#you make others miserable to be around you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jazziejax · 23 hours ago

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𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Dev-Em x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which the sudden crash into the backyard of a southern belle’s Louisiana bayous home leads to the unexpected meeting of an outer space alien and regular baker

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Fluff, chile, idk superpowers maybe?

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I think this might be my favorite story so far. I love superhero’s and lovey-dovey fluff and this is all that plus a fine ass man so…UNEDITED!!! Sorry for any spelling errors. I’m also working on my other works so you’ll be getting an update soon! Also, tagging never works for me so if the tag list is janky, I’m so sorry. Let me know if you want to be apart of it and what you guys think, LOVE YOU!!!<3

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 7,109+

Tonight was quiet, oddly enough. The air was still, with no sound of the soft chirping of crickets or a lighting bug in sight, save for the occasional breeze of the warm southern wind. The usually humid air now had a cool breeze to it, less sticky and sweeping the curly flyaways at the back of her neck, causing her to occasionally reach back to swat at the feeling of false flies. Her curly fro was in a bun at the top of her head, a silk scarf wrapped around the base and a pencil stuck in her hair rather than behind her ear since she was wearing her glasses. She was reading some physiological thriller about a woman and her husband’s mistress. She was almost done and was anticipating the crossword puzzles it had in the back.

She sat on her porch in a creaky rocking chair, a book resting on her lap and a glass of iced tea sweating on the small table beside her and her small orange, Mufasa, resting on the floor. She then sighed, tilting her head back to lean against the back of her chair. “I pray a marriage like this never finds me.” She said to herself after the woman caught her husband and the mistress again, the pair telling her their creed story to ruin her life and walk away scotch-free and with all the money. Her gaze was locked on the stars, able to see the twinkling rocks due to the small amount of artificial light available in the Bayou neighborhood.

This was how every night was for her. She ended the day on her porch, her fluffy robe covering whatever she decried to wear that night as she softly rocked back and forth in her old chair, reading whatever book she picked up next from the porch swing, that seat was filled with all the books she bought when she first moved into the large home. Then she’d end it all by giving the stars one last glance. Looking between the constellation patterns she could recognize and the occasional star-link that slowly moved across the sky. And the North Star shined big and bright in front of her, angled perfectly with the spot of her chair.

But the twinkling was different tonight. The stars seemed to shine brighter than usual. Everything about tonight was different.

That’s when she saw it. A streak of light tore across the sky, burning bright like a falling star. She stood up with a gasp, looking at the moving ball. “Oh my goodness, a shooting star.” She said softly. She started at it as it moved across the sky before quickly clasping her fists together. “Ohh! I gotta make a wish.” She held them up to her chest, tightly shutting her eyes. She then took in a beep breath.

I wish…for something new. Something fun and exciting. Anything……Anything to make my miserable life a little less lonely. She thought to herself, her thoughts dwindling within her mind once she realized how sad and pathetic she sounded. She let out a small sigh, opening her eyes and placing her hands on her hips. “Now this is just sad, Magnolia Etienne.” She shook her head at herself. She then crossed her arms, giving the sky one last look. It was empty now, with no moving stars in sight. Pushing her lips, she turned around and picked her book up from the soft pad placed on the seat of her rocking chair.

She tucked her book under her arms and squatted to scratch behind her cat’s ears. “Come on Mufasa, time for bed.” She said. The lazy cat perked up at the sound of her voice and her fingers in his fur. He meowed as he leaned into the touch, rising from his lounging position, the bell on his collar emitting a soft ding. She grabbed her glass of tea and began to make her way into her home, opening the screen door.

She held the door open, watching Mufasa waddle his way past her. She had a small smile on her face before closing both of her doors behind her and locking them. She watched as Mufasa trudged his way up the stairs to her right while she went to the left, right into the archway that led to the large kitchen. She poured the rest of her tea down the drain and placed the dark green glass in the sink. She then scurried out of the kitchen back through the same archway and began to make her way up the same stairs as Mufasa.

She was only halfway up before she heard what sounded like a large freight train coming near. She couldn’t pause to contemplate what the sound could be before a loud explosion sounded from outside. The entire house shook at the crash, the pictures on the wall jittering at the vibrations while Magnolia tried to keep her balance as she leaned against the wall next to her for stability. She heard Mufasa’s loud screech from her bedroom before she saw the orange ball bumbling down the steps towards her.

Magnolia’s heart pounded within her chest as she suck to the floor, scooping her cat into her arms as she waited for things to die down. Her home still vibrated after the lasting effects of the crash, which she could tell was close due to the sound and her still shaking home. And after that, for only a moment, everything was still. The only sound was her shallow breathing and Mufasa’s soft bell as he moved within her arms. She then slowly pushed herself up, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Lord have mercy,” Magnolia breathed, scrambling to her feet. She stumbled up the stairs, her cat still in her arms as she made her way down the hall and to her bedroom. She gave no regard to the clothes on the floor as hopped over them, quickly grabbing the shotgun from beside her bed. She didn’t wait another second before rushing down the stairs. She went to her left, leaving her into the living room, making her way over to the bay window tucked to the side, and looking out the large glass panels.

A glow white emitted from her backyard through the smoke of the explosion. She furrowed her brows as she blinked, wondering what could’ve possibly crashed landed on her property of all things.

She pushed herself from her knees on the cushion window seat to pull out the ball draw under it, pulling out a large flashlight. With Mufasa still in her arms, along with her gun and now her tool, she made her way to the back door of her home. She took slow steps from the living room to the dining room, the white glow dimming down before her eyes through the curtains of the home. Once she made it past the seating area and into the kitchen, she hit the screen door leading to the back porch. She paused, gulping as she looked through the mosquito net that stopped at her knees.

“Okay, Mufasa. This is probably really stupid.” She said to the cat in her arms. “So I’m bringing you out here in case I die.” She looked down at him, only to meet his disinterested expression, a consistent look of his. “I want you to run to Leroy’s house and tell him I’m gone. He’ll take care of you.” She gave him a sad smile. Mufasa just blinked.

“You don’t give a damn.” She sighed before leaning down a little to drop him from her hands. She stood straight with a small huff, calming her nerves and collecting herself before stepping out of the door. She wiped her palms on the side of her soft purple robe, switching the cold metal of the rifle between her hands. She then began to stretch her arms and shoulders, pulling one arm over her chest to the opposite side. Once done, she placed the gun in her hands, positioning it just right in case she needed to aim. She also held the flashlight.

Magnolia squinted as she pushed open the door, the smoke from the explosion seeping into the bottom of the door. Mufasa rushed out into the smog that had eased its way up the steps of her porch.

Her breath hitched as she pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the back porch, her sock-cladded feet pressing against the cool and damp wooden boards. She squinted out into the yard, trying to see past the smoke that was beginning to roll into the bayou waters not far from the grass.

She took a few more steps out, stepping down the first few creaky steps of the porch. She could hear the soft bell of Mufasa’s collar coming from the center of the explosion. Her heart was pounding within her chest as she stepped closer and closer, her flashlight finally giving her some justice of sight into the space of the crash. “Please let it be…oh, hell, I don’t know, nothing crashing into your backyard is good.” She said softly to herself. “Unless it’s money in a safe. That’ll be good if I could get the safe open.” She tried to calm herself down, her mind racing on something that could potentially kill her or have her making some sort of official report.

Her breath hitched at the sight before her, the fog dimming to reveal what lay in the middle of her garden. Right where her prized tomatoes used to grow, was a smoldering crater, smoke curling into the humid night air. She edged closer, the shotgun held tight to her chest and then froze when she saw it—someone, or something, lying in the wreckage.

“Well my, oh, my.” She whispered. There was a man in the crater. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and covered in soot. His clothes—or what was left of them—looked strange, like some sort of uniform or armor that had been ripped apart in the impact, the black suit shimmering in the moonlight. Blood streaked his face, and his breathing was shallow, which she could only tell that he was doing by the way the smoke cleared from his face. She stood there, shocked at what she was seeing. She glanced around the crater, looking for anything else that could indicate what happened or caused the crash, but there was nothing. No debris, shrapnel, scraps, nothing. Just him and the hole.

Mufasa sat himself next to his head after giving the man a quick sniff. He then reached out a placed a paw on the unconscious man’s head, turning his head to give the woman his same disinterested face. Magnolia hesitated, but only for a moment. She then dropped her arms, letting out a deep sigh. “Reckon I can’t just leave you out here,” she muttered to herself, setting the shotgun aside.

She placed her hands on her hips, observing the scene before her. She then let out another sigh before moving her way into the crater with the man and giving her cat a look. “You gon’ just sit there and stare or are you gonna help a sista out?” She asked, bending to the man. Mufasa just yawned, giving her the same look, causing her to let out a small scoff. “No help, as usual. You know, I don’t even know why I let you live with me, rent-free.” She snarked at him as she moved to grab the man’s upper body to drag him away. “You’re gonna have to start carrying your own weight.” She groaned as she took steps. Mufasa just sat next to him, watching as she struggled. “Of course not now.”

It took all of her strength to drag him into the house. She groaned all the way into the home with the weight of the man in her arms. Mufasa did nothing but follow her, at the heels of the unconscious man, stopping now and then when Magnolia dropped him to catch her breath. “Just give me a sec. This guy’s a bolder and you’re no help.” She’d puff out. Then she’d only receive the small ding of his bell as some sort of response. “I have gots to stop talking to my cat.” She sighed.

