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suguwu · 10 days ago

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last light on: part one

Years after your break up, Itoshi Sae returns to Japan.

He finds he left more than just you behind.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

pairing: itoshi sae x f!reader, one-sided itoshi rin x f!reader

wc: 4k

cw: aged up characters/pro-footballer au, sae and reader have a named daughter together that reader hid from him, exes to lovers, complicated relationships.

notes: i couldn't contain myself any more. after several false starts (aka me posting and deleting while having a meltdown), here is the real thing. i owe my life to @lorelune for their input and advice on this fic—i cannot even begin to explain. anyway, i hope you enjoy this first part! please note this will have slow updates - please be patient with me, thank you!

Japan is a haunted place for Sae.

He forgets that, most days. He spends most of his time as far away as he can get. And Sae is not a man who lives in the past; he is focused on the future, on the endless horizon of upcoming days.

Then he steps onto Japanese soil and remembers you.

You live at the edge of his memory, gone wispy with the passing years. These days, you’re just the tilt of your lips; you’re the elegant slope of your shoulder. An outline of yourself, an imprint left behind on a foggy window.

You’re a ghost of the worst kind: one of his own making.

And Japan is your territory. You linger in the very air; he breathes in sea salt and thinks of the taste of your tears. It stirs something inside of him that he’s quick to ignore.

This trip is no different.

The plane lands at the first bloom of dawn, pink streaking across the sky like petals. Sae’s been up for a while, reviewing game footage on his iPad. He makes another note before he puts it away; there will be plenty of time to review more.

By the time he slides into the car, the sun is starting to peek over the horizon. The light is sweetly golden, soft and warm, and to his surprise, your smile flashes through his mind. It’s one of the things he’s never forgotten, but he keeps it tucked away, under the melon rind curve of the bitter smile you gave him when he left.

He shakes off the memory. He starts the game footage again, his teal eyes sharp, a scalpel’s edge. He watches for a few more minutes before he sighs. He pauses it and takes out his phone, ignoring the notification from his manager. Instead, he navigates to Instagram.

It’s a relic of his past life. He’s never updated it since going pro; he can’t be bothered. He can’t even remember the last time he opened the app. Maybe to see what his PR team had posted on his official one.

He clicks into his profile. The most recent post is almost as old as the account itself; it's the beach at twilight, the waves eating at the shore.

Right.

He'd deleted all his photos of you.

With a sigh, he navigates back to his feed. He scrolls a bit, flicking through most of the photos without a second glance. It’s all tepid, glimpses into tedious lives that he doesn’t care about. He’s just about to close the app down when something catches his eye.

It’s you.

Older now, but undoubtedly you. You’re facing away from the camera, but he knows the line of your neck, the swan’s wing curve of it. He swipes to the next photo in the set; you’re still in the background, but you’re in profile this time, lips tilted sweetly, wine-kissed.

He swipes again, but you’re not in the next picture. When he glances at the caption, it doesn’t tell him anything, but you’ve commented. He clicks the link to your profile, but it doesn’t take him anywhere. His lips thin; he tries again and gets the same result.

When he tries to search by your username, nothing comes up.

You’ve blocked him.

His brow furrows. It’s not entirely unexpected, but he had thought that the years might have softened you towards him. He sighs and tosses his phone onto the seat next to him before starting the game footage once more.

It’s for the best.

—

Sae does not dream often.

Or if he does dream, he simply doesn’t remember. He wakes in the morning and nothing lingers. There are only the cobwebs of sleep, which he blinks away with ease.

But tonight—his second night in Japan—he dreams of you.

It’s hazy in that way that dreams often are. He knows it’s your first apartment, the one with the flickering porch light you always left on for him, but he can’t make sense of the rest. It fades into the background, leaving him with only the starglow of your eyes peeking over the horizon of your shoulder as you disappear from room to room.

You weave through the apartment with easy grace. He follows until he doesn’t, watching you vanish into the kitchen—a tiny, cramped thing with plants stuck wherever they can fit. You glance back at him, half-devoured by shadows. There are tears shining on your cheeks. Your lips part, and as you start to speak—

He blinks awake.

Sae stares up at the ceiling. He runs a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair and sits up. The hotel room is dim, the rising sun held at bay by the thick curtains. If he were someone else, he might think of the shadows that you peered out from, but he doesn’t. The dream is already fading.

He gets out of bed. The curtains part under his hand; the sudden gleam of the sun makes him squint.

He opens the window, as he always does. The breath he takes is deep; it fills his lungs with the fresh bite of the morning air. It washes away all but the dregs of the dream. He takes another breath and buries those dregs deep.

He buries you.

—

Like all ghosts, you refuse to stay buried.

By his fifth day in Japan, Sae has thought of you more than he has in years. He’s not sure what it is about this trip in particular; you’ve always returned to mind when he’s back, but never to this extent.

It’s annoying.

With a sigh, he taps his pen against his notebook. He glances out the window and sees the hydrangeas waving in the breeze, tiny puffy clouds. He thinks of you, petal-bodied, and sighs again. He pulls out his phone and starts a text to his manager.

Sae has always been a man of action.

He’ll exorcise you himself.

—

Your neighborhood reminds Sae of Kamakura.

It’s nicer than he expected; a family neighborhood, based on the parents walking by with children perched on their hips like little birds. The houses are a mosaic of architecture, a few odd styles standing out, just like his childhood. It’s only missing the kiss of salt in the air, the sea’s eternal presence. Instead, there’s the earthiness of the park that cuts through it, pungent and grassy after the morning’s rain.

He crosses the street as the light turns; according to Navitime, your house should be on the other side of the park. The foliage swallows him down, a verdant throat, before it spits him back out into a manicured playground. Children are laughing, bright peals of sound like summer windchimes.

He glances at the parents lining the sides of the playground and blinks.

Sae thinks of the Instagram post from just a few days ago. He hadn’t paid much attention to who posted the pictures, but if he were to pull it up again, he knows exactly who it would be.

Rin.

Rin, who is currently staring at him from his spot next to you.

It can only be you. There’s a ghost of the girl you were just under your skin, blooming like a spring bud. It’s in the way that you move; it’s in the way that your eyes gleam. The imprint of you that’s haunted him given new life. Made real again.

You still haven’t noticed his brother’s early onset rigor-mortis, because your attention—your attention is on the little girl snuffling on your lap.

She’s a tiny thing, no older than three. Her hair gleams cherry-dark in the sunlight, the faintest sheen of red shimmering through it, and when she blinks, her long clusters of lashes sweep across her cheek like clouds. She blinks again, slow and sleepy, and it’s all sunlit stained glass, her eyes a familiar shade of brilliant teal.

His shade of teal.

The world narrows. Sae takes a step forward without thinking about it.

The little girl yawns. Her nose crinkles with it, twitching like a bunny’s. You lean down to nuzzle your nose against hers, a little smile unfurling on your lips, a night-blooming flower. She bats at you with a tiny hand before rubbing at her eyes.

Sae watches, entranced.

A shadow falls over him; a hand pushes against his chest. He glances up into burning turquoise eyes.

“Rin,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

Rin steps closer. His lean muscles are coiled tight; his lip curls back in a snarl. He’s blocked Sae’s view of you and the girl, a sheepdog circling his lambs.

“Stay away from them,” he spits out.

Sae blinks. “Hello to you too.”

“I’m not here to say hello. Stay away from them.”

He’d known. Sae has always had a quick mind; on the field, he needs only the smallest glimpse of information to put together the puzzle pieces, to build his strategy. He’d known as soon as he’d seen his daughter, but this—Rin and his bared fangs, Rin and the fear trembling just beneath his fiery tone—it confirms everything.

He has a child.

“Them,” Sae muses. “So the kid is hers. Mine, too.”

Rin’s hand flexes at his side, his long fingers twitching. “Go away.”

Sae raises a brow. “It’s a public park,” he points out.

Rin scowls, moving fluidly with Sae as his brother tries to step around him. “She doesn’t want to see you,” he says.

“She can tell me that herself.”

“Not telling you should speak for itself.”

Sae lets out a breath. “You can’t stop me, Rin.”

“You don’t deserve them,” Rin says, his turquoise eyes aflame, flaring like the auroras in the night sky.

Sae realizes that he is not the only one you haunt.

“And you do?”

Rin goes stiff.

Sae hums. “Does she know you’re still sniffing after her?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a no.”

“At least I’ve been there. At least she wanted me there.”

Sae’s jaw flexes. “But she still doesn’t notice you.”

“You—”

“Sae?” you say. Your voice warbles, delicate birdsong, his name sweet on your tongue.

Rin flinches.

A little smirk flickers to life on Sae’s lips. Rin’s fingers flex, his glare deepening, but he wavers as you step closer. It gives Sae an opening. He claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he pushes past him.

Rin makes a sharp noise, but Sae ignores him.

You're his focus now.

There was a time that your eyes lit up when you saw Sae, but as he draws closer, he sees only wariness. A wolf with its lips drawn back, giving a glimpse of teeth. Not yet bared, but the promise of a bite.

“Sae.”

That airy warble is gone; your voice has settled into something cooler, the first kiss of winter on an autumn day. There’s a slight furrow to your brow, but Sae still knows you. There’s a tremble to your lower lip; there’s sorrow tucked up secret in the corner of your mouth.

He says your name. Watches the way you cup your daughter (his daughter) closer to you, her little face burrowed in the gentle curve of your neck. You have one hand cradling the back of her head, as delicate as a dove’s wing, your fingers splayed like feathers.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Looking for you.”

Something flickers across your face, a fleeting summer storm.

“Japan, Sae. Why are you in Japan.”

He shrugs. “It’s still my home, you know.”

“Is it?”

Your daughter makes a small, musical noise, shifting in your arms. You hush her, humming softly until she falls still again, lulled back into sleep. Sae watches the way her little hand curls into your sweater, tiny fingers anchoring her to you.

(He wonders, briefly, if she would hold onto him in the same way.)

"What's her name?" he asks.

"Why do you care?"

He sighs. "Games don't suit you," he says. "Tell me my daughter's name."

Something in you hardens, frost spiraling across a river's surface.

"Rin," you say quietly, and his brother steps in front of him again, blocking his view of you and his daughter. He flexes his fingers as Rin scoops up the little girl; she mumbles quietly before settling against his lean shoulder. It's easy, born of familiarity, and something in Sae grows teeth.

"One brother wasn't enough for you?" he asks.

Rin whips around, fury lining him like a cloak, splitting through him like a thunderclap. Your hand comes up to rest on his other shoulder, restraining him with the most delicate of touches. An owner pulling her dog's collar.

"It's fine," you tell Rin. "Can you settle her in the stroller, please?"

Rin's turquoise eyes are aflame, burning like a comet's tail through the velvet sky. He stares down Sae for another breath before he turns back to you.

He leans in close; too close for Sae to hear what he says to you.

You nod, and Rin sends Sae one last glare before he walks away, carefully cradling the little girl in his arms. Sae's gaze catches on her small form; he thinks of the sea foam that washes up onto the shore, too delicate to last.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, turning back to you.

You meet his gaze steadily. "You wouldn't have stayed."

Sae shoves his hands in his pockets; he stays quiet. You watch him, your lips curling down at the edges, like wilting leaves.

"What do you want, Sae?"

"My daughter."

"You can't have her," you say. "You'll break her heart."

"Like I broke yours?"

"You didn't break my heart, Sae."

He watches you for a moment. You meet his gaze steadily, but he sees the cracks in you. The ghost of who you were before he left you behind. The girl you’ve grown out of, her skin too small for the woman you’ve become.

"Yes," he says. "I did."

You sigh. "Go home, Sae."

"I will," he says easily. "But not without her."

You stiffen. "You'd take her from me?"

"No," he says. "You're coming too."

"Fuck off."

He steps in close, until he can feel your body heat, until he can hear the soft breath you suck in. Longing cuts across your face, a wound torn open. It’s gone in a breath, but Sae sees it.

"You miss me," he says. "Don't you?"

"Fuck off, Sae."

"That's not a no."

Your hand comes up as he pushes closer; you splay it across his chest. The heat of it sinks through his shirt, like spring sunlight, gentle and warm. He waits, but you don't shove him away. He wraps a hand around your wrist, stroking his thumb over the tender underside. Your eyelashes flutter, a butterfly’s wing.

"You miss me," he says. "Say it."

"I miss you," you breathe.

The words are delicate, spider’s silk. They linger in the space between you, a gleaming web spun from your trembling lips.

Sae leans closer, until he can smell the honeysuckle-kiss of your shampoo.

"Then let me in."

You let out a shaky breath. Your fingers flex against his chest, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. "Sae—"

"Yeah?"

"No," you say, finally shoving him away. He steps back gracefully, his face impassive. “Don’t do this to me. You won’t stay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I do.”

Sae studies you. Your eyelashes are damp; one of them has caught on your cheek, a dandelion seed. There’s an urge to reach out and sweep it away with his thumb. He shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“Do you give Rin this hard a time about leaving?” he asks.

“That’s different.”

“Not really.”

“Sae.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

You purse your lips, a flower bud pinching shut. “This isn’t about Rin.”

He glances past you. At the edge of the playground, his brother is rocking the stroller with long, practiced movements. It’s a strange picture, this snapshot of Rin; his ease speaks of a life already lived.

Rin leans down; he’s reaching for the girl’s foot, kicked over the side of the stroller. Sae stares at that tiny foot, cupped carefully in the palm of Rin’s hand.

“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not.”

He returns his gaze to you.

“It’s about my daughter.”

Something flashes across your face; Sae thinks of the last days of summer, the slow swallow of them.

“You mean my daughter,” you say. “She’s not yours.”

He sighs. “We both know she is.”

“No,” you say. “Not in any way that matters.”

Sae was stung by a sea urchin, once. He’d stepped on it in the shallows, its prickly body hidden amid the shadowed, worn rocks of the tidepool. The spine had pierced through the bottom of his foot; he’d bled. He hadn’t been able to play soccer for a week.

But he hadn’t held it against the sea urchin.

It was just protecting itself.

“I would say helping create her matters rather significantly.”

(Okay. He had held it against the urchin. A week was a long time to be banned from soccer.)

“It doesn’t,” you say.

Sae tilts his head. “If that was true, you wouldn’t be so scared right now.”

You flinch.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Quiet falls between you. Your eyes flash in the sunlight; Sae thinks of heat lightning, how it never touches the ground.

“You’re right,” you say, so softly that it’s almost lost to the wind. “I’m scared.”

He waits.

“Tell me I don’t have to be.”

Sae glances past you again. He wishes he could see into the stroller, that he could see his daughter’s face again.

“I can’t.”

Your face crumples, delicate origami crushed in a fist.

(You have always reminded Sae of the lacquered origami that’s scattered around your bedroom like stars. Like them, you’re tough enough to protect yourself against the elements, but underneath it all, you’re still paper.)

The creased paper edges of your devastation slice through Sae, scoring the tender underbelly of him, the part he’d thought had long hardened against such cuts. He thinks of roshambo; perhaps he should have known.

Paper always beats rock.

But if he’s cut, you’re wounded, a deep, terrible thing. You’re curling in on yourself, just slightly, as if that can staunch the sorrow seeping from you. Your lower lip trembles, but Sae can see the anger starting to filter in, a sunset bleeding across the horizon.

You blink away your unshed tears; the remnants of them leave your lashes glistening, the sunlight catching in them like a prism. Sae watches you piece yourself back together, your anger the glue, glowing through you in kintsugi gold.

You take a deep breath.

“You’re such an asshole,” you murmur.

He doesn’t bother to refute it. He knows this is where most people would apologize, but he won’t. Not for telling you the truth.

“I want to see her,” he says instead. “Can I come over tomorrow?”

You go stiff, a marionette pulled upright by its strings. He wonders if you’re thinking of what you both know: Sae does not ask for things. He does them, consequences be damned. It’s an olive branch, one barely blooming, a twig of a thing. But it’s there.

“No.”

Sae doesn’t flinch, but he feels his jaw go tight, his teeth clicking together, bone against bone. He flexes his fingers at his side.

“You—” he starts, voice chilled, a blade of ice.

“You can’t just walk into her life,” you say, cutting him off sharply.

It stops him in his tracks. He’s not used to that, not anymore. People tend to listen when he talks. The surprise keeps him from responding, giving you enough time to add:

“And you can’t just walk back into mine.”

He doesn’t need long to recover, though. “Even though you miss me.”

Your expression twists, souring at the edges, the first hint of rot in overripe fruit. “That doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

“I don’t care what you think, Sae.”

“Yes,” he says, “You do.”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, denting the plush flesh. “You’re such an asshole,” you tell him again.

“I know.”

The wind picks up; it catches at your clothing, plucking at it with playful fingers. You smooth the fluttering fabric back down with a trembling hand.

“You can’t see her,” you say softly. “She won’t understand.”

“Won’t understand what?”

“Why you have to leave again.”

“You don’t know that.”

You sigh. “I do,” you say. “It’s hard enough with—”

You pause, clamping your mouth shut before you can finish your sentence. Something cold curls through Sae, a winter river that snakes between the banks of his ribs.

“With Rin, right?” he asks. “It’s hard enough with Rin.”

You watch him for a moment, your eyes wary, a rabbit peeking out from the brush. You nod.

Sae exhales through his nose. “I see,” he says coldly.

You wince. “Sae—”

“Don’t.”

It’s not his usual calm tone. It’s shatterglass, keen-edged and ready to cut. He hates it.

Your eyes widen. There’s something in your expression that Sae doesn’t want to name. It catches beneath his skin like a burr, sharp and unrelenting.

“Sae,” you say softly. “I—”

A piercing cry rents the air, splits it apart like a blade. Sae blinks, but you’re already whirling around, heading for the tree Rin has settled under with the stroller. His brother is hefting the screaming girl into his arms, his big hand stroking along the slip of her spine, but she’s still wailing, a high, animal keen. She reaches for you as soon as she sees you, her chubby hands grasping at air.

She buries her face in your neck as you cradle her. Sae’s too far to hear what you’re murmuring, but her wailing starts to trail off. Your hand settles at the back of her head, cupping her close, a gentle promise.

Sae steps forward just as Rin shifts, curling around you like a shield. There’s a flash of turquoise heat; Rin’s expression is a dare.

He should know better. Sae has never been one to back down.

He ignores Rin and comes closer, until your voice floats to him. It’s softer now, but it’s steady. Sure.

“It was a scary dream, huh?” you say, pressing a kiss to the crown of the girl’s head. “It’s okay. You’re awake now. Let’s go home, yeah?”

The girl’s answer is lost in the salt of your skin, her face still glued into the curve of your neck. You seem to understand the squashed words perfectly, though. You hum an agreement and adjust her in your arms. She finally peels away from the cradle of your neck. There’s silvery tear tracks mapped across her chubby cheeks. From under her wet eyelashes, there’s a peek of teal, a crescent moon of familiar color. She sobs again, low and wrenching.

Something twists through Sae, a tender bruise being pressed. He takes another step forward, but before he gets close enough to garner your attention, Rin slinks forward, blocking him.

Sae gives him a sharp look, but Rin’s thundercloud scowl only darkens.

“Not now,” his brother hisses. “Are you stupid, you shitty brother?”

Sae glances past him. His daughter has buried her face in your neck again; only the sunset sheen of her hair is visible. You’re curled protectively around her even as you search the stroller for something.

Sae is not one to back down, but he also knows how to pick his battles.

He nods to Rin; his brother blinks, his scowl softening in his surprise. Rin watches him for a moment before clicking his tongue. He doesn’t nod back, but Sae doesn’t need him to.

Sae watches as Rin turns back to you and coaxes the stroller out of your grip.

“Let’s go,” he says gruffly.

“Okay,” you say, hushing the girl as she whimpers softly. “Got everything?”

“Yeah.”

You glance back at Sae. It’s only for a breath. For a moment, he thinks you’ll say something, but you don’t. You turn around and start down the park’s path, Rin pushing the stroller at your side.

Sae watches until the verdant throat of the park swallows the three of you up.

You don’t look back again.

#juni writes bllk #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x you #blue lock x you

440 notes · View notes

heliosunny · 2 months ago

Note

Hey, hope you're having a good day!

I just wanted to let you know that I've been coming to your account back and forth for the past few days. Your Mydei & Phainon fics had me looking forward for any new updates!

I also have a request if that's alright with you!

(Heavily inspired by this Royal Scandal MV: https://youtu.be/CETiMtd_6tw?si=x0iHkLunFIn3K_x7)

PrinceCharming! Phainon who found the owner of the missing glass shoe (soulmate) he's been looking for. He then (charmingly forceful) took reader to the palace and promised her a (twisted) happily ever after with him.

Thank you♡

Yandere!PrinceCharming!Phainon x fem!Reader [part 1]

The grand ballroom shimmered under the glow of golden chandeliers, filled with the quiet hum of aristocratic conversation. Phainon lounged lazily on his ornate throne, propping his chin on his hand as he watched the celebrations with barely concealed disinterest. Though this was his coming-of-age ball, the evening felt tedious.

His eyes drifted across the gleaming marble floor, drawn by an unexpected stir in the otherwise composed crowd. A noble lady—darted between the guests, her gown swirling as she chased after a man who had unknowingly let a small keepsake slip from his grasp. She caught him, pressing the forgotten treasure back into his hand with a gentle smile before melting away into the swirl of silks and tailcoats.

Phainon straightened slightly, intrigued. "Who is that?" he murmured to one of his attendants.

"The daughter of Viscount Evern, Your Highness."

"Is that so?" He leaned back, momentarily entertained by the fleeting moment of sincerity he had just witnessed. But as quickly as his interest had piqued, it waned, and he returned to his idle watchfulness.

The night wore on, and various ladies approached him, requesting a dance. He indulged them, moving through the waltzes with practiced ease but with no real enjoyment. That was until he encountered you again.

You had slipped behind a pillar. A quick glance behind you revealed a young man searching the crowd. Later, you turned to Phainon. "Your Highness, would you grant me this dance?"

His blue eyes flickered with curiosity. "Very well." he mused, offering his hand.

As the music swelled, he guided you across the ballroom floor. He could feel the slight tension in your grip, and when he followed your line of sight, he saw the same man staring, his jaw tight with displeasure.

So that’s what this is.

Phainon smirked but said nothing. He played along, twirling you under the glittering chandeliers. The moment the music ended, you gave a polite smile, curtsied, and withdrew—returning promptly to the nobleman waiting for you at the edge of the ballroom.

Phainon watched as the man scowled, his pride wounded. He should have felt amused. Instead, something else stirred within him.

Interesting.

The ball eventually came to a close, and guests began filtering out into the night. You were among them, moving swiftly toward your waiting carriage. But in the rush of bodies, someone jostled you, causing one of your elegant shoes to slip from your foot and fall to the floor. You gasped, glancing back, but the growing crowd pushed you forward, forcing you to move on without retrieving it.

Phainon descended the steps of the ballroom and found the abandoned shoe lying in the middle of the floor, its intricate design catching the light. He knelt, brushing his fingers over its delicate embroidery before picking it up.

So, fate has chosen for me after all.

Phainon wasted no time. The very next day, he sent a formal invitation to your residence—a delicate parchment with gilded edges, sealed with his personal crest. It was an invitation to a private tea party in the royal gardens.

Declining wasn’t an option. A direct invitation from the prince himself was not something a noblewoman could simply refuse without consequence. And so, you found yourself seated at an ornate table beneath the flowering canopy of the palace gardens.

You sat stiffly, fingers wrapped around your teacup, while Phainon sat across from you, entirely at ease.

“You seem tense” he observed, swirling his tea lazily before taking a sip.

“How could I not be, Your Highness?” you replied. “It’s not every day one is invited to tea with the prince.”

“A lady such as yourself should be used to attention by now. You have quite the bold streak.”

Your grip on the teacup tightened, but you said nothing.

Phainon exhaled in feigned disappointment and, without further preamble, reached inside the ornate box beside him. From it, he withdrew something you instantly recognized—the delicate shoe you had lost in the ballroom.

He placed it on the table between you, “I believe this belongs to you.”

“You… kept it?”

“Of course,” he said smoothly, his fingers tracing the embroidery. “I see it as a sign of fate. You, however, left in quite a hurry.”

Phainon leaned forward slightly, “I am not blind, you know. You danced with me only to make another man jealous.”

“But,” he continued, “as long as you’re not officially his, that means I still have a chance.”

“I would like us to be in a proper relationship.” he declared, “You intrigue me. And once I decide I want something, I do not let it slip away.”

You exhaled slowly, placing your teacup down with deliberate care. “So it’s mere interest.” you murmured, tilting your head at him. “If that’s the case, then I’ll prove to you that I am neither your soulmate nor your ideal love interest.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow, intrigued rather than deterred. “Oh?”

“I accept, Your Highness. Let’s see how long your interest lasts.”

“Very well. I look forward to it.”

—---

A few days later, you arrived at another of Phainon’s arranged meetings—this time, a small lunch in the palace gardens. His tastes were refined, his meals prepared by the finest chefs, so you decided to test his patience.

“Oh, this dish looks delightful” you mused, picking up a spoonful of a carefully plated meal. Then, without hesitation, you dumped an excessive amount of salt onto it, stirring it into the delicate sauce.

Phainon watched with mild amusement as you took a bite, pretending to savor it. You pushed your plate toward him. “Here, Your Highness, you should try some.”

He met your gaze with an unreadable expression, then, to your surprise, took a bite without hesitation. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and then simply smiled.

“Delicious,” he said. “Would you like some of mine?”

You barely kept your composure as he slid his plate toward you. He wasn’t going to be that easy to shake.

—---

During one of the palace gatherings, you decided to take things a step further. If ruining his meals wouldn’t make him reconsider, perhaps public embarrassment would.

With a carefully crafted plan, you arranged for a court poet to compose a rather… excessive love poem about Phainon. And you, of course, were the one to dramatically read it in front of a small group of nobles.

You stood tall, clearing your throat. “Ahem. ‘O Prince Phainon, whose eyes glisten like a moonlit lake—’”

A few nobles barely concealed their chuckles. You could already imagine Phainon squirming in discomfort, but when you glanced at him, he looked… entertained.

You continued, pushing through exaggerated metaphors of his ‘lips like the sweetest wine’ and ‘a gaze that could melt the hardest ice.’ By the time you finished, you were certain he would be seething.

Instead, he clapped.

“Lovely,” he praised, “Shall I commission the poet to write a reply?”

You nearly choked.

—---

During another of your forced outings, you carried out your next plan. You pretended to trip—very dramatically—right as you carried a full cup of tea, aiming to spill it all over him.

Just as you fell forward, Phainon caught you effortlessly. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other plucking the cup from your hand with frustrating ease. Not a single drop spilled.

“Careful now. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

You wanted to scream.

—---

You were running out of ideas. No matter what you did, Phainon only seemed more amused, as if he enjoyed your antics rather than found them bothersome. You were beginning to wonder if there was any point in continuing this at all.

And then you saw him.

Your heart skipped a beat. Elias.

A knight in service to the royal family, diligent and disciplined, his mere presence was enough to make your carefully built act falter. He was walking along one of the palace corridors, and you felt a rush of determination. If you couldn’t shake Phainon off, maybe Elias could remind you of your original goal.

You took a deep breath, readying yourself to approach him—only for a cold voice to suddenly whisper in your ear.

“Going somewhere?”

You jumped so hard you nearly stumbled. Whipping around, you found Phainon standing right there.

“Y-Your Highness?” you stammered.

He followed your gaze, and his smirk only deepened when he saw Elias. “Ah. I see.”

And just like that, the three of you were now standing in an awkward triangle, with you frozen between the man you wanted to talk to and the man who refused to leave your side.

Elias raised an eyebrow. “Is something the matter, Your Highness?”

You wanted to cry.

Phainon, still looking far too pleased with himself, simply placed a hand on your back and guided you forward. “We were just about to leave.”

That was the moment you gave up.

-----

The palace gardens were peaceful that afternoon, a light breeze rustling through the apple trees as you reached up to pluck one of the ripened fruits. You had come alone, wanting nothing more than a quiet moment to yourself—away from prying eyes, away from him.

Just as you wrapped your fingers around an apple, a flash of color caught your eye. A bird—its feathers a striking shade of sapphire—perched on a nearby branch, its head tilted as if studying you. It was beautiful, and for a moment, you simply admired it.

Then, the sharp whistle of something slicing through the air shattered the tranquility.

An arrow.

You barely registered the danger before it struck. Not you—but the bird.

The creature let out a strangled cry before collapsing, its wings twitching weakly as it fell. In your shock, your foot slipped against the uneven earth, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled backward. The world spun, and then—crack.

Pain flared through your leg as you hit the ground hard. You gasped, grasping at the dirt as you tried to steady yourself, but the pain was unbearable.

And then a shadow loomed over you.

Phainon.

His eyes were scanning the area as he knelt beside you. He had arrived too late—late enough to miss the attack, late enough that the assassin had already fled. But something in his expression told you he wasn’t just going to let this slide.

His fingers brushed over your leg, barely grazing the injury before his jaw tightened. “It’s broken,” he muttered. “You should’ve been more careful.”

You scowled through the pain. “I didn’t exactly plan to fall, Your Highness.”

Phainon ignored your irritation. Instead, he gently lifted you into his arms. You stiffened at the sudden closeness.

As he carried you back inside, you caught sight of him glancing at the ground—his sharp gaze noting something in the dirt. You couldn’t tell what it was, but whatever it was, Phainon had found a trail.

—---

Later, in your chambers, you sat stiffly as a palace physician carefully bandaged your leg. Phainon sat nearby.

When the physician finally left, Phainon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Life as a royal is dangerous,” he stated, “You understand that now, don’t you?”

You clenched your jaw, still recalling the sound of the arrow slicing through the air. “…I’m not a royal.”

He smirked, “You are involved with one.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. Then why do you want me involved at all? If this was the price of being near him, then wouldn’t it be easier to let you go?

As if reading your thoughts, Phainon leaned closer. “Now that you’re an important figure,” he murmured, “they’ll aim for you, too.”

Your eyes sparkled with silent plea—then please, let me go.

Phainon noticed.

