is out there, Azriel. Our daughter. And I won’t sit here another second while she’s alone in the cold.”

“I understand how you feel—” Rhys began, but you cut him off with a sharp laugh, bitter and raw.

“You understand?” you spat, stepping closer to him. “Your son is safe, warm, and alive, Rhys. Don’t you dare tell me you understand what this feels like. Don’t you dare.”

Rhysand flinched, his mouth pressing into a thin line. Azriel stepped forward, his voice breaking as he said, “YN, please. I’ll go back out. I’ll search all night if I have to. But you can’t do this. I need you to be safe.”

“You need me to be safe?” you repeated, your voice rising. “Where was that concern when you decided to keep me in the dark? Where was that when you made me stay behind like I’m some fragile porcelain doll? You don’t get to need me now, Azriel. Not after everything.”

Tears welled in his eyes, but he didn’t move out of your way. Neither of them did.

“Move,” you demanded, your voice shaking.

“No,” Azriel said, his voice firm but trembling at the edges. “I won’t let you.”

The room seemed to shrink around you as you stared at him, your chest heaving with anger and despair. “Then you’ll have to stop me,” you said coldly, stepping forward.

Rhysand’s magic flickered in the air, subtle but ready, and Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter. But neither of them moved.

“You can try to stop me,” you said, your voice low and dangerous, “but you won’t win. Not this time.”

For a moment, all three of you were frozen in a tense standoff, the howling wind outside the only sound. Finally, Rhysand stepped aside, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Azriel hesitated, his hand twitching at his side, but he eventually followed suit, his shadows retreating as his eyes filled with anguish.

Without another glance, you threw the coat over your shoulders, opened the door, and stepped out into the icy storm.

Part 4

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