By the time she got him onto the couch, she was sweating and cursing under her breath. His weight was unreal, like trying to move a fallen redwood tree. Once he was settled, she went to the kitchen and gathered a large bowl with some warm water and a fresh sponge. She sat the materials on the small coffee table next to him, then focused on his clothing. “Dammit, you need clothes.” She sighed. She rushed up the stairs to her bedroom, grabbing her biggest items of clothing, which she usually slept in. Her joggers weren’t that baggy, at least not enough to fit him, so she went for the large basketball shorts she always wore for whatever reason.

After collecting those, she went back down to begin cleaning what she could.

Surprisingly to her, he had no wounds on his skin, even though dried blood littered his face and neck. She was a little glad that was all it was since that meant she didn’t have to run back upstairs and gather supplies to clean his wounds. But that also made her even more confused. She still wasn’t fully clear on what exactly had happened for him to end up in her backyard. But she cleaned the air and debris from his skin as best she could.

“Where in the world did you come from?” She murmured, her eyes lingering on his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. He was a beautiful man. His skin was smooth, the light brown color warm against the warm lighting of her home. His face was clean-shaven, not a hair in sight besides the ones in his head, which were cute and curly. She couldn’t help but notice his large features. They were attractive. His lips were strong and structured. His nose was perfect, symmetrical, and sculpted to his face. What she admired most was his ears. His large ears were…cute.

That’s all she could say about him.

He didn’t respond to her soft voice, just lying there unconscious, his chest rising and falling steadily. She worked quietly, her cleaning moving from his face to his chest after she struggled to remove the tattered uniform. The cleaning seemed to ease the racing heart and her wandering mind. Her nerves settled as she busied herself. Once he was cleaned up and changed, after trying her best to not admire his exquisite physique like some perv, she covered him with a quilt, sat in the armchair opposite him, and waited, her shotgun resting across her knees.

“Okay, Mufasa. Now we wait.” She said, leaning back in the shake, her gaze locked on the arms. She didn’t get to change his pants, not wanting to do anything past taking his combat boots off and making it extra creepy on her end, so she just settled for the shirt.

It didn’t take long before she was feeling the effects of sleep hitting her like a bolder. Her head was leaned back against the back of the chair while Mufasa was curled against her feet. And just as she was zoning off, suddenly remembered.

I wish…for something new. Something fun and exciting. Anything……Anything to make my miserable life a little less lonely.

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

It was the smell of bacon that woke him. Not that he knew what that was. But it was a strange smell nonetheless. His eyes snapped open as he woke with a start, and for a moment, he panicked. His body jolted as though he’d been dropped from a great height. For a moment, disorientation flooded him. His heart dropped and his mind became alert. The room around him was unfamiliar—soft light filtering through the lace curtains and stained glass windows, casting patterns across the dark hardwood floor. The air smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish. The walls were lined with framed pictures of smiling strangers, and the faint hum of a ceiling fan on the ceiling. He pushed the thick and cold quilt off his chest and sat up too quickly, causing his head to swim.

That’s when he heard it—the soft clatter of ceramic plates and titanium pans clinging together. His senses seemed to sharpen as he zoned in on the sound, hearing the quiet hum of a tune being sung under someone’s breath. “I’ve been loving you, too long.” He heard the voice of a woman sing as the smell of meat filled his nose, along with a hint of something sweet. He could hear everything else as well, from the steady hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint creak of the house as it settled, and even the low rumble of a truck passing somewhere far in the distance. He rose to his feet cautiously, glancing down at himself. His torn armor was gone, replaced with a clean t-shirt that fit his frame a little tight.

He could feel the memories rushing back to him, but it all wasn’t clear. He could only remember being in the escape vessel before something happened and then it all cut the heat he felt from the speed of the ship and then the crash. He remembered home but he didn’t have a clue as to how anything led to now.

He then realized his body felt different when he stood. Stronger. Lighter. He looked down as he clenched a fist and felt the sense of power or energy, humming just beneath the surface, waiting. His gaze darted around the room, catching sight of a mirror on the wall near the fireplace. He moved over to it, looking at his clean and clear face. He looked as if nothing happened. He then turned back around, observing the place he was now in.

The house was large but cozy, every surface filled with framed photographs, antique knickknacks, and small vases of wildflowers. A knit blanket had been folded neatly and draped over the back of the green couch he rose from, his quilt discarded on the floor. He then saw some sort of gun leaning against a chair angled towards the couch—close but not threateningly so. He turned his head and then began his move toward where he heard the voice from, causing the wooden floor to groan softly beneath his weight. He flinched at the sound, but even as he moved, his senses adjusted. He could hear her still. Her voice. She was humming. The faint sound of a song he didn’t recognize on her lips.

Dev’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head as though he could see through the walls. His senses then kicked in without permission. The faintest shift in his vision brought the world into sharp relief. He blinked, startled as the wall in front of him seemed to blur and fade, revealing a woman standing by the stove, her honey-roasted skin shining in the sun that seeped through the kitchen, and the reddish tint to her hair swept into a mess of curls at the top of her head, wrapped in a emerald green scarf as she stirred something in a skillet. He could see through the wall, clear as day.

He stumbled back, a rush of panic tightening his chest. What was happening to him?

The creak of the floorboards gave him away as he stepped toward the kitchen. “Good mornin’.” The soft voice called to him before he even reached the doorway. He hesitated, his muscles tensing as he stepped further into the room. And there she was—the woman he’d seen through the wall. She was a young woman with very curly hair and a lot of it. She was standing at the stove, her back to him as she poured batter mix into the small waffle machine next to the stove. She glanced over her shoulder, giving a view of her face. Her expression was kind but wary.

“Figured you’d wake up hungry.” She said, gesturing toward the small table near the window to their left, where a plate full of food was already waiting.

His gaze shifted to the plate, looking at the many varieties of food on it. They then darted around the kitchen, taking in every detail—the mismatched stool chairs at the island-style bar and the ones at the table, the vase of wildflowers in the center of the table, the open window letting in a soft breeze. He could hear the sound of water faintly moving from the open pane, ducks quacking and mosquitoes buzzing. He gulped, brows furrowed as he tried to take in everything that surrounded him, wondering if he could piece together where he could be from the environment and her weird clothing. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Where am I?”

She stopped what she was doing to slowly tune her head towards him, face contorted in confusion “Louisiana.” She said, blinking at him as if his question had an obvious answer. But then she realized that none of last night seemed to make sense and she wasn’t quite sure if she was still dreaming or not.

“You’re in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.” She added, turning back to what she was doing. There was a long silence between them, causing her to turn her head back around and see that the man was now just looking at her, his expression guarded but confused. She pursed her lips, giving him an awkward smile. She then quickly turned the heat down on the gas stove, just letting the bacon fry as she turned back to face him.

“You, uh,…kinda crash-landed in my backyard last night.” She began, her face still fringed in its uncomfortable expression. “Crazy, I know! I, uh, I thought you were dead for sure, but you were breathin’, so I just brought you on in.” She shrugged as she explained. The man just stood there, his face still stoic but confused. He frowned, thinking of it all since his memory was still fuzzy. The last thing he could still recall was the explosion... and then falling. He closed his eyes, fragments of his home flashing in his mind. Memories flooded his mind, his friends, and family. But none of it was clear. How he got here wasn’t clear.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” She questioned, breaking the silence. His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he said nothing. He just stared at her, watching the wince she had on her face as she seemed to register just about all it meant with him being there. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

She nodded slowly, opening the waffle maker and then setting the hot cake on a plate on the island behind her. “Well, I figured as much, seein’ as you were wearin’ somethin’ that looked like it came out of one of those space movies and whatnot.” She grinned uncomfortably as she nodded her head. “And the fact that you…crashed into my backyard.” She added, letting out a slight wince. “But...you don’t seem like you’re here to hurt me, so...” She trailed off. She wasn’t normally such a nervous wreck when it came to speaking to people, and oddly enough especially strangers.

And she wasn’t even nervous that there was some stranger in her house. Well, not fully since she was the one that brought him into her home. She was just extremely confused over the whole occurrence of everything. The wish, the shooting star, him…crashing into her backyard and it all being real? She felt like she was losing her mind and the only thing keeping her sane was speaking. And the boatload of cooking she did.

“I’m not,” he said quickly, his tone firm with his eyes locked on her form. She gulped, her hands anxiously fiddling with each other on the counter as she faced him. “Good to know.” She said with a small smile, before grabbing the waffle plate and moving it to the small table next to the window. She placed it on the table with the rest of the food and then began untying her apron. She looked over at him, offering a soft smile as she brought the cloth over her head. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the wooden chair next to her.

Dev just stood there, his gaze unwavering from her face as she stared at him, her eyes jumping between his features. “Please.” She added softly before taking a seat in the bay window booth that circled the small table. Dev steadily moved to the table, pulling out one of the wooden chairs on the opposite end of the table, since the window provided a seat for the other side. He sat across from her, his eyes on the food before him while she watched his every move.

Once he was seated, she began again. “Name’s Magnolia, by the way. Most folks just call me..well, Magnolia. Never really had a nickname.” She grinned at him. Deb just nodded his head, looking at her. There was a pause between them, the pair staring at each other. Sitting there, she just realized the color of his eyes. The striking bright eyes stared into her soul. She couldn’t tell what coke they were, shades of all colors within them as they shined in the light coming through the window behind her.

He admired the way the sun seemed to shine around her like some sort of glow emitting from her skin. The glow made her hair seem as if it was on fire as it lightened it.

“Dev-Em.” He replied, though his voice was stiff, awkward. Magnolia’s brows spiked, his voice snapping her out of her thoughts. “That is my name.” He clarified.

“Well, Dev-Em.” She said, leaning back in her chair. “I might regret saying all of this but, you know, I think I kinda brought this onto myself.” She said, letting out a nervous laugh. “You’re welcome to stay here till you get back on your feet. As long as you don’t wreck my kitchen, we’ll get along just fine.” She grinned.