His blue gaze sharpened, and his smirk stretched into something amused, yet utterly unyielding. He leaned in, resting his chin on his palm as he studied your expression. Then, with a voice dripping in mock sympathy, he whispered:

“No way.”

—---

The news spread like wildfire. The precious daughter of Viscount Evern had narrowly escaped an assassination attempt. Your parents, sick with worry, demanded to see you immediately. Even as Phainon promised to find the culprit behind this attack, you couldn’t ignore the weight of his words from earlier—they’ll aim for you.

With your broken leg, you could barely move on your own. Your closest maid was assigned to stay by your side at all times, assisting you with everything. You despised the helplessness, but even more than that—you despised him.

Phainon had ensured that you were under heavy surveillance. His knights patrolled the halls near your quarters, and you could feel unseen eyes watching your every move.

A few days later, while sitting outside for some fresh air, you saw Elias. Whether it was fate or misfortune, this time he actually approached you.

“Why are you always with him?”

“Him?”

“You know who I mean.” He cast a glance toward the palace, where Phainon’s presence loomed even when unseen. “The prince. Why are you so close to him? What exactly is your relationship? After that night, did he do anything?”

You wanted to answer, to explain that this was not by choice. But before you could say anything—

“You shouldn’t get too involved with him,” he warned. “He’s not someone you can trust.”

A flicker of hope bloomed in your chest—was he worried about you?

Unfortunately, before you could respond, a voice interrupted.

“Ah, how interesting.”

You stiffened as he stepped into view, the ever-present smirk playing on his lips. He took his time, drawing out the moment, before finally pulling something from his coat.

An arrow.

Your breath caught in your throat as he held it up between two fingers, twirling it.

“I was planning to save this for later, but now seems like a good time,” he mused. His eyes locked onto yours, gleaming with a quiet intensity. “Do you know how lucky you are?”

“The head of this arrow,” he continued, rolling the shaft in his fingers, “was coated in poison. A rather vicious one. If it had grazed you, even slightly…” He trailed off, letting the implication sink in.

“And that’s why, dear Y/N, you should stay close to me.” His voice lowered, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. “Keep my men near you. That way, you won’t have to worry about such… unfortunate accidents happening again.”

—---

Days passed, and slowly, you regained your ability to walk. Not much, but enough that you no longer had to rely on the wheelchair.

It didn’t matter how busy his schedule should have been as a prince; no matter where you went, what excuse you tried to make, he was always there. A miracle, some might say. A curse, in your opinion.

One night, as you sat by the window, staring out at the moonlit gardens, you indulged in a small fantasy—what if you escaped? Not that you were planning to. Not at all.

But before you could even entertain the thought further—

BAM!

Your door swung open without warning.

Phainon strode in, completely unfazed by the fact that this was your room and that he had no right to barge in like that. He didn’t say a word—just casually made his way to your bed and sat down.

Then, he looked at you. And patted the spot beside him.

You wanted to throw something at his face. Instead, with a deep sigh (and a grumbled damn him under your breath), you weakly made your way over. By the time you sat beside him, you already felt exhausted.

Before you could ask what now?, Phainon suddenly shifted.

He laid his head on your lap.

“Can you sing?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Not good, but… I can.”

“Sing me a lullaby” he murmured.

“That’s… random.”

He closed his eyes. “Do it anyway.”

You should have refused. But something about the way he looked—completely at ease for once—made you hesitate. And so, despite yourself, you began to hum a melody.

Phainon didn’t move. His breathing slowed. And soon enough—

He was asleep.

You, on the other hand, stayed up the entire night.

-----------

I think I shouldn't rush so Imma divide it into 2 parts.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #phainon hsr #phainon honkai star rail #phainon x reader #hsr phainon #phainon

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hivemuthur · 4 months ago

Note

Hii! Could I request a Viktor x reader fic where the reader commissions an elevator be built in the academi/wherever his lab is, so viktor doesn't have to climb so many stairs and than getting stuck in the said elevator with viktor. I'm thinking reader with mild claustrophobia, love confession, whatever you see fit? (Smut/fluff, whatever) Thank youu❤️❤️

~🍒

Dear Anon, thank you for a lovely request! ❤️

Five Things

viktorxgn!reader mature! kissing, or rather making out, reader suffers anxiety attack, fluff!

author’s note: If you help me find an artist of this drawing I will be eternally grateful! Artist found, image description updated! Thank you! Can you tell I am obsessed with his neck?

word count: 2,7K

—

“Can you at least tell me if my current state of restriction leads to something beneficial?” Viktor whined, his hand clasped in yours as you blindfolded him and led him through the academy corridors.

“Trust me, it will be very beneficial,” you said matter-of-factly, not noticing the smirk on his face. The flirt dared to chuckle at that, and you shot him a look, a force of habit. “Maybe not as much as you think, whatever clatters around that head of yours.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know, dear friend,” Viktor mused, squeezing your hand tighter, his thumb ghosting over your index finger and sending goosebumps up your arm. Friend, of course—you were friends, and that was fine.

When you finally got there, mindful of all the plant pots, benches, and other objects cluttering the hallways—apparently, people would lose shoes, books, or once-bitten sandwiches—your face was beetroot red from all the teasing and handholding. You thanked the gods that all Viktor could see was the inside of your scarf.

“Are you ready?” you asked after clearing your throat.

“Depends. I trust you endlessly, so if you have led me to something dangerous, I am very much unready. If—” he accentuated, lifting his finger, picturing what kind of expression was painting itself on your face right now, “it’s in fact something very beneficial, I would like to think myself always ready for that.”

“You talk too much, mister,” you let out a strangled chuckle and began undoing the knot at the nape of his neck. Your fingers brushed the skin at his hairline, and Viktor shivered despite himself. A smile bloomed under your nose, as you tried to steady your breathing. “Here we go.”

You were still standing behind him, peeking over his shoulder, but you couldn’t see his expression. When no comment came for a while, you asked hesitantly, “What do you think?”

“You did this?” he mumbled quietly. His hand travelled to his back to find yours and lead you next to him. “How?”

“I didn’t do this exactly,” you said humbly, lowering your eyes to stare at your shoes. “But I might have bullied some people, who bullied other people, who commissioned other people to make it. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it? I… have no words.” The squeeze of his hand strengthened again as he walked up closer to study the ornamentations.

The elevator was not only functional but also beautiful. The outside frame was made of mixed metals, resembling both the design of the academy’s historical rooms and the specific curls and bends of hextech equipment. The inside was carefully crafted from deep, warm varnished wood.

You let out a breath you had been holding for far too long and laughed. “Well, I have to thank Janna for that miracle later,” you teased him.

Viktor’s mouth didn’t move an inch as he turned to face you and pulled you into an unexpected embrace. His cheeks were faintly pink when his arms cradled you, and you could feel the press of his cane’s handle against your shoulder blade. Letting out another breath you’d been holding, you relaxed into it and wrapped your arms around his waist, breathing in the scent of parchment and oil that clung to him.

“Should we… test it?” he offered playfully, his amber eyes sparkling with excitement.

You hesitated, but the way his hand remained clasped around yours melted your resolve. “Alright, but only if you don’t start analysing every bolt and rivet,” you teased, trying to keep your voice steady.

As you stepped into the elevator together, your heart began to beat faster. The space, while beautifully crafted, felt far too confined. The warm varnished wood and intricate metal details seemed to close in around you the moment Viktor gently pulled the handle to close the door. It slid with a deep metallic groan, settling into place with an audible clunk.

Your breathing hitched slightly, but you kept a smile plastered on your face, still holding his hand as if it were a lifeline.

Viktor, utterly delighted, hummed appreciatively as the mechanism engaged. “Remarkable. The craftsmanship is truly exceptional—the balance of form and function. And these gears, see the way they interlock? It’s as though—” He paused mid-sentence, glancing down at you. “Are you alright? You’re gripping my hand rather tightly. Not that I am complaining of course.”

You blinked up at him, your chest tightening as you struggled to keep calm. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Viktor’s brow furrowed in concern, but before he could press further, the elevator lurched and trembled under your feet. A hollow metallic thud reverberated through the space, and then… nothing. The lift shuddered and stopped.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath, your hand darting to the handle. You tugged on it once, then again, harder this time, but it wouldn’t budge. The handle jammed in place, as immovable as the walls surrounding you.

“Wait, hold on,” Viktor said, his voice calm but curious as he leaned forward to inspect the mechanism. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s stuck,” you replied quickly, trying not to sound panicked. Your hand dropped from the handle as your fingers fidgeted at your side, searching for something to grasp. “It’s not moving. It’s… oh gods.”

You started breathing faster, each inhale sharper than the last.

“Hey,” Viktor said softly, his tone gentle now, his attention fully on you. “What’s going on?”

“I—” you hesitated, your voice catching as you looked at him. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, but there was no hiding it now. “I might not be… the best in small spaces.”

His face softened instantly, the corners of his mouth dipping into a sympathetic frown. “You’re claustrophobic?”

“Maybe a little. And this…” You gestured vaguely at the enclosed space, the walls that felt closer with each passing second. “I don’t know. It’s just—”

“Alright, alright,” Viktor interrupted gently, turning fully to face you, his hand squeezing yours where it rested against his chest. His voice was soft but firm, grounding. “Breathe with me. Slowly, pomalý,” he murmured, his tone warm, almost coaxing. “I need you to try and name five things you can see.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, frustration flickering in your chest as you stared at him, willing him to drop the exercise. But his steady gaze told you he wouldn’t budge. Reluctantly, you glanced around.

“Um… a broken handle,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, though your voice betrayed your unease. “Uh… my shoes,” you added, but the words wavered, cracking like brittle glass.

Viktor’s hand shifted to pull you closer, his forehead gently pressing against yours. His breath, soft and warm, fanned across your face, calming one part of you, while unnerving the other. “Very good,” he said quietly. “Three more things. Anything you can see,” he encouraged, a faint smile lighting his features, his amber eyes bright with reassurance.

A strange lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down and tried again. “Your buttons… your hands… your freckles,” you blurted out quickly, the words tumbling over each other before you could stop them. It wasn’t until the words were out that you realised everything you’d named had been Viktor.

He let out a quiet sweet laugh, his chest moving against your hand. “Very good,” he said again, his voice laced with amusement. “Now—four things you can touch.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, making your heart stutter.

You inhaled shakily, closing your eyes to concentrate. “Wood… uh, the metal,” you began, though your throat tightened as you spoke.

“Good,” Viktor said soothingly. “Two more. Don’t overthink it—anything you can touch, no matter how small.”

You hesitated for a moment, then exhaled a resigned sigh. “Your hair… and your hand,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Heat crept up your cheeks, and you silently prayed you could blame it on the anxiety instead of… well, him.

Viktor’s smile softened, a hint of understanding dancing in his expression. “Very good,” he said simply, his hand steady in yours.

“Now—three things you can hear. Take your time,” he added, lowering his voice, the soft click of his tongue echoing faintly in the confined space.

You glanced up, meeting his gaze, and felt your chest tighten for a different reason entirely. “The metal cracking,” you said after a moment, your voice strained as you took a shallow breath. “My heavy breathing… and your voice.”

“You’re doing so well,” Viktor murmured, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles along your skin. “Two things you can smell,” he continued, his voice dipping lower as he shifted ever so slightly closer, the space between you shrinking. His nose nearly brushed yours, and you felt your lungs hitch, though now it had little to do with the cramped elevator.

“Oil… and parchment,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyes fluttered shut.

There was a faint noise from Viktor—a soft clearing of his throat—and you felt warmth bloom across his cheeks, his flustered reaction oddly comforting. At least you weren’t the only one affected by the closeness.

He leaned in just a fraction more, his cheek brushing against yours, the soft skin of his jaw teasing under your ear. His heartbeat was rapid under your intertwined hands, the rhythm betraying his otherwise steady demeanour. “Last one,” he murmured, his breath brushing your earlobe. “One thing you can taste?”

Your eyelids cracked open, your gaze falling on the column of his neck, mere inches away. For a heartbeat, time froze. Before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed your lips to his skin and whispered, “You.”

Viktor exhaled sharply, the sound trembling as it escaped. Without breaking position, he propped his cane against the wall and brought his hand to your cheek, his touch warm and grounding. You leaned into his palm, a quiet hum slipping from your lips.

His face hovered close to yours, his breath mingling with your own as he murmured, “Now I find myself in need of calming some anxiety.”

“Well, why don’t you name five things you can see, then?” Your voice slipped back into a teasing lilt; the tiny space of the elevator forgotten, replaced by the infinitely smaller space shared between the two of you.

“Hmm,” he mused, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Your ear,” he murmured before placing a soft, lingering kiss on your earlobe. “Your neck,” he added, brushing his lips gently against it. “Your eyes,” came next, accompanied by a featherlight peck on your brow. “Your nose,” he whispered, dropping another kiss just above its bridge. His tone deepened as he concluded, “And your chin.” He placed the final kiss there, smiling as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Very well,” you breathed, the places his lips had touched burning and tingling with an intensity that left you dizzy. “Now, four things you can touch, was it?”

“Your skin,” he replied immediately, taking a deep breath as his hands framed your cheeks, his thumbs brushing your jaw. “Your neck,” he chuckled softly, letting his palms glide down the sides of your throat, the light pressure sending a shiver down your spine. “Your collarbones,” he added, his thumbs pressing firmly against the delicate ridge, “and your shoulders.” His hands lingered there, warm and steady.

“You’re doing so well, Viktor,” you teased lightly, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused on his touch. “Next, three things you can hear.”

“Your voice,” he said, his thumb brushing against your lower lip, the faint scrape of his nail sending a ripple of heat through you. “Your breath,” he added, his gaze locking with yours, quiet intensity simmering in his amber eyes. After a brief hesitation, his hand moved to rest over your sternum. “And your heart. A very loud little thing,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower.

“We’re almost done,” you whispered, your breath hitching as he pulled you closer, his hands firm at your waist. “Two things you can smell.”

Viktor’s arms caged you in as he leaned in, his face burying in the crook of your neck. His voice rasped, “Your hair… and your skin. My favourite smells.” He inhaled deeply, his breath ghosting across your neck, his lips brushing faintly against your tendon. You felt his nose press against your skin as he trailed his open mouth along your neck, leaving a path of heat in its wake.

You swallowed hard, your body bracing for the last part. “A thing you can taste?” Your voice was quiet, barely audible.

“You, hopefully,” Viktor murmured, cupping your face gently as his lips brushed yours, tentative at first. His mouth was warm, tasting faintly of green tea, and when you glanced up, you noticed his ears were flushed red, his cheeks dusted a deep pink.

One of your hands found its way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair, while the other settled on his hip, where his vest shifted to reveal a sliver of skin beneath. At your touch, Viktor groaned softly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips as he tilted his head and let his tongue glide across your upper lip.

Your brows furrowed briefly, your eyes fluttering closed as you parted your lips to let him deepen the kiss. His hands slid from your cheeks to cradle your waist, one slipping up your back to press against your shoulder blades, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

His weight leaned into you, his breath filling your lungs with warmth, and a soft moan escaped your lips. Viktor echoed the sound, his chest vibrating with it, and the sensation rippled through you, your heart fluttering wildly against his. Your lips felt swollen under his, your fingers tugging at his hair to keep him anchored against you.

He obliged, pressing into you further as he guided you back a step until your back met the cold wood of the elevator wall. His lips left yours to travel down your neck, the heat of his mouth searing into your skin as he pressed soft, insistent kisses. He sucked gently at the base of your neck, pulling a startled giggle from you, and when he seemed satisfied with the mark he left, he dragged his tongue flat against the spot before returning to your mouth.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, his lips moving with an intensity that left you dizzy. Yet, even in his eagerness, Viktor’s touch remained steady, his hold on you firm but reverent, as though you were something precious to him. When you finally felt yourself running out of breath, Viktor pulled back just enough, a translucent string of saliva still connecting your mouths.

“So… um…” you whispered, your breath shallow and quick. “I take it you like your present?”

Viktor brushed his nose gently against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he nodded eagerly. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice low and hushed, “yes, very beneficial... very good gift. Possibly the best one anyone's ever given me.”

You hummed contentedly, settling yourself more comfortably in Viktor's arms, your head resting against his chest. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart, was enough to make you forget the rest of the world. But as the seconds passed and the kiss-induced haze begun to clear, reality seeped back in. You tilted your head up, suddenly aware of your position—still trapped in the elevator.

"So... how long do you think we're going to be stuck here?" you asked, the playful hint still lingering in your voice.

Viktor's lips twitch into a small smile, his hands gently stroking your back as he leaned closer. "Well, how long would you like to be stuck here?" he teased, his eyes glinting mischievously.

You blinked, confused for a moment. "What do you mean? You know how to fix it?"

His smile widened, and there was a slight glint of guilt in his eyes. "Well, I'm an engineer after all," he said, his tone almost sheepish. "I knew the minute it broke."

"Viktor!" you exclaimed in mock offense, lightly batting his chest with your hand. "You knew the whole time?" He chuckled softly, his gaze softening as he looked down at you, clearly amused. "What can I say? I like a little... suspense."

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #viktor x gn!reader #viktor fluff #viktor x reader fluff #requests #🍒

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bbywriter · 3 months ago

Text

amateur | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: back in LA, nick and chris, your long distance boyfriend, stumble upon a silly little vlog you left them from boston.

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: just some cutesy fluff

notes: ahh hi everyone this is my first ever fic! i’m kinda nervous but also really excited, pls let me know what u think <3

word count: 800

—

It’s late Thursday night, and Nick is buried in editing their upcoming Friday vlog. This week’s video compiles the boys’ most recent trip back home to Boston. While scrubbing through the raw footage, he stumbles upon an unexpected clip—one clearly not meant for the final cut.

The video begins with you holding the camera, your voice uncertain as you fiddle with the buttons. “Uh… I don’t even know if this is recording properly,” you say, the shot capturing nothing but your slightly out-of-focus bedroom. The camera wobbles a little before the clip abruptly ends. Nick smiles, calling over his brother. “Chris, come look at this.”

Chris gets up from his seat at the dining table, curiosity pulling him towards his brother in the living room. He settles beside Nick on the couch before the next clip plays. This time, your face appears on the screen as you hold the camera an arms length away. “Good morning guys—Oh my god this quality is insane I can see every single one of my pores,” you mutter, leaning in closer to examine your skin on the tiny viewfinder. After a second, you abruptly flash a peace sign and pucker your lips, before laughing at yourself. “Ew, Nick please leave this out.”

Chris can’t help but smile, his chest tightening with an overwhelming fondness at the sight of you. The soft Boston sunrise filters through the open blinds, washing your room in a warm, golden light. Sunbeams stream gently from behind you, casting a soft halo around your face. You’ve clearly just woken up—your voice is still heavy with sleep, your hair tousled, and your eyes half-closed. But even through the screen, despite it all, you have Chris completely captivated.

The video continues into your makeshift vlog, where you update the camera on your plans for the day—attending a 10am lecture followed by a three-hour lab that starts at 1pm. Halfway through, you get sidetracked by a story from last week’s lab, laughing as you recount how your friend accidentally burnt her eyelash extensions from holding the Bunsen burner too close to her face.

Chris already heard this story the day it initially happened, but he could listen to you tell it a hundred times again. Watching the way your eyes literally smile before the rest of your face follows, and hearing the sweetest sound of your laughter—he could never get tired of it.

The clip stretches on for nearly six minutes as you get distracted by all the little things you suddenly remember you want to share. Finally, you circle back to the reason you’re filming in the first place—explaining how you found the camera in your purse while searching for your wallet to put in your backpack.

“Chris, you must have forgotten it in my purse when you dropped me off yesterday, but I’ll just give it to you guys when I see you later. But yeah… how was your guys’ day?” you ask, fully leaning into the content creator persona. It takes a second of realization before you cringe, your nose scrunching with visible embarrassment as you cover your eyes with your free hand. “I’m literally talking to this camera like it’s gonna answer me. This is so weird, I don’t know how you guys do this.”

Chris lets out a soft laugh, finding your awkward struggle for something that’s second nature to him so endearing.

You sigh softly and glance off-screen. “God I really hope that all recor—oh shit, ‘battery low, please connect to power’,” you read off the viewfinder. “Oh I think it’s gonna die soon. Okay, bye guys! Chris, bye baby! Love you, please text me if you saw this!”

You obnoxiously pucker your lips, leaning in to kiss the lens with a dramatic smooching sound, but just before it lands, the camera cuts off as the battery gives out. Chris stares at the screen, his heart swelling so big in his chest it feels like it would explode.

Nick nudges him, giggling. “Dude, she’s so bad at this.”

“Shut up,” Chris says, biting back a smile. “Send me those.”

Nick glances at his brother as he airdrops him the clips and teases. “Wipe that stupid grin off your face, you look like an idiot.”

But Chris doesn’t hear him. Instead he immediately screenshots the last frame—a blurry but perfect shot of your goofy kiss. Without hesitation, he sets the photo as his new wallpaper, then finds your contact.

Baby: You should start a channel baby

Baby: Gotta teach you more about the camera though haha this vid was a little ridiculous

He sends the screenshot he took.

Baby: This was cute though

Baby: You’re beautiful

Baby: Love you❤️

Baby: Miss you

He sends the last message, knowing you’re back in Boston and likely asleep by now. Still, he can’t help but smile at his phone, already counting down the days until he can see you again.

—

a/n: hi guyss :) this was just something quick i thought of, inspired by a clip from the boys’ vlog i came across the other day where madi was randomly filming their dining table or something lol. pls let me know what u think ahhh this was so fun!!!

#bbywriter ✍️#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo

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rynwrites4fun · 19 days ago

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Eyes On Me (2) | Jack Abbot x Popstar ! Reader

Jack Abbot x f! Popstar ! Reader

Summary: It’s been almost a year since that night in Pittsburgh. You and Jack still hold tightly to the memory of it. After stepping away from the spotlight, you return with an EP titled Tethered, a raw and honest reflection of your mental health journey. Now, back in Pittsburgh, everything comes full circle when you find yourself in the ER, again.

Word Count: 5792

Warnings: Age Gap (mid 20’s/late 40’s or early 50’s,) Mentions of mental health struggles

Author's Note: Part 2!!! Thank you for all the love!!! I’m not sure how many parts this fic will have, but we’ll see. Lol I’m dead. I spent this week staying up late at night, busting this out because I’m impulsive. again sorry for any grammatical errors and/or inaccuracies. I’ll go through and fix it later. Tag list??? Let me know. Comment or message me if you wanna be on it. - ryn

East Coast / Pittsburg ER Night Shift 9:25pm

“Everyone’s favorite pop princess is back!”

It’s been almost a year since the pop star stepped away from the spotlight after collapsing backstage after performing her sold-out concert in Pittsburgh—the 22 out of 36 across North America. She was rushed to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital, where she was treated for extreme fatigue and exhaustion.

Shortly after, her team unexpectedly announced that the remainder of the tour was canceled, with plans to reschedule for future dates.

Just a few days later, the singer posted a heartfelt video on Instagram, opening up about her mental health struggles and her decision to take a step back in order to prioritize her well-being.”

Doctor Jack Abbot stood in the doorway of Exam Room 15, arms crossed. Inside, Doctor John Shen sat hunched over a patient’s foot, suturing needle suspended mid-air like he’d forgotten what he was doing. His eyes were fixed on the television mounted in the corner, where a glittering news segment about you played at full volume.

“An outpouring of support followed—and now, she’s back and ready to start again.

Just a little over a week ago, she teased her upcoming EP Tethered—her first post since announcing her break from the spotlight. Now, the highly anticipated project is set to drop in just a couple of weeks, marking not just a return to music, but a raw, intimate glimpse into the journey she’s been on since stepping away.”

Jack clicked the remote. The television turns black.

“Hey—I was watching that!” John protested, finally snapping out of it with a frown.

“Yeah, we were watching that,” the teenage patient echoed, craning her neck to stare at Jack.

“Are you planning to finish that suture today, or are we diagnosing patients with pop culture updates now?” Jack raised his eyebrows and he was slightly annoyed.

John rolled his eyes as he returned to the suture.

“Thought you’d want to know what she’s been up to lately—y’know, after everything.” He sideeyes Jack.

His tone was light, but the implication hung in the air—referencing what had happened months ago between Jack and you.

Jack had thought of you more than he cared to admit since that night. You kept slipping into his thoughts—uninvited, unexpected. He wondered if you were okay. If the weight you carried had gotten any lighter. If you’d found some kind of peace.

And now, it felt like the world wouldn’t let him forget. You weren’t just famous—you were inescapable. You’re everywhere.

He started noticing you in places he never had before.

Your music plays on the radio.

Your face flashing across the TVs.

Your eyes staring back at him from magazine covers and newspapers at the checkout line.

You are woven into the background of his daily life—like a habit he hadn’t realized he’d formed.

The patient raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Wait— something happened between you and her?” she asked, glancing between the two doctors.

Her tone was casual, but her eyes lit up with the kind of interest reserved for celebrity drama.

Jack shot John a look—sharp and silent, the kind that spoke volumes. It was enough to make John glance away, the tension hanging in the air.

The moment passed quickly, and Jack returned to the patient’s chart, pretending to focus on the words in front of him. But his mind wasn’t really on the chart anymore. His grip on the chart tightened, just slightly.

“Nothing worth talking about,” he said, too quickly to sound convincing. John gave him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything as he continued to stitch.

The patient wasn’t buying it. “C’mon,” she pressed, grinning. “You totally knew her, didn’t you?”

Jack finally looked up, his expression unreadable.

“I treated her. One night. That’s all.”

He never mentioned what transpired between the two of you on the roof—not to anyone. Not even to Doctor Michael Robinavitch, his good friend, the one he told everything to.

He never told anyone how he’d told you he saw her—really saw you. How you opened up because of that, because he looked past everything the world expected you to be. And the flirting that had slipped into their conversations, soft and unexpected, blurring the lines between doctor and patient—those moments felt more intimate than they should have.

That was between him and you—his to keep. That night meant something. It stayed with him.He didn’t like talking about you. Not because it didn’t matter, but because it did. He keeps things close. What’s real, he guards. Some things aren’t meant to be shared.

Jack shoved the thought of you to the back of his mind, compartmentalizing. He had to focus on the dozen patients they were juggling, a constant reality of being short-staffed. They had to move quickly and work efficiently, no matter the strain.

“Doctor Shen, let’s stitch and go—we’ve got a waiting room that’s about to riot.”

And with that, he was gone.

—

West Coast / Los Angeles Therapy Session 6:25pm

“How have you been feeling lately?" your therapist asks during the video call.

You were in a better mindset since Pittsburgh. That night changed everything for you. You got the help you needed. You were still working through things—unpacking, unlearning, rebuilding. It was a process, but you had found moments of peace along the way.

“Okay… just nervous, I guess.” You toyed with the strings of my hoodie—Jack’s hoodie. You’d kept it since that night. You wore it whenever I needed grounding, like some sacred ritual. It hung loose on you, weighted in all the right ways.

His scent still lingered—clean soap, and something warmer, something him. It slowed your pulse, quieted the noise in your head.

It brought you back to the roof. To the way he looked at you, how our deep conversations slowly melted into flirty, playful banter. But mainly a quiet reminder that, just for a moment, you weren’t alone. You were seen.

“And what’s making you feel nervous?”

“I’m releasing an EP in a couple weeks called “Tethered”. It’s rooted in that night in Pittsburgh—what happened, what shifted—and everything that’s unfolded since. At its core, it’s about my ongoing healing journey. Honestly, it started as something just for me. I never thought it would see the light of day. But my team really encouraged me to share it.

“One of the songs off the EP, Eyes On Me.. its about…Jack”

Nobody knows about you and Jack—on the roof, beside your therapist. You never mentioned that he was a doctor. You knew the lines had blurred between the two of you in ways they shouldn’t have, but they did.

Your team sees the person you’re singing about in “Eyes On Me”—the one who witnessed your struggle, who saw you at your absolute lowest—as just a fictional creation, a character you invented for the song. They think it's all a metaphor, like it’s some kind of story you wrote to make sense of it all.

You swallow hard, the weight of your words lingering in the air.

"The thought of him hearing it... I can’t help but wonder what he’d think," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. "If he heard the song... if he knew it was about that night, about him. Would he recognize it? Would he even remember me at all? It’s been almost a year since that night—the only time we met. I don’t even know if it meant the same to him. For me, it felt like something—something that stuck with me, something I’ll never forget. What if it didn’t matter to him the way it mattered to me? What if I’m the only one still holding on?"

A hollow laugh slips from you as you cover your face with your hands, trying to hide the vulnerability spilling out.

“I feel delusional,” you say through a cracked smile. “What am I even doing? Holding on to a moment that probably meant nothing to him…I only knew him for a couple of hours. I don’t really know anything about him, but there was just… something. A pull. I don’t know—” You shake your head, frustration rising, but the words still come out soft and unsure.

The therapist studies you for a moment, her expression calm and steady.

“That night clearly left a mark on you,” she says gently, her voice warm but not pushing. “And it’s okay to wish it meant something to him too. But the connection you felt—that was real. Your experience is valid, even if his was different.”

“I don’t know if I'll ever see him again…I'm headed back to Pittsburgh for a listening party for the EP... it feels like a full-circle moment. From that night when my mental health was at its lowest, to now, with all the growth and healing I've been through.”

“Sometimes, we don’t get closure with certain people, and that can be hard. But look at how far you’ve come. You’ve turned your pain into something beautiful—this EP is a true reflection of your resilience. That’s powerful. No matter what happens with him or that chapter, that strength and growth are yours, and no one can take that away from you.”

“I think this listening party isn’t just a celebration of your music—it’s a ceremony for your healing. Let it be both.”

—

ER Shift Change 7:00am

Doctor Michael Robinavitch approached the staff lockers, slowing when he noticed his friend seated nearby, thumbing through a magazine. Not just any magazine—that magazine. The one with the exclusive article about you.

He didn’t have to see the cover to know. He recognized the way Jack’s shoulders tensed, how his jaw clenched ever so slightly. Jack never really talked about you. Not out loud. Not often. What happened that night—what you meant—was a line he rarely crossed in conversation.

Jack was a private guy, especially when it came to certain things. You were one of them. Maybe the biggest one. Whenever your name came up, there was always a pause. A shift in his eyes.

Michael lingered for a moment, uncertain whether to speak, unsure if Jack would even welcome it. Some subjects, no matter how long it’s been, never lose their weight.

“You know didn’t peg you for a gossip mag guy,” teased, eyebrows raised as he hovered over Jack’s shoulder.

Startled, Jack shut the magazine he was reading at his locker with a sharp flick, the glossy pages snapping closed. Your face had been on the front cover—radiant, composed, and unmistakably you. Exclusive: ‘Tethered’ EP—A Raw Look Into Her Mental Health Journey

“I’m not—” he started, then stopped. He didn’t have a good excuse. Or maybe he didn’t need one.“Was just… flipping through,” he muttered, but the warmth in his ears gave him away. He rolled the magazine up in his hands.

Michael chuckled softly, not unkindly. Michael opened his locker to put his bag inside.

“Uh-huh, ‘just flipping through.’” He gave a small, knowing smile, shutting his locker closed.

Michael wasn’t stupid. He could tell there had been something between you two. The way Jack’s gaze softened when you kissed his cheek the morning you were discharged, the quiet look that lingered on his face long after you’d left—it was all too telling.

Michael realized that day somehow, Jack had a game. A pop star? Who knew?

“You know, I’m still impressed you managed to pull a pop star. Still trying to figure out how you pulled that off…” He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.

“That’s not what happened, Robby,” Jack’s voice held a hint of annoyance.

“Oh really? Because that goodbye you two had when she was discharged? That told me otherwise.” Michael leaned casually against the staff lockers, his eyes glinting with amusement. A teasing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as if he were savoring the quiet drama unfolding.

“You’re reading way too much into it.” He busied himself adjusting the strap on his backpack, eyes flicking anywhere but Michael.

“I’m calling what I see…There was something there, Jack. And if there wasn’t—if you didn’t feel anything—you wouldn’t still be following her career.” He gestured to the magazine. “Don’t try to deny it.”

Jack grabbed his backpack from his open locker, his hands a little too quick as he shoved the magazine inside, like it could somehow erase the evidence.

“That was almost a year ago.” He said it like he was trying to convince himself more than Michael. “People move on.” He shut his locker closed, jaw was tight, and he still wasn’t meeting Michael’s eyes.

“Clearly you haven’t”

“It was a moment! That's it. People have those. Doesn’t mean I’m still holding on.” He was lying to himself. He knew it. Michael knew it. But admitting it felt like giving something away—something private, fragile, still half-formed. Like handing over a piece of himself he hadn’t even figured out yet. Something he wasn’t ready to name, let alone explain.

The truth was, part of him felt stupid wishful thinking. Fantasizing about seeing you again.

If he had seen you—if by some miracle you were really here—then what? What was he supposed to do? What would he even say?

What would he want to happen?

You were a popstar, living a life worlds away from his own. Flashing cameras, tour buses, screaming fans. And he was just a doctor—steady, rooted, buried in shift schedules and hospital scrubs. You knew nothing about each other beside that.

Michael leaned against the locker beside him, arms crossed. “You know what the funny thing is, Jack? You keep saying it was just a moment—like that makes it mean less.”

Jack didn’t reply, just stared at the locker door like it had the answers he didn’t.

“But sometimes,” Michael continued, his voice softer now, “a moment is enough to change everything. Doesn’t matter if it lasted an hour or a lifetime. If it’s stuck with you this long, it wasn’t nothing. It’s okay to hold on to it.”

He glanced toward the hallway, then back at Jack.

“Hell, maybe she hasn’t let it go either.” He shrugs walking, leaving Jack standing alone.

—

Couple Weeks Later Somewhere in Pittsburg 12:00am

You were in a cozy, intimate setting for a secret listening party of your EP, Tethered. The lights were low, the air humming with anticipation, and the space—filled with warm glows from fairy lights and quiet chatter—felt more like a living room than a venue. You’d invited a small group of your day-one fans to share this moment with you, the ones who had been there through every rough demo, late-night live, and cryptic lyric drop.

“Thank you all for being here,” you said, stepping up with a soft smile, your voice carrying just enough nervous excitement to make the moment feel even more real. Kind of a full circle moment to be back here..”

“All the tracks on Tethered are really personal to me,” you began, eyes scanning the room, landing briefly on a few familiar faces. “But Eyes on Me... that one’s the heartbeat of the whole thing. It was the first song I wrote for the EP—and, honestly, it’s the reason the EP even exists.”

You paused, pulling Jack's hoodie back up your shoulder.

“It’s about what it means to be truly seen by someone,” you said softly. “Not just looked at, not just watched—but seen. All these eyes are on me, you know? But they… they’re the only ones who really see me. Past the noise. Past the stage. Past the version of me I sometimes feel I have to be.”

“This EP… it captures what happened. What shifted. Everything that’s unfolded since I took a step back. At its core, it’s about my healing journey. It’s messy, it’s raw, it’s honest. It’s a piece of myself… that I’m finally ready to share.”

You let the words linger, settling into the quiet that followed. Then you looked up, offering a small, almost shy smile—like you were still getting used to being that open, that scene.

“Anyway… I hope you hear something in it that speaks to you. That makes you feel less alone.”

And with that, the first notes began to play.

ER Nightshift 12:00am

Surprisingly, it was a calm night at the ER. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, casting a steady glow, an unexpected peace hanging in the air. John sat at one of the computers in central, nodding along to music.

Jack knew John was probably listening to something during the rare downtime before they inevitably got slammed, but he didn’t pay it much attention. Jack was rummaging through some file cabinets when he heard it.

All these eyes on me,But you're the one who truly sees.

Jack froze. He’d heard those words before. He turned around. His eyes narrowed at the computer monitor where John sat, absorbed in the music. The EP cover glowed from the open tab: Tethered. Track four: Eyes on Me. Your anticipated new music.

He read the title. Read it again. Listening to the words, his chest tightened. His throat went dry.

All these eyes on me,But you're the one who truly sees.On this roof, in quiet space,We connect beyond time and place,With every glance, a playful tease,In your gaze, I find my ease.

It wasn’t just a song. It wasn’t subtle. Every line peeled back something buried deep—something from that night.

He knew this one all too well, even though he was only hearing it for the first time now. And it was about him. You’d written a song about him. For all to hear.

He didn’t know how to feel.

Part of him wanted to smile—to let that flicker of warmth rise in his chest, because it meant the moment mattered. It wasn’t fleeting or imagined. You’d remembered the rooftop. The quiet. Him.

But another part—the louder one—felt exposed, like a curtain had been yanked back on something he's hiding. And suddenly, it felt like the whole ER, maybe even the whole world, could see a piece of him he hadn’t meant to share.

It was beautiful. And it was too much.

“Are you good?” John side-eyes Jack and furrows his brows.

Jack didn’t answer. It felt like everything he’d kept buried was now out in the open, like someone had drawn a map to his heart and handed it to the world.

Jack swallowed hard, trying to push the knot in his throat down. It’s just a song, he reminded himself. But the weight of it—the rawness—was impossible to ignore. He had been okay when it was just a memory. Just something in his head. But hearing it, hearing it out there, made it real in a way he wasn’t ready for.

“I’m fine,” Jack said finally, the words tumbling out too quickly to be convincing. He continues rummaging through the file cabinets. His voice was tight, strained. “Just... processing.”

John raised an eyebrow, studying Jack carefully. “Processing?” he echoed, his gaze shifting from Jack’s rigid shoulders to his face, searching for something more than just a surface reply.

Jack nodded, though it felt hollow, like an answer he wasn't fully sold on himself. “Yeah. Processing.”

John let out a small, knowing sigh. "Okay, sure… 'Processing.'" He wasn’t fooled. He knew this routine well—had seen it before. Jack’s way of shutting down, of keeping things locked behind that wall

“Don’t,” Jack muttered as he grabbed the file he was looking for. He knew that John knew the song—the one John was playing—was about him and Jack could feel the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” John said, raising his hand in mock surrender. His eyebrows lifted in teasing challenge, and he swiveled his chair back to face the computer screen. He took a sip from his paper cup, the straw making a faint squeak as it drained the last of his drink. “But, you know… it’s not every day you get a song written about you by a pop star,” John added, his voice light, but the glint in his eyes told a different story.

Annoyed, Jack glanced over his shoulder, giving John a hard stare. He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head in frustration. Without saying a word, he slammed the file cabinet shut, the sound sharp in the quiet ER.

He turned on his heel and walked out, his footsteps echoing in the hallway.

“Oh, come on, Jack—don’t be like that,” John called after him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s just a little joke. Besides, it’s kinda cool, right? A song written about you. That’s not something most people can say.”

John leaned back in his chair, glancing over his shoulder, still trying to gauge Jack’s mood. “I mean, if it were me, I’d be riding that wave for weeks. But hey, you do you.”

—

A Few Days Later, Pittsburg 3:50pm

You were getting lunch, walking through Pittsburgh, when it all went down. A few paparazzi spotted you—nothing unusual. You even chatted with them for a minute, trying to keep things light. But it got out of hand fast. Word must’ve spread that you were in town after the secret listening party, and before long, more and more cameras swarmed you. What started as a few polite questions turned into a frenzy. You’d been laying low for several days, but it seemed like the buzz had finally caught up to you.

It had been almost a year since you’d been in the spotlight, so you understood the interest—but this? This was overwhelming. Shouting. Flashbulbs. A sudden wave of bodies. Your anxiety builds quickly.

Somehow, you slipped away from the crowd and darted down a narrow alley, desperate to get a moment to breathe. But as you rounded a corner, your foot caught on something and you tripped hard. Pain shot through your ankle as you landed, and you let out a sharp gasp. Trying to get up, you realized your ankle wouldn’t hold. You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking, and called an Uber to get you to the nearest hospital.

The ride blurred by. You leaned your head against the window, trying not to cry—not just from the pain, but from feeling cornered. The chaos. The feeling that even the sidewalk had turned on you. But you cried—that slow, quiet kind of crying that sneaks out despite your best efforts. The kind that doesn’t ask for attention but slips down your cheek anyway.

Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center loomed ahead. You shifted, biting your lip as you left the car.

Inside, the fluorescent lights felt too bright, the antiseptic smell sharp in your nose. Nurses moved briskly. Voices echoed down hallways.

Jack

The thought hit before you could stop it. You knew he only worked nights, and this was hours too early for him to be here. Still, your eyes searched the faces of passing staff, your heart betraying you with the tiniest sliver of hope.

You limped into the ER, leaning heavily on your left foot, each step sending sharp jolts of pain up your leg. At the triage desk, the nurse barely acknowledged your presence, her eyes fixed on the clipboard in front of her as she asked in a flat, uninterested tone, “Name?”

You took a breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. You give your name. “I think I sprained my ankle?” you muttered, unsure— the words feeling insignificant against the noise in your head.

She scribbled something down and pointed to a row of empty chairs. “Take a seat, please. We’ll get to you soon.”

You lowered yourself slowly into a chair, still trying to steady your breath. The pain in your ankle was sharp and constant, each throb a reminder. You glanced around the room, your mind scattered. The waiting area was quiet, filled only with the low hum of fluorescent lights.

You were a little worried someone might recognize you. But no one looked up. Everyone had their own problems—sick, injured, too wrapped up in their own pain to care.

It felt like hours, but finally, they called your name. The nurse rolled over a wheelchair and carefully helped you into it, the cold wheels rolling over the linoleum floor. You winced slightly as your foot shifted.

They rolled you into the ER, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the quiet hum of machines filling the air. The fluorescent lights above pass in a blur. As the wheel chair rolled down the hallway, your eyes drifted to a large medical room where a team of doctors clustered around someone in critical condition, working fast, urgent.

And that’s when you saw him.

Doctor Jack Abbot—the man you thought about almost every day since that night, months ago.

Even beneath the blue paper gown, gloves, and safety glasses, you knew it was him. The way he moved. The shape of him. The salt-and-pepper curls. He worked with steady, practiced urgency, surrounded by other doctors, trying to save a life.

And then, as if he felt someone watching, he looked up—through the glass doors—and his eyes met yours.

Your breath hitched. Your heart stopped. Your mouth slightly agape as you stared.

It felt exactly like the first time your laid eyes on each other—like time had slowed just for the two of you. But this time, it didn’t just slow. It stopped completely. Everything else faded away.

He looked away… but then did a double take.

Did he recognize you?

For a moment, he froze—still in the middle of it all, just staring. But then something pulled him back to the moment, to the patient, to the life in his hands.

The nurse guided the wheelchair to a small exam area and helped you settle into the exam bed.

“Just a moment, a doctor will be right in with you” she said, her tone soft but brisk, before she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone in the sterile, quiet room.

You leaned back on the propped but exam bed, trying to focus on your breathing, but it wasn’t easy. The sharp pain in your foot made it hard to keep your thoughts clear. You couldn’t tell if it was the physical discomfort or the rush of emotions that had hit you when you saw him just now—maybe it was a little bit of both. A strange mix of relief and anxiety twisted inside you, and for a moment, you just closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself.

You saw him. You thought about this moment countless of times. What’s gonna happen? What is he gonna say or do? Countless questions swirled in your mind.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Robinavitch,” he says, distracted, eyes scanning your chart.

Your eyes shoot open, snapping you out of your racing thoughts.

“—everyone just calls me Dr. Robby. What seems to be the—”

He stops mid-sentence the moment he looks up and sees your face.

“It’s you—”

You offer a small, uncertain smile, assuming he recognizes you from TV or a magazine. “Yeah…”

But then he says it—casually, like it’s obvious.

“Jack’s girl.”

Jack’s girl? Oh, you shouldn’t like the sound of that. But the way your heart reacts says otherwise.

“Um… I’m sorry?” Your eyes widen, unsure how to respond.

Michael blinks, the words hanging in the air heavier than he meant them to be. He hadn’t planned to say that out loud.

Jack’s girl.That’s what he’d called you in his head for months—the pop star with the lingering presence, the one his friend never really talked about, but never quite let go of either. She had written a song about Jack.

Even if it was just one night. Even if it happened almost a year ago. The impact of it still echoed, apparently, in both of you.

Michael clears his throat, shifting slightly. “Sorry—”

“I think you know my friend… Dr. Abbot, right?” he asks, even though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” you say softly.

“I remember you,” he says, studying you a little more closely now. “From the morning you were discharged. The sparkly boots, the whole vibe… hard to forget.” He chuckles. “You were also wearing—”

His gaze drops to the hoodie you’re wearing. Recognition sparks in his expression.

“That hoodie, actually,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Jack’s hoodie.”

Your face falls, heat rushing to your cheeks. A wave of embarrassment crawls up your neck. For a split second, you wish the floor would crack open beneath you and swallow you whole. It felt like being exposed—like something intimate had slipped into the open before you were ready to claim it.

“You still have the hoodie you stole…” Michael teases, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t steal it,” you say quickly, fiddling with the strings self-consciously at . “I… borrowed it.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “Right. I borrowed it. For, what—almost a year?”

That’s when Michael understood—really understood. He saw it in the way you fiddled with the hoodie strings—absentminded, protective. It wasn’t just something you threw on. It was a memory you hadn’t let go of.

He smiled, quietly, as if he knew something unspoken.

It wasn’t just a fleeting encounter between you and Jack. There was something deeper there, something unfinished. Something still waiting to be figured out. A connection neither of you had let go of, even after all this time.

Michael notices the way your expression tightens, the puffiness in your eyes, how your fingers keep fidgeting with the strings of the hoodie.

He gives a small nod, almost to himself, then clears his throat. “Anyway,” he says, pivoting smoothly, “What seems to be the problem?’

Robby glances down at your ankle, then back up at you, his expression soft but tense.

You shift uncomfortably. “I was running,” you mumble, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

He doesn’t say anything for a second, just looks at you, reading between the lines. He knows.

“Let me guess—press?” he asks, voice calm but edged with concern.

You nod, sniffling and wiping some tears.

You explain what happened as he examines it.

“You really shouldn’t be out there alone,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. Then, meeting your eyes, he adds, “You okay?”

You shake your head, honesty breaking through.

“It was scary,” you admit quietly. “I haven’t felt that much anxiety in a long time.”

He’s gentle when he lifts your leg, supporting it with one hand while the other presses, prods, checks. His touch is clinical, but careful—like he knows how much more than your ankle might be hurting right now.

He doesn’t rush. Don't talk just to fill the space. He gives you the silence, like it’s something he knows you need.

After a minute, he meets your eyes. “Doesn’t feel broken. Probably a sprain. We’ll get an X-ray to be sure.” He grabs your chart and starts taking notes down.

You nodded. You needed to think about something else, to calm your nerves.

Fiddling with your sleeves, you brought up Jack.

“I… I thought Doctor Abbot worked nights?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrays you—too soft, too curious.

“I just… I didn’t think he’d be here” you murmured, more to yourself than to Michael.

“You saw him,” Michael stated.

"He and a few other doctors were working on someone when the nurse was rolling me in.”

Ah, Michael thought. The construction worker who fell. He’d gone off the scaffolding—twenty feet, more.

“He mainly works nights. but shows up when no one expects him to. Picks up day shifts sometimes when we’re short… or when he’s restless.”

Michael doesn’t say more. Jack was already unraveling, barely keeping it together. Ever since your song about him came out, Jack's been burying himself in work—double shifts, anything to stay distracted. He'd been running on fumes for days, and now this?

If Jack had seen you when you saw him, he was probably already internally freaking out as he worked on the patient in the trauma room, Michael thought. And once Jack found out you’d been chased down and hurt? That would be the thing to finally push him over the edge. His friend is going to combust.

—

“He’s stable,” a nurse called out, eyes on the monitor. “BP’s 122 over 78. Holding steady.”

Jack exhaled, blood still on his gloves, sweat at his temple. The last thirty minutes had been a race—working to stop internal bleeding on a construction worker who’d fallen from scaffolding.

“Dr. Abbot, you good?” John asked, adjusting the ventilator. “You zoned out for a second back there.”

“I just…” he swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I thought I saw someone—”

Jack froze mid-movement, halfway through peeling off his gown. His eyes flicked toward the glass doors across the ER. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He’d been working nonstop lately, trying to distract himself. Now, because he was so exhausted, he was starting to think he was seeing things — but not just anything. He was seeing you.

“Just— find me if something changes”

He stripped off his gown and gear, tossed them into the hazard bin, and pushed through the double swinging doors of the trauma room, heading straight for the triage board.

When he reached the triage board, his eyes immediately scanned for your name. And there it was—East Wing, Exam Room 15.

His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

“What?” he whispered to himself, his eyebrows furrowing.

Even as your name stared back at him, his mind refused to accept it. He blinked twice, as though trying to clear some phantom fog, but nothing changed. It couldn’t be you. There was no way. His pulse quickened, his instincts warring with the impossible thought that somehow, despite everything, it was you.

What were you doing in Pittsburgh? What the hell were you doing in his ER?

He was hoping—praying—you weren’t at rock bottom again, despite all the press about you being in a better place since then.

His mind spun through a hundred possibilities, each more reckless than the last.

With a deep breath, he made his way down the hall to the East Wing. As he approached Exam Room 15, he heard Michael’s voice, followed by the unmistakable sound of your laugh.

He paused for a split second at the door, a knot of disbelief tightening in his chest, then pushed it open with haste And there you were. It was you.

#the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt x reader #jack abbot #jack abbott #dr abbot #dr abbott #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot fic #dr abbott x reader #dr abbott x you #the pitt fanfiction #shawn hatosy #jack abbott fanfic #jack abbot fanfiction

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kajibunny · 11 months ago

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⊹ . ݁ ⟡ the kaji fanclub (ren kaji x reader) ft. kusumi ₊✩‧₊˚

✿ summary: you and kaji’s vice captain created your own fanclub, a kaji fanclub. kaji finds out about it, so long story short, he gives you his honest feedback. ✿ contains: fluffy crack (is that a thing), suggestive themes (only on bonus part), kaji is your boyfriend, teasing and nonstop praise for kaji (i could talk about this man all day watch me) ✿ a/n: my first wb fic!! kusumi would absolutely be the best wingman for you and kaji! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) i really like kusumi and his character design! he is so underrated but he's one of the cutest! ✿ wc: 1.2k

ren kaji knew that you had been up to something lately.

you and his vice captain kusumi have been busy giggling nonstop and checking your phones like a bunch of middle school girls, with you gushing and gasping about "how cute!" and "that's so perfect!" while looking down at your screen, showing only kusumi what was on it, receiving a reaffirming nod from the vice captain.

at first, kaji was fine with it and did not care at all. he found it nice that you got along so well with kusumi, but after an hour of you two still going at it and not paying full attention to him when he tried to tell you something, he swore he was about to throw a fit if you didn't quit it.

what kaji didn't know was that you and kusumi are the co-presidents of the "kaji club" on social media, where you post pictures of daily kaji updates.

at first, it was just because you found everything about your boyfriend so insufferably cute - his bowl haircut, his blond hair that he dyed all by himself, his unreadable expression, his never ending supply of lollipops, his iconic high kick, his sharp little canines (that sometimes you received little love bites from), his unpenetrable eardrums that were exposed to such loud music everyday, and much, much more.

you wanted to give the whole world a glimpse of that cuteness - but that goes without saying that only you got the full package to yourself.

so you thought about how funny it would be if he had his own fanclub. well, why not? if people loved him enough to vote him as their grade captain, then for sure he'd have lots of fans, right? and eventually, your idea turned into a reality.

kusumi would send you the pictures he took that day, and you would manage the fanclub account. this time it was of kaji jumping into the water to save a cat while on patrol (as well as him patrolling topless afterwards - needless to say that particular picture was saved in your phone in a heartbeat, but you never uploaded it, it was for you and only you, his lover, to see and appreciate.)

eventually, the kaji fanclub blew up to be an overnight sensation, mostly members of bofurin and the townspeople of makochi are among his biggest fans, but of course, you will always be ren kaji's number one fan.

"what the hell are you two laughing about?" kaji huffed in annoyance, trying to get a peek at your phone screen.

you smile sweetly at him, letting out a "hm?", acting all innocent and telling him it was nothing and that he shouldn't worry about it.

kaji, still having his suspicions that you were up to your shenanigans again, grabbed your phone from your hands and took a look at what you were so fixated with - it was a picture of kaji drinking from his bottled water with the caption "here is our super cool grade captain reminding everyone to always stay hydrated!~" then next it was a close up of kaji holding his lollipop. "today's lollipop flavor is peach! fun fact: it is also ren kaji's favorite fruit." it says.

oh. so that's what it was.

it was so random, that kaji couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards, almost smiling. he found it so unexpected and ridiculous but managed to keep a straight face.

"delete it." he cleared his throat, trying to fight back his amusement at the two of you coming up with something like this for him.

"no! give it back, ren! it's for our kaji fanclub! it already has more than a hundred likes, see! umemiya even commented-" you started, whining and pouting at your boyfriend, who rolled his eyes at you.

he hands you back your phone and sighs. "i don't need a hundred likes." kaji says, firmly. "because i already have the one like i need right here."

you gasped when you realized that kaji was referring to none other than you, his "one like" that he needed. kaji, upon becoming aware of how lovestruck he probably sounded, turned his back away from you and put his headphones back on.

you fangirled so hard at that moment, all giddy and smiling at your boyfriend, teasing him about how you were of course his number one fan and that you wanted to have his autograph.

kusumi was sitting across the both of you, and snapped a picture when you were rubbing your cheek against kaji's, him side-eye glancing at your overjoyed, smiling face. kaji is still so fond of you, even if you did silly things like this.

kusumi, beaming from ear to ear, shows the both of you the picture he took, and typed a message on his phone. it read: "you two are so cute, my favorite couple! <3 get a guy that looks at you with so much love the way kaji does! >///< #couplegoals" he adds "i really ship you two!"

you and kaji read the message on kusumi's notes app. when he finished reading, he let out an exasperated sigh. kaji points at you and kusumi. "i have no idea what a "ship" is, but right now i just want to ship you two off to somewhere far away."

he was kidding, of course. you knew that he would let you do what you wanted anyway, as long as he could see your lovely smile and how happy he made you, kaji wouldn't ask for nothing more. because plot twist, ren kaji is also your number one fan.

ꕤ bonus ꕤ

once you got home, kaji made sure to let you know his exact thoughts regarding your fanclub.

"tch. you don't need to have my face on your phone, you know. you can have the real thing right here." he leans in closer to you, pulling his lollipop out of his mouth and replacing it with your lips.

the next morning, after waking up from a long and eventful night with kaji, you expressed your shock upon gazing at yourself in the mirror and finding out you've been marked up by little purple bruises and love bites that left some of kaji's teeth marks littering everywhere, but most prominently on your neck, thighs and chest area.

"ren kaji! what the hell is this!" you exclaimed, waking him up with a jolt, you pointing at all the parts he left his marks on.

he stared at it for a second, admiring his handiwork. "you said you wanted to have my autograph."

"i didn't mean it like this!" you sighed, wondering how in the world you would be able to go out looking like this, all bitten and marked up by kaji.

"i can always sign it again for you if it fades. i'm all yours, after all." he said it with such a straight but smug face and he was so unapologetic about it that you wanted to smack him. or have him devour you again. or both.

you can't be the only one showing him your appreciation, because kaji has his ways of showing his too.

#wind breaker #kaji x reader #kaji ren x reader #kaji ren #wind breaker x reader #kaji #ren kaji #wind breaker (satoru nii)#nii satoru #windbreaker #wind breaker fluff #wind breaker fic #wind breaker x you #wind breaker scenarios #windbreaker crack #windbreaker imagines #ren kaji my babie <3

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d-z20 · 5 months ago

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Neighbourly Care part 5 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Things become official with the MILFS but there's an unexpected guest. Back at college, your friends are still trying to set you up with someone which Agatha and Rio will NOT let that slide, so they remind you exactly who you belong to again but Rio's been scheming

-OR-

Your girlfriends take you back to fuck you but somehow it ends with Agatha tied up and Rio getting railed...

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, tiny bit of angst, smut, fluff, possessive Agathario, power bottom Rio, switch reader, implied phone sex, marking, bondage (A recv), strap on (Rio recv), mentions of overstimulation, brief edging, oral (Reader recv)

Words: 5.1k

A/N: I am BACK baby, and what better way than with an update for this fic. I thought it was about time we got to fuck Rio :)

AO3 | Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 6 | 7 | Masterlist

Back Again

You stir faintly, the ache of exhaustion mingling with the cosy warmth of the couch. A shift in the cushions pulls you further from sleep, and you vaguely register the sensation of being lifted. Strong arms cradle you, the familiar scent of Rio’s shampoo grounding you even in your half-asleep haze.

“Shh, baby,” Rio murmurs, her voice a soothing balm. The gentle sway of her steps lulls you closer to rest, though faint snippets of conversation anchor you to the moment.

“They’re out cold,” Rio says softly, her tone carrying a rare mix of amusement and concern.

“I’m texting their parents,” comes Agatha’s voice, punctuated by the soft click of her nails on a screen. “Letting them know they’re staying here.”

The sound of soft sheets and the familiar scent of cedar envelop you as Rio lays you down on the bed, careful and deliberate. You feel the weight of the blanket pulled over you, and then the mattress dips beside you. Rio’s warm arms encircle you, pulling you close, while Agatha presses a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Between them, you drift back into a deep sleep.

—

You can hear the sound of birds as you blink yourself awake, the warmth of Rio’s body beside you grounding you. Uncertainty knots in your stomach as you fidget with your hands, your mind racing with thoughts you’d been avoiding. What is this relationship you have with Agatha and Rio? Is it just sex? Or is there something deeper?

“Good morning,” Rio’s voice is soft, her head propped on her hand as she lies on her side facing you. Her honeyed gaze watches you with open affection.

You mumble a greeting, rubbing at your face as a familiar knot of unease tightens in your chest. Your hands continue to fidget of their own accord, fingers twisting over each other. Rio notices instantly.

“Hey,” she says softly, her brows knitting together. Her hand finds yours, stilling your nervous movements. “What’s going on?”

You hesitate, unsure of how to articulate the tangled thoughts that kept you tossing and turning in your dreams. Finally, you turn onto your side, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know what this is,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “With you and Agatha, I mean. It’s amazing and I don’t want it to end, but is it just sex? Like it’s obvious you’ve done this before; I just want to be able to set my expectations.”

The words leave you feeling vulnerable, your cheeks warming as you search Rio’s face for a reaction. She blinks, clearly taken aback, but then her expression softens. Her thumb rubs gentle circles over the back of your hand. “Sweetheart,” she starts, her voice thick with affection. “I didn’t realise you were worried about that.”

Before she can say more, a low groan rumbles behind you. Agatha stirs, wrapping an arm around your waist and nuzzling into the crook of your neck “Mornin’,” she murmurs, her voice gravelly and laced with sleep. She presses a soft kiss to your neck, her hold tightening slightly. “What are we talking about?”

Rio glances at you, silently asking for permission to explain. When you nod, she tells Agatha about your concerns. Agatha hums thoughtfully, her lips brushing your skin as she speaks. “Well, yes, we’ve had people join us in the bedroom before,” she begins, her voice steady. “But never someone who’s become part of our lives the way you have.”

Rio nods in agreement, her hand resting lightly on your hip. “We’ve been talking about this ourselves, you know,” she admits. “About how much we like you, how much we love having you around. You’re not just a fling, cariño.”

Agatha tilts your face to meet her gaze, her eyes warm and sincere. “We like you, baby. A lot,” she says, her lips quirking into a small smile. “So, what do you say? Would you want to start dating us? Properly? ”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, their words washing over you like a warm tide. Your chest tightens, but it’s not fear—it’s overwhelming relief. You nod, your voice shaky but resolute. “Yes. I’d like that.” They both smile, their joy evident as they pull you into a tight embrace.

—

The three of you make your way downstairs for breakfast, the warm morning light filling the kitchen. Agatha and Rio are particularly handsy, their touches more purposeful now, as if relishing the newfound claim they have on you since officially calling you theirs. They brush against you, steal kisses, and touch your waist or hand at every opportunity. The domesticity of it all feels surreal but wonderful.

It perfect. Almost too perfect.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Ma,” a voice calls from the hallway, startling you. You step away from Rio’s touch instinctively, a flush creeping up your neck as a young man with dark hair and a broad smile steps into the kitchen.