Dev hesitated, unsure of how to respond. His instincts told him not to trust so easily, but there was something about her—her calm demeanor but anxious jittering under his gaze, the way she didn’t press him for details of everything—that made him nod. “Thank you.” He said quietly.

Magnolia smiled, though there was a touch of nervousness in her eyes. “You’re welcome. Now eat before it gets cold.” She said, beating to the food. She quickly then began to dig into hers, pouring a little bit of syrup onto her waffle.

As he picked up his fork, the smell of the food under his nose made his stomach growl. “Thank you.” He said. Everything from bacon to eggs laid around, the option of grits and oatmeal offered with an assortment of toppings for their specific taste, for the oats and their small waffles. For the first time in days—maybe longer—he felt a small flicker of safety. Magnolia watched him from across the table, her gaze softening as she saw the guarded tension in his shoulders begin to ease. She stuffed her face with the food, watching as he did the same across from her. She wasn’t too sure of where he came from, her best and most logical bet was that he fell from a plane, even if that didn’t make any sense as to why he had no scars. Or broken bones. Or why he was alive.

All that to say, she wasn’t sure if he had the same food as she did, but he didn’t seem to care with the way he tore into it.

“Well,” She said, breaking the silence with a teasing tone. “You sure are polite for an alien.” She let it slip before she could even think of it, dropping her fork onto her place as she placed her head in her hands.

Dev looked up, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Alien?”

Magnolia let out a small huff before she shrugged, an unsure grin tugging at her lips. “I mean, you did fall from the sky.” She began, her face slowly morphing into one of uncertainty. “At least, I think so. I’m not too sure anymore, last night was sort of a blur and I’m just very confused.” She sighed, going back to her food with a dejected look on her face. “If I could ask Mufasa I would.” She mumbled before taking a chunk out of her bacon.

Deb only became more confused, still eating as he looked at her.

“Mufasa?” He repeated, his accent and not hearing her making him pronounce the name wrong. But it didn’t seem to matter anyway before the bundle of orange bound into the kitchen, his bell letting out a soft ding as he brushed his fur against Dev’s bare feet on his way to the bench with Magnolia. Dev’s eyes slightly widened at the sight of the animal that situated itself next to the woman, just staring at him with a bored look. A little too expressive for an animal, might he add. Magnolia just glanced over at the cat.

“That’s Mufasa.” She said in a monotone before looking back at the cat. “And what did I tell you about being in my kitchen? This is not some white folks home, get.” She said sternly, pointing out of the door he came. The orange cat let out a single meow before jumping from the booth and trudging his way out. Dev’s eyes just went back to her once the animal was gone, confused and a little concerned at everything he’s witnessed so far.

Seeing his confused look, Magnolia squinted her eyes at him. “Me talking to my pet is the least of your concerns right now.” She said, menacingly gesturing her fork at him before digging back into her food. Dev let out the faintest chortle at her words before digging back into the delicious meal.

After finishing most of the meal in silence, Dev suddenly spoke. “Do you know what happened to me?” He asked, his voice low and full of strained pain.

Magnolia paused, just about to place a strawberry into her mouth. She then blinked, it clicking within her mind that he might not remember much. She then let out a small sigh before sitting the fruit down. “Well sugar, to put it simply, I’m not all too sure.” She said, shrugging. Dev blinked at the nickname but didn’t look up from his plate as she continued, feeling her gaze on him. “One moment I’m on my porch, reading a book and enjoying the stars. Next, there’s a crash in my backyard and I go back there to see you on my precious tomatoes.” She explained. “Though they weren’t that precious, some animals’ been nipping at ‘em and I actually don’t like tomatoes.” She grinned.

Dev’s face stayed stoic, his gaze moving from his food for only a moment. He glanced at her before looking away from her soft gaze. He shook his head, his frown deepening as he thought of it all. “I just……everything is different. I feel different. Things are louder and brighter for some reason.” He began to explain. He didn’t know why he was confessing all of this to her, or even speaking on his feelings in the first place. But it just felt like the right thing to do. It was the only thing he had left to him.

Magnolia’s face sided even more, leaning her head down to gaze at his face more, seeing the internal conflict he was having. “Do you, remember what happened?” She questioned hesitatingly.

Dev gulped before shaking his head, finally raising his eyes to look back at her. “All I remember is…leaving. Leaving my home. Anything after that is fractured.” He stated, staring at her. Magnolia gave him a soft smile, looking him in the eye. Her heart hurt for him. He seemed so alone, and even though he was trying his best to hide it and stay strong, she could tell he was on the brink of breaking. This seemed to be the point to drive him over the edge.

“Well, I don’t really know what you’ve got goin’ on with all that, you know, this is a strange situation. But you were a mess when I found you.” She stated. “All bloodied, bruised, looking like you’d just been through hell. I cleaned you up as best as I could and let you rest. That’s all I could do.” She said.

Dev seemed to relax slightly, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely fade. He glanced down at his hands again, the memory of him looking through the wall and the power he felt at the end of his fingertips.

“Listen,” Magnolia said softly as she reached over to place her hand on his still one. Her voice alone caught his attention, but her gentle tone and her soft touch ignited something within him deep down that he couldn’t understand nor dwell on at the moment. “You’re safe here, okay? Whatever’s happenin’, we’ll figure it out. I’ll help you as best as I can.”She smiled at him. “I mean, I couldn’t imagine going through what you’re going through alone. I’d want the help.”

Her words surprised him. He’d expected suspicion, fear, even hostility. But there was none of that in her voice. Just... kindness. He nodded slowly, still wary but grateful nonetheless, subconsciously flexing his hand under her thumb that rubbed against the back of his hand. Magnolia smiled, a little nervous but genuine, and scooted her way off the bench.

“Good, because now we’ve got to get you settled.” She smiled before rising from her seat. Dev furrowed his brows, his eyes trailing her as she walked away with her plate. “You better hurry up and finish. First thing first, we gotta get you checked out to make sure everything is okay.” She said, not running to face him as she began cleaning her mess. Dev’s heart spiked at her words, concern texting his way into his chest as he thought of having to leave. And then interact with the people outside. And their environment.

As if she could sense his worry, she started again. “And done sweat it too much, I’m real close with a doctor down here named Leroy. He’s at work right now but we’re gonna go give him a little visit and then after that, we’ll get you all set.” She said. She then sat down the rag she had and turned to face him. Even though his face didn’t show it, she could see the questions flying within his mind. She held her hands out in caution, stepping back over to the table. “It’s okay. I trust Leroy with my entire life. He’s been there for me since I was a baby. Technically a step-grandpa but we were never raised in the same home and it’s just really complicated so I just call him Uncle Leroy.” She rambled.

Dev just started up at her, and she tried her best not to get lost in his large sea-green eyes. He then nodded before going back to consume the rest of the food on his plate. Magnolia stood there for a moment, watching him eat and caught up in her own thoughts. Thoughts about what she was going to do now that he was here, how long he’d be staying with her, how the hell any of this was even possible—she still wasn’t quite sure if she was losing her mind or not.

She then gulped and turned away, moving back to clean the kitchen. They coexisted in silence. Dev scarfed down the rest of the food that was available on the table while Magnolia cleaned the mess she made in the storm of her cooking. She’d then wait until a dish on the table was left barren by Dev, moving to collect it wot give it a nice clean.

It wasn’t long before Dev rose from his seat, gathering off of the empty dishes from the table that were left after Magnolia gathered the others from her hovering. She stepped to take the plates from his grasp with her usually content and joyous expression, only for Dev to hold out his hand.

“I can do it.” He explained, staring down at her. Magnolia looked back up at him, not standing closer to his frame and just now noticing how tall and muscular he really was. She blinked her big eyes up at him. “Okay.” She nodded before moving out of the way. Dev stepped around her, moving to the sink that faced more large windows that this home seemed to be full of.

He cleaned quietly, using the warm dishwater and a coarse sponge to scrub away at crumbs of food left. He could feel her eyes on him still, watching as he worked around the kitchen with no issue. He finished in no time, drying his hands in the cloth next to the stove and then turning to face her. Magnolia was quick to flash him a large smile. “Great! Now we can get going.” She said before moving to her front door, which wasn’t too far from the kitchen, and gathering all she needed. Her sweater, even though she didn’t need one, hung in the coat rack. Her shoes were on the floor next to the door and her keys hung in a hook above all. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Dev’s steps behind her.

“Your shoes are there.” She said, pointing to the boots he came in near hers, exceptionally larger.

Dev placed the boots on his feet at the same time as hers, her getting dressed much more hastily than him. She quickly grabbed her bag and a large jacket from another hook. She held the clothing item out to him. “Here, you can wear this if you want. It’s not exactly good out but you might want to cover up, you know? Not that you need to cover up, it’s totally cool if you don’t. But you can just take it just in case.” She rushed out, still holding the jacket. Dev paused, his brows twitching in confusion for only a moment before he took the item from her hands.

“It’s fine. I’ll take it.” He said. He didn’t really know what to say to her rambling but he seemed to just say anything if it got her to calm her verse just a tad. Magnolia gave him a smile before rushing out of the door with everything on her. Dev was close on her heel, only glancing back at the sound of a bell to see Mufasa sitting at the bottom of the steps, watching them leave. He didn’t know why, but he flashed the animal a small smile before closing the door, moving out of the way for Magnolia to lock it.