Nicholas pauses, his gaze darting between you and his mothers. “Uh, hi,” he says, his brow raising slightly. “Didn’t know you had company.”

Agatha clears her throat, stepping forward smoothly. “Y/N, this is our son, Nicholas,” she says. “Nicky, this is Y/N; your mom’s helping them with their Spanish.”

Your heart stutters, but you manage a polite smile. “Hi,” you say, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Nicholas grins, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says easily. “Hope they’re not giving you too hard a time; I remember how strict they were with me.”

You laugh nervously, shaking your head to rid yourself of memories from last night. The conversation shifts and though you find yourself easing into the flow, you can’t ignore the way your chest tightens with the realisation that you might be intruding on their family time.

When breakfast wraps up, you use the opportunity to excuse yourself. “I should probably get back to my parents’ place,” you say, standing. Agatha and Rio share a look but nod in understanding, both walking you to the door to say goodbye. Out of view of Nicholas, they each press a lingering kiss to your cheek before you leave.

—

The weeks that follow are a whirlwind of classes, assignments, and finals, but Agatha and Rio are never far from your mind—or your phone, which buzzes constantly with texts from them. They visit when they can, their presence a soothing balm to the ache of missing them. On the nights they can’t, they always call, their voices filling the empty spaces of your apartment.

One evening, you’re sprawled on your bed during a video call. Agatha’s voice is low and teasing, her words dipping into a register that makes your breath hitch and sends heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Careful with that blush, sweetheart,” she purrs, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “It’s too easy to tell what I’m doing to you.”

Rio, ever playful, leans into frame, her expression positively wicked. “You’re squirming. I can see it. Wanna tell us how much you miss us, cariño?”

Their voices twine together, their suggestive remarks growing more insistent, coaxing soft whimpers from you. The call becomes a delicious blur of teasing, their words a heady mix of affection and temptation, leaving you flushed and aching for more by the time the night ends.

—

The next day, your phone buzzes with a series of texts from your friends.

Kate: Hey! You coming out with us tonight? We’re celebrating the end of finals!

Peter: We’ve barely seen you lately. Come on, you need to unwind.

You hesitate, glancing at your phone with a pang of guilt. They’re right; you’ve spent every spare moment with Agatha and Rio or on the phone with them, wrapped up in the intoxicating rhythm of their affection.

You: Fine, I’ll come. But only if it’s just a casual hangout. No matchmaking schemes.

Their replies are immediate.

Peter: Casual, I swear. Just us. Drinks and good company.

Kate: Yeah, totally chill. No schemes… maybe just a little chance to meet someone new?

You groan at the last message, already regretting your decision.

You: Seriously. No setups.

Peter: Relax! We just think it’s time you got back out there. When was your last date? Oh, right—that dickhead at the bar.

Kate: Exactly. You’ve been single forever, and we’re just saying...

They don’t know about Agatha and Rio and you dodge the topic with practiced ease.

You: I’ll come, but I mean it: Just. Hanging. Out.

Kate: Okay, okay! Pinky promise.

You shake your head, sighing as you set your phone down. It feels a little disingenuous to let them think you’re single, but explaining your situation—or even trying to—feels impossible. Besides, the thought of a casual night with friends doesn’t seem so bad... as long as they stick to their promise.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 18:49

You: Going out with my friends tonight :)

Agatha: Have fun, gorgeous. And don’t let anyone think they have a chance.

Rio: Remember: ours and ours alone. 😘

Their words make your chest warm with affection, and their possessiveness is thrilling in a way you can’t quite articulate.

—

When you arrive at the bar, the atmosphere is lively, music pulsing through the air. Your friends greet you with excited hugs and chatter.

They guide you to a table, where you’re introduced to someone new—a friend of a friend—and your group makes sure you’re seated next to them. As the night progresses and the drinks flow, your friends keep glancing at you expectantly, their unsubtle hints making it clear they’re hoping for sparks to fly.

You deflect every attempt at their flirting, dodging their questions with vague answers, your heart too full of Agatha and Rio to even entertain the idea of anyone else.

Excusing yourself to the restroom, you pull out your phone and snap a quick picture. Your hand rests suggestively at the base of your neck, the angle teasing but not too revealing.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 20:04

You: *click to open image*

You: hey ;)

Rio: I think my hand would make a prettier necklace 👀👀

Agatha: Hello sweetheart, having a good night?

You: No :(

You: My friends are trying to set me up again 🙄

Agatha: Address. Now.

Rio: Behave yourself

You: Okay Daddy ;)

Their messages make you smile, a surge of comfort and amusement replacing the frustration. You return to your friends and the not-date, time slipping by in a blur of small talk and laughter.

Your head feels a bit fuzzy from the alcohol so when your phone buzzes, you answer it without checking who was calling.

“Hello?”

Agatha’s voice is sharp and commanding, cutting through the din. “Come outside, pet.”

The line goes dead, and your heart stutters as you make your way to the front of the bar.

The cool evening air brushes against your skin as you step out of the bar, your eyes immediately catching sight of Agatha and Rio leaning casually against their sleek black car. The sight is magnetic—Agatha’s sharp features softened by the glow of the streetlights, Rio’s gaze sweeping over you with that familiar, knowing heat.

Agatha straightens, beckoning you closer with a crook of her finger. Your legs carry you forward almost instinctively, your heart hammering in your chest. The moment you’re within reach, her hand snakes to the back of your head, fingers tangling tightly in your hair. She pulls you forward, crashing her lips against yours in a possessive kiss that leaves you breathless. Her grip tightens slightly, a subtle reminder of her dominance, and you whimper into her mouth, too stunned to resist.

She pulls back only slightly, her lips brushing yours as she murmurs, “We told you to behave.”

Before you can form a reply, she spins you around with practiced ease, your back pressed firmly to the car. Her lips claim yours again, harder this time, her tongue sweeping past your parted lips with an intensity that leaves your knees weak. Her thigh presses between your legs, eliciting a desperate moan that you barely manage to stifle.

Agatha chuckles darkly, her mouth trailing down to your neck. She lingers there, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin before sinking in just enough to leave a mark—a clear, unmistakable declaration of ownership. Your world narrows to the sensation of her lips, her tongue, and the faint sting of her teeth. Somewhere in the haze, you hear Rio’s voice, her tone low and amused.

“We’re going to have to keep a closer eye on you,” Rio says, though her words barely register in your muddled mind.

When Agatha finally pulls back, she smooths her hands over your arms, steadying you as she takes in the flushed, dazed expression on your face. Her eyes gleam with satisfaction. “I’ll see you later,” she says, her voice soft but commanding. Without another word, she climbs into the car and starts the engine.

You turn to Rio, expecting her to follow, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to Agatha’s lips through the open window. The kiss is slow and intimate, leaving no doubt about their connection. When Agatha finally drives off, Rio turns back to you with a knowing smile.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she says, taking your hand and leading you back into the bar.

The atmosphere feels almost surreal as Rio adds a chair to your table, effortlessly inserting herself into the group. Your friends are gawking, their eyes darting between you and Rio with barely concealed curiosity—and amusement.

“Hi, I’m Rio,” she introduces herself, her tone casual yet self-assured. She slides into the seat between you and the would-be date, her presence commanding as she rests her hand on your shoulder. “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”

Your friends exchange glances, their smirks widening. They know. They’ve always known about your soft spot for older women, and Rio’s arrival explains why you’ve been rejecting all of their attempts to set you up.

Rio’s touch is constant—her fingers brushing against the back of your neck, her hand settling on your thigh. The warmth of her palm seeps through the fabric of your pants, sending a steady pulse of heat coursing through you. She trails her hand higher, her grip firm but teasing, and when she squeezes the sensitive flesh at the apex of your thighs, your breath hitches audibly.

“You okay?” Kate asks, her tone laced with mischief.

You try to answer, but the words come out in a stuttering mess, your thoughts scrambled by Rio’s touch. Her lips twitch with amusement, her fingers giving one last squeeze before she straightens, glancing at her phone as it buzzes.

“Well,” Rio says, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “I think it’s time we were off.” She stands, extending a hand to you with an easy smile.

Your friends exchange knowing looks as Rio says her goodbyes, her tone warm but unmistakably firm when she glares briefly at your would-be date before leading you out. The Uber is already waiting outside, and the moment the door shuts behind you, Rio’s hands are on you.

She cups your face, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s all heat and urgency. Her hands roam over your body, pulling you impossibly close as the car speeds away. By the time it stops outside a hotel, your skin is flushed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

You realise it’s the same hotel as last time, and as Rio comes to a stop and knocks on a door, you see it’s even the same room. Agatha opens the door, clad in the same purple lace lingerie that had stolen your breath the first night you were together, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” she purrs, stepping aside to let you in.

Rio’s hand settles on your lower back, guiding you into the room. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and you barely have time to process the warm light and familiar scent of the suite before Agatha steps closer, her sharp eyes raking over your body as she trails her fingers along your jaw. Her lips crash against yours, rough and unyielding, and you can feel the smirk she wears as you melt into her touch. Rio’s hands slip around your waist from behind, her warmth grounding you even as your knees threaten to give out, pulling your pants and underwear down, exposing the small wet patch on the crotch of the fabric.

“Look at you,” Agatha murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “So eager for us.”

Before you can respond, Agatha grips your chin, tilting your head to expose your neck. Her teeth graze your skin, and then she bites—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave another deep, blooming mark. You gasp, the sting mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly.

Rio’s hands are no less demanding, sliding beneath your shirt to trace the curve of your waist. “Ours,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. Her nails scratch lightly against your skin as she pulls the fabric over your head, leaving you exposed to their hungry gazes.

The two of them manoeuvre you effortlessly toward the bed, their touches a coordinated symphony of dominance and affection. Agatha’s lips find yours again as she pushes you down onto the soft mattress, her weight pinning you in place. Rio climbs onto the bed beside you, her hands stroking over your thighs, her fingers curling possessively into your skin.

“You’re going to let us make you ours all over again,” Agatha whispers, her voice a low promise that sends shivers down your spine.

Agatha’s mouth trails lower, her teeth and tongue marking a path down your collarbone and chest. Meanwhile, Rio’s lips find the sensitive skin behind your ear, her hands guiding your thighs apart as she peppers kisses along your jaw. Their movements are synchronised and calculated, making you helpless against the overwhelming tide of pleasure they stir within you.

The room fills with the sound of heavy breaths and muffled gasps as they leave no inch of you untouched, no patch of skin unclaimed. Agatha’s marks bloom like flowers across your body—your neck, your shoulders, the swell of your hips—while Rio’s touch is a steady, grounding presence that leaves you trembling beneath them.

Agatha’s lips never leave yours as she manoeuvres you with ease, her strength evident as she pulls you on top of her. You straddle her, hands planted on either side of her head, and the kiss deepens. Her nails rake along your back, leaving a burning trail that only spurs your arousal further. You’re so caught up in the taste of her and the heat of her skin beneath yours that you barely register Rio’s movements around the bed.

The sound of soft rope sliding against the bedframe should catch your attention, but Agatha’s demanding kisses and the press of her body beneath yours make it impossible to focus on anything else. Rio, ever the planner, works quickly and quietly. By the time she whispers in your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine, the trap is nearly set.

“Pin her arms above her head, darling,” Rio whispers, her voice a mix of command and playfulness.

Without hesitation, you do as you’re told, grabbing Agatha’s wrists and stretching her arms over her head. Agatha lets out a low, approving growl. Her darkened gaze flickers to you with a teasing smirk, but before she can retake control, Rio moves in.

In a swift, practiced motion, Rio ties Agatha’s wrists to the bedposts. It takes Agatha a moment to realise what’s happening, her smirk faltering as she tests the bonds. “Really, Rio?” she drawls, though her eyes glint with intrigue rather than annoyance.

“Really,” Rio replies smoothly, a wicked grin curling her lips as she steps back to admire her handiwork. Agatha’s ankles are already tied, spread wide, and leaving her entirely open. “You made me watch and wait, my love; now it’s your turn.”

Rio turns her attention back to you, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and desire. “Off,” she instructs gently, her hands guiding you away.

You reluctantly climb off Agatha, her gaze never leaving yours, though it’s now tinged with a mix of curiosity and challenge. She looks breathtaking, her hair splayed out on the pillows, her body bound and vulnerable yet still exuding power.

Rio’s hands move to her own clothes, slipping her shirt over her head and shimming out of her pants with practiced ease. Beneath, she wears an emerald-green set of lingerie, the delicate lace hugging her curves and highlighting the strength in her frame. The sight leaves you breathless, and you can’t help but stare as Rio tosses her clothes aside with deliberate nonchalance.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rio says, her voice soft but firm as she steps closer to you. “You’ve not actually had the chance to fuck one of us since you failed to do what you were told.”

You blink, caught off guard by Rio’s declaration, your cheeks heating as you stammer out an incoherent response. “Uh… yeah, I guess,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rio chuckles, the sound low and rich as she closes the distance between you, handing you a harness. “That’s going to change now,” she murmurs, her dark eyes locking onto yours. The weight of the harness in your hands makes your heart race and your mind flashes back to the last time you and Rio indulged in each other without Agatha’s participation in this very room—and the punishment that followed.

You glance nervously toward Agatha, who raises a single, unimpressed brow at your hesitation. Sensing your uncertainty, Rio leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Relax, darling,” she murmurs, her tone soft but firm. “She’ll never admit it, but she likes this.”

Agatha scoffs from her place on the bed, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Don’t push your luck,” she drawls, though there’s no real heat in her voice. Her eyes gleam with intrigue, even as she pretends disinterest.

Rio doesn’t miss a beat. Removing her lace panties, she climbs onto the bed, positioning herself with her back resting against Agatha’s restrained body, her movements smooth and deliberate. Agatha lets out a soft whine at the pressure, but her gaze stays fixed on you, a mix of challenge and anticipation in her expression.

Your fingers fumble with the harness as you step into it, the straps snug against your hips as you secure it. That’s when you notice, or rather feel, the grinding pad built into the design, its texture brushing against you with tantalising promise. You shiver at the sensation—a rush of heat pooling between your thighs as you adjust the fit. The thought of what’s to come sends a pulse of arousal through you, and you can’t help but bite your lip, your eyes darting between Rio and Agatha.

“Ready?” Rio asks, her voice soft but commanding as she watches you with a knowing smile.

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, slicking up the harness with nervous precision. Rio watches you intently, her head tilted back against Agatha’s torso, an expectant smirk playing on her lips. Once you’re ready, you climb onto the bed and position yourself over her, your knees on either side of her thighs. The heat between the three of you is palpable, tension thrumming in the air as you align yourself and sink down onto her.

You start slow and tentative, testing the rhythm. The grinding pad against you is more distracting than you anticipated, the friction sparking waves of pleasure with each motion. Rio exhales a soft, contented sigh, her hands settling on your hips to guide you. But it doesn’t take long for the look on her face—a mix of delight and impatience—to spur you into moving faster.

The sounds Rio makes are intoxicating: soft moans and deep, husky gasps that make your skin tingle. “Harder,” she commands, her voice rough with need. Her nails dig into your hips, urging you to obey, and you do, thrusting harder and faster. The slick grind of the harness against you and the sight of Rio’s pleasure-blissed expression send your pulse racing.

You don’t know why you do it—maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s the intoxicating chemistry between you—but your hand rises, and you press two fingers against Rio’s lips. Her gaze snaps to yours, sharp and electric, and without hesitation, she takes them into her mouth. The heat of her tongue swirls around your fingertips, and you swear you feel your stomach drop with the intensity of your arousal.

Behind Rio, Agatha lets out a low breathless “Oh, fuck,” her voice ragged. You glance over Rio’s shoulder to see Agatha’s hips bucking desperately against Rio’s back, her restraint futile against her own need. The sight and sound of her breaking composure sends a jolt through Rio, her expression twisting into something feral, manic even. Her nails grip you tighter, and her voice shatters into a desperate moan as her body tenses and she comes undone beneath you.

The clenching of the harness and the relentless friction push you over the edge moments later. You cry out, collapsing against Rio’s chest as you ride out the waves together, your breathing ragged and uneven. Her arms wrap around you, holding you close as you both come down from the high.

It’s only then you notice the faint shuffle of movement. You lift your head to find Agatha free of the ropes, her arms and legs untied. Her lips are curled into a sly smile, and her gaze soft with amusement and hunger as she moves toward you. Before you can speak, she places her hands on your hips and gently manoeuvres you onto your back.

“You two are quite the pair,” Agatha murmurs, her tone carrying equal parts fondness and teasing as she takes off the harness and presses a soft kiss to your hip. She rests her head there, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs. “But I think it’s my turn now.”

You glance down at Agatha, her head resting on your hip as her fingers idly trace patterns across your thighs. “How did you…?” you ask softly, your voice still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax.

Agatha lifts her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Being able to get out of restraints is one of my boundaries,” she explains, her voice smooth and steady. “I’ve never been fully comfortable with giving up all control. It’s just how I am.”

You nod, her words sinking in as you process the vulnerability she’s just shared. “I understand,” you reply sincerely, your gaze locking with hers. The trust between you feels solidified in this moment, a quiet bond of mutual respect and understanding.

Before you can say more, Rio’s presence shifts beside you. Her hands cup your face, tilting your head so her lips can meet yours. The kiss is deep and languid, her tongue teasing yours in a way that pulls you further into the haze of pleasure still clinging to your body. Her warmth anchors you, a grounding presence as your senses start to spiral again.

Meanwhile, Agatha’s fingers trail down your thighs, spreading you open with deliberate care. She presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, working her way closer to your still-sensitive core. “Just cleaning you up,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin. But when her tongue flicks out to tease your bundle of nerves, it’s clear her intentions are far from innocent.

A jolt of pleasure shoots through you, and you gasp against Rio’s lips, your hands instinctively clutching at her shoulders. Agatha takes her time, her tongue slow and precise as it circles your sensitive nub. The overstimulation is almost too much, your body trembling under her ministrations, but she knows exactly when to ease up and how to pull you back from the edge only to push you closer again.

Rio’s hands move to your waist, holding you steady as your hips start to buck against Agatha’s mouth. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Rio whispers against your lips, her tone filled with awe and hunger. Her words make your chest tighten, and you feel yourself unravelling again.

Agatha’s tongue works you relentlessly, her rhythm increasing as she senses how close you are. When she sucks gently on your clit, the tension inside you snaps, and you cry out, your body arching off the bed as the climax crashes over you. Waves of pleasure ripple through you, leaving you shaking and gasping for air.

As the intensity ebbs, Agatha places one last kiss on your trembling thighs before resting her head against your hip again, her fingers stroking your skin soothingly. Rio lies beside you, her hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach as she watches you with a tender smile.

“You’re amazing,” Rio murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. Agatha hums her agreement, but instead of her usual sharp quip or teasing remark, she stays quiet, her head resting on your hip and her fingers trailing softly over your skin. You glance down at her, noting the slightly dreamy look in her eyes and the way her shoulders seem to relax completely for the first time all night.

Rio notices too. Shifting her focus, she slides closer to Agatha, her hand gently brushing back a stray strand of hair from her face. “You okay, love?” she asks softly, her voice filled with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. Agatha lets out a contented hum, leaning into Rio’s touch without hesitation.

“More than okay,” Agatha murmurs, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Rio smiles, her fingers tracing over Agatha’s cheek before pressing a kiss to her forehead. The sight tugs at something deep inside you, the intimacy between them wrapping you in its warmth.

As the moments stretch on, Rio encourages Agatha to sit up, her hands steadying her as she guides her toward the pillows. “Come here,” Rio whispers, wrapping her arms around Agatha and pulling her close. You watch as Agatha melts into Rio’s embrace, her sharp edges softened as she nestles against her chest.

You shift closer, draping an arm over both of them, your hand finding Agatha’s and lacing your fingers together. The three of you lie there in a tangle of limbs, the room quiet save for the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional murmur of sweet reassurances from Rio. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s nothing to do but bask in each other’s presence, your bodies and hearts entwined in a shared sense of contentment.

Next Part >>

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I am so sorry for going MIA for a bit there but hopefully this chapter makes up for it my darlings <3 the ending was inspired by Kathryn's iheart interview where she said she thinks Agatha would just want to be babied sometimes

Requests are back open now that I can actually write again :D

and also just my asks in general, I get bored and want to talk to y'all 👀

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taglist: @aceday @valarmorghuli @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @beezlebee16 @kiaralee25 @4theluvofsapphos @lez-zuha @jujuu23 @gaylorvader

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goldfades · 1 year ago

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𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 ─ PB⁵ ft. UCONN WBB MANAGER

౨ৎ ─ summary | request -> "Okay the fic Idea I was talking about is, Paige scrolling through your phone gallery and seeing the pics you didn’t send her. “Why didn’t you send me this?” and even sending herself some of the photos to her own phone. BUT then, Ms.reader over here didn’t private certain…. provocative and Lewd photos and forgot about them and Paige sees them (her gf just likes taking pictures of her own body🤷🏽 cuz why not)." for my lovely hamster nonnie

─ word count | 1.2k

─ warnings | NSFW under the cut, read at your own discretion. very fluffy and cute, nothing too rough just some good ol' love making. oral (r receiving), praise, nothing else?? enjoy!!!!

─ ev's notes | ok so this also can be read as a standalone buttt this is part of my uconn wbb manager series!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

YOU WERE SITTING on your girlfriend's bed, glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose as you tried to finish up some homework.

Paige had your phone in her hand as she scrolled through your camera roll, looking through all the photos you two had taken together over the past few months. Every now and then, she would let out a soft chuckle or an aww as she stumbled upon a particularly sweet or funny photo. You glanced up from your homework every so often, smiling at her reactions.

"Why didn't you send me this?" Paige asked, showing you a selfie of yourself after the gym yesterday. "You looked sexy, wow."

You chuckled, feeling a bit embarrassed but also pleased by her compliment. "I don't know, I guess I forgot to send it," you replied, reaching out to take a closer look at the photo.

Paige laughed, leaning into you as she continued to scroll through the photos. "I'm sending it to myself, that's my new lockscreen."

You rolled your eyes as you chuckled, turning your attention back to your homework. A few seconds later however, you somehow sensed a shift in the atmosphere as you glanced to see what Paige was looking at, only to be faced with a very incriminating photo of yourself wearing practically nothing.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you quickly reached out to grab the phone from her hand, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and panic only for her to pull the phone out of your grasp. "I forgot to delete that, sorry-"

"Delete it? Why didn't you send it to me?" Her tone was unusually serious as she glanced up to meet your gaze. "Shit, I mean that was hot."

You wanted to laugh, if this were any situation you'd want to laugh. However, as you met her now very clouded gaze, you felt your stomach flutter in confusion and maybe something... more?

This wasn't the reaction you expected. You were prepared for embarrassment, maybe even some teasing, but not this. Paige's eyes held a seriousness that seemed out of place in the moment.

"Wait, really?" you stammered, trying to gauge her sincerity. "I thought you'd find it weird or something."

Paige leaned back, a small smirk playing on her lips as she studied your reaction. "Weird? No, of course not baby. You look pretty damn good," she took another moment to study the picture as she wet her lips.

You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth spread through you at Paige's words, her unexpected compliment sending a thrill down your spine. "You think so?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure whether to feel flattered or apprehensive about her sudden change in tone.

Paige's smirk widened into a mischievous grin. "Oh, I know so," she replied, her gaze lingering on the photo before finally meeting yours. "In fact, I think you're hiding a lot more than just this one picture."

Your cheeks flushed even hotter at the implication of her words. You had never imagined Paige seeing you in such a revealing light, let alone expressing such bold admiration. She'd always teased you, you'd been in this relationship (of some sorts) for long enough for this to be normal.

Somehow, this time it felt more personal.

"You really want to see more?" you asked, your voice betraying a mix of nerves and excitement.

"Don't act so shy now, princess. I mean you took these photos and kept them to yourself. You knew exactly what you were doing," Paige teased, her voice laced with amusement as she leaned in closer, her breath grazing your ear.

Her playful tone sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of arousal coursing through you. Despite your initial hesitations, there was something undeniably exhilarating about the prospect of sharing more with Paige.

Before you could even process it, her lips were on yours in a bruising kiss. You let out a soft moan in surprise but slowly melted into the kiss, losing yourself in the heat of the moment. As her hands roamed over your body, you felt a rush of desire coursing through your veins, your senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of her touch.

Your homework and laptop were long forgotten as she pulled you into her lap. Her lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of bruises in their wake. You let out a soft gasp, your fingers tangling in her hair as you arched into her touch, craving more of her intoxicating touch.

"Paige, please," you whined as she hummed in response. You began to grind yourself against her sweats, your whole body shaking in pure need.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes dark with desire as she met your gaze. "Yes, princess? Please what?" she teased, her voice husky with need.

"I want you," you breathed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. In that moment, there was no room for doubt or hesitation. All you knew was that you needed her to absolutely ruin you.

With a hungry smirk, Paige captured your lips in another searing kiss, her hands roaming over your body with a possessive urgency that left you breathless. Suddenly, she pushed you back against the bed as you whimpered with need.

Paige found herself in between your legs as she pulled off your silk pajama shorts and then your underwear. You moaned at the sight, your head falling back as she pulled your legs on her shoulders and quickly got to work.

As soon as her tongue met your wet folds, you were already ruined. You moaned at the sensation as your eyes shut, gripping the sheets beneath you. Paige kept gripped your thighs as her tongue delved into your cunt, your whole body seizing up in utter pleasure.

"Fuck," she mumbled into your pussy, sending vibrations throughout your body. You finally met her gaze as you moaned, her hand finding yours, interlacing your fingers with hers.

Paige took her time, slowly licking up and down you as if you were most delicate thing in the world (and you were ─ at least, in her world).

You arched into her mouth as you felt yourself draw closer and closer to an orgasm, your eyes shutting once again. Paige's tongue began to flick against your clit as you let out a shocked moan, your other hand finding her hair.

"Please, please don't stop. Fuck, P," you babbled on as her tongue began moving faster and faster. "I'm gonna cum, please,"

"Cum on my tongue, princess, let it out," she murmured into your pussy as the knot in your stomach snapped. "Good girl, fuck,"

Paige watched you hungrily as you moaned, your legs wrapped around her head as you came. She closed her eyes as she helped you ride out your high, her hands gripping your hips as you caught your breath.

Paige got out from between your legs and pulled you into a bruising kiss. Your hands found her hair in a lazy attempt to keep her close, your lips moving in sync with hers as the intensity of the kiss deepened. The world around you faded into oblivion as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment, consumed by the passion that pulsed between you.

"Mm, I love you," you mumbled into the kiss as she let out a small laugh. She pulled away to really take in your fucked-out state; your messy hair, your half-lidded eyes, your bruised lips. God, she was so whipped.

"I love you too, sweet girl," Paige whispered, her voice filled with adoration as she caressed your cheek, her thumb tracing the curve of your lips.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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jiminjamms · 7 months ago

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sex therapy :: 31. gangbangs

summary: a very self-indulgent chapter/pseudo-oneshot. **naoya’s ex-wife becomes toji’s girl. everybody wants a taste, and why not have the younger cousin watch the show?** alternatively, a gangbang with tattooed dilfs and dilf-adjacents.

chapter tags/warnings: five-some, gangbang, sex on tape, gun play (becoming a gun slut), cum play, breeding, creampies, exhibitionism, edging, degradation, praising, mentions of violence (murder, knives, guns), multiple orgasms.

word count: 5.5k

notes: happy kinktober and thank you for waiting! this started off as a concept (in my mind for a year-plus) and evolved into…a monster. too many men, too many hands, too many cocks. got lost in the sauce. despite being a smut chapter in a long fic, this update is borderline porn-without-plot. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“I love getting gangbanged."

Naoya woke up in a dark room and to a throbbing headache.

Where…?

He looked around the unfamiliar surroundings slowly, blinking past his grogginess to register what almost looked like a crime movie’s interrogation room and groaning when the wrong angle to his head caused a sharp pain in his shoulder.

All around was an ominous and gloomy shade of gray—the walls, the ceiling, the floor, and heck even the door. How long had he been out for? Without windows, he could not take a wild guess at the time. Not to mention that the room also had no lighting, no pictures, and no décor.

Only him and this...random dinky chair he found himself tied up to.

Wait.

Tied up to?

Right. From what Naoya could last recall, he had been stopped by two men who took him out with a single strike.

In a vain attempt to set himself free, Naoya tugged at his limbs which were fastened behind him with sturdy cords. He twisted and turned, then twisted harder and turned even harder, until an unexpected voice startled him.

“You’re awake.”

Naoya went still.

Having zero visual stimuli sharpened Naoya’s other senses a little. He could feel the labored huffs in his breathing, hear the heavy footsteps that began in the chamber, and even taste the smoke that lingered in the hazy air.

Leering towards the door, Naoya quickly recognized his captors as they approached.

"Don’t give us that foul look, sleepyhead," the taller one whom he remembered as Eso announced as he slowly stopped in front of the scowling blonde. He had on him a wide and nefarious grin. "You had passed out for the last few hours. During that time, you could've been beaten. Or better yet, dead." He glanced up. "Right, Kechizu?"

His accomplice, who stopped on the opposite side, replied with a firm nod. From seemingly nowhere, he had pulled out a pocket knife and grazed the icy blade against Naoya's neck. "Ya feel that? I've been wanting to slit your throat, but I haven't. Lucky, lucky duck. Not everyone is this fortunate. All because our big bro Choso is being super nice to you."

Aware that a wrong move would cost him a jugular vein, Naoya listened intently. Since he worked with the other sex therapists before, he indeed recalled how his former colleague led a tightly-knit assassin ring, in which the members deemed each other 'brothers.'

Kechizu prodded Naoya again with his blade. "Big bro's the only reason you're still alive. Although, I don't know why you'd want to still be breathing now that the whole world knows you've been bumping uglies with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Eso hummed in agreement. "Well, at least for now," he began and he gestured around in vague motions, “you're already in paradise!” Then, he paused. “Well, correction. Here is where we send people to paradise. Or, more likely, hell.”

Noticing how Naoya uncharacteristically froze, the two snickered. In fact, they likely would've continued snickering if not for a shrill tone that pierced the air. The laughter stopped.

Eso's charcoal eyes flicked downwards.

"Left pocket, Kechizu."

The other man obeyed, lowering his knife (and thus giving Naoya an actual chance to breathe) before grabbing the phone from Naoya's blazer. A notification lit up the screen—a message, from you.

“She sent a video.”

Eso and Kechizu intentionally held the screen away, and their face quickly lit up with a sinister smile when they previewed the file. “Oh, yeah. Let's watch.”

“Come join us, sweetheart.”

You thought you were discreet.

Lingering at the doorway, you had been peering into the Zenin Corporation’s CEO Suite like a lost duck. This past afternoon, news about the leadership changes within Japan’s largest conglomerate had spread like wildfire across business and politics networks across the globe, announcing that Naoya Zenin had been forced to resign with Toji Fushiguro reclaiming his position as head of the company.

For the latter, you had questions—many questions. However, an inundated Toji was difficult to approach as he spent his entire afternoon in the office with his also-reinstated directors Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. From your observations, the men had been milling around the table, speaking to each other in hushed but decisive voices in conversations that must remind them of their days managing the Zenin Corporation before Naoya’s takeover.

They all appeared ridiculously handsome with their expensive custom-tailored suits that emphasized their muscular physiques and complemented their towering heights. Surrounded by legal documents and business reports, they carried themselves differently, too. More mature, organized, and serious, especially after hectic meetings with the Chairman Naobito Zenin, your COO father, and internal and external stakeholders had left etches on their calculating faces.

Now, however, Toji Fushiguro had caught sight of your quivering form at the entrance, and soon enough, all eyes turned to you. When you didn’t respond to his first invitation, the executive approached you in confident strides.

“Why do you look so shy?”

At the unanticipated attention, you averted your gaze onto the floor and tried to slink away into the hall slowly. “You all seemed occupied, and I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You're not interrupting anything," he clarified. "We have some time now.”

He tugged your wrist softly, which was all that you needed to follow him like a fawn into the room and crumble onto his lap once he sat down. Despite his dress pants, the warmth from his thighs heated your skin, and Toji nuzzled his face into your neck. His gravelly huffs sounded like all the other times you had heard him rasp, moments followed by endless endearment.

"About Naoya," the older man brought up from seemingly nowhere. You tensed at the name while Toji's cordial lips assuaged you. "Choso’s brothers are making sure he’s not going to do anything funny. We can't have him around as we are transitioning the company. As for you...knowing my cousin, he's going to keep claiming you as his property unless you get through his dense head," and his viridescent pupils flicked upward, "and the only way to do that is to show him.”

Although you didn’t know exactly what he meant, Toji hoisted you in one fluid motion onto his desk and sprawled you across the surface. He pushed your thighs apart, prompting sharp breaths that echoed in the room as onlookers raked their eyes down your figure. Some (namely, Sukuna and Geto) peered down shamelessly, while others (just Choso, really) tried to come off as cool and observed quietly. Nonetheless, the message in their perverted gazes was clear: what they wouldn't give to kiss you, bite you, and mark you right then and there.

Just as you shrank a little from the overwhelming attention, Toji reached for your phone and pressed the device firmly into your palm.

“Let’s send him a message.” Toji’s eyes locked onto yours, unflinching and sharp.

You blinked, raising an incredulous brow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Leaning forward, Toji offered a clear view of the ink scrolling down his neck, his exhales warm against the beading cold sweat on your forehead. “Open up the camera. Let's send Naoya Zenin a surprise.” He gently pinched you. "Like I said, that idiot wouldn't understand shit unless you slam the idea into his dumb skull.”

You hesitated, glancing down at the phone in your hand.

“A photo won't be enough, by the way. We need a video. He won't get the fucking idea unless he sees and hears the proof.” When you complied, Toji turned to the colleague closest to him. "Wanna do the honors, Suguru?"

The said man came forward eagerly, the obsidian in his eyes sparkling. "'No' is never my answer to you, sir." Given your compromising position, he had the easy option to tear your lacy panties and stuff himself into your core except he wanted to take his time.

"I heard a lot about you." His compliments were all purrs that sent hot shivers shooting through your veins. "Mind if I take a go at you, too?"

After being passed between his three other colleagues, you must admit that you had at least thought about what sex with Geto was like, too. "Please."

At the permission, the man smiled and bunched your underwear to one side. The cold air hitting your drenched cunt made you shiver, but the collective groan in the room rumbled even louder, a reminder of the many men around you. Men who were being patient for you. Men who could not stop thinking about you. Men who, because of your ex-husband, had been holding grudges against you.

Geto pulled down his boxers just until the waistband fitted snugly under his balls. His cock stood proud with precum dribbling down his length as he positioned himself in the comfy spot between your thighs. He pressed against the table until his knuckles turned white, aligning himself with your entrance.

Without extra stimulation, your saturated folds welcomed him easily and you gasped loudly at the intrusion.

"Shit, you’re soaking," Geto sighed softly as you clenched around him, swarming his veins with gratification. He tipped his head forward, his loose strands framing his face. “Tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable, okay?” He was so sweet, so kind. You nodded and hazily recognized that this was what making love was supposed to feel like: tender, gentle, and loving. This was Suguru Geto's charm.

Before you could say more, an opportunistic Sukuna took his place above you. He moved quickly, undoing his belt and tugging hastily at his trousers, humming loudly with relief when he pulled his pants down and his massive cock sprang free. Despite being jostled by another man, you swabbed at the bubbling precum before pushing your thumb into your mouth, relishing his clean and salty tinge on your tongue.

Amused, Sukuna chuckled darkly. "What a fucking tease," he crowed, then patting your cheek. "C'mon. Open up, baby. Let me get to the back of your throat."

With little resistance, he popped your jaw open and sank his massive girth into your mouth. Gradually, you bobbed your head back and forth, letting your tongue lick every millimeter to him. He, likewise, pushed his hips forward, bringing your nose flushed against his well-trimmed patch of pink hair. He plucked the recording phone from your hands, and you sensed him tapping on the screen to focus on the erotic display where your bodies connected, your sinful lips accepting his fat cock with ease.

"You are such a good girl." Sukuna Ryomen confirmed, his movements mind-numbing as though he wanted to breed your esophagus. He wrapped a hand around your windpipe, constricting your airflow and causing you to gag. "Brat looks like a goddamn goddess sucking dick. Isn't that right, Choso?"

No response.

Curious, your pupils rolled to the side.

The assassin's the man you feared the most.

He was quiet, always guarded, his mysterious eyes pulling you in like two black holes. You could never know what he’s thinking about, although you lucidly remember his crooked obsession with 'disciplining' you.

"Hey, honey.” Geto's deft fingers suddenly gripped your chin, forcing your gaze to return to him. “Pay attention to us, m'kay?"

You hummed in response, Sukuna’s dick still bulging visibly in your throat.

"I don’t want you to lose focus," an overly aroused Suguru went on to explain. He breathed heavily. Shaking. Or maybe that was you? He clutched your love handles harshly before he pulled out and stepped to the side, making you stroke himself with your delicate hands instead. Briefly, you assumed that Geto preferred handjobs and wanted to ejaculate onto your breasts, only to get your answer when your puffy clit came into contact with the sharp coolness from…metal?

"Choso," Toji's harsh voice warned.

Brought back to your senses, you looked down to see Choso using the fluids to lubricate...his gun. You recognized the weapon, the same one you had seen in his car. The same one he would use to kill. All air in your lungs left swiftly. What the actual fuck. Sheer mortification was the only reason you didn't have the guts to do anything (because, if Choso became irritated enough, he could pull the trigger and then you would have no guts at all), and your silence only gave him a reason to continue defiling you into his personal gun slut.

He stared at his boss with an unperturbed frown. "You know I like her too much to hurt her."

A squeal tumbled past your lips when the pistol's freezing barrel pressed past your tight hole. Although you partially expected Toji to warn the weapon-wielding man again, Toji instead leaned forward in his chair, jaw resting on his fist. He could seem more concerned, but the mirthful glimmer in his emerald eyes said otherwise.

Meanwhile, Choso's piercing gaze alone made you sweaty, your forehead turned glossy with a sheen. He lazily massaged your inner walls, your warm arousal coating his cool metal before leaking onto the table, the only struggle now was how your body involuntarily twitched. To your fascination (and horror), pleasure began to build with each too-hard pass of his barrel. There were just too many sensations going on. Messy mouth deepthroating one cock, slicked hands stroking another, and sloppy cunt taking in a gun. You did your best to give everybody equal attention because you were a desperate crowd-pleaser, not wanting anyone to feel left out.

With your back arched from the table, you became increasingly frantic, demonstrating through feverish movements that all you were was their obedient little bitch. All these hands on your body, skin on your skin. You felt them all, the senses exhilarating and fascinating.

Toji sternly interrupted from seemingly nowhere. “I can tell from your movements that you want to cum, don’t you?” Maybe, but you were too overwhelmed to focus solely on your pleasure. Nothing that your therapists couldn't help with. Leaning over, Toji snaked an arm around your body to press tight circles at your engorged clit. "Be selfish for a little bit," he coaxed. "Cum for us."

His permission sent you immediately vaulting over the edge, your whole body spasming as an orgasm tore through you. Your lips parted, but you didn't scream. Your eyes shut slowly and rolled to the back of your head as every millimeter in your fragile body unraveled completely—fluttering, cramping, and shuddering.

Your ears became blessed with chorused laughter and praise.

Choso inspected your copious juices that suddenly coated his gun, a translucent thread trailing from the barrel to your now-exposed cunt. Reaching over, Sukuna wrapped his hand around Choso's forearm. He leaned into the pistol and parted his lips, swirling his tongue slowly around the barrel. His maroon eyes were half-lidded, giving him an almost lazy yet focused look as he dragged his tongue along the metal, lapping up your precious essences—the syrups rich and just a bit tangy. Drooling and sucking like a little kid with a lollipop, Sukuna didn't care that his spit trailed from the metal down to the other man's wrist and flipped the camera to selfie mode to capture the action.

Towards the end, his tongue swiped over his lips, leaving a luster from your elixir that coated his mouth. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

After another generous lick, he swished the concoction in his mouth before pinching your chin, and your mouth propped open. Pleased, he hummed when you stuck your tongue out, showcasing just how naughty you were. He drooled the spittle into your mouth, the saline taste blossoming on your taste buds, a thread of spit connecting your chin and his.

"Sharing," Sukuna chuckled darkly into your phone's microphone, "is absolutely fucking caring."

Nearby, Suguru groaned. He hurriedly clambered to the comfy space between your plush thighs, shoving a grumbling Choso aside. "I'm so fucking close."

He buried his dick into your tunnel, the veins on his cock pulsating. Call him selfish or masochistic, but as much as he wanted to reach his high, Geto denied his orgasm to stay longer inside and prevented himself from fucking bursting.

“Don't hold back, Suguru,” you urged.

Geto furrowed his brows, sweat gathering on his forehead as he tried his best to hold out. He admitted earnestly, "I don't want to give you up, baby.”

“I want you to cum,” you said, all whiny with puppy eyes. Free hand slithering down, you cupped his aching balls and gently squeezed his heavy testes. "Besides,” you glanced over at the camera, “show Naoya how you can breed me…daddy."

Sugaru’s eyes widened at the unexpected nickname that he loved so much. That’s it. He’s done for. His handsome features crumpled from an over-the-top pleasure as he gave his snapping hips one final push and pumped you full, coating your cervix white with his thick essence as he rested his head against your forehed, panting into your ear and moaning into your skin.

Pressing one last kiss on your cheekbone, he pulled himself out of your hot cunt, allowing others to have their way with you.

Sukuna got behind you eagerly. He repositioned your shaking body, his calloused hands tossing you over and leaving you panting on your hands and knees. His harsh squeeze at your sides made you squeal just as he pulled your legs apart for easier access, exposing your cute hole.

"Shit, she's making a mess, dripping onto the desk." The same desk that belonged to Naoya merely several hours ago. Adjusting your phone camera, Sukuna thumbed through your folds like they were pages in a book, scoffing at the viscous dallops that slid out. The tattoos on his wrists gleamed pitch black under the glossy mixed juices.

"Suguru's cock did you well, but this pretty lady isn't finished yet, eh? She can take more. I know she can." His hands weaved into your hair and tugged harshly. "Tell us, missy. You can handle more, correct?"

The threat in his menacing tone only suggested there was one answer. You whimpered pathetically, "Yes."

With a crooked smile, Sukuna pressed his muscular form against your back. That man was starving. After all, he had been waiting to have your pussy properly wrapped around his painful erection when he could've greedily taken you for himself first.

"Stop moving so I can angle myself correctly," Sukuna reprimanded when you wobbled on all fours.

Hardly any time was given to let you register the warning before the man plunged into your sensitive socket. He ignored your desperate wail, amazed at how he plugged you all the way. His pace started off sensual and languid. Each snug press against your battered cervix at first made you squeak, but you became too far caught up in the moment that the discomfort disappeared as promptly as the sensation came.

"Mhm," Sukuna hummed, a squelch ringing through the room each time he would bottom out. He didn't need to say anything for him to feel how wet you were, fluids trickling out from your puffy hole and creating what looked like the Nile River running down your thighs.

"Holy fuck," Choso swore to the side, his emotions a rare display.

Blissful waves rushed to your head, one after another. Arousal flooded into your tummy, your cunt twitching uncontrollably as a second climax started to sneak up on you.

Sukuna groaned—or at least attempted to groan—through the exertion of his forceful movements. How he had missed playing with you. A few trickles of sweat on his forehead glided over the ink on his forehead before dripping onto your back. He pumped himself faster, his balls smacking against your clit harder—savoring how you squirmed underneath his direct influence.

He could not resist peering down at the sacred space where your bodies connected and ensured that the camera, too, had an unobscured view. The problem was he had become so agonizingly turned on that his hold on your phone began shaking. He rasped, back straightening. “Goddamn, your cunny does me good.”

Not long after, he reached his release snarling and grunting like a dog as white ropes shot from his cock and into your uterus, with him nearly dropping your device onto your ass from his sheer ecstasy.

"No!" you protested loudly when Sukuna pulled out abruptly, hissing as your empty hole clenched around nothing. "I..." You balled your fists, thumping the desk in frustration. "I was so fucking close."

"Don't worry." The strawberry-haired man tenderly brushed away the tears by your jaw. Like he hoped to comfort you somehow. "Nothing Choso can't help with. He'll take great care of you." He looked over at the said colleague. “Isn’t that right?”

Gulping, you followed his gaze to the other man who had stopped behind you.

"You look nervous," Choso commented matter-of-factly. "Why?"

As if he didn’t already know the answer. You rolled your eyes and snorted like a true brat, indeed. "None of your business."

Besides, you had enough encounters with Choso Kamo, each incident more indecent than the last. This time, he naturally noticed your eyes drift to the gun tucked into his back pocket, the saps from earlier creating an ample moist patch on his pants.

“So, tell me, bimbo," Choso spoke again. He didn't care to announce himself as he unbuckled and pressed in, stretching you with his thickness, aided by your copious reserve containing both arousal and cum, hitting that sweet spot that he had no problem finding over and over. "Did you think I had been done with you already?"

Holding in whimpers from his repeated thrusts, you let out a soft groan.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes."

“But, do you want me?”

Silence.

“I am not going to repeat my—”

"I want you s’ badly..."

A demon must have possessed you. There was no other way to explain yourself. But those remarks were all Choso needed before he began to move impossibly fast within you. He didn’t care that he pounded into you like a beast, creating a commotion that perhaps the floor below could hear your wetness reverberate around the room.

"This is for being a fucking tease." Choso raised his hand high and then delivered an unforgiving blow against your ass. Unprepared, you yelped from the sheer force, which had been enough to leave a handprint on your unblemished cheeks.

"I didn't—!" Your attempt to defend proved futile as Choso spanked you again with little regard for your feelings.

"This is for giving me an attitude," he continued, gruff. And again. "For forgetting how to behave, shit." And again, and again, and again. For this, for that, his listed grievances going on and on and on, his punishments making you cry and squirm and wail.

Choso knew he was selfish. If his boss Toji wasn't involved, he would want nothing more than to keep you forever, making you his little gun slut and teaching you to cum all over him. He couldn’t help it. As if the roles were reversed. Like he was the inexperienced one, unaware of his partner's feelings and only caring for his pleasure. He remained relentless as he continued his abuse, the tendons along his hands and arms flexing with his efforts, like the crazed killer he was being out for blood.

The distressed expression written all over your face only made him want to go harder. He loved making it hurt, his sadistic personality entirely to blame. With every pump, his testes smacked onto your clit repeatedly, feeling him sink deeper and deeper inside.

“F-Fuck—S’ too much, Choso!” A sob wracked your trembling figure amidst his assault. In distress, you tugged at his wrists to get him to ease up on you. That didn't matter. He was too strong, especially when compared to you.

"I thought you wanted to cum."

"I do!" But you didn't think you would be able to cum like this. "This...This is too painful!"

As if he cared.

"Oh, please," Choso scoffed, even rolling his inky eyes in dismissal. "This isn't painful. You're just being dramatic. If you think this is painful...how do you think I felt, hm? Watching Geto and Sukuna take turns defiling you. Hearing you blubber their names without shame. Did you think that I—with my cock stiff in my pants—that I didn't feel pain? Listen to yourself. God, turns out you're just another selfish slut."

Scorching tears streamed down your face, and you searched around desperately.

"No one here's going to save you," Choso announced, reading right through you. He pressed his face against your earlobe, a hot puff of air fanning out across your delicate skin. "Because it's too obvious. You fucking like this, pup."

Did you?

Even if that wasn't the case, you guess you did now, the unwavering conviction in Choso's tone spurring a change of heart. It’s sick, you realized, he’s manipulating me.

Yet, sure enough, you soon started to feel lighter, giddier. Your pupils dilated from stimulation and your muscles tingled with excitement. Choso felt so good. You felt so good, and the coil from deep within your cervix compressed tighter and tighter as a pressure built from within.

"I'm close...again." This time, it's a little embarrassing to admit, especially when you were complaining like a puppy just minutes ago.

"What did I tell you, pet," Choso growled, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards in a rare grin. He made you feel glorious. Consequently, you writhed underneath his body, fully submissive under his control. You wanted nothing more than to be a pliant baby girl for him, let him use you in any way he wants. "Cum and squeeze my cock."

“Make me.”

“Oh?”

One final blow to your ass was what hurled your body over the edge.

“I—” you choked on your spit. "I'm coming!"

You shrieked the moment you felt your body disintegrate, your shoulder blades caving in as sweat fell like raindrops from your skin. Elbows giving up, your head hit the table, leaving your temples pulsing with dizziness, bliss, and pain; your eyes staring at the wood finishing; your chest rising up and down, exasperated from the intensity of your release.

And oh, your pussy squeezed Choso good. Before he could hold himself back, Choso dug his nails into your ass. "Fuck, you are incredible," was the last thing he muttered before he came as well in one long grunt, splattering your womb with his creamy semen. He made you tremble when he pulled out, releasing the mess inside and leaving you feeling oddly empty and cold. Glob after glob of cum oozed out, semen from multiple perpetrators painting over your labia, which made the surrounding men grin at the sight, knowing that you held all their seed inside.

Nothing except their breeding hole, that was what you had become. There was something they adored about labeling you as their personal whore.

Not long afterward, a warm hand took yours into his own. Toji caressed the skin of your palm before pulling you right onto his lap again. In the end, he was whom you belonged to. If anybody wanted to do anything to you, they had to talk to him first.

Toji helped you straddle him, tucking one leg onto his either side, except you were so fucked out that you didn’t know who you were or where you were from.

"C'mon, honey. Don't lose yourself just yet," he murmured gently, brushing a few free strands from your forehead. Otherwise, you would've gone limp and lost all senses completely.

Toji had been waiting for you. He considered this a sign of his maturity, allowing the younger and more impatient men to make a mess with you first. Now, though, was his turn, fair and square.

His exposed length pressed up against his abdomen with fantastic girth and length such that—despite your current state—your pupils went heart-eyed and your mouth drooled from sight alone. He loved when you made that expression, one he had seen countless times in his dreams; a guilty pleasure in reality. He chortled at your sharp gasps, finding you adorable even after being stuffed by several men.

However, just when you didn't think you could handle more, his red-flushed head brushed over your clit and jolted your veins with the familiar wave of arousal. You shifted, the sticky mess between your legs uncomfortable. In a brief moment of lucidity, you had an epiphany. With one hand resting on Toji's shoulder, you reached down with the other to spread your folds, biting your lip as you clamped down on your sensitive walls hard.

Sure enough, a generous amount of cum trickled out of your used cunt, oozing onto Toji’s cockhead and sliding down gradually to his balls.

"Holy shit."

Eyes grew wide with surprise, jaws dropped in reaction to your nasty actions. Since when did you learn to become so dirty? Flushed cheeks betrayed their interest as they continued their lustful staring. Generous was what you were, letting them ogle like schoolchildren for a few moments longer before you scooped up the slick and began to suck on your fingers. Softly, you hummed at the succulent flavors concocted by you, Suguru, Sukuna, and Choso combined.

"Next up is you."

“So fuckin’ filthy," Toji praised with utter adoration.

As you continued, you made sure not to break eye contact as you subtly rutted your sopping cunt against his tip. You coyly batted your long lashes in his direction, making sure he could feel the liquids running down his cock and the throbbing pussy that awaited him.

You smiled. "All yours, Dr. Fushiguro."

He suddenly grew smitten at how polite you could be, and using his hands as a guide, he helped you sink into him slowly. “Goddamn.” The sound that emerged from him was wholly obscene, a carnal desperation only matched by your movements, your thighs constricting his hips and your eyes rolling backward. How cozy, you discovered yourself to be, snug at his hilt. Toji had filled you all the way but a few centimeters of his cock remain, his tip already kissing against your spent uterus.

Something about knowing that his little cousin would watch this made Toji want to do everything to push deeper into you. He started by rocking your waist against a rhythm, and a near-pornographic mewl escaped your lips when his shaft ran over an especially sensitive spot, the ridges rubbing against your cavern and sending pleasure through your every limb. He hummed at the way you squealed and loved how expressive you were with your body and feelings.

His tongue laved across your shoulder before stopping over your collarbone. "You'll still go back to Naoya after this?"

"Absolutely not," you mumbled with sincerity. "I would hate myself if I did."

“Excellent,” he slurred, his spit drooling down your back from where his mouth had latched onto your neck. “That’s…exactly what I wanted to hear, baby.”

Baby. Your eyes squeezed shut, responding with a whine. Although the overstimulation was originally uncomfortable, you began to feel satisfaction cut through the soreness once again as your body prepared for one more climax. You rocked your hips in need, like an animal in heat, a sight that would certainly drive your ex-husband crazy. “F-Feels,” you paused to pant, “Feels good.”

“Fuck.” Toji gritted out, breaking through his cacophony of crude moaning and effectively searing your skin. He continued steering your body in the rhythm he learned you liked, his nails nearly piercing your skin despite their bluntness. He cupped your jaw harshly. “What are you to us, sweetheart?”

“Oh.” You laughed a little, clearly delirious, and then replied. “'M your cumdump.”

“Say that again.”

“I—”

“Louder.” The emeralds in his heavy-lidded eyes skated briefly to the phone. “I want everyone to hear.”

So, you mustered all your energy to give your final answer—and the correct answer. "I am your cum dumpster!"

Toji started saying something, chuckling maybe, but his words weren’t clear even as he tossed his head back. His breathing was deep, wet, and sexy, and he was no doubt blistering hot in his business blazer, his slicked-back hair soaked with sweat and hanging limply in front of his flushed face. His expression, on the other hand, was what got you the most; his eyes drawn shut, his brows slightly pinched, his mouth just barely parted.

He panted, raising his head to lock lips with yours, moaning into your mouth lewdly before pulling back, and admiring your fucked out expression, face heated and sweating.

“Shit, you’re too good to me,” was the last thing Toji sighed before he added to your womb with his hot cum, his grip on your body tightening as his balls twitched and lodged his precious seed into the sacred cavern. Pussy clamping down, you milked him, not willing to let a single drop go to waste, gasping when the explosive warmth made you shatter with him, leaving you hiccuping and spasming until you were just jolting and crying out from the stretched muscles in your body.

Overheated, you slumped forward. Sweat rolled uncomfortably down your back, spit smeared across your neck and shoulders and chin.

But you looked up and giggled at your latest discovery.

“I love getting gangbanged."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: I spent way more time preparing this chapter than I expected, writing, rewriting, and editing. Adding, shortening, then adding again. (At some point, this was nearly 7K words.) This is far from perfect, but I must relinquish myself. Thank you again for reading!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @sakuraryomen01 @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzuruu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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chxrryhansen · 1 year ago

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౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Cevans Series Rec List

thought i’d make a list of all the best cevans (characters) series i have read!! i have lots more to add and will continue to update this list🫶🏻 i will also create a one shot fic rec list in the near future💖💘💞

Preying On You Tonight - @evansbby

“Steve is the cocky, brash and domineering alpha who makes your life at university a living hell every day. You’re the complete opposite - quiet, meek and reserved. You’re convinced Steve hates you, but what happens when he finds out you have a boyfriend? (a/b/o dynamics)”

Wicked Games - @evansbby

Ari is the campus fuckboy and you’re his little plaything. But he’s telling the truth when he says he’s going to make you his girlfriend soon, right?

What A World - @onsunnyside

S.H.I.E.L.D. had a lot of secrets, you just never expected one of them to be an actual person—a blue-eyed giant, wild manbeast at that. [tarzan!Steve Rogers x doctor!reader, nomad!steve, size difference]

Just Because I Won’t Die For You, Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Kill For You - @dbnightingale24

Lloyd Hansen is just another job for you. Your last job. However, when he decides that he wants to take you for a ride and have a good time, well...how’s a girl supposed to say no?

Closer To Heaven And Closer To You - @georgiapeach30513

When your boyfriend, Ransom wants to take a trip back home to the ranch to meet your family, you are unsure. Knowing that a rodeo is in town could only mean your ex, Frank Adler, was most likely riding for eight seconds, still trying to beat his best friend, Steve Rogers. All you wanted was a nice time, not old memories bothering your brain.

Just Like The Caged Bird - @georgiapeach30513

You are a widow who moves back to her husband's hometown after selling your in Georgia home. Moving in above your brother in law's garage. Sharing the space with his friend Bucky Barnes, but your other brother-in-law Andy causes problems, along with your overprotective brothers.

Pretty Petals - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

You go on a self-improvement retreat, but not all is as it seems. (multi-character)

His Koala Bear - @kinanabinks

you and steve have been best friends since you were 5. for the longest time, he has wanted so much more from you. and it's getting harder for him to stop himself from taking it.

Belong Here - @angrythingstarlight

Steve has been looking for his perfect girl and suddenly there you are stuck in this dingy restaurant. You don't belong here, you belong with him.

Finding Home - @navybrat817

Steve finds a home with you. (lumberjack Au)

Their Doll - @kaiparker-avengerssmut

y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

No Better Than Beast’s - @lokislastlove

You’re an animal rights activist who sets out to put an end to animal testing… but it’s a risky mission. (Dark!Steve Rogers)

Doppelgänger - @boxofbonesfic

Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. (Dark!Ransom Drysdale + Dark!Lloyd Hansen)

Million Dollar Man - @chrisevansgoodgirl

your relationship with ransom and his insane family.

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart - @spacesnail3000

Bucky and Steve had always been meant to keep her safe and happy. As far as anyone else was concerned, that was their sole reason for being alive. Unfortunately, the things that kept her safe were not always the things that kept her happy. Lately, she was making it pretty damn hard for them to compromise.

Let It Snow - @spacesnail3000

She was his Omega, and Steve had a plan. She would love him. He knew she would.

Sweet Renegade - @cevansbrat0007

A new arrival in town leads to an unexpected complication in the form of a sexy as sin Bounty Hunter named Ari Levinson.

Evergreen, Evermore - @babyjakes

loving husbands jake and ari had always believed they were all each other could ever want or need. but one unusual summer, when their world is turned upside-down by an uncanny girl from down the street, they find that having someone to love, nurture, and care for together is the missing piece that finally completes their perfect family and lives.

A Huckleberry Is Nothing Without His Hummingbird - @dbnightingale24

Lloyd and Y/N have been amicably(ish) divorced for four years. However, when earth shattering trauma come their way, will they lean into what they truly want, or will the flames from past traumas still burn too bright?

Civil war- Brooklyn - @saiyanprincessswanie

Ten years ago the Readers world was turned upside down when her father was killed by Hydras Brock Rumlow. She believes the loves of her life Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes were also killed while trying to avenge her fathers death. Reader is now working for the FBI on a task force that is meant to take down Hydra. She volunteers to go undercover to take down Hydra. In doing so she not only puts herself in the cross hairs with Rumlow but she gets to meet the mystery men causing Hydra issues. Who are the Captain and Winter Soldier? What lengths will you go through to uncover the truth and seek revenge?

The Boston Brute - @time-for-a-lullaby

When you graduated from Northeastern University, you had your sights set on the West Coast. And then you were offered a position with the Boston Bruins Athletic Training Department. And then you met Chris. A 6′3″, ruggedly handsome hockey player dead set on making your life a living hell by pushing every button and getting on every nerve. Despite your obvious disdain for each other and the ‘No Fraternization’ clause in your employee contract, you’re drawn together in a passionate, fiery love affair that seems to burn everything in its wake.

Planet Evans Universe - @astranva

In which Chris was a nervous mess when he met his A+ list celebrity crush, highest-paid, and the most iconic actress, you, at Vanity Fair’s 2014 after party. (Following the life of overprotective!dad!Chris x wife!actress!reader!)

Don’t Speak - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (Dark!Andy Barber)

Cat and Mouse - @queen-of-the-avengers

You’re called the Vixen because you were HYDRA’s favorite creation. You’re very hard to catch, and once you are, it’s even harder to keep you.