“Fasa will be fine, he’s smart and crazy. I’ve seen him scare a gator from my backyard once.” She said, catching the small look the man gave the mysterious cat before jumping off her steps and moving over to her blue Ford pickup truck. Not that he had a clue what the hell that even was. Dev stood on the porch, observing what he could. Her porch was sort of cluttered but pretty. Potted plants with pretty flowers hung from the banister of the house, some littering the wooden flora of the porch. To his right was a porch swing filled with books, old books tattered and well-loved. To his right was a rocking chair, tucked into the corner where the taking net the all of the house, guarding whoever sat in it from falling. It looked cozy, with a blanket and two pillows on it, and more flowers surrounded the light wooden chair with intricate engravings on it.

There was space for another chair next to it, closer to the steps of the porch, but it was empty save the small footstool decided to look like a little chair. He could assume it was only for Mufasa.

He couldn’t even observe the rest of the hard and surrounding homes before the sound of the door slamming on the truck startled him, although he didn’t show it. Magnolia had her arms stuck out of her window, her head angled to look at his form on the porch. “You can ogle later, pretty boy! Hop in!” She cheesed, before ducking back into the car and cranking it.

Dev frowned, slowly making his way to the loud machine she inserted herself into, stopping at the door she was directly next to. His face showed a look of almost concern as he gazed into the odd box and glanced around it. Magnolia looked at him in confusion as he stuck his head through the window. She leaned hers back, his face almost colliding with hers.

She let out a small laugh before she placed her hand on the side of his face, pushing his head back out of the window. “What are you doing?”

“What is this?” Dev asked, looking at the colored machine. Magnolia furrowed her brows, a small smile still on her face in amusement as she looked at him, watching as he ran his fingers across the side of the car. It slowly fell once she realized he was speaking of the car. He didn’t know what the car was. She closed her eyes, letting out a small sigh.

She snapped them back open. “Uh, never mind that right now, I’ll explain it on the way over. I want you to go around and get in on that side.” She said. Dev didn’t say anything before moving around the front of the car, Magnolia’s eyes not leaving him once as he made his way to the passenger side. He pulled the door open with no problem before only a tad caustically moving to take a seat. Once the door closed behind him, Magnolia locked the door and pulled out of the driveway.

“Put your seat belt on, please.” She said, glancing k we at him once the vehicle started dinging.

“Seatbelt?” Dev frowned over at her, his big eyes filled with confusion and a little wary at how fast she was riveting for just having pulled out of the driveway. Magnolia pursed her lips at him.

“This is going to be a long day, Sugar.”

@kneelarmhstrung

@winorlosetogether

@joshuafatubaee

@becauseimswagman1

@nubiagurllll

@gwenda-fav

#jazziejaxwriting #aaron pierre #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre x black!oc #aaron pierre x reader #Dev-Em #Dev-Em x reader #Dev-Em x black!reader #Dev-Em x black!oc

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misctf · 11 hours ago

Note

This is an ask for the "Welcome to the Crew" but what if a preppy rich guy got one of the drinks slipped to him from a guy that he used to bully. He drinks it not knowing the effects.

“It’s been so long.”

Dustin frowns as he made his way down the busy street, taking in the scene before him. It had been some time since he’d return to the small town where he spent high school. And while he always remembered hating it, he couldn’t deny the nostalgia brewing inside him.

“Weird to be back.” He thinks, “Just don’t know why dad picked this place for such a big talk.” He enters the lively sports bar, avoiding eye contact with the patrons, “Dad always loved this kind of atmosphere.” He thinks bitterly, “He didn’t even know how stupid he looked.” Dustin recalled his dad getting laughed at and judged as a coastal elite behind his back.

Despite being wealthy, his father’s humble roots certainly came through. His dad wanted to move here, taking his family from their mansion on the coast to this smaller, midwestern town. Dustin recalled the fights they had over this decision. How stupid he thought his dad was- and how stupid it made Dustin look. So to compensate, he’d flaunt his superiority to the poorer kids at school. Not his proudest moments. Dustin cringed at the memory. In truth, as time went on and he matured, he realized how terrible he’d been.

“I’ve changed.” He thought, “God I was such an asshole back then.” He looks down at his phone, noticing a text from his dad saying he was running late, “Oh well.” He looked around, smiling when he saw an open stool at the bar, “Might as well.”

Dustin sat at the bar, noticing he looked a bit out of place amongst the patrons. They were going on about the big game on the TV. Yelling at the screen and cursing when their team lost yards. He remembered his dad would act similarly if you got him really riled up. Probably why Dustin rejected football and focused on golf when growing up.

“They’re really getting into it.” Dustin thought, “I forgot how much the town livens up.” He looks up to be greeted by the sight of the bartender, a flash of recognition passing over him, “Eric?” He smiles, “Eric, is that you?”

“Dustin?” Eric’s tone is far less jovial, “I reckon I recognized you.”

Dustin’s smile faltered, “Yeah... well how’s it going?”

Memories of his times insulting and belittling Eric made their way to the surface. It always seemed odd to outsiders. Eric was a bigger guy, always had been. Bulky with both fat and muscle. He could’ve probably broken the lean Dustin in two had he wanted. But Eric was gentle. He took Dustin’s disparaging remarks about his family’s poverty, repeated years in school, and brutish appearance in stride. And while Dustin made his life a living hell, while also charming everyone else around him, Eric took it.

“Besides,” Eric had once remarked to a smug Dustin, “you must be pretty miserable yourself if you treatin’ others this way.”

Dustin frowned as he recalled these memories. And while his time away from town helped him grow up and recognize how much of an asshole he was, he knew he couldn’t make up for the hell he put some of these people through.

“I’m good. You?”

“I’m meeting my dad today. He wants to discuss my position on the board.” Dustin noticed a spark of irritation in Eric’s wary eyes, “I uh... nice tattoos.” He said awkwardly, gazing at the man’s thick arm, adorned in a full sleeve.

“Thank ya.” Eric replied, glaring at Dustin. The younger man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the two silent for just a moment, “Where are my manners?” A sly smile formed on Eric’s bearded face, “Congratulations, you must be excited!”

Dustin’s smile returned, “I really am. Thank you.” He watches as Eric grabbed a beer and pour it into a glass.

“On the house.” Eric leaned forward, “Got this just a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, well thank you.” Dustin remarks.

Part of him wants to turn it down, but another part of him wants to show he appreciates Eric’s kindness. To put the past behind them. As he takes a swig of the beer, a tingling sensation spreads through his body. At first, it felt pleasant, like a warm glow emanating from his core. But soon, his stomach began to churn and roil, as if a cauldron of acid was bubbling up inside him.

“Whoa, what's happening?” Dustin gasped, setting the glass down hastily.

He clutched his abdomen, doubling over in discomfort. The burps started soon after, loud and uncontrollable. Each one echoed through the bar, drawing curious glances from the other patrons. Dustin's face turned a deep shade of crimson as he tried to muffle the embarrassing sounds with his hand.

“I think I need to get out of here.” He gasped.

Eric chuckled, “Aw, come on Dustin, it ain't that bad! You're just experiencing the magic of Gridiron Brew.”

As if on cue, Dustin let out another thunderous belch, causing several nearby patrons to look, “Nice one, man!” One called out, followed by other. Despite the cheers, the poor guy looked absolutely mortified, sweat beading on his forehead.

“I'm serious, Eric, I don't feel right.” Dustin wheezed, still clutching his gut.

Dustin's discomfort quickly morphed into astonishment as he felt a strange sensation coursing through his body. His muscles, previously lean and wiry, began to swell and thicken, growing larger with each passing second. At first, it was just a subtle increase in bulk, almost imperceptible. But soon, the transformation accelerated, and Dustin found himself engulfed in a whirlwind of rapid growth.

“Ah fuck....” He groaned, gripping his shirt tightly.

With a loud rip, Dustin tore his once-pristine button-up shirt apart, sending buttons flying across the bar floor. He stood before Eric, his chest now heaving with broad, defined pecs, and powerful shoulders that looked capable of crushing steel. His lean arms now bulged with rippling slabs of meat, veins pulsating beneath his skin.

“Holy shit, what's happening to me?!” Dustin exclaimed, gawking at his newfound muscular physique.

It was a physique of all the stupid jocks he’d seen on campus. And as he ran a hand of his chiseled torso and meaty pecs, he could feel his stomach churning. As if on cue, another loud belch ripped through his body, followed by a series of increasingly disturbing noises from deeper within his gut.

“N-no... please, whatever you've done, reverse it!” Dustin begged Eric desperately, fear etched on his face as he stumbled backward.

And as Dustin backed away from Eric, a strange sensation crept across his smooth, hairless muscles. Dark brown fur erupted from every bulging fiber, covering him from neck to toe in a thick coat of dense body hair. It itched horribly, causing him to scratch at his transformed torso with shaking hands.

“H-hair?! Oh god, what the f-fuck is happening?!” Dustin shrieked in horror, suddenly catching a glimpse in the mirror mounted above the bar. He gasped as he watched his golden locks fall from his head, “My hair...” He whispered, feeling the unfamiliar smoothness of his bald head, “Make it stop! Please!”

He turned towards Eric, who placed a ball cap on Dustin's head, "Gotta show some team spirit." He motioned towards the TV above the bar.

And as Dustin's eyes settled on the big game he felt content. Despite the ongoing turmoil wracking his body, Dustin found himself inexplicably drawn to the spectacle unfolding on the television.

“Look at that tackling! Fucking beautiful!” Dustin bellowed, slapping a large, meaty palm against the countertop. He grabbed a glass and took another swig of the beer.

And as he drank, Dustin's thoughts drifted to simpler times – high school football games, weekends spent cheering on his teammates, relishing in the brotherhood forged on the field. Yet, a nagging sense of disconnection tugged at the edges of his consciousness. Football? Hadn't he spent his time on the pristine fairways of golf courses?

“Nah...” Dustin shook his head, dismissing the nagging doubts. Golf was for rich guys who couldn't rough it; real men played football.

While his memories shifted away from the preppy golfer, thickening fat layers accumulated around his muscular frame, encasing his biceps and pecs in a soft, flabby padding. His six-pack abs dissolved into a protruding beer gut. Despite the addition of fat, his underlying musculature remained evident, he wasn't just chubby, but more ruggedly built.

“Damn, if I ever got in shape again, I'd crush those punks on the field!” Dustin boasted, his belly jiggling with each enthusiastic gesture. He laughed heartily, the sound rumbling deep within his barrel chest, “Man, I miss those days...” He smirked at Eric, “So when are ya done with this shift. No offense, but I'd rather be outside drinkin’ and celebratin’ than all cooped up in here.”

“All done, bro.” Eric smirks, “C’mon, it’s been a bit since we’ve hung out.”

As they exited the bar, Eric led the way onto the sidewalk. Dustin lagged behind, holding the heavy wooden door open for a well-dressed man hurrying inside. For a fleeting instant, their eyes locked - the suited businessman's eyes casting judgment, likely amused by the scruffy, beer-bellied hulk blocking his path. And then the door closes, Dustin turning to Eric.

“He looks like he's got a couple million stuck up his ass.” Dustin chuckled, “Always playing the rich card. Probably pays someone to polish his balls daily.”

Eric snorted, shaking his head in amusement, “Sounds about right.”

And as the two walked down the bustling sidewalk, their boisterous laughter filled the air. The two buddies sharing stories of their shared high-school days- their triumphs on the field and love for the game. Dustin settling nicely into his new life as a small-town ex-jock, his best days already far behind him.

#male tf #male transformation #mental change #personality tf #jock tf #dumber tf #age progression

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estellan0vella · 3 days ago

Text

Fallen Into Place: L.F Lee Felix x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 18.2K

CW: Mentions of physical abuse by a parental figure, Substance Use, Implied and discussed sexual relationships, Discussion of a parent’s death due to cancer General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

Seungmin's room at the Alpha Phi house is a chaotic mix of minimalist black furniture and books shoved in every conceivable corner. A sleek desk is shoved up against the wall, covered in half-empty energy drink cans and a complicated tangle of wires that probably belong to the computer he built himself. You're perched on the edge of his unmade bed, the France trip booklet spread across your lap. The glossy pages feel weirdly fancy for a school trip, like they're trying too hard to make this sound like the experience of a lifetime.

You're not convinced.

"Okay, but seriously," you say, flipping to the section about Paris accommodations. "If that freckled idiot is going, I'm not."

Seungmin snorts without looking up from his copy of the same booklet. He's slouched in his desk chair, one foot resting on the desk, balancing precariously on the edge of his chair like the picture of nonchalant chaos. His black jeans are ripped in just the right places, his vest hanging open over a plain black tank that shows off the lightning-strike tattoos on his right arm.

"Felix? Oh, he's definitely going," he says, his voice dripping with mock cheerfulness. "He's a bakery and confectionary minor. You think he's missing a trip to the fucking homeland of croissants?"

You groan and flop backwards onto the bed dramatically, the booklet smacking against your chest. "Of course, he is. God, his whole 'everything is sunshine and rainbows' bullshit is going to ruin the entire trip."

Seungmin rolls his eyes, spinning his chair lazily to face you. "I mean, to be fair, they did offer it to you at a discount since you're French and can actually help translate."

"Yeah, but is the sacrifice of my sanity worth it?" you counter, sitting back up and waving the booklet around for emphasis. "I don't know if I can deal with that guy in close quarters for twelve days. Twelve days, Seungmin!"

"Listen," Seungmin says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His multiple piercings catch the light as he smirks at you. "If I were you, I'd say yes to the trip. You're literally getting it cheaper. You love pastry-making, and honestly, you're not going to find a better opportunity than this."

You huff, crossing your legs and leaning back against the headboard. Your black miniskirt rides up slightly, and you adjust it out of habit. The lace-up stiletto boots on your feet gleam under the overhead light as you cross one ankle over the other.

"They're talking about opening it up to other students to fill the slots," you say, flipping another page. "You and Minho should sign up."

Seungmin shrugs. "I might."

Before you can press him further, Minho's voice comes from the doorway, dripping with his usual dry humour. "Oh, hello, miserable one and two."

You glance up to see Minho leaning against the doorframe, looking like he just walked out of a punk-rock fashion show. His black cargo pants hang low on his hips, the silver chain around his neck catching the light. His sleeveless compression top reveals toned arms, covered in intricate tattoos, and his piercings glint as he smirks at you both.

"Hello, miserable three," you reply, waving lazily at him with the booklet.

Minho strides into the room like he owns it, flopping onto the bed beside you. He leans over to glance at the booklet in your hands, his cherry-red hair falling into his eyes. "What's this?"

"France trip," you answer. "Twelve days. Paris, Nice, Bordeaux. Pastry-making bullshit."

Minho raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And you're debating whether to go because Felix might annoy you to death?"

"Correct," you deadpan.

"You could fuck some hot French guys, though," Minho points out, stretching his arms over his head lazily. His septum ring gleams as he smirks down at you.

You hum thoughtfully. "You might be right."

Seungmin snickers from his chair. "Maybe you and Felix should fight it out."

Minho shakes his head quickly. "Would not advise. That dude did taekwondo for, like, twelve fucking years. He'd wreck your shit. Maybe just fuck it out instead."

The booklet in your hand immediately becomes a weapon, and you start whacking Minho with it as he cackles and shields himself. "You're the fucking worst!" you yell between laughs, unable to keep a straight face.

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" Minho yells, though his laughter doesn't stop. "God, you're so violent for someone in a miniskirt."

"You deserved it!" you retort, still laughing as you toss the booklet onto the bed. "Don't start shit you can't finish, asshole."

Minho grins, unbothered. "Fair. Anyway, I signed up as soon as they opened the trip to all students."

You blink. "You what?"

"Yeah," Minho says casually. "I want some French dick in my mouth, or I want my dick in some French ass. Either way, I'm winning."

Seungmin chokes on his laughter, and you bury your face in your hands. "I hate you both so much."

"No, you don't," Seungmin says, spinning lazily in his chair. "You'd be lost without us."

Minho smirks. "And you'd be bored as hell."

You sigh dramatically but don't argue. They're right.

The cool night air wraps around the Alpha Phi garden, carrying the faint scent of charcoal and sizzling meat from the grill. The frat house's pool glows a soft blue, its reflection dancing on the faces of Seungmin, Minho, and you as the three of you linger at the edge of the garden, cigarettes in hand. The garden's string lights flicker gently, creating an almost peaceful atmosphere if not for the faint bursts of laughter from Felix, Jisung, and Changbin near the grill, where Chan works his magic.

Seungmin exhales a puff of smoke, his arm resting on the back of a patio chair. "Is a peaceful fucking cigarette too much to ask for in this goddamn house?"

Minho, leaning casually against the pool railing with his cigarette dangling between his fingers, scoffs. "In this house? Yes." His smirk deepens as he takes a slow drag, blowing the smoke toward the sky. "Peaceful doesn't exist when those dumbasses are around."

You roll your eyes, flicking ash from the tip of your cigarette. "It's like they can't laugh at a normal fucking volume. Always gotta be like hyenas on crack."

Seungmin hums in agreement. "Honestly, you'd think they'd be tired after practice today. Changbin looked like he was dying after suicides."

"Didn't stop him from inhaling half the kitchen afterwards," Minho adds, chuckling. "Guy's an actual vacuum cleaner."

Before you can respond, Felix's bright voice cuts through the air, closer now. "What's this? The Pessimist Club holding a meeting?"

You don't even have to look to know it's him. That fucking Australian accent and overly chipper tone are like nails on a chalkboard. You glance over your shoulder to see Felix, Changbin, and Jisung sauntering toward your group, beers in hand and grins plastered across their faces.

"Great," you mutter, stubbing your cigarette out on the edge of a nearby ashtray. "Just what I needed."

Felix grins, his freckles catching the light as he looks at you. "Aw, don't look so excited to see us, Cruella."

"Twilight fucking Sparkle," you shoot back without hesitation, crossing your arms. His eyes narrow, but the grin doesn't leave his face. The nickname makes Changbin nearly choke on his beer as Jisung cackles like a madman.

"Oh, come on," Felix says, feigning offence. "That's not even fucking accurate. I don't sparkle."

"Yet you've got the same overly positive bullshit energy," you deadpan. "Don't deny it."

Felix groans dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "You wound me. Seriously."

Minho snorts. "You walked into that one, Lix."

"Thank you, Minho," you say, tipping an imaginary hat toward him. "At least someone gets it."

Felix narrows his eyes at you, stepping closer until he's in your personal space. "You're just mad because I'm nice and people actually like me."

"Yeah, nice and painfully fucking irritating. It's like you're allergic to negativity," you retort, holding his gaze without flinching.

"And you're allergic to anything remotely fun," Felix snaps back, his grin now replaced with a slight frown. "God forbid someone has a good time around you."

"God forbid you shut the fuck up for five minutes," you counter, smirking slightly.

"Alright, alright," Changbin interrupts, stepping between the two of you with his hands up. "Jesus Christ, you two need a fucking referee."

"Or a muzzle," Jisung adds with a snicker, earning a middle finger from you.

Felix glares at you one last time, but there's no real malice behind it. Just pure, unfiltered irritation. He takes a long sip of his beer, and you watch with a smirk as an idea forms. When you finish your cigarette, you flick the stub neatly into his drink, the small plunk unmistakable.