Let’s Ride - @starryevermore

You’re a single mom and have just moved into a new town. You have no interest in looking for love, but the funny thing about love is, it waits for no one. (Biker!Ari Levinson)

Out Of The Darkness - @sunshinexsin

Sienna Jons has lived in Boston for three years now after graduating and is running her own salon in the city. With a small group of friends sticking by her side, she's content with her life. Enter Chris Evans, a known and feared mob boss in Boston’s underground crime world. Coming out of a long relationship ended in a bitter divorce, Chris isn’t looking for anything serious until Sienna crosses his path. Trying to win her over proves difficult for the man who seemingly has it all and Sienna is not willing to be with someone who causes such destruction in his own hometown. Sienna soon finds herself entangled in the crazy, violent world of the mob and struggles to find a way to either live with the hardened man Chris has always been or get away from him before her own life spirals out of control.

Murder He Wrote - @wiypt-writes

You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween. (Dark!Ransom Drysdale)

Poison Paradise - @the-iceni-bitch

Robert Pronge was sure he could settle for a fake domestic life as long as he could go on killing. Little did he know that you could give him everything he needed.

A Bun In The Oven - @witchywithwhiskey

the leaves are changing—green fading into golden yellow, burnt orange and radiant red—and the days are getting shorter and colder as autumn settles in. it's the perfect time of year for baked goods, fall foliage, book stores, and to curl up next to (and get under) our favorite man with a plan, steve rogers

Wilford’s Demands - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Wilford places you in Curtis’ care so he can impregnate you.

In The Balance - @goodgirlofglory

One unsuspecting evening, the stranger Steve Rogers appears bloodied and in need of aid at your doorstep. You immediately catch his eye, and he forces himself upon you within the hour. Several months of repeated visits from him results in your pregnancy, and the night you find out, Steve intereceps you on your way to an abortion clinic and kidnaps you to his mansion. Will you carry the child to term? Will you buckle under the pressure of capitivity? Will you escape the grasp Steve has on you, or will you submit to it and your own, conflicted desires?

Drowning Siren - @rogerswifesblog

The Avengers found an old abandoned HYDRA base, that had been cleared after HYDRAs existence had been exposed. At least they thought it was cleared. It was the biggest experimental lab they had ever seen, the closest base to the ocean, full with creatures-dead creatures. Some of them laid still on tables, stripped with metal cuffs, open and already rotting. It was an awful smell. But then they heard something beautiful. A melody, a beautiful voice singing unbelievably gentle sounds. Walking into the building full with ocean creatures, they had no idea their life was about to change.

Vampire Kings Religion - @marvelcriminalhoe

In a world where fantasy beings roam every corner, the humans are on the bottom. Looked at as weak and disgraceful. The vampires are the opposite. They rule the land, and all of the creatures that take part of it. the current ruler, King Steven, has ruled for more than 150 years, alone. After many nights, and long talks with his most trusted hands, he comes to the long awaited decision that he will finally, take a wife. All female creatures, are to be evaluated, so he can find his perfect match. Of course, no one expects for him to choose a human. Especially not one from the church. Especially not the daughter, of the leader, of the church. The same church that detests the mythical creatures, wishing for nothing more than for them to perish in fire. How could this union possibly end well?

Ride And Prejudice - @pagesoflauren

A take on Pride & Prejudice, certain circumstances in your life have led you to take refuge and work in a farm village, particularly on the ranch owned by Steve Rogers. He doesn’t take kindly to you, having bad perceptions about city folk. Your only reaction to that is the one you deem acceptable: get annoyed at every little thing he does whilst doing your best to annoy him and still keep your job.

Love On The Brain - @howardpotts

You’re just a student, living her normal daily life in New York. One night changes everything, without you even knowing. Steve Rogers slowly introduces you to his world full of money, drugs and voilence. But are you able to handle what he has to offer? (MobBoss!Steve Rogers)

Flamingo King - @onsunnyside

The sun is brutal this summer, especially in Flamingo Trailer Park, the land of big hearts and cheap tricks, you’ve been here for years unlike your “new” neighbour, Ari. He’s older, bigger, and intimidating, the local rockstar, and you, well, aren’t you just the sweetest girl in the whole damn city?

Make It A December To Remember - @imyourbratzdoll

AGE AND SIZE DIFFERENCE IS ADDED TO ALL! SANTA AND THE GRINCH ARE LARGER THAN THE READER! THE ELVES ARE THE SIZE OF HER PALM! (a chris evans xmas universe)

This Love Is Bad - @wildestdreamsblog

You were just trying to escape your past, and Ari was trying to chase his future.

Nowhere To Run - @sagechanoafterdark

On the last day that Steve spent in your small town before heading off to basic training for the army, he made sure it was one you wouldn’t ever forget. Years later when he appears in your town he seems like a changed man in more ways than one, but you’re ready to show him that you’ve never forgotten that day. (Dark!Steve Rogers+ Bucky Barnes)

Nice To Be Kneaded - @rogersideup

Almost every news station in the country was covering the chase for the missing superheroes post-raft-escape following the Civil War. Steve Rogers face had been plastered on the cover of every news paper, fliers stapled to street lamps, posted on bulletin boards in what felt like every coffee shop in the country. It had been just a few long months shy of a year, just long enough to grow out his hair and beard to make himself as unrecognizable as he could manage. Though he was still the poster boy of disorder within the states, he found himself in the scanty town of Greenwood in the house right next to yours.

Forever And Ever More - @syntheticavenger

Ransom Drysdale may be Boston’s most eligible Alpha who has his eyes set on you. With his inheritance hanging in the balance, he won’t take no for an answer, whether you like him or not.

Hackers Heart - @bakugousaysdie

steve rogers has always been america’s golden boy, leading earth’s mightiest heroes and serving his country. you have always been bad with boundaries, a little too curious, and an absolute disruption. you are an absolute menace,so it’s only right you fell in love with the most adored man in the country.

Arranged - @time-for-a-lullaby

Living in this life, you’ve never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you’re dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life of abuse while being kept under lock and key, you’re pleasantly surprised when Chris is nothing like you expected. He’s the most feared man on the East Coast, only brought to his knees by one thing and one thing only. You.

#chxrrys fic recs #chxrrys masterlist #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #steve rogers #ransom drysdale #lloyd hansen #andy barber #ari levinson #chris evans fic recs #steve rogers fic recs

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 days ago

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butterflygirl738 (4)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You give the stranger your name but he just tells you to call him S. He seems a lot more important than you, so that makes sense. He must be if he's throwing around money so easily. A lot of money.

That seems to be on his mind too.

"Did you get the transfer?" He asks as he takes off his sunglasses.

You rub between your thumb and index nervously. You can't stop fidgeting. You glance around for what must be the dozenth time. You feel like everyone is watching you, that they all know you're doing something so stupid. Yet, nobody is looking at you.

"I... didn't check," you murmur. "I've just been waiting."

"Sorry again for making you wait," he puts his large hands on the table, framing the tall mug with his fingers. "You know what they say about meeting people online."

You snort, "ha, yeah."

You look out the window and exhale. That only stirs your nerves. You face him and sit back in the chair, folding your hands in your lap.

"I'm sorry. I think this was a bad idea." You say.

"Is it? We haven't even talked."

"Yeah, but... I should be looking for a job or... my mom. She's all alone..." you wring your hands.

"I want to help with that," he turns his hands and taps his fingers on the table. He sniffs. "I'm trying to figure out how to say what I want to say. And that's what it is. I want to help."

"But why? I don't know you. You don't me." Your teeth want to chatter, you're so nervous.

His chests rises and falls. His throat bobs. He resets his posture.

"That would be part of it." His blue eyes bore into yours. They're so bright and bold. "Getting to know each other."

You shake your head, confused.

"I could help with the medical bills and groceries. Whatever you need. It would just be..." he extends his fingers as he gestures with his hands. "An exchange. An arrangement. All you have to do is spend time with me."

You stare at him. Your eyes search his face. Your mouth slants. You want to laugh. It sounds absurd. Yet, he looks serious. You straighten your lips.

"By spend time you mean..." you shiver and mash your hands together in your lap. "They don't have people you can pay in New York."

He sighs. "It's not just... if physical things happen..." he pauses and his cheek twitches. "I'd prefer we just feel it out and see where it goes."

You look down. He can dress it up and say it as carefully as he likes. You've heard about these things. There's women on TikTok who post videos about new handbags or designer shoes and their 'daddies'. But they are so beautiful. They are interesting. You're just... afraid.

He coughs and shifts his chair closer. "I know it's not easy to be in your position. Sick parents are difficult. My mom... when I was about your age, she was really sick too. Still is but we manage."

You peek up at him. You don't know what to say. There's that voice in your head telling you that the answer is clear as day; no. You're not a prostitute. No, you have dignity. Then there's the other one, the louder one. You have nothing and you're about to lose even that.

"How about this? Before you make up your mind, let me take you around town. We'll just get to know each other. Baseline." He suggests. "We'll have our coffee, order some lunch, and you can show me around."

You bite your cheek. That's not too bad. He's not pushing you. If anything, he seems just as unsure. That makes you feel a bit better.

But can you really do this? Can you sell yourself like that? He's still just a stranger. Still just S.

Your head is reeling. What would your mom think? Well, you couldn't tell her, just like you never told her what you're really doing right then.

You bring your hand up to rub your shoulder. You hook your fingers around, shielding yourself, and nod.

"Alright, I'll try." You agree, keeping the rest of the sentence inside; I don't have any other options.

His cheeks dimple. The lines on his face only add to his good looks. He really isn't that bad. A bit older. Maybe a lot older.

"So, you hungry? What do you want?" He looks over at the chalkboard menu.

You follow his gaze. You focus on the menu. It's a bit easier to do that.

"My treat," he assures.

"Um, thanks," you scratch your neck nervously. If it were up to you, you wouldn't waste the money. "The veggie croissant sounds okay."

"Sure, anything else," he stands.

You push your shoulders back and and shake your head. "Thank you. That's more than enough."

"No problem," he turns and struts up to join the line.

You watch him. His shirt is taut across his shoulder blades and around his biceps. He's built better than any man you've seen before. Confident. He's cool as he waits patiently and steps up calmly to order. He slides out his wallet and swipes his card. Not a second thought. No tallying up rent or bills or even just the cost of a bag of rice.

He folds up his wallet and spins. You avert your attention to the table. He approaches and sits again.

"They'll bring it to us," he says.

"Okay," you accept. You can't look at him.

He shifts. "Look, I don't see you as just... I see you as a person. I hope you realise that. I really do want to help you."

"Yeah, I know." You swallow. "I'm sorry. I'm just... thinking."

"That's okay," he assures. "Not rushing you. So uh... I'll tell you about me a bit. If you want?"

You nod and make yourself look. His eyes are almost sparkling as they stick to you. You're a stranger to him too. How can he be so interested? Just you and your butterflies.

"I have a business. I have been running it for the last fifteen years. Before that, I did some corporate work but I really didn't like the politics, so started my own thing," he explains. "I live in New York, I watch baseball, I like to draw. Or liked to. I don't have a lot of time for that anymore." He pauses and holds up his finger. "One sec."

He reaches to his chest pocket and flips up the flap. He slides out a napkin. He unfolds it on the table.

"Got bored on the plane," he slides it over to you. It's a sketch of a butterfly. It's really good too.

"Wow, you did that?" You ask.

"Mm hm," he hums. "I'm a bit rusty."

"No, it's really good," you lean in to admire it. "Wow."

He's quiet. You put your fingers on the edge of the napkin as you look it over.

"My mom used to draw. Paint, too. She's really good. Like you."

You peek up at him. There's a subtle curve in his lips.

"It's... nothing but you can keep it if you want."

"I think it's more than nothing," you pick it up. "That's so cool."

"Ha, thanks. Think the real thing is cooler."

He sits back and looks over as one of the cafe employees approaches. She puts down your plates and tells you to enjoy. You tuck away the napkin.

"Looks delicious," S says.

It does and it smells even better. You hesitate as he picks up half his sandwich. You stare at yours.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

You think about your mom. She doesn't eat much these days but you wish you could bring her good food like this. You resist a frown.

"It's all good," you assure. "Thanks so much. It looks great."

You pick up half the croissant, careful not to let the contents spill out.

"So, where do you work?" He asks.

You nibble and swallow tightly. "Oh, just... customer service at a few stores. Nothing special."

"Hm, that must be stressful."

"It can be," you shrug. "Not the most stress I have right now... but er, whatever."

"Not whatever but I can understand not wanting to talk about it." He says. "Any other hobbies? Besides the butterflies?"

"No..." you drone. "Just watch some TV here and there. Go for walks when I can. There isn't too much going on around here." Not much you can afford.

"Any recommendations? I don't watch much but I'm always open to binge," he says.

"Not unless you're a fan of 90s sitcoms," you shake your head.

"Don't mind them," he says.

He leans forward to take a bite. You focus on your own sandwich. Your stomach is mulching painfully with each morsel. You only realise then how hungry you are.

🦋

S is even bigger walking next to him. You take him down the block to the park. You don't often come to this part of town but it's nicer than your neighbourhood. There's a fountain there.

You collide with S as he tries to follow the path but you find yourself distracted by the birds bathing in the water. You apologise and back up. He chuckles and turns to look at the fountain.

"Pretty. Peaceful," he says as he stops to watch them. "Different. New York is just... everything."

"Oh, it must be super busy there."

"Yeah, very," he agrees. "This is nice though."

"Probably boring to someone like you."

"Boring is nice. Boring is... easier," he says.

He starts toward the fountain and you follow. He stops at the edge and turns to sit. You do the same. The water trickles, the scent of it stirring the air.

You peer around. Another mother with her stroller, a couple and their dog, a brood of kids and their parents. It's all so nice and perfect and sweet. All these people are so happy. They don't have to worry about a thing.

You can barely remember the days when you weren't bound in anxiety. When you were the little girl skipping down the pathway. It feels like it's always been this.

You turn away to hide the gleam in your eyes. You don't know why you're thinking about that right now. You dab your eyes with your knuckle and sigh. You make yourself sit up.

"It's pretty here," you say.

He's watching you. You can feel it. Did he notice?

"It's gorgeous," he agrees but he isn't looking at the trees or the flowers.

You sniff and turn to watch the birds again. You make yourself smile. He shifts to see them too.

"Is your mom waiting for you?" He asks.

"She'll wonder where I am. She always does," you cross one arm across your middle. "I told her I was going to the bank to pay bills and do some running around."

He looks at you and nods.

"I didn't mention you. She doesn't know at all." You say. "It's just... I wasn't sure..."

"You weren't?" He wonders. "What about now?"

You clamp your lips and tilt your head. You open your mouth but can't find the words. You drop your shoulders.

"I don't know. I... I'm very lost right now." You look away.

He exhales. "I know it might not be very obvious, but I am too. I came all the way here and I was sure I was going to sit there alone all day. I kept checking your page thinking maybe you might delete and disappear with the money. Which is fine, that's fine. Your mom needs it but I just... the money is nothing to me." He sucks in air and laughs grimly. "New York is lonely. Being the boss, it's isolating. I didn't know what else to do and I... I just want something simple."

You listen, rolling around your thoughts on your tongue, poking your cheeks. You might be gullible but he sounds honest. Vulnerable even.

You hang your head and turn so that you're facing the open park path. You lean forward and wiggle your feet. "I just want my mom to be okay," you utter. "And if she isn't, then I don't want her to spend the time she has left like this."

He's quiet for a moment. You could wilt right then. All the stress crashes down on you and threatens to smother you.

"I can make sure that's not the case. I can help you keep her comfortable," he slides his hand across the stone and touches yours. "And you don't have to tell her about me."

"Yeah, she doesn't need to worry about me," you push yourself straight. You look him in the face. "I think we could try."

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #butterflygirl738 #au #marvel #mcu #captain america #avengers

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madschiavelique · 23 days ago

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﹒ ✦ 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐊 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐬

✦﹒ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : you pay a visit to eris in zaun, crossing unexpected people that lead to more complications than you'd thought and better conversations than expected

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : fighting, blood, punches (left right left right good night), angst, comfort, lore (insane, i know), idiots content (even more insane, who would have thought), friendly banter - the musical, reader has issues sitting with her own feelings - the opera, child abuse mention, burn injury/scar mentioned

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 16,7k

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : imagine this chapter is longer than the previous one haha... but imagine? jokes aside, it's been more than a month since i updated this fic because holy fuck y'all life got crazy. BUT i am here!! and finally posting a chapter for the fic so that's positive!!! anywho, i hope you'll like the chapter :3

✦﹒ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : the pretty boy @oneoftheextras

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ．．𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐌𝐘 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈

You'd already been back in Piltover for a week. A week to get back into the swing of things, a week to get used to the rhythm of school again, a week to lay your trip to Demacia on paper under notes, a week to clean each of your dishes every night and miss the buffet from the hotel.

And a week spent avoiding Viktor.

Ever since your realisation on your return, you hadn't been able to find the strength to be near him.

In class, you would try to find the table furthest away from his, even if it meant leaving early for the Academy to make sure you found a seat among the early-morning students.

When you would go to the library, you'd cut your visits short if you had the misfortune to see him, stuffing books you weren't even planning to borrow originally in your bag to avoid the inconvenience of having to put them back on the shelves and having him come and talk to you.

When lunchtime would come, you'd make sure you found a place away from everyone to eat your packed lunch, even if it meant not eating with Sky to avoid the possibility of running into him.

At least you found a comfort you didn't expect in the idea that now you didn't have to bump into him in the dormitories.

And today, when Saturday had arrived and you would originally have had to work at the café and run into the inevitable possibility of taking his order, you had given your leave as soon as you got back so that you could meet up with Eris.

On the one hand, you were relieved. If Viktor had come to the café that day, the chances of having to take his order would have been greater, and could have led to a confrontation from which you would not have been able to extricate yourself.

On the other hand, well, you were nervous. Firstly, because he would notice, if he hadn't already, your constant evasion of him, and he would be irritated by it.

And secondly, Eris's letter had been weighing on your stomach like a stone all week.

Today was a fine day, the temperature gradually rising, and you regretted having to spend your day moving around Zaun in all black in its depths when you had the chance to bask in the warmth.

Arriving at the bridge just as the sun was at its zenith, a vibrant yolk watching over you like an eye without a lid, you presented your papers to the enforcers present and managed to cross to the other side of the bank without much trouble.

Putting your bag on the ground, you took a new pair of shoes out of it, as well as another jacket to pass incognito through the town. You'd gone for a black pair of pants, adding a few sets of belts to the look with a loose white t-shirt.

Any Piltovian who found themselves in Zaun in their usual clothes was sure to get into trouble, or at least be noticed. And in Zaun, that was the opposite of what you wanted to aim for.

Once you'd changed, you put your bag back on your shoulder with a grunt and headed for one of the city's lifts. You moved forward, with a determined step and a heavier, more confident gait.

Your stature was different in your Zaunite clothes, which did less to camouflage the reminiscence of your muscles than the careful outfits of Piltover.

You watched your surroundings as if something or someone were about to appear, every street corner a target for your eyes, every passer-by a possible enemy.

Reaching the lift, you relaxed a little, the prospect of the journey up and down seeming like a relief. Although Piltover had its share of advances, Zaun's technological facilities could not have been more practical.

You began your descent, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag as you surveyed the streets of Zaun.

Although the architecture criss-crossed the air, the sun's rays filtered through the city and covered its floors with lights. It felt like such a different place when night wasn't set, when the neons didn't crackle and any street deprived of light looked like the end of the earth.

You let out a breath for a moment. At least you weren't expecting to bump into Viktor here.

When the lift came to a stop on the ground, you shoved a hand in your pocket before stepping forward and walking towards Eris' shop.

You recognised some of the shopkeepers’ faces, offering them smiles and nods of the chin, not having the luxury for a moment to stop and strike up a conversation.

The air was a little heavier, you could feel it already, like a deposit of dust scraping the back of your throat, the impression that your uvula was rubbing against the carpet of your tongue causing you to cough once to get rid of the feeling.

Eris' shop was not far away, slightly sheltered from the main shopping streets. Although the alleyways being further apart than the avenues and boulevard in Zaun could have been a factor in making the less accustomed shy away, you were no longer affected.

You tightened your grip on the strap of your satchel. Admittedly, you were used to the architecture and streets of Zaun, but the idea that you could have been ambushed made your stomach churn.

Your paranoia jumped to the sky as soon as the subject of this business came up again, and coming back to town after Eris' letter at times led you to think that it was all a trap. Your value had changed, however, in terms of the criteria for admission, a fact which made you feel uncomfortably reassured.

As you passed an alleyway to your left, the sun beat down on the façade of Eris' building, pieces of tinted glass and crystal rays ricocheting off the walls in multitudes of clear confetti. The placement was strategic, the shop lit up like a beacon, calling out to you as if to say that the light had decided for you that this was the place to be, whatever your original destination was.

At its window was a meticulously arranged shelf. Decks of classic Tarots, oracles and new packs of cards were placed here and there between fake green moss mimicking a forest bed set with crystals of various colours.

On the rest of the polished metal shelves were spiritual manuals, statuettes of icons and divinities of all kinds, sage and incense grouped together by carefully knotted threads, candles of various colours, small cauldrons, pendulums and other objects you weren't sure you recognised.

Next to this large glass shelf was her counter, which she unfolded in the spring, when her consultations, which were too important and private, took place indoors, as they did in the autumn and winter.

Eris was outside, adjusting her little notice of the day with small drawings and embellishments. Her neat handwriting was remarkably precise and clean.

"Don't tell me I'm your first customer of the day?" you questioned as you approached her.

She sighed, not even turning to face you. "First of the afternoon," she stood up, dusting the chalk powder from her hands. "If the days only had you as a customer, I'd end up poorer than I started."

"As if you don't benefit from my presence," you smiled.

"You drive away customers like a scarecrow fends off crows," she passed through the interior of her shop and was back at her counter in a few steps. "What card today?"

You huffed, coming to sit on the high stool facing her. ‘’Shouldn't we start with the thornier subject?"

She rested both elbows on the varnished metal. "I prefer to wait until the next customer arrives."

"The next one?" you asked, frowning. "Why?"

She pulled out her own consultation deck, older and yellowed with age. "Renata is coming today. I thought it would be a good idea for you to meet."

Your eyebrows rose then. It made sense, even if you were slightly anxious about the idea of meeting her. She was an important woman in Zaun who could well turn out to play a primary role in the dismantling of this affair.

But you liked the fact that you didn't have to jump in with both feet. You weren't sure whether you'd prefer to give yourself time to discuss it later by constantly pushing back the obvious, or whether you'd prefer to rip it off like a band-aid.

"So, your card?" asked Eris again.

You had read your card that morning without missing it.

The High Priestess.

Its key words were as follows: She is the plane of your soul. The occult secrets, the guardian of inner knowledge. The authentic voice. The deepest part of your being. Self-knowledge. Silence. Intuition.

Without further ado, you read her description.

The veil of the High Priestess hides the invisible world. The book of your life is the parchment in her lap. A triple-moon crown rests on her head, reflecting the cyclical nature of life. The pillars are black and white, reflecting balance and duality. Her dress is made of water, reflecting the emotions and fluid nature of the material world and the feminine principle. This is the right time to tune in with your intuition, to let your high priestess guide you to gain inner wisdom.

Deep down you were hoping that Eris would be your High Priestess, that she would guide you through this thick fog you were exploring, because quite honestly you weren't sure how to get through it.

She hummed, starting to shuffle her cards as she was so used to doing.

"It's good, right?" you couldn't help but ask

She shrugged, tracing a line of cards on the polished metal. "It all depends on what you draw."

You huffed, watching the river of possibilities spread out before you in many regular waves. You couldn't stop your mind from racing back to Viktor, to what the Tarot was going to say. Approve, disapprove, confirm, prevent, all these possibilities ran through your mind and you tried to shake them off as you moved your left hand closer to the cards.

Why had you even considered the idea of approval when you weren't sure you wanted to let anyone love you? It was probably stupid, maybe you weren't even cut out for love, who knows. Maybe the universe had kept you from love all this time because you weren't meant to meet it.

What were you even supposed to do? Were you supposed to face your feelings and accept them or deny them until eventually they passed?

You placed your finger on one of the cards and chose it, Eris drawing it towards her and turning it over to reveal the seven of swords.

"Huh," Eris remarked with a frown.

"Something wrong?" you asked, your hand frozen in the air.

"We'll see, pick the next one."

Your shoulders tightened with the tension of doubt about this situation, and you chose your second card, the varnish gliding easily over the metal as your friend revealed the two of swords.

Your eyes met Eris', seeming to observe the situation as her hooked index finger pressed under her nose like a moustache, sceptical. She simply jerked her chin at you, signalling you to continue.

Your hand followed its flight until the last card was placed under your fingers, and it slid down the counter like an additional glass ordered at the bar. She turned it over, and it was the three of wands.

She then brought all the cards together in a single pile and revealed the card lying underneath - the seven of wands.

She remained silent for a moment.

"Things haven't been going too well lately, have they?" she finally asked, her forest green eyes shifting from the cards lined up next to each other to yours.

Your shoulders dropped, slumping as you leaned against the counter and rested your chin on the palm of your hand. "Lots to think about."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered.

You sighed. "Let's read this spread of doom instead."

She nodded, intrigued all the same by the uncertainty hanging over you. Over the years, she had rarely seen you like this, unprepared, or at least unable to know what to do.

"Right," she said, straightening up. "Let's have a look."

She took the first card between her two fingers.

"Seven means 'go all the way'. Here, in swords and therefore the intellectual, it means that all paths are good to get there." She placed the card in front of you again and turned it so that you could observe it right side up. "Whether it's facts, eloquence, even false logic and stratagems, all means are good. After all, the intellect is also what is used to deceive others."

You leaned towards the card, tilting your head to one side. "I... cheat?" you arch an eyebrow.

"Have you ever cheated on a test or anything?"

You shook your head. "No."

"Then it's probably not that kind of cheating that this implies, even though the key word in the Seven of Swords is deception," she confirmed. "This card proves that rhetoric is a purely intellectual art, the art of convincing, not the art of finding the truth, through others as through ourselves." She tapped the card. "Now, let's have a look at this bugger."

As one of her hands pressed against the counter, the other pointed at the minor arcana.

"The military camp he's in is deserted and the battle in the distance indicates that this deceiver is either taking advantage of everyone's attention being directed elsewhere, or he's missing the most interesting thing. In either case, he's working against the collective interest by looking only to his own."

You were observing these details and interpretations. Were you this mischievous character, or did this represent something else?

Had it been just you at the time, with no little booklet to explain anything to you, you would have thought that this card reminded you of yourself leaving Demacia, carrying those swords in your arms like new lessons learned from both Fiora and Garen in combat and social ties.

"His fez, an oriental garment," she continued, "may even indicate that he is not part of the same community as the soldiers in the camp; perhaps in choosing deception you are cutting yourself off from the trust that binds a community together."

You would have associated it with you landing in this new, foreign land, with the disastrous attitude you had had to cut yourself off from these situations. But you suspected, the more Eris' words rose to your ears, that this was not exactly the case.

"Of the seven swords, two are still firmly planted in the ground," pointed out Eris, "This thief has to give up something, for example accepting that he has to choose between moral values and his own interests. He thinks he's smarter than the others, and it shows, but he's holding the swords by the blade, hence the ambiguity of meaning between ‘deceiving’ and ‘being deceived’."

She straightened up with the card pinched between her two fingers, twirling it like a butterfly in the air with disinterest. "In couples, of course, it's synonymous with cheating, one lying out of reflex, not being honest about what they want from the relationship, or lying to themselves by persisting in a relationship that's actually shaky, unequal, or indeterminate."

Your thoughts darted back to Viktor and your efforts to avoid him so assiduously during the week, biting the inside of your cheek as it heated up like its neighbour. Why did you have to be so obsessed with him? That he was always on your mind? That he haunted you wherever you went?

"I don't know if this card applies to you," pondered Eris, her graceful eyebrows furrowed, "perhaps it has more of a divinatory aspect about someone from the past around you that you should pay attention to.’’

You weren't so sure, and preferred not to say anything at the moment. She didn't really go out of her way to be honest out of sympathy, always offering the truth no matter what was asked of her.

"Dishonesty, hidden motives, hiding, sweeping the issue under the rug," she listed, enumerating the characteristics of the card as you saw in her mind the gears of her reasoning and years of tarot readings come into play specifically on your case. "It's pursuing your own self-interest discreetly and malignantly, or without others knowing. It's the card of the smooth talker, of the person who has an idea in the back of their head but doesn't express it..."

You were now convinced that this character was really you, escaping every moment to avoid Viktor and therefore your own feelings. You made yourself small on the high stool, the tarot deck didn't seem to give you the grace or respite to hide what you were feeling.

Eris' eyes landed on yours. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

You weighed up the pros and cons, assessing how much Eris was going to jump on you about this news and how much you would have to suffer the incessant sound of her ‘I told you so's’.

But, since she was your high priestess today, the great mistress of secrets, she would know how to keep yours safe from everyone.

"I think..." you began.

"That happens?"

"Shut up," you laughed nervously, relaxing a little more. "I think I'd rather talk about it once we get to the end of the reading."

She was intrigued, no doubt, and although she was certainly dying to know what else you were hiding, she restrained herself and straightened up to continue with the reading.

"After this perpetual deception," her fingers full of rings and tattoos slid to tap her fingernail on the two of swords, "we have a meeting."

You came to press the heels of your palms into the hollows of your eyes, letting your fingers comb your roots. "Not again."

"Relax," reassured Eris, "as far as swords are concerned, it's an encounter with the mind, and therefore of two ideas. Only, if the ideas are two, it's because they're not identical; if they're not identical, it's because they're not going in the same direction; if they're not going in the same direction, it's because they contradict each other."

She took the card in her hands, bringing it to face you so that you confronted her.

"Now you're stuck between two contradictory things with no way of getting past them, and since there's nothing you can do about it, you're going to pretend not to see the contradiction because in any case," she pointed to the previous seven of swords, "you were already lying to yourself."

You bit the inside of your gums, suppressing your own shame at believing you had an ‘allergy’ around Viktor or to Demacia that made you feel that way.

She patted the crescent on the card. "The moon is just present enough to understand that it's night, even if the light of the very first crescent isn't enough to see clearly - you don't yet have the means to find your own way, and so you can't move on, perhaps it's even better that you came to me to untangle all this." Her finger passed over the figure. "Behind it, the sea where reefs outcrop and extend below the surface. It's blind sailing, you could be shipwrecked, and that fear is expressed throughout the card - since you can't see clearly, you freeze."