Felix sputters. "What the fuck, Cruella?!"

You pat his cheek sweetly, giving him an innocent smile. "Oops. My bad." And with that, you breeze past him, heading toward the grill where Chan's flipping burgers with the precision of a chef in a five-star restaurant.

"Y/N," Chan greets warmly, draping an arm around your shoulders as you approach. "You and Lix can't just get along for once?"

You glance up at him, unimpressed. "I'd rather slam my tongue in a car door. Repeatedly."

Chan snorts, his laughter shaking the arm around your shoulders as he uses his free hand to flip a burger. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, you love me," you reply, leaning into his side. His familiar warmth is oddly comforting after a long, annoying day.

He hums, ruffling your two-toned hair with a grin. "You doing okay? Last time we talked, your dad—"

"It's fine," you cut him off quickly, your tone sharper than you intend. You force a small smile as you snuggle closer to him. "Seriously, it's fine."

Chan pauses, clearly unconvinced but not pushing. "You know if it's not, you can talk to me, right?"

"I know," you murmur, letting your cheek rest against his shoulder. The sounds of laughter and bickering fade into the background as the scent of grilled meat fills the air.

Chan flips another burger before glancing down at you. "You ever need to crash here-"

"Yeah, I know," you interrupt, your voice softer now. "Can I stay tonight?"

"Of course," he replies without hesitation, his arm tightening around you briefly. "You don't even have to ask."

You smile faintly, letting the comfort of his presence calm the restless energy buzzing in your chest. As annoying as the Alpha Phi house can be, moments like this make it bearable. Even if it means dealing with Felix's Twilight Sparkle bullshit for another day.

The Alpha Phi living room is a chaotic mess of overstuffed furniture, mismatched throw pillows, and random items that scream college frat house. The TV is on, playing some action movie that no one is really watching. You're crammed into the loveseat between Seungmin and Minho, your legs crossed and your black miniskirt riding just slightly higher than you intended. Not that you care. The snake tattoo on your left arm glints under the warm light as you sip on an iced Americano from the café down the street.

Chan is sprawled on the couch with Jeongin, who's flipping through some fashion magazine and pointing out ridiculous outfits. Hyunjin sits cross-legged on the floor with his sketchbook, his black hair falling into his face as his pencil scratches against the page. Changbin is perched on the arm of the couch, scrolling through his phone.

The peace, if you can call this chaos peaceful, is shattered when Felix and Jisung walk in mid-conversation.

"Honestly," Felix says, his accent sharper than usual, "I can't imagine anything more horrifying."

Without missing a beat, you dig into your bag, pull out a small pocket mirror, and hold it up to his face. "There you go."

The room bursts into laughter as Felix glares at you, his freckled face reddening slightly. "You're such a fucking menace, Cruella."

Leaning back against the loveseat, you smirk and take another sip of your Americano. "And you make it so damn easy, Twilight Sparkle. Don't dish it if you can't take it."

Minho chuckles beside you, elbowing you lightly. "She's got a point, Lix. You walked right into that one."

Felix opens his mouth to retort, but Jisung cuts him off with a grin. "He wasn't even talking about himself, you know. Felix was telling me about some guy he knows who went on a shitty date."

"Oh yeah?" Seungmin asks, raising an eyebrow. "What happened? She ghosted him or some shit?"

"Nah, worse," Jisung replies, his grin widening. "Apparently, she spent the whole time talking about her ex and then made him pay for everything. Like, didn't even pretend to offer."

"Fucking brutal," Minho mutters, shaking his head. "But hey, Lix, what about you? Thinking about dipping your toes into the dating pool? Maybe get some Tinder dates lined up? Or, I don't know, snag a hot French girlfriend on the trip?"

Felix hesitates for a second too long, and you seize the opportunity.

"Yeah," you say, your tone dripping with mock sympathy. "Because his last girlfriend deflated when he nibbled on her ear."

The laughter that erupts is immediate and overwhelming. Changbin is the first to lose it, throwing his head back and falling off the arm of the couch entirely. Hyunjin tries to keep his composure, but his shoulders shake as he hides his laughter behind his sketchbook.

"Oh my fucking god," Changbin wheezes from the floor, clutching his stomach. "I'm gonna die."

Jisung is biting his lip so hard it looks like it might bleed, but even he can't hold it together when Felix starts spluttering, his face as red as a tomato.

"You're such an asshole!" Felix snaps, his voice higher-pitched than usual. "It wasn't even funny!"

"Oh, come on, Twilight Sparkle," you say, setting your cup down on the side table with a dramatic sigh. "We all know your girlfriends have been inflatable. It's okay."

Minho immediately raises his hand, and you slap it in a victorious high-five as Felix groans loudly. The room explodes into laughter again, Jisung practically collapsing onto the couch as he gasps for air.

"Stop fucking calling me that!" Felix yells, his voice cracking slightly. "It's not even clever!"

"You're just mad because it fits," you reply smugly, leaning back and crossing your legs.

Jeongin, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks up with a mischievous grin. "Hey, Lix, if you do get a French girlfriend, maybe Cruella can help you translate."

"Fuck off, Jeongin," Felix snaps, shooting him a glare. "Like I need her help."

"Oh, you definitely do," Minho cuts in, smirking. "Your French is trash. What was it you said last time? Je suis un croissant? Dude, you called yourself a fucking pastry."

Felix throws his hands up in frustration as the laughter intensifies. "Why are all of you ganging up on me?!"

"Because you're easy to mess with," you say with a shrug, picking up your iced Americano again. "And honestly, it's fun watching you get all flustered."

Felix glares at you again, muttering something under his breath that you can't quite catch. You don't care, though. Riling him up is one of your favourite pastimes, and the fact that he keeps rising to the bait only makes it better.

"Anyway," Changbin says, wiping tears from his eyes as he finally sits back up, "you guys are fucking ridiculous."

"And yet, you hang out with us," Hyunjin points out, his voice still tinged with amusement as he goes back to his sketchbook.

"Yeah, because you're entertaining," Changbin retorts. "It's like watching a live comedy show."

Felix slumps onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, still glaring at you from across the room. You meet his gaze with a sweet, innocent smile, and he groans, running a hand through his hair.

"Fucking Cruella," he mutters under his breath, and you can't help but grin.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lecture hall is buzzing with conversation as students file in, taking their seats around tables scattered with booklets and itinerary sheets. The Paris trip meeting is supposed to be straightforward, but nothing about being stuck in a room with overexcited classmates screams "calm." You're running late but you don't care. The thought of spending hours cooped up going over the fine details of travel plans is already giving you a headache.

You click your way into the room, the sharp staccato of your boots echoing against the tile floor. Your black leather miniskirt clings just right, and your dark red turtleneck contrasts perfectly with your half-black, half-white hair, messily clipped up in a way that somehow still looks flawless.

"Late as always," Felix mutters from just behind you. He's trailing after you, also late, because of course he is.

"Look who's talking, Twilight Sparkle," you snap back, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. "What, too busy spreading sunshine and glitter to get here on time?"

"Funny, coming from someone who probably spent twenty minutes perfecting her eyeliner just to intimidate the rest of us," Felix retorts, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well, it's working," you say, smirking back. "You look terrified."

Felix opens his mouth to reply, but the professor at the front of the room clears her throat, gesturing for the two of you to find seats. The only available ones are at a table already occupied by Minho, Seungmin, and Jisung. Great.

"Perfect," Felix mutters as he drops into the chair beside you. "Now I get front-row seats to Cruella's tragic personality."

"And I get to sit next to an overgrown My Little Pony," you reply sweetly, settling into your chair and crossing your legs.

Minho, Seungmin, and Jisung exchange amused glances as you and Felix settle in. Minho leans back in his chair, his arms crossed and a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

The professor begins walking through the itinerary, her voice droning on about flights, hotel check-ins, and scheduled activities. You try to focus, but Felix shifting in his seat beside you keeps pulling your attention.

"So," Felix whispers, leaning slightly closer. "What are you planning to do on your free days? Suck out the souls of innocent Parisians?"

"Yeah," you reply without missing a beat, your voice equally low. "So they don't have to suffer through your sunshine bullshit. It's a mercy soul-snatching, really."

Felix snorts, unable to hide his amusement. "At least you're self-aware."

"Besides," you add, smirking as you turn your head toward him, "at least their souls are being snatched by someone attractive."

Felix chokes on a laugh, quickly covering his mouth with his hand to muffle the sound. Minho and Jisung exchange wide-eyed looks, while Seungmin just shakes his head, clearly holding back his own laughter.

"Wow," Felix mutters after a moment, still grinning. "You really think highly of yourself, don't you?"

"Someone has to," you reply, tilting your head. "You're all too busy worshipping the ground you walk on."

Felix shakes his head, still smiling. He won't admit it, but he actually enjoys these exchanges. You're sharp, quick-witted, and, unfortunately for his sanity, ridiculously attractive. He had a massive crush on you during your first year of college and never quite managed to shake it. Bickering with you is the only way he can interact with you without embarrassing himself, so he keeps it up, even if it means getting roasted half the time.

"Will the two of you shut up?" Seungmin finally hisses, his tone half-annoyed, half-amused. "I'm trying to actually listen to this shit."

"You're just mad because we're more entertaining than the professor," you say, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms.

"She's not wrong," Jisung mutters, scribbling aimlessly on the corner of his itinerary. "You two are better than Netflix."

The professor glances in your direction, and you immediately sit up straighter, pretending to focus. Felix bites back another laugh, and you elbow him sharply.