What were you supposed to do after all? You'd never loved before, you didn't know what to do or how to react, so you were stuck in this constant doubt that was eating away at you bit by bit.

"The blindfold represents the refusal to see that the two ideas are contradictory and therefore impossible to hold together." She crossed her arms over her chest to mimic the posture of the figure on the card. "She has her arms crossed defensively to protect her chest or her heart, but she can't stay like that forever especially when she's carrying those two swords." She relaxed her posture and placed both hands flat on the counter. "Basically, whatever happens, getting out of this position will hurt, so either you get rid of both ideas, which can be painful, or you get rid of both to follow a third path, which can be twice as painful."

You watched the character carefully in this landscape of such cold tones, at this edge where she was in danger of toppling backwards. It was a dangerous and frightening concept to have to let down this guard you had spent so much time building up. For your own good, you thought, but was it honestly the right protection?

"So, the two of swords is a representation of being trapped by contradictory ideas," she continued as a conclusion to the card. "For example, values inculcated by education, and personal values that are opposed to them." She shrugged her shoulders and relaxed them with a sigh. "Whatever it is, it's being stuck between a rock and a hard place and not moving for fear it'll get worse. Which is exactly what the seven of swords was telling us just now."

She took the seven in hand with the two, one card per hand.

"The scoundrel on the seven is facing three different directions, his feet are going to the left, his body is facing us, but his head is looking to the right towards the two of swords who may have picked up the two blades stuck in the ground of the seven and locked herself in this lie that is so addictive."

You watched the two cards side by side, their links complementing each other almost disturbingly well. Eris put down the seven of swords, keeping the two in her hand.

"You avoid conflict at all costs, you avoid responding, committing yourself, making a difficult decision to protect your peace. It's a card that shows you thinking that perhaps if you ignore the problem long enough, it will eventually resolve itself. Is that how you feel?"

You chewed the inside of your lip, nodding. What was the point of hiding this when you were out in the open after all. "In sums, yes."

"Hm," Eris hummed, gazing at you as if trying to work out which issue this feeling was about. "Now, this dilemma of being stuck in a balance of power that neither cracks nor moves forward, where might that lead you?"

Her index and middle fingers together, they hovered over the Two of Wands as her other hand set the Two down.

"Remember the Two of Wands? From our reading during the holidays," she asked.

You racked your brains, trying to remember things that seemed so long ago. "Something about an encounter, evaluating things, desire, reality... applying my own will to the world?"

She snapped her finger, pointing at you. "Good, we're still a bit in that," she placed the three of wands on the metal. "What happens after evaluation?"

You shook your head thoughtfully, frowning. "... Attack?"

"Conquest," corrected Eris. "As you no doubt know by now, wands are the colour of desire."

She rolled up the sleeves of her long-sleeved t-shirt, revealing her tattoos.

"Desire is a dynamic. It's not an envy - when you get the object of your envy, your craving, well, that's the end of it. Desire, on the other hand, expands and pushes us further and further ahead." She nodded."‘One-night stands happen because you have an envy that can be satisfied before you move on to something else."

Her eyes lowered to the card, her fingers brushing against it. "When you really want someone, on the other hand, you want to go further, to conquer them. The same goes for a project in the general sense, since it only makes sense if it allows us to grow, extend our influence or give our creativity room to express itself."

Your cheeks warmed slightly. Conquer Viktor? Put like that, the idea seemed ridiculous. You thought back to your overconfidence during the game of the werewolf where you pressed your knee against his.

Eris' fingers ran over the card. "Ships bring back the idea of a voyage that is launched, they leave initiated by the man who watches over them, unless they arrive to bring back news or food from other countries." They drifted over the varnish, gliding over the colours. "The mountains in the background suggest height, domination, success, ambition: this is the greatness that awaits those who know how to take their desire far." They reached the central element. “As for the man, he wears a red garment made up of several pieces. He is not afraid to confront the world, even if it means losing some of his feathers. He wears the headband of the Magician, a symbol of discipline - his mind is firmly fixed on a goal and he doesn't waver."

Could you be that agent of success? When and how could you get out of this heavy contemplation and achieve its stability?

"This is the card of broadening horizons and conquest," continued Eris on a slightly more positive note than the previous two cards, "of expansion, of development, of great discoveries. It's an undeniable form of progress, whether in the field of study, the field of the mind, the field of romance, in short, it's about thinking big and going for it with confidence."

Part of you was happy to know that in the not too distant future, this situation you were in would be resolved. Another, however, feared that the outcome of this victory would be bitter.

"It's daring, courage, but above all having a vision of the bigger picture and realising that things are moving forward." She nodded. "They also say it's managing remote collaborators in commercial activities, international negotiations, or intervening to make a decision."

You had thought about exchanging a first letter with Garen and Fiora, but you didn't know whether you should wait out of politeness and etiquette for them to be the first to write anything, or whether you could put that pride aside and take the first step.

"Alright," clapped Eris, "now the shadow card." She pointed to the seven of wands. "As before, the seven-"

"It's going all the way, I know."

"Good," Eris smiled, "Good. With the seven, the creative three is supported by the stability of the four, so all the conditions are in place to see things through to the end. But to carry your desire through to the end, you have to endure obstacles," she pointed to the Two of Swords, “and problems,” then to the Seven of Swords. "The key word in this card is endurance, perfect for what you've been facing lately if you ask me."

Endurance, you weren't sure you liked that advice, not when you were enduring all this and would have preferred not to have to.

"Let's have a look," Eris pointed at the figure with the tip of her fingernail. "The man is standing on a high place, his two feet wide apart for maximum balance. Like the mountains on other cards," she redirected your attention to the three of wand for a moment, "this height symbolises a position conquered by the strength of the wrist, an achievement, an accomplishment."

"So," you reasoned aloud, "I'm going to triumph in this situation?"

Eris swung her head from side to side like a metronome. "It all depends on what victory would be for you in this case. He has a firm grip on the wand of his desire," she continued, "but his shoes are mismatched. Concentrating on his defence, he doesn't have time to ask himself whether his position is the right one."

Not even you were sure what would be the deliverance. To embrace your feelings for Viktor and set off down a road you'd never travelled before, letting yourself discover what attraction is all about, or to bury this idea inside you in the graveyard of ideas that will never blossom for safety's sake?"

"Here then," Eris clasps her hands together, "if there's one piece of advice to take away from this, it's that you have to stand your ground, prove yourself over time and don't let yourself give in or weaken. It's a defence card, a defence of your position, your values, your beliefs, your point of view."

"Okay," you nodded, "that I can do."

"But be careful," she raised her finger in the air, "this can also be a card that represents being too defensive, feeling attacked from all sides, taking any criticism or contradiction as a personal attack. It's having the impression that you constantly have to justify yourself, that everyone disapproves of your point of view and believing that the world is against you."

"And isn't that the case?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Decidedly, common sense is not a flower that grows in every garden," she sighed. "It can be, but it doesn't have to be. Here, what is suggested to you, is to remain faithful to your convictions without being aggressive and confrontational."

"So..." you looked at each of the cards, "I've got nothing to do?"

"Apart from some personal work, only time will tell," she picked up the cards, starting to put them away. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

You sighed, playing with your fingers nervously. Why was it so difficult to leave those words out? You'd told Eris about Viktor in the past, you'd confided in her everything and nothing, she was your best friend and you trusted her in every way. So why was your heart starting to race just thinking about Viktor?

"I..." you inhaled heavily.

When you've got to go, you've got to go.

"I think," your voice got very small, as if the whole of Zaun was expecting to hear the news in the hollow of your mouth.

Your tongue, your teeth, your lips knew that these words carried great weight, that his name in your mouth had a taste that no sweetness or poison could replicate.

Eris watched you, patient and impatient.

Your eyes found a scratch in the metal countertop, your chest heaving as you mustered all your strength to push those words from your lips.

"I think I have feelings for Viktor."

You felt breathless having said those few words, letting them live in the air as you kept them inside you. It was like opening the shutters of a room that had been marinating in the summer heat to the winter air.

You were a frozen steak tossed into a hot pan, your emotions rumbling in your heart and your words sizzling in the wild air. You knew that even the fiercest coals eventually mellowed and eventually died down, but you didn't know if you wanted this fire to fade at any moment.

You were afraid of meeting your friend's gaze again, of what her reaction would be. You'd rarely felt so out in the open, the butterflies that used to flutter in your belly now twirling in the air, destined to fly close to Eris' ears and nobody else's for the moment.

When the silence became too heavy, you finally met her gaze. Her eyes were wide, two emerald beads fixed on you as if a miracle had just happened.

"Wow," she managed to say after what seemed like an eternity.

"I know," you sighed, "it's so bad-"

"I don't think I've ever seen you love anyone or anything before," she cut in.

"I know," you buried your face in your hands, massaging your forehead, "I don't know what to do, or who cursed me with this."

"Only mountains never cross," Eris pointed out, "when did you realise this obvious fact?"

"It was-" you began, frowning, "hey."

"What?" Eris shrugged.

"Obvious? Really?’ you questioned, genuinely puzzled.

She huffed, inhaling gently through her nose as she combed her hair with her fingernails.

"I'm keeping calm and I talk to an adult about it."

"But you are an adult."

She watched you in dismay. ‘’ I remain an adult and I talk about it to a calm one."

You arched an eyebrow. "You're not answering the question."

She crossed her arms, her head tilting forward, eyes watching you through her long black lashes before only raising herself with a sigh.

"You've never been obsessed with anyone in your life. He comes along, and he becomes your only topic of conversation until you mention him in your letters and you can't ignore him. What's more, if Selene herself had that spark of genius, how could you ignore her intractable instinct? And then there's your looks, and then the cards-’

"Okay, I get it, I'm being prodigiously stupid, as usual, no need to remind me,‘’ you cut short, your head jerking to the side as you watched the street. "What am I even supposed to do about this? It's all so weird and... foreign."

Eris stared at you for a moment, and although you knew she was incapable of doing so, you dreaded the thought of her judging you. She seemed to be observing you as if you were a species miraculously rediscovered and thought to be extinct.

"What do you think you should do about this?" she finally asked.

You looked at her, shrugging your shoulders and raising your eyebrows, testing the waters. "... Ignore the matter?"

She sighed as she turned away from the counter, probably to prepare for Renata's consultation. "This isn't a trick question, y'know."

"It feels like it is," you countered.

"Well," she pulled out two more tarot decks, "maybe you should stop considering that everything coming your way is a trap or that people getting close to you is by means of destroying you." She pointed to the deck in front of you that she'd just used. "Remember what the seven of wands said."

"I know but," you paused in your sentence, sighing as you nervously scratched the back of your neck, "it's hard not to think otherwise."

She laid out a velvet tablecloth on the small table inside for her consultations, grabbed an incense stick and placed it in her censer, lighting it with the lighter hanging from her belt. A blue almond sprouted from the stem, but she didn't even blow on it.

"Look," she resumed, adjusting her emerald velvet armchairs by the table, "apart from the beginning of the year, do you feel like Viktor's intention towards you have been to destroy you?"

If you had to be honest, it now seemed that, looking back, you were the only one who had constantly tried to outdo him. Viktor was just having fun, you were competing for your life.

Eris noted your silence. "He's Jayce's best friend after all, would the golden boy truly hang with traitors?"

"Jayce is naive," you remarked, "he'd be friends with a sunflower if he thought the seeds formed a smile for him."

"Okay not to burst an ego bubble here," she raised her hands in the air as if to clear herself of what she was about to say, "but do you sincerely think someone like Viktor would willingly put that much effort into becoming a friend to you and putting up with your bullshit to then break all this progress by betraying you?"

There was some truth in what Eris was saying, when was there not after all? Viktor had worked so hard to gain your trust, and for you to give him yours. He was respectful, admirable, patient, and it infuriated you how perfect he could be - no doubt somewhere because you wished you could be all those things but couldn't or didn't get any consideration.

Eris planted her palms on the metal counter in front of you. "How bad is it?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow, the corner of her lips stretching upwards as she did so. "Surely it's not too bad since it's Viktor of all people."

"Everything reminds me of him and it's driving me insane!" you quietly tempered, the feeling of having your head roasted by the heat of his name going down to bake your heart. You buried your face in your hands. "Like," you mumbled through gritted teeth, "I need his face really near mine."

"It's like discovering a completely new you," Eris sneered. "I didn't know you were capable of feelings under all this steel that you call a heart."

"I envy everyone you have never met," you grumbled from her teasing.

“An envy but not a desire I see,” she laughed a bit, and you couldn’t help but smile in return.

From her face, amusement faded to leave place for concern. “Aren’t you tired of running?

You sighed, her question was legitimate. During your entire existence, you had ran away from so many things that you could not remember the last time you had stopped this. You had repressed your feelings, fled conflict, pretended things were alright when they were not. And now, there you were. Still running.

“I’ve raced my entire life,” you pointed out, “it’s all I know and all I’m good at.”

“Your legs need rest,” remarked Eris.

You shrugged. “The fear chasing me has no need for rest.”

“But you do,” her shoulder pointed to you, “they all say you have to face your fear to overcome it, so why not face it?”

“Well, that’s the whole principle of fear, isn’t it?”

“There’s only so many places avoidance can bring you to, but the final destination always brands the title of disappointment.” Her shoulders sagged, visibly tired of having to expand this idea to you. “I can only explain it to you, I can't understand it for you.”

Her smile was understanding as her gaze shifted to her left. Her smile went from friendly to professional, and you followed her glance.

From the main street, a woman with an unmistakable silhouette was approaching the both of you.

She was tall, dressed in a tailored suit with incredibly clean white trousers and jacket, her black vest hugging her waist with grace. Her heels clicked in the echo of the street as she walked with the weight of her confidence, two men following her like her shadow.

When the sun hit her silhouette, the gold and metallic contours of her outfit gleamed. Walking around Zaun in an ensemble like that was risky, but you knew that no one would dare approach her anyway.

Because you definitely recognised her. Her long ebony hair, lined with a strand as grey as cigarette ash, swept back from her freckled face, ensuring that anyone who came into contact with her magenta eyes, rimmed with a black sclera, would never forget her.

And so Renata Glasc walked towards you.

As she reached you, her scent caught your nostrils. Peppery, undoubtedly magnolia, with something warm, like the sun warming the raspberry hedges in summer, a fresh hint of curly mint tying it all together. Bewitching was one of the first words that came to mind to describe her.

"Madame Glasc," greeted Eris. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

Her gracefully lined eyes rested on Eris. "Good sunshine so early in the year can only be appreciated. Your cards will agree, I hope."

Her voice was deep, carrying a more sustained and noble accent than you would have expected, one you'd been more used to meeting and hearing when you'd rarely crossed paths with the Kirammans and Cassandra was chatting off to the side with Jayce.

Her fuchsia eyes shifted from hers to yours, and you felt very small under their weight. Eris wasted no time in keeping the silence.

"Madame Glasc, may I present Mademoiselle Phathe, whom I mentioned to you a short while ago."

Sticking to surnames was preferable. It's a nasty game, even if you were expecting her to make enquiries about you that would go far beyond simply finding your first name.

She held out her hand, and you didn’t hesitate to shake it , maintaining her gaze with a sober politeness. Her grip was firm, but not so firm as to choke your fingers in a tourniquet.

"She has information that will certainly be useful in the case of... Tytos," Eris added.

Renata's eyes crinkled with interest, the pressure on your hand easing until it finally let go.

"So it is you," she remarked, intrigued, "I didn't expect you to be so...’’

You held your breath, trying to remain impassive. Offending a Chem Baron by your very existence was one of the most important things for anyone to avoid.

"Young."

You breathed out a quiet sigh of relief, the unpleasant tickle of anxiety running down the back of your neck.

"Yeah, that's how he preferred his investments."

The hint of sarcasm drew a breath from Renata's nose of laughter, the remark not seeming to displease her. She tilted her head back slightly, not necessarily looking down on you even though she was at least half a head taller,

"I think it would be good to have a chat after this reading session, Miss Phathe," she indicated, turning back to Eris, "I would not wish to ruin your schedule for the afternoon by delaying this consultation."

"Of course," Eris nodded, turning to you, "if you'd like to you-"

"Don't worry, I'll wait here," your lips pressed into a thin line.

"Alright,’ she nodded, gripping the string holding a jalousie over the counter which she brought around until it covered the metal of it, crossing to the other side of her interior to invite Renata into her shop.

Renata turned to you before entering. "Forgive this rather hasty introduction, but it's preferable to keep it that way for the time being."

You nodded, hoping the gesture wouldn't seem too forced. "Of course."

She nodded, her and her bodyguards retreating into the mystical interior of Eris' shop while you remained outside, pondering the whole thing.

It was true that you tended to take everything as an attack, that you tended to think that danger was just around the corner to take away the life you had fought so hard to obtain.

And now that you'd managed to put your trust in someone new and so revealing inside, it terrified you.

What if he didn't love you? What if the attraction was only on one side? What if you risked hurting yourself even more by loving him and he didn't share that feeling or care?

It terrified you. You'd never had a friendship like this, so evolved, so strong and honest. Whenever you thought you were taking a step backwards, Viktor would grab the sleeve of your shirt and pull you towards him to stop you falling over a cliff.

No matter how hard you tried to back away, no matter how much you tried to pull away and ignore what you were feeling, he would always be there in the back of your mind, never moving, worrying and reassuring you. You were torn between what you knew, the solitude and security of routine, and the unknown, the possibility of being with someone, of breaking away from what you'd always known.

Your eyes roamed the street, letting the sun beat down on you, until they fell on a group of silhouettes not far away.

Had it been any other day, you would of course have remained on your guard and kept an eye on them, without continuing your observation of the group. But something caught your eye, a body among them that you seemed to recognise.

Your blood ran cold, your body freezing in place as the realization slapped you across the face.

A man was there, in their midst, his paunch protruding from his trousers and his rolls of fat pressing against the straps of his trousers, dripping down the side like rotten dough. He was wearing a huge jacket, the sleeves rolled up over his limp arms. The sun shone on his bald head, the same bulldog head, the same small pig nose, brow and eyelids encroaching on his small, dark, squinty eyes. One of them was whitish, like a half-cooked egg.

Vome.

He didn't meet your gaze, seemingly taken elsewhere, and you hoped he would never turn to you or have the wit to recognise you. How could he still be alive? How-

Your train of thought came to a halt as three of the guys in his group started to move in your direction.

Bad.

You quickly repacked your things in your satchel, getting up from the high stool to go the opposite way. You couldn't stay put. Even if it meant a chase, you couldn't afford to have them near you.

You could have simply knocked on Eris’ shop door, but couldn’t risk interrupting a meeting with a person as important as Renata if this turned out to be simple paranoia and not an actual threat.

You started walking, continuing straight on until you took the first street on your left. You didn't walk too fast, hoping that this paranoia would remain what it was and not the truth.

You turned slightly, falsely observing one of the price signs in the street, your peripheral vision finding them as they turned the corner.

Shit.

You kept going, faster this time, your heart pounding in your ears as you forced yourself not to start running straight away. You turned into another street, moving a little faster, sure to lose them if you took another street or two, hoping-

"Ah! A ghost."

You turned on the spot, the unmistakable voice of the man haunting your thoughts day and night calling out to you.

Viktor.

Present at the worst possible moment.

What you did notice at the time was his outfit. He'd put on Zaunite clothes, just like you had.

On top of a cream shirt with rolled-up sleeves was an asymmetrical blood-red waistcoat, little belts with golden buckles criss-crossed over and around it. Black trousers emphasising his long, elegant legs led to badly polished boots. He fit in perfectly with the décor, and was handsome, handsome, handsome.

He walked towards you, his hand clutching his cane next to him, dressed in a mitten mixing leather and wool.

"I barely see you anymore," he explained in the face of your silence, "I didn't even recognise you at first."

You pressed your lips together and frowned, nervous. "Really?"

"No," he cut in, obviously.

Surprisingly, the very idea of Viktor forgetting you made your heart ache - but you didn't have time for this new panic. You turned to see if they were still behind you, and it was when you saw them pass the end of the street in confusion that you turned back to Viktor and grabbed his wrist, much to his surprise.

He said nothing as you pulled him into the first dark alleyway you found just a few metres from you. Once you were bathed in the gloom, you turned your head towards the entrance of the street, waiting for them to arrive at any moment.

"What is-"

You didn't give Viktor time to finish his sentence, pushing him forward until his back was pressed against the wall and your palm covered his lips. He looked at you with bewildered eyes, and you tried not to concentrate on the feel of his lips against your fingers.

"You gotta stay quiet," you whispered through gritted teeth, your eyes boring into his.

Your gaze drifted across the open street, every silhouette and shadow on the sunlit ground making your heart race. How could you hear anything other than the beating of your heart in your ears as the stress vibrated through you and the feel of Viktor's skin against yours teamed up?

He towered over you, even in his stillness, his shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm in your peripheral vision. So close, you could smell him more distinctly. His coffee, or maybe rather coffees of the day permeated his jacket, mingling with that smell of hot stone in the sun and the fresh, sharp point of basil.

You tried to concentrate on the street, not giving him a glance even though you wanted to get away from him as much as you wanted to be close to him.

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt Viktor's wet tongue lick the pads of your fingers, causing you to immediately remove your hand from his mouth and take a step back. You watched in amazement as he moistened his lips with his tongue.

"What is going on?" he asked, his accent categorical as he frowned.

You watched the end of the street, breathing heavily as you turned to face him in panic, the feeling of his saliva still inking your fingers as, for a reason that escaped you, you couldn't get yourself to wipe off.

You moved towards him again, trying to breathe more slowly as you kept your voice low. "They're going to hear us if you don't keep quiet."

"Good," his eyes crinkled for a moment, "what's been going on lately?"

You sighed, your tongue forming a tent against your cheek as you looked away from him, lowering your head to the ground. You couldn't get your mind off the Vome men following you, if that was really the case, and still couldn't let your guard down and your nerves.

Perhaps they had passed by in the meantime, perhaps they had turned back, or changed the street, and were therefore allowing you to relax.

You set your eyes on him again, parting your lips to say-

"Hey, you."

You clenched your jaw as you closed your eyes, hoping the moment would dissipate, that the call had come from somewhere else to someone else in a nearby alley.

You waited a few seconds, reopening your eyelids to see Viktor, whose head was turned towards the street opening. With a sigh, you followed his gaze to find the three men standing not far from you.

"Yeah, you," resumed the same voice, belonging to the one in the middle who was a pale young man, shaved head with a nasty burn eating half his face, the other half covered in tattoos. "What did you have to say to Renata?"

You breathed in, feeling Viktor's gaze return to you. You hoped at the time that he wouldn't get the wrong idea.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you replied, hoping they'd fall for getting the wrong person.

"Don't try to fool me," sneered the latter, advancing towards you with slow steps, the others following him.

One was stockier and taller, with a blond bowl cut that didn't help his ungainly, pimply physique. He seemed profoundly stupid, his only asset being brute strength. If you were going to get the better of him, you'd have to make sure he didn't catch you.

The other was skinny and smaller, his dark skin looking dull and desaturated as his lime-green locks fell over black eyes whose white had turned yellow. He seemed faster, quicker and ready to throw a lot of punches.

These two no doubt complemented each other in their fighting style, and you'd have to find a way of balancing them out if you had to come to blows.

"We saw you outside the other girl's shop with her cards," continued what appeared to be their mini-boss.

You turned slightly towards Viktor, keeping your eyes on the trio as you placed your satchel to the ground. "What's your tolerance for risk?" you asked him.

You didn't see his reaction, simply heard his reply. "‘Risk' is a four letter word."

Your shoulders slumped in dismay. "Phenomenal."

"The best defence is flight," he remarked, "at worst, I die."

"Let's not get to good news like that too quickly," you muttered nervously, sarcasm taking its place again as your legs shifted slightly to one side, preparing yourself for an attack.

"Just tell me what she said, and I'll leave you and your boyfriend with less bruising than you expected."

The appellation boyfriend that he had attributed to Viktor only served to raise your hands in the air, one at your waist and the other rising to your chest. If only these two swords of uncertainty had given you their weapons, you'd know what choice to make to get out of this situation.

"Miss, what is happening?" questioned Viktor.

Your eyes fell on the other two, who continued to advance on either side, trying to surround you. "Just stay back."

"You could have made this easier for yourself by just telling us," sighed the man, "but at least I'll have some entertainment today."

The air remained static for a moment, the two young men standing motionless. Who would strike first? Who would engage in this fight? You tightened your fists so as not to damage them any more than necessary.

And in a breath of clenched teeth mixed with disinterest, their boss confirmed.

"Get her."

It was the dreadlocked who stepped forward first, moving so quickly that you recoiled in astonishment, managing at the last moment to dodge a blow towards the rib he was trying to send.

You glanced at the mass of the second behind him who was advancing, breathing heavily like a bull seeing red.

"Get her Stex!" shouted the latter.

Your attention then returned to your opponent, this Stex with eyes betraying advanced alcoholism in a body that shouldn't know such pain so early on in life. He was about your age, if not older, and his sparring partner didn't look far off either.

A horrible idea came to you. But you tried to push it away.

This slight distraction cost you a heavy blow to the jaw, quickly bringing you back to reality as your legs made work on keeping your standing while blood mixed with your saliva.

He was quick, efficient, moving as if his body had no mass and he was made solely of springs. When you tried to send him a left hook, he easily eluded it before expelling the air out of your lungs in two strong, fast punches.

Stex sent another swift blow towards your head which you dodged, taking advantage of the fact that his arm was still close to you to find an opening under it at the rib, delivering a swift blow which made him bend over and grunt. His head snapped up at you, nose wrinkled and ready to bare his teeth as he pushed you back towards the wall.

Your back hit the stone of it, your breath caught and you didn't even have time to lean forward to get your head between your knees as Stex pressed his forearm against your throat and found himself a few centimetres away from you.

His furious, bulging eyes were fixed on yours.

"Last chance to speak," he barked.

And as you gasped for air, your eyes drifted to the shoulder of the arm that was strangling you, roving over its skin and finding a detail you recognised. Hidden beneath the ink of his enormous tattoo was the tender skin of a distinctive burn. Your eyes returned to his, and you found yourself filled with hopes and fears.

‘’You were one of them?" you managed to croak.

His eyes widened, the pressure lessening enough for his grip to weaken on you.

Now.

Your knee shot up and slammed into his liver, Stex grunting in pain and folding in half as you kneed him in the face before sending your fist against his jaw. He fell to the ground and you came to grab his face with both hands, his bottom lip hanging down lazily as one of his eyes was starting to swell shut and you landed a hard headbutt.

He fell to the ground, stunned. He must have been a formidable foe, relying solely on his speed and power of execution, except that once he was caught, it was all over. But the fight in itself wasn't yet.

Your attention returned to the big guy. You'd eliminated one of them, but the other one was still hanging around, and he seemed to be quite upset that you'd dealt with his friend so quickly.

He was charging towards you, and you tried to dodge him, to move to the side in the hope of tiring him out over time with rapid movements, but he grabbed you around the waist and threw you against some shabby old boxes, their wood cracking under the impact of your body hitting the ground and exploding in a cloud of rotting dust.

You ached like hell, gritting your teeth as you felt that the bruises that would form on your body would not make it any easier to sit in class. You opened your eyes again, the big guy had both of his fists raised in the air ready to flatten you.

You rolled onto your side, the impact not hitting you as your eyes landed on a metal bar. Every street in Zaun had its own waste, and for luck here you must not have been far from a pipe factory.

You caught it, coming back to your feet with some difficulty as you turned to face him. He tried to catch you again, but with a well-tuned leap to the side, you evaded him and managed to hit his thigh.

He let out a cry of pain, turning to you like a disgruntled child. You swung the self-made weapon back to prepare to strike again, but as you brought it down he caught it, a displeased pout on his face as he bent the metal of your weapon in one simple motion of his fist.

He laughed contentedly at your exorbitant eyes, your gaze shifting from him, to the bar twisted like a boomerang, to him again, and you gave him a big smile.

He seemed surprised by the gesture, and you took the opportunity to spit in his eye. He stepped back in disgust and started to whinge. Without missing a beat, you hit him in the face with your now twisted bar, making him turn on his side, joining his two hands full of fingers as big as sausages on his nose, which you had apparently just broken from the repeating ‘my nose! My nose!’ that he blurted, and thus allowing you to hit him in the back of the head.

He fell to the ground, knocked unconscious.

Out of breath, clutching the metal in your hand until your knuckles turned white, you inhaled sharply.

Viktor.

The name resonated in your mind like an uncontrollable echo.

You turned suddenly towards the wall he'd been against before, but nobody was there.

"Fun little show you gave."

You turned around, it was the voice of the man who had started the fight. You swallowed and your heart nearly stopped as your eyes fell on Viktor, his neck caught in the man's forearm as he kept him in a headlock.

He was holding him there, almost suffocating him. Nostrils flaring with anger, you advanced towards him.

"Ah-ah-ah," he crooned, stopping you in your tracks.

Then you saw it, like a shard of the sun in his hand - the blade of his knife drawn, pointing at Viktor's side.

Your heart sank instantly, your eyes returning to Viktor's as he watched you. Surprisingly, he didn't seem to be under any stress. Maybe he hadn't seen the blade, you thought.

"Now," said the shaven-headed man, "tell me what you said-"

But he never finished his sentence, because in an instant, Viktor had planted his cane in his feet and the next second, with a speed that escaped you, had struck it on the nose of this kidnapper.

The impact sent him reeling backwards, leaving Viktor to extricate himself from his embrace and turn towards him to grip the wood of his cane with both hands, rest his balance on his good leg and send a blow with the pommel into the man's temple like a baseball bat meeting a ball.

He fell with the shock, and Viktor hopped a couple of steps before bringing his cane back onto the ground and repositioning himself neatly.

He turned to you, and for a moment, relief settled in your chest. He's safe and sound. He's all right. Everything's alright.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

And that nickname, which almost made your head spin, took your breath away for a moment, and reminded you of your situation. Without further ado, you gripped your bag from the ground and grabbed his wrist again to pull him out of the street. You had to get out of here while the three of them were knocked out.