The meeting drags on, but eventually, the professor wraps up her presentation with a reminder about packing lists and travel documents. Just as everyone begins gathering their things to leave, she calls your name.

"Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Minho and Seungmin exchange a glance before sitting back down, clearly deciding to wait for you. You roll your eyes but nod, making your way to the front of the room where the professor is organizing her papers.

"I just have a quick question about the forms I need to fill out," she says, looking up. "Will I be putting that you're using your French passport or your Korean one?"

"French," you reply easily. "It's just easier to travel to the EU with an EU passport."

The professor nods, scribbling something down. "Got it. Thanks for confirming."

"No problem," you say, turning to head back toward Minho and Seungmin, who are lounging at your table with matching grins.

"So," Minho says as you approach, "French passport, huh? Fancy."

"Shut up," you mutter, grabbing your bag. "Let's go before Felix decides to keep following me."

Seungmin chuckles as the three of you make your way out of the room, leaving behind the chaos of the meeting and the lingering scent of Felix's cologne.

The BBQ place is packed, the smell of sizzling meat and spices wafting through the air as waiters bustle around, carrying trays piled high with food. You, Minho, and Seungmin are crammed into a small booth in the corner, the table already cluttered with banchan and beer bottles. The grill in the centre of the table is heating up, and Minho is poking at the coals with the tongs.

You sip your soju, leaning back against the booth and glancing between your two best friends. "You know something?"

Seungmin barely looks up as he flips a piece of pork belly. "What?"

"I am a fucking catch," you declare, gesturing dramatically with your glass. "I have a nice ass, tits to die for, and flawless eyeliner. But for some reason, no one approaches me. Wanna know why? It's because of you two."

Seungmin raises an eyebrow while Minho smirks, clearly enjoying where this is going. "Us?" Minho asks, his tone mocking. "How is this our fault?"

You set your glass down and point at them accusingly. "You're like my tattooed, pierced bodyguards. Guys take one look at me sandwiched between you two and immediately assume I have the emotional baggage of a Bond villain."

Minho snorts, finally looking up from the grill. "Have you considered," he says with a smirk, "that maybe it's your personality?"

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. "Personality means absolutely nothing for a one-night stand, Min. You know that."

Seungmin hums thoughtfully, propping his chin on his hand. "Honestly, we're doing you a favour. We're keeping you from being the subject of a fucking Netflix true crime documentary. Your taste in men is horrendous."

"Excuse me?" you say, voice pitching higher as you glare at him. "I think my taste is fine, thank you very much."

Minho barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, fuck off. Your taste in men is like a shopping cart full of bad decisions. Honestly, we're saving ourselves hours of police interviews. Do you know how many shady hookups we've already intervened in?"

"Uh, fuck you," you shoot back, kicking his shin under the table. Minho barely flinches, grinning at you like the devil he is.

Seungmin leans back in his seat, his lips twitching. "On national television, we'd be like, 'Yeah, we all fucking saw this coming.' Any shady guy with tattoos and an authority kink has a one-way ticket to you."

You sputter, choking on your drink as Minho doubles over laughing. "An authority kink? You're such an asshole, Seungmin."

"I mean, he's not wrong," Minho says, smirking. "It's the daddy issues."

You swat his arm, but you're laughing despite yourself. "Fuck you, Minho."

"Love you too, sweetheart," he replies, smirking as he pops a piece of grilled meat into his mouth.

Seungmin leans forward, grinning wickedly. "You know we wouldn't hold back in any press interviews if you ever disappeared, right?"

Minho nods sagely, pointing at you with his chopsticks. "We'd tell them everything. Your embarrassing drunken escapades, your horror hookup stories, the whole fucking list."

You narrow your eyes at them, though you can't fight the smile tugging at your lips. "You two are the fucking worst."

Seungmin grins. "We'd tell them about that time you climbed out of the Theta Tau frat house window, and Chan had to catch you like a goddamn princess."

Minho cackles, nearly dropping the tongs. "Oh, or the time Hyunjin pretended to be your fiancé, bursting into your apartment and pretending to catch you cheating just to get that creep to leave."

"That was a good one," Seungmin says, nodding. "Or remember the time we had to dress up in all black with sunglasses and pretend to be your private bodyguards? Changbin pinned the guy down like a linebacker."

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "In my defence, Changbin only pinned him after he stuck his hand up my skirt."

"Oh yeah," Minho says, his voice darkening slightly, "and then we- how do I put this nicely?- beat the shit out of him."

You peek at him through your fingers, trying not to laugh. "Nicely, huh?"

Seungmin smirks, tilting his head. "It's true. That guy looked like he got hit by a freight train after Changbin was done."

The three of you dissolve into laughter, the sound loud and unfiltered, cutting through the noise of the BBQ place. Despite their teasing, you know Minho and Seungmin would throw hands for you any day—and that thought, as annoying as it is, makes your chest feel a little lighter. Even if they are tattooed, pierced, overly sarcastic bodyguards.

Jisung's room is a disaster, as usual. Clothes are strewn across the floor, empty takeout containers balance precariously on his desk, and the faint smell of weed lingers in the air. Felix is sprawled on the beanbag chair next to the bed, a controller in hand as they play some chaotic multiplayer game on Jisung's beat-up TV. The screen is a mess of flashing colours, and the sound of explosions fills the room.

Jisung leans back on the bed, one leg dangling off the side, controller in one hand, and a bong resting on the nightstand within reach. "Honestly," he says, his voice casual but curious, "what is with you and Y/N?"

Felix groans, his freckled face scrunching up as he mashes the buttons on his controller. "She fucking hates me for being positive. I don't like her for being miserable. It's that simple."

"Uh-huh," Jisung hums, unimpressed. He pauses the game to grab the bong, taking a long, slow rip before passing it to Felix. Smoke curls lazily in the air, blending with the already hazy atmosphere.

Felix takes the bong, shaking his head. "I'm serious. She's all doom and gloom, and I'm just trying to exist without getting roasted every five fucking seconds."

"You do bring it on yourself, Twilight Sparkle," Jisung says, grinning as Felix glares at him through the haze of smoke.

"Don't you fucking start with that," Felix mutters, exhaling a cloud and passing the bong back. "She's got the whole Cruella de Vil aesthetic going, and somehow I'm the one getting all the shit."

Jisung snickers, setting the bong aside for now. "Okay, but like, you've got to admit, you still have that crush on her from last year."

Felix freezes, the controller slipping slightly in his hands. "What?" he says, his voice slightly higher than usual. "That's fucking ridiculous."

Jisung raises an eyebrow, sitting up slightly. "Oh, is it? You spent all of first year following her around like a lost puppy. Don't think I didn't notice."

Felix huffs, leaning back in the beanbag chair and staring at the screen. "Yeah, well, that's over. She's- Whatever. She's a pain in my ass now."

"Sure," Jisung says, clearly unconvinced. He grabs the bong again but doesn't take another rip just yet. "But, you know, any clothes we take on this France trip are gonna have to be deep-cleaned and sealed in our suitcases. Gotta make sure the drug dogs don't sniff this shit out at the airport."

Felix snorts, grateful for the subject change. "Yeah, no kidding. Last thing we need is to get fucking detained in customs because you smell like a walking dispensary."

Jisung smirks, leaning back on his elbows. "You're deflecting, by the way. You still like her."

"And what about your big, fat crush on Minho?" Felix shoots back, smirking now that the spotlight isn't on him.

Jisung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. "Bitch, I am proud of my big, fat crush on Minho. Why do you think I signed up for the France trip? Six days in the city of love. I'm going to woo that tattooed sexy man with pastry and my bomb dick game."

Felix bursts out laughing, doubling over in his seat. "Your what?"

"My bomb dick game," Jisung repeats confidently, sitting up straight. "You think I can't pull? I'm gonna have Minho eating out of the palm of my hand. Or, you know, somewhere else."

Felix shakes his head, still laughing as he wipes tears from his eyes. "There's no fucking way, Sung. Minho would make you his subby bottom bitch in, like, point five seconds."

Jisung grins, unfazed. "I mean, honestly? I wouldn't even be mad about it."

Felix groans, leaning back in the beanbag again, a wide smile still on his face. "You're fucking hopeless."

"And you're deflecting again," Jisung points out, wagging a finger at him. "Admit it. You still think Y/N is hot."

Felix doesn't respond immediately, focusing on the game instead. But the faint flush creeping up his neck gives him away.

Jisung smirks, taking another rip of the bong. "Thought so."

---------------------------------------------------------

Incheon International Airport is a chaotic mix of noise, announcements, and the overwhelming scent of overpriced coffee. Everyone going on the France trip has already checked in their suitcases, leaving the group gathered near security. You glance around, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Your green leather miniskirt catches the light, and your black lace-trimmed camisole barely offers any protection from the chill of the air conditioning.

Minho stands next to you, scrolling through his phone while Seungmin argues with a vending machine that just ate his money. The three of you are clearly overdressed compared to the sea of tourists in sweatpants and hoodies. But when have you ever given a shit about blending in?

"Let's get this over with," you mutter, stepping toward the metal detector.

The moment you step through, the machine beeps loudly, its accusatory tone cutting through the background noise. A security worker waves you over to the side. You groan as Minho and Seungmin snicker, stepping through after you and immediately setting it off themselves. Of course.

"Piercings," Minho says simply, shrugging as the male security worker gestures for him to step aside too. "This is gonna take a while."

The three of you stand in a line, waiting as the security team gathers their wands and gloves. A female worker approaches you first, holding up a handheld metal detector.

"Hold still," she says, her tone polite but firm. She waves the wand over your face, and it immediately beeps.