You walked fast, almost running, getting as far away from this scene of stress and adrenaline as you could while you still had the strength. You had to get back to Eris' shop at all costs, you had to find shelter, you had to make sure everything was going to be alright.

"Miss, please, slow down."

Viktor's voice was breathless as his hand pulled from your embrace to grab yours, stopping you in your tracks as your steps had become automatic.

You turned towards him, panting heavily, your gaze falling on your clasped hands, and in an instant you already felt reassured.

You took a heavy breath, keeping it locked between your ribs before very slowly letting it go, the relief of being out of that terrible scene helping your arms and legs to relax.

The feel of Viktor's hand was warm, welcoming despite its callus, and anchored you in the moment more than any breathing exercise.

It was also an anxiety that these feelings brought to you – how could he bring you so much hope, so much comfort, so much warmth?

"I know we said we'd race," he exhaled out of breath, your eyes moving from your hands to his own, "but without a warm-up I can't keep up with you.’’

And he was still able to joke at a time like this, to turn the state of his leg, which you'd probably just pushed to the limit with your stress, into a simple joke.

You realised even more how thoughtless you'd been, how you'd neglected his aches and pains during those seconds of racing out of fear.

You looked behind him, then around to see where you were. Just a street away from Eris' shop.

You felt his thumb caress the top of your palm, bringing your attention back to him.

"Miss," he began, and you prayed that his thumb being so close to your wrist wouldn't notice the heartbeat that had made your pulse race, "what is going on?"

The question was so vast, so heavy, so dangerous for him to know. Dangerous not only because sending him this information might add a name to the list of people aware of the affair, but above all dangerous because you dreaded the reaction he would have towards you.

Would he be disgusted?

The question weighed heavily in your stomach, and you tried to soften the blow by swallowing.

"I," you began, then feeling the burn of your lip.

Split.

"I cannot tell you everything yet," you breathed out, "all I can tell you is that..."

You looked around again, as if talking about this fact and opening up about it was going to be the trigger for a second attack.

"Some ill-intentioned people are looking to eradicate evidence, evidence-" you inhaled as you regained his face, "that might bring their business to an end."

He frowned, obviously intrigued by how little information you were giving him.

"Are you..." he began, the grip of his hand on yours already softer, "in trouble?"

Your eyes were locked in his, where curiosity mixed with a pinch of concern and one last ingredient you couldn't quite decipher - and it was making you feel warm.

"Constantly," you confessed.

His eyes never left yours, the feel of his skin against yours reassuring you, cradling your heart, spreading a balm of warm orange light on it.

Sadly, the realisation that you might not be back in time to discuss things with Renata clenched your gut, and you tensed up.

Your eyes fell on your bound hands, you didn't feel like separating them, but you had to before the urge persisted and consumed you. You withdrew your fingers, not without disappointment, which Viktor surprisingly seemed to share just as much.

"I have to get to Eris' shop," you explained, your fearful eyes again checking every street corner and passing silhouette.

"Our day seems to have that in common," he admitted.

Your eyebrows furrowed. "Really? Why?"

"I won't give you an answer to that when my previous questions have been left hanging," he replied, shrugging both shoulders and eyebrows before frowning again.

There was no need to ask about the nature of his questions. Viktor was intelligent, observant, and in your case he had obviously picked up on this detached behaviour.

But how to tell him? How could you tell him that everything in you was filled with him to the brim, like the wallpaper covering every wall of your house that you could only escape by leaving?

You couldn't, not yet, at least not when you were aching all over after such a sudden scene.

"Let's just... head back there," you regained his eyes, not without difficulty or guilt, "please."

He sighed heavily, seeming to chew the inside of his cheek before nodding. Your lips didn't even have the strength to offer him a smile as you both began to walk in silence towards Eris' shop.

Your back was aching, and you could feel the stabbing pain in your jaw, but you didn't let it show. Despite the pain, you were distracted elsewhere.

How much longer would Viktor put up with your inability to open up? When would he find nothing but tiredness and disappointment in this interminable waiting that was failing to bear fruit? When would he give up his persistence, his seeking?

When would he give up on you?

You glanced at him discreetly from the side, wondering what he was thinking, whether he had already begun the process of abandoning you.

But these troubles were put aside when, on reaching Eris' shop, she opened the door and Renata and your friend came out. You noticed the confusion in the Tarot reader's eyes at your absence on her high stool, and then met her gaze which, in an instant, darkened with concern. Renata followed her glance, frowning.

When you reached them, they joined you, cutting the short space between you, Renata's two guards keeping their distance but remaining attentive.

"What happened?" Eris asked, approaching you, her hands floating up to your face to check the damage.

By reflex, your eyes sought out the place where the group from which these three lunatics had extracted themselves to come to you had previously been located - vacant. There was no-one there, no sign of a group like that in the street, no Vome in sight. Your shoulders dropped at the news, redirecting your gaze to Renata, who seemed just as curious.

"A group of three, they seemed to be under the orders of..." your sentence faded a little, turning your head towards Viktor before regaining Renata's gaze, "someone implicated in the case."

Renata's piercing eyes landed on Viktor, and you repressed the reflex to stand in front of him. He had no business here, in a dark case that would bring him nothing but trouble.

"What were they after?" questioned Eris, moving away from you after observing the damage they'd left behind.

"Me, or, well," you crossed your arms over your chest, "the information I had." You turned your head towards Renata. "They saw us talk, and thought they could extricate something off me."

"And," Renata turned her head slightly to one side, watching you like an eagle, "did you lend them this information?"

Viktor lowered his head, chuckled softly to the side, all three of your stares falling on him.

"Did I say anything funny?" questioned Renata, her calm, serious tone almost sending a chill down your spine if it weren't for the fact that it was burning with pain.

Viktor raised his head, his amber eyes falling into Renata's magenta ones.

"I think you could not have chosen a better person if you intend to keep things secret."

He turned to you, his words a mixture of your usual playful condescension and respectful truth.

"The three of them are knocked out in a street nearby," you continued, turning back to the Chem-Baroness.

"A bit more than knocked out..." commented Viktor, chin pointing to his chest as his eyes seemed to observe the ground.

Renata's eyes went from yours to Viktor's. She was probably wondering who he was, and whether he could be trusted to be here or not.

"I see," she remarked, not sounding angry, but simply annoyed by the news. "Mademoiselle," she addressed you, "in case a simple interaction with me could put you in danger on these streets, I think it would be a good idea to postpone our discussion to another day. What's more," her eyes flicked to Viktor for a moment before settling back on you and observing your condition, "I think you need to get some rest after all this. I want you to have a clear mind for this conversation."

You nodded, surprised at her professionalism and magnanimity. You shouldn't have been, a woman of her standing could well have ordered you to confess everything on the spot if she so wished, but she hadn't done so.

"Agreed," you accepted.

"Good," she confirmed, turning to Eris, then back to you, then to Viktor. "Given the circumstances, I feel obliged to ensure your safety. Outcoln?"

One of her two guards stepped forward, a stocky, athletic man who must have been in his forties. He was easily a head or two taller than you, his broad shoulders seeming to give no respite to the compressed fabric of his shirt. Outcoln, or so was apparently his name, stood in front of you.

"He will ensure that your return is without further problems," Renata indicated. "And for you, Mademoiselle," she continued, turning to Eris, "I'll make sure you have a bodyguard to keep you safe. If there are going to be any more confrontations of this kind, I think it would be a good idea to take a few safety precautions. Needless to say, it's impossible to haggle over this."

You exchanged a glance with Viktor, already dreading a silent return covered by the tension of an unknown third party spying on you. Eris didn't seem any more delighted than you were, but as Renata had just said, bargaining wasn't an option.

"Well, I am very sorry that this presentation had to be made in such a disastrous manner, but I am expected," Renata greeted, turning to you. "I'll send you a letter with information about the date and place of the appointment."

You found nothing to reply but nodded, and with that, accompanied by her second guard, she left.

Outcoln moved slightly away from you, keeping you in sight but letting you talk in private.

"Seriously," Eris was the one to cut the silence, "bodyguards?" She giggled. "That'll ruin my clientele."

"Not necessarily," Viktor remarked, "I was just coming in to do a little purchase."

You turned towards him, his eyes meeting yours. Eris raised her eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Mhm," he confirmed, nodding, "could we...?" his eyes drifted towards the shop door.

"I don't turn away customers that are my friend's friend," she smiled, moving towards the entrance of the shop, turning to you for a moment, "especially not those of my bruised friends who I'm going to give a few things to."

You rolled your eyes, letting Viktor enter before you, glancing at Outcoln who seemed deeply unperturbed.

The interior of Eris' shop welcomed you like a shawl wrapped around your shoulders after a day out in the cold. You would have liked to grab one of the velvet consultation armchairs, pulling it slightly towards you before sitting down, but instead you headed for the back of the shop you knew so well.

"I'll be back there," you signalled, placing your bag on the floor before disappearing from the room, leaving Viktor and Eris free to discuss what he had come here for.

The back of the shop was reached after passing through a curtain of wooden pearls leading to a room with a ceiling whose colour you could no longer see as hundreds of bouquets of dried plants hung from it. On your right, a whole wall of small drawers rose up until they disappeared among bundles of laurel, thyme and pope's coin.

On each drawer was a label indicating its contents, and in your youth you used to enjoy reading them all and opening them to contemplate these special treasures. You remembered each individual one.

Like the drawers at the very top, almost touching the ceiling, which you had to climb up the little ladder to get to that contained bath salts and volatile salts, grains of anis, cinnamon bark and zapota seeds, dried fruits, bunches of little red berries that you crushed between your fingers and rubbed on your clothes to make them smell good as you said affirmations.

On the lower levels were floral and medicinal oils, decoctions, teas in powder and leaf form, sachets of Ionian pepper, multicoloured scented tablets and ribbons, candles, metalised scented sealing waxes, violet oil ink for lovers' letters, varnished rosewood quill holders, exotic feathers as turquoise as the sea flecked with scarlet and gold freckles that curled like strands of hair, small ebony boxes and chests to hold jewellery, elongated wooden incense holders with hand-painted embellishments and more complex enamel pottery as variegated and crackled as a desert.

In the drawers at waist and hip level were the balms and pommades, the bandolines, the brilliantines, the ointments, the creamy soaps made from cut flowers that children in Ixtal were said to soap their bellies with. You knew, without a doubt, that when Eris came here in a moment, she'd be looking for a pot full of animal fat or resin mixed with comfrey and other medicinal herbs that she knew so well.

On the other wall you turned towards, surrounded by a few cupboards, was Eris' work surface where unfinished products lay. She had placed her sewing pad stuffed with nutmeg flowers on her desk, tying a plum ribbon around a small sachet of lavender and embroidering a sigil with a fine gold thread.

In large glass jars to the side of her lamp, with its shade made of tinted glass joined together to form butterflies and flowers, were pots-pourris and bowls for putting flower petals.

You moved towards the latter, taking your place on the stool with a grunt, clearing any utensils from the cushion before letting your arms hang between your legs as you gently placed the side of your jaw that hadn't been bruised on the pillow.

The little click and slide of the seeds under your skin was pleasant as the weight of your head sank slightly, relaxing the tense muscles in your neck and shoulders.

You breathed out gently, thinking back over the whole scene that had just happened, closing your eyelids. When would you rest?

It had been years since everything had ended, well, supposedly ended, and yet here you were, facing these ghosts of the past. You thought back to Stex, to his yellow eyes, to the soft skin beneath his scarred tattoo.

You tried not to get carried away, to rationalise. Everyone here had scars, that was nothing new. You had yours, Eris had hers, Viktor probably had some. It was nothing unusual, although it should have been, but you stopped asking yourself those questions a long time ago.

You thought back to the contact of your fists against his dry skin, the muffled grunts from the blows, your fingers clenched against your palm...

Viktor's saliva on the inside of your fingers.

You turned your face to plunge it into the cushion to find the coolness of the jagged, thick crimson arils, hoping that the mace would ease the heat in your cheeks.

Why did he keep making it harder for you not to fall for him?

How could he make such tiny gestures that naturally wouldn't matter and turn them into an emotional loop for you?

The pearls at the entrance clinked in their usual hollow wooden tinkle, and you didn't need to look up to see who had just entered.

"So," began Eris, "rough day for you isn't it."

You let out a long sigh from your lungs, turning your head to the side to face her.

"What can I say," you growled, "they just can't get enough of me."

"I wonder what it is," she smiled "changed your perfume? Put something in your hair?"

"Slept less than five hours last night, my only meal was a coffee and I don't think I even took care of my hair before going out."

"Irresistible routine," huffed Eris, "you sold it to me so well I might just start using it if it gets me into so many new exciting situations."

You smiled, and your lip reopened in burning discomfort, making the skin on your nose wrinkle.

"Where are you hurt?" she questioned.

You readjusted the position of your head on the cushion. "Apart from a few punches in the jaw, the belly and my entire spine clicking back together thanks to the sweet kiss of a wall, I have a bit of a headache."

You could already see her opening the balm-filled drawers with a sigh, taking one of them between her fingers, closing that drawer with a flick of her hip as her free hand reached for one in front of her head and she stood on tiptoe as she flipped through tea bags like files.

During this frantic search, you replayed the scene in your head as the adrenaline drained from your system, giving way to pain.

You breathed in. "One of them had..." you hesitated in your words, staring into space, "I don't know if what I saw is true, but one of them wore his mark."

Eris turned to you, her searching movements slowing drastically as she paid attention to you.

"You think the guys that attacked you were...?"

"Might have been," you agreed, "I didn't think that was possible, I thought..."

But you didn't know, to tell the truth. You sometimes thought back to that fateful night, to those events so fully etched in the memory of your skin that every glance in the mirror brought you back to the same situation where you came across that black beast in the reflection and could only lower your eyes to face it.

"I don't know," you admitted, the events had not yet decanted sufficiently for you to be able to draw a satisfactory conclusion.

Eris said nothing, simply nodding as she continued her little research.

"How was the reading with Renata?" you asked all the same.

She giggled, as if impressed. "I feel like I've had the epitome of success in my living room."

"Really?"

"First card she draws," she began as she retrieved from her hand a few packets from which she checked the ingredients, "the 4 of pentacles, in other words, a little too firm a grip on her finances."

"This isn't starting so well," you commented.

"That was her card from the past," she remarked, pointing to the ceiling with a tea bag pinched between her fingers like a small card. "Then, she drew the seven of pentacles, which is the reward for patience and progress. And after that, the nine of pentacles, the true financial independence that allows you to afford whatever you want."

She closed her drawer, where she seemed to have found everything she needed, before turning to a cupboard not far from you and opening it.

"As luck would have it, the shadow card turns out to be the Page of Swords, it's full of new ideas and curiosity, so it's about keeping an open mind if you like."

You huffed. "If she could spare me that chance it wouldn't be refused."

"Don't worry, the tide will turn," she commented as she pulled out a craft bag into which she placed all these little things together. "Everything changes eventually, nothing stays static forever."

Your two hands touched, still hanging in the void, your fingers tracing where you'd felt his tongue.

"And Viktor?" you couldn't help asking.

She gave you a knowing look. "Intrigued, eh?"

"Please don't start. I've had a bad enough day already," you grumbled as you closed your eyelids for a moment, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the fact that you'd have to get up from that chair and walk all the way home.

She giggled. "He came," she began, opening a cupboard above your head and grabbing a deck of cards identical to yours, "for this."

You frowned, your headache not improved by the gesture as your eyes moved from the illustration on the tarot box to Eris.

"For a Tarot deck?"

"Mhm," she confirmed, "believe it or not, he's clearly interested. I showed him various models but he absolutely wanted this one. He even asked for a more comprehensive book on Tarot reading."

"Really?" you questioned, deeply surprised.

"Absolutely," she smiled before closing the cupboard door and crossing her arms as she pressed her hip to the desk counter, "I have my theory as to why but unfortunately I don't think your disillusionment is ready for it."

"Nor my tired body," you breathed heavily, painfully lifting your head from the cushion to take a step towards the immense challenge that was simply standing up. "I have to go, otherwise I might fall asleep right here."

"You? Sleep?" she giggled. "And I thought your superhuman abilities went beyond your physical body."

"I know," you replied in the same tone as you pressed your palms against her work surface and pushed on them with two trembling arms to get up. "So it would seem that miracles have their limits."

You managed to get to your feet, legs wobbling. The adrenalin had finally given way to tiredness, and you followed Eris out of the back of the shop with an undecided step. She passed you the bag she'd filled with lots of little treatments, and you didn't need to ask how to use them, out of habit from years ago.

Near the counter, Viktor seemed to be observing the shelves and his surroundings. Eris returned to the checkout as you came to stand by the entrance. She announced the price, but Viktor made no comment as he took out his wallet and handed what was due to her. He didn't even wait for her to give him the change and tell her to keep it, simply took the bag, wishing her a good day and joining you at the exit.

"I'll write to you," you said to your friend before leaving, Viktor following close behind.

Outside, you found Outcoln, who hadn't moved a particle of dust. You exchanged a look with Viktor.

‘’Did you have nothing else to do here?" you checked with him.

"No, you?"

You shook your head. "No."

Great. Now the situation seemed awkward.

He simply nodded, staring off into the distance before him. "Would you... like to go home together?"

You almost laughed, and he turned his frown-covered gaze back to you. "If you think I'm going to let you walk home alone after what happened, you're wrong."

The ghost of a smile passed over his lips before he started walking, and you exhaled a heavy breath with difficulty. You were afraid of making a false step, of saying something stupid, of making the situation worse.

You reached his level, walking at his pace until you passed Outcoln and he began to follow you at a sufficient distance for you to be able to hold a conversation without being overheard if, by chance, you started one despite what you thought was a climate of tension and uncertainty.

But Viktor's curiosity won out over the silence. “When I came to the café today, you weren't there,” he turned his head towards you as you walked to what appeared to be the cable car station. "Why did you come here today?"

"Regular Tarot reading with Eris," you replied, looking straight ahead.

He did the same. "Those happen often?"

"Every now and then, when there's time."

"What did it say?"

You earned his gaze as you turned towards him. "Curious?"

"Why would I be asking otherwise."

He had a point. "Personal things."

"Troubling things?"

"Sort of," you sighed.

"Huh," he frowned, his gaze taking in the arrival of the cable car in the distance, descending through the cable linking it to the surface. "You also came to see Renata, didn't you?"

You lowered your head. "Yes."

He glanced back, watching Outcoln, still as inflexible as ever. "I see."

You finally reached the cable car stop, which was deserted at the time and was not carrying anyone in its gondola. Silence returned as you waited for the vehicle to arrive, and its weight pressed down on your shoulders more than you would have preferred.

What was he thinking? He was from Zaun after all and was undoubtedly aware of Glasc's personality, so did he disapprove of you making contact with her? Cogitations can only take you so far, and sometimes you have to act.

So you plucked up your courage, turned to him and stared off into space.

"Does that make you see me otherwise?" you asked.

You felt his eyes on you, and your chest tightened in anticipation. He stayed like that for a while, until the cable car pulled up and its doors opened. Then he turned towards the entrance, and your eyes finally found the strength to rest on him.

"It just adds more to how surprising you are," he conceded before stepping inside. Your shoulders slumped as you climbed in after him.

He moved towards the back of the chamber, taking a seat by the window. "You're not going to desert me from such surprise, right?"

He sat down and watched you, standing hesitantly in front of him. He tilted his head to one side, and the afternoon sun beat down on his cheek.

"Even if you asked me to leave your life yourself," he began without taking his eyes off you, "I think the only thing that would make me desert you would be death."

Your heart skipped a beat, your lips parted in surprise. You hadn't expected such determination, such loyal determination from anyone about you. You didn't know to what you owed this unshakeable conviction and, dazed, since you knew that Viktor didn't bother to lie, you couldn't think of anything to say in reply.

You simply sat down next to him as Outcoln entered the pod and sat down on the exact opposite side from you. You were remarkably surprised by the persistent respect for privacy and private discussion that Renata's men had shown so far, but you had no doubt that secrecy in this kind of business was the key to any good business.

It didn't take long for the cable car to set off, automatically closing its doors before taking off without much ado. You hadn't taken it for a while, avoiding the less popular corners of the city in preference for the hidden lifts, but you had to admit it was a pleasant experience.

Viktor was looking out, and you were looking at Viktor. The sun bathed his face, his amber eyes under his thick eyebrows fixed on a point on the horizon, the angle of his jaw cutting a straight shadow across his clothes in which you were so unaccustomed to seeing him in. Every beauty spot you'd memorised from the night of the return from Demacia hadn't moved from your memory, even the one on the muscle connecting the back of his jaw to the hollow of his collarbone.

You shifted your gaze, afraid that its unconscious insistence would reveal more than was necessary about the flood of thoughts that was invading you. You bit the inside of your lip, inhaling softly.

"All I can tell you is that-" Viktor immediately abandoned his contemplation to meet your gaze, and you almost lost your breath to see those two suns resting on your eyes, attentive to what you had to say. "We are investigating something that some would rather keep secret."

He seemed intrigued, but didn't seem to be rushing you into your explanation, remaining patient with what you decided to pass on as information or not. You looked away.

"It's part of the reason why I am the way I am, and it might bring some much bigger dangers than what happened back in the street. And," you inhaled heavily, "I don't want to put you in danger because..."

You felt your heart in your throat, turning towards him for a moment, not holding his gaze that seemed impossible to escape, like some wind was reaching into all the places your clothes couldn't protect every time he looked at you.

"...Because I care for you, and," your eyes fell on Outcoln in the distance, "you don't deserve to be in any of this."

There was silence again, and you could feel Viktor's gaze on you. You were going to have to face him one of these days, weren't you? To be able to look him in the eye without fearing that his stare would be filled with bitterness towards you?

You straightened up, grunting under the pain of your back, before looking up again. In his eyes, you found gentleness mixed with surprise. You weren't in the habit of proclaiming aloud, even if it wasn't so loud at the time, that you cared about someone, and if your eyes didn't betray you, it was also pride that was in Viktor's eyes.

He simply nodded, like a silent thank you for having warned him about this, and you felt reassured.

"I suppose there is no way for me to help you out with this, right?" he asked.

"For now, no. Later..." you thought for a moment about the expertise Viktor could provide. "Maybe. But I don't want to drag you into all of this. It's ugly and terrifying and I don't want to push this onto you-"

"But would it help you?" he cut in.

"What?" you replied, dumbfounded.

"If, somehow, you tell me about it all someday-"

"Not somehow, when I tell you this," you cut in.

This answer made him frown as a smile stretched the corner of his lip. Yes, definitely pride.

"Alright, when you tell me this," he corrected as you nodded in agreement, "and I provide my help, do you genuinely think it would be useful?"

"What do you mean by 'provide' your help?"

He raised an eyebrow, clutching his cane in his hand and raising it a little in the air until the handle was level with his face.

‘Think my cane can't handle more broken toes and noses to its name?" he asked.

You look falsely offended. "I would never insult it that way."

His grin intensified, contagious on your own lips, his eyes settling on the cut they were bearing for a moment before lowering his cane and looking straight ahead.

"You do seem to forget that my previous position was that of the assistant of a councillor," he remarked, turning back to you, "and that my big hearted friend is not only romantically entangled with a councillor but childhood friends with the daughter of another."

"Just make sure your big hearted friend doesn't hear about what you saw me doing today," you nodded. "I can't imagine the freak out he could get."

"Right," he agreed, "what will you tell him tomorrow when you come and that he remarks the state of your lip?"

You shrugged. "Tell him I saw Eris and that her cat got a bit too excited about playing with me."

"Eris has a cat?"

"A little black menace with knives at the end of his paws more than a cat if you ask me, Onyx' the name."

"Like the stone?"

"Yes, something about the virtue of said stone that's all about bringing strength and support in hard times or something like that."

"Is his name fitting to his temper?"

"I don't think a worst decision has ever been made in the history of bad decisions."

Viktor chuckled, and you followed him.

"You got any pets?" you asked.

"Got one at home."

"Really?" you remarked, surprised.

"Yes, a puppy, a lovesick one at that. His name is spelled I-D-I-O-T but it's pronounced Jayce, something to do with language standards that I don't quite get."

You couldn't help but giggle. "It's a brilliant name, very original."

"Thank you," he nodded as if someone was finally acknowledging a debating point he'd been trying to make for ages, "I'm very proud of it, it has such a powerful meaning."

It was when the cable car began to slow down that you realised you had reached your destination. The doors opened and you got up to leave, followed by Viktor. When you both arrived outside, Outcoln called to you from inside the transport. He told you that you were in safe territory and that you no longer needed his services here. You thanked him and started walking with Viktor.

You stopped a moment later to remove the accessories from your outfits that were no longer needed to better fit the Piltovian fashion. As you took off your jacket, Viktor took off his red waist coat, removing the belts that hung over his hips, leaving him wearing just his cream t-shirt with the long sleeves rolled up.

You changed your shoes, stuffing everything into your bag again. The air was warm enough that, like Viktor, you didn't need to cover up any more than that.

And so you resumed your journey towards the city.

"I take it you won't be working tomorrow as well with your wounds?" he asked.

"I don't think I will," you sighed, already thinking about the fact that you'd have to make a detour before going back to warn them.

"Then," Viktor continued, "what do you say about coming to the apartment?"

You turned towards him, pausing for a moment in your walk, leading Viktor to turn towards you.

"You're finally inviting me there?"

He shrugged. "We finished unpacking most of our boxes," he said as you returned to his level and started walking again, "and we can finally walk without much difficulty. Didn't think the floor was actually duo coloured like that for a while." He raised his eyebrows, as if he'd come a long way. "So, yes, I think it is time for you to come to see it. Plus," he turned to you as you turned a corner, "if you're not working at the café tomorrow and I have to endure anyone else taking my order, I might just do the most dangerous thing."

"Which would be?"

"Making tea."

You couldn't help but smile, and you realised how much you'd missed this. Those incessant jokes, your shared understanding, that ability he had to effortlessly play the same games as you and always push your sarcasm further.

And you'd deprived yourself of that, robbed yourself of such simple happiness.

"Would tea be worse than Jayce's coffee, though?" you asked.

Viktor seemed sincerely to be weighing up the pros and cons of this question, and in his contemplation on the subject, as unserious as he was but as serious as he made it out to be, he was beautiful.

"No, not worse," he finally concluded.

"That bad?" you giggled in surprise.

"You've never been miserable enough or coerced into drinking it, you wouldn't know."

"And you were?"

"Miserable, yes, coerced? I'd have drawn out what few tea bags we have at the flat by now for a slower poisoning."

"You hate tea that much?"

"I don't hate it," he admitted, "but tea doesn't keep me awake, not for work, and I don't have time to have time, not always at least."

You walked slowly, not only because you did not wish to overwork him with his leg which you had so suddenly abused during the afternoon, but because you savoured the moment.

"Some things I want to take my time with, others I'm indifferent to," he confessed.

"I'll make sure your time is well spent tomorrow by making your coffee then," you suggested.

"Finally, a moment when I can take the time to enjoy something," he smiled.

Far too soon for your liking, you arrived not far from a street adjacent to your café, and you had to cut the conversation short.

"This is where we go our separate ways today," you sighed, arriving at a crossroads.

Viktor looked around, calmer than usual that afternoon, before finding your eyes again.

"I only realise it now, but it seems that for the third time, you've come to my defence, Miss."

"It's not my fault you always end up getting into trouble," you remarked.

"What can I do," he sighed, "I always find my saviour this way."

Your heart warmed in your chest as the prospect of him looking forward to seeing you took hold. It was so strange, so new to see such a feeling shared. The idea of him willingly putting himself in danger to see you, however, was less pleasant.

He looked at you for a moment, a light breeze passing through the branches of the trees under which you were standing, spring having already brought back the flower buds of the fruit trees ready to blossom, letting themselves be lulled for the moment by the waltz of the wind and the leaves.

"For tomorrow, prepare your time," he advised, a gentleness in his eyes. "It's important."

"Alright," you nodded, feeling almost unable to tear yourself away from the moment.

He nodded. "Come around about ten, Jayce will probably be awake if I'm not already," he frowned for a moment, "you know the flat number, don't you?"

You nodded, and his brows relaxed.

"Good, then," He took a step to the side. "I'll see you tomorrow, Miss."

"See you tomorrow, Viktor," you greeted back.

He began to walk slowly home. It was a nice day, the sun was warm, he was going to take the time to take his time.

You turned into the street and found yourself pensive, almost forgetting the pain in your back. Part of you wanted to continue this discussion, but another part was worried about how it might have turned out if it had gone on a bit longer.

If he hadn't asked more questions about why you had avoided him so much, it was because he probably thought that this investigation had started as soon as you got back and that your distance was due to the fact that you didn't want to involve him.

You only partly liked this idea, because you didn't want to stick to this lie, but on the other hand, you didn't know if you had the courage to admit anything to him about your feelings for now - you had, after all, still to make a choice about what you were going to do with your feelings.

You had always known that your soul was so hermetically sealed that it seemed almost forbidden to obtain the love you never had, so much so that the prodromes of this incurable obsession had seemed abnormal to you at first.

You had encapsulated so much in your life before throwing it away so you wouldn't have to live with it that you had this fresh, free place for beautiful things that you could supply and fill.

So, perhaps, why not start your life now?

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

✦﹒ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @dlbitch @cloufire @csolya @kathyholdsagrudge @furblrwurblr @potatointhedirt @atrocioushaircut @ren-ni @schrodingersraven @urmommt @enoojnij @stilinskisensation @emlovesya @soupsaurus @luvreadingfics @the-valars-sapphire @solbringer @adorabluesposts @pxszels @nerolovesseongjiyuk @cyberwears @cryptidcut @seohaepeachyun @danielsbackupglasses @2hiigh2cry @16novvs @cicadastoner @patchs-curiosity-corneriosity-corner @w41k3r-94290 @minniiv @roku907 @lumilarity @peachy-writings @disturbyn @ddandelionfluff @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @notyuralycat @glenn-slayer @k07ume @hexb0nes @ravngers @fushirika @glenn-slayer @watergirl13girl @graveyardtrain @theuclid @catspook @mildly-discouraging-future @nataliea @frogbuggy

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