"Eyebrow piercing," you say, pointing to it before poking your tongue out. "Tongue piercing too. Oh, and the lip ring."

The woman nods, moving the detector down. It beeps again as she waves it over your chest, and you sigh dramatically. "Nipple piercings," you explain, "and probably the underwire in my bra."

The worker's expression remains neutral as she begins patting you down, her hands brushing over your sides and chest. You glance over at Minho, who's already standing with his arms out like a bored mannequin.

When the detector beeps over his crotch, Minho smirks. "That piercing was brutal. Prince Albert."

You snort, unable to hold back your laugh, while Seungmin chokes on air beside you. "We held his hands when he got it," Seungmin says, grinning. "He cried."

"I did not cry," Minho shoots back, but he's clearly lying, and you both know it.

"You definitely cried," you say, shaking your head. "I was there."

Seungmin steps forward as the worker moves to him, holding his arms out. The wand goes off near his chest, and he glances down. "Nipple piercings here too," he says casually.

"Shocker," you mutter, rolling your eyes as the female worker finishes with you and waves you forward.

You step to the side, adjusting your bag and scanning the room for the others. Your eyes land on Felix, who's being waved over to another security lane. The worker waves the detector over him, and you can't help but notice when it beeps over his crotch.

Minho leans in close, his voice low but filled with amusement. "No fucking way. Felix has a Prince Albert? Did not have that on my 2024 bingo card."

You bite back a laugh, glancing at Felix, who looks mildly annoyed but unfazed as the security worker pats him down. "Twilight Sparkle with a secret edge," you mutter. "Who knew?"

Before Minho can reply, Jisung gets pulled to another station, and the detector immediately goes off over his chest and, moments later, over his crotch. Minho arches an eyebrow, clearly fighting a grin.

"Interesting," Minho says, drawing out the word.

You smirk, nudging him with your elbow. "Just admit you like the guy already. We all know it. You two are set for the perfect friends-to-lovers romance arc."

Seungmin, still watching the scene unfold, nods in agreement. "Seriously. Everyone knows. You're like one heartfelt confession away from being that couple, the guy who looks like a dom and is a sub and the guy who looks like a sub but is a dom."

Minho glares at you both, but the tips of his ears are turning red. "Oh, fuck off. You're both subby as hell too."

"Yeah," Seungmin says, shrugging as he crosses his arms. "But we're not ashamed of it."

"Exactly," you add, grinning. "We own it. Unlike you, Mr. Denial."

Minho groans, running a hand through his hair as Jisung finally gets cleared and starts making his way back toward the group. "You two are the fucking worst."

"And yet, you love us," Seungmin says, smirking as he slings an arm over Minho's shoulders.

You watch as Felix joins the group again, his expression unreadable as he adjusts his jacket. He catches your gaze for a moment, and you offer him a saccharine smile. "How's it feel to know we're both walking red flags, Twilight Sparkle?"

Felix smirks, his freckled cheeks faintly flushed. "Better than being an open invitation for disaster, Cruella."

The tension crackles as the group begins moving toward the boarding gate, bickering and bantering all the way. It's going to be a long trip.

The plane is already filling up as you make your way down the aisle, your carry-on bag slung over your shoulder. You glance at the numbers on the overhead compartments, searching for your seat. When you finally find it, you stop dead in your tracks.

You're sandwiched between Felix and Jisung.

"Fucking perfect," you mutter under your breath, adjusting your bag before reluctantly squeezing past Felix, who's already lounging in his seat. Jisung flashes you a bright smile as you settle into the middle seat.

"Hi, Ji," you say, offering him a small smile despite your mood.

"Hey," he says back, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he pulls his headphones off one ear. "Ready for the long-ass flight?"

"Not anymore," you reply, side-eyeing Felix as you drop into the seat. You barely have time to get comfortable before Felix leans over, grinning at you.

"Where's my greeting, Cruella?" he asks, his tone dripping with mock offence.

You sigh dramatically, leaning back in your seat. "If you wait till we're thirty thousand feet in the air, open the door to the plane, and jump out, you'll find it on the fall down."

Jisung bursts out laughing, his head tilting back against the headrest. Felix glares at you, though the corner of his mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile.

"Charming as ever," Felix mutters, shifting in his seat.

Behind you, Minho and Seungmin are settling into their own seats. Unfortunately for them, they've been joined by Jihyo, a girl who's infamous at Alpha Phi parties for clinging to the two of them like a magnet. She's already leaning over, batting her eyelashes as she touches Seungmin's tattooed arm.

"Wow, Seungmin," she says in a voice that's somehow both high-pitched and grating. "This tattoo is so detailed. Did it hurt?"

Seungmin gives her a tight-lipped smile. "Not as much as this conversation."

Minho snickers, pretending to cough into his hand. "Yeah, Seungmin's great at enduring pain. You know, like a champ."

Jihyo doesn't seem to catch the jab, her hand now moving to Minho's arm. "Your tattoos are so cool too, Minho. Did you design them yourself?"

Minho smirks, leaning back in his seat. "Nope, just got them to scare off straight girls. Works most of the time."

You stifle a giggle, glancing back over your shoulder to see Jihyo frowning slightly, trying to figure out if she's being insulted. Minho meets your eyes and winks, earning a quiet laugh from Seungmin.

"God, how long is this flight?" Minho mutters under his breath, though his voice is loud enough for you to hear.

Felix, ever the boy scout, chimes in. "Fourteen hours, fifty-five minutes. Non-stop from Korea to Paris."

Minho groans dramatically, leaning his head back against the seat. "Kill me now."

Meanwhile, Jihyo continues draping herself over Seungmin, her fingers brushing over the lightning-strike tattoo on his arm. Seungmin finally snaps, pulling his arm away. "Look, Jihyo, I get it, you think tattoos are hot. But can you maybe not treat me like a goddamn exhibit?"

Minho bursts out laughing, and you have to bite your lip to keep from joining in.

Turning back around, you reach into your bag and pull out your copy of Madame Bovary, the French edition. As you flip it open, Jisung glances at you curiously.

"Wait," he says, his head tilting slightly. "You can read French?"

"Uh, yeah," you reply, lifting the book slightly so he can see the cover. "And speak it. Dual nationality perks."

"Dual nationality?" Jisung echoes, clearly intrigued.

You nod, digging into your bag again and pulling out your French passport, flipping it open briefly to show him. "My dad's Korean, but my mom was French. EU citizenship is convenient."

Jisung whistles low. "Damn, I'm sticking with you this trip."

"Not if he's hanging around," you reply, jerking your thumb toward Felix.

Jisung hesitates for a moment before sighing dramatically. "Sorry, Felix."

Felix gapes at him, looking genuinely betrayed. "What the fuck, Ji? You're abandoning me for Cruella?"

Jisung shrugs with a sheepish grin. "She's got the dual citizenship card, man. It's survival instincts."

You smirk, leaning back in your seat as Felix mutters something under his breath.

As Jihyo continues her not-so-subtle attempts at flirting with Minho, he leans over and whispers to you, "Seriously, though, how long is this flight again?"

"Fourteen hours, fifty-five minutes," Felix says again from beside you, not looking up from his phone.

Minho groans louder this time. "I swear to god, if she keeps this up, I'm jumping out of the emergency exit."

"Take me with you," Seungmin mutters, glaring at Jihyo as she giggles at something she clearly thinks is charming.

Deciding you all need a distraction, you reach into your carry-on and pull out a bottle of duty-free vodka. Minho and Seungmin immediately perk up.

"Oh, hell yeah," Jisung says, grinning as you crack open the bottle and take a long sip before passing it to him.

You dig around in your bag again and pull out a juice box, handing it to Felix with a sweet smile. "Here, sunshine. Don't want you to get too wild."

Felix takes the juice box, raising an eyebrow. "Joke's on you, this is my favourite."

You blink in surprise as he sticks the straw in and takes a sip, smirking at you the whole time.

"Well," Minho says, opening his own bottle of soju, "this is gonna be a very interesting fourteen hours."

Seungmin snorts, leaning over and clinking his bottle against yours as the plane finally begins taxiing down the runway.

Almost fifteen gruelling hours later, the plane finally lands in Paris. The seatbelt sign dings off, and the passengers begin shuffling to grab their bags. You're sandwiched in the middle seat between Jisung and Felix, both of whom look equally wrecked from the long flight.

Jisung stretches, cracking his back as he unbuckles his seatbelt. "Fucking finally. My ass is numb."

"Could've been worse," Felix says from the window seat, his voice scratchy from hours of dry aeroplane air. "At least we didn't get stuck near a screaming baby."

You groan, leaning your head back against the seat. "No, we just got stuck next to you, which is worse."

Felix smirks, unbothered as he leans down to grab his bag from under the seat. "Good morning to you too, Cruella. Sleep well?"

"Keep talking," you mutter, adjusting your camisole as you unbuckle your seatbelt. "I'll tell the nearest worker you're wanted internationally. A few hours locked up ought to cool you down."

Jisung snorts so loudly it earns him a glare from a passenger across the aisle. "Please do it. I'll film the whole thing."

"Shut the fuck up, Ji," Felix mutters, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he files into the aisle behind Jisung.

Once the group manages to shuffle off the plane and through the long stretch of security, you all make it to the baggage claim. The belts are spinning lazily, and you lean against one of the metal rails, waiting for your suitcase to appear.

Felix, of course, can't resist. "Don't lose your suitcase, Cruella. I'd hate to see you terrorize the French airport staff."

"Keep it up," you snap, not even looking at him, "and I will report you having a brick of coke or something. Bet they'd love to lock you in the back room for a few hours while we explore Paris without you."

Minho and Seungmin, standing nearby, both snort into their hands while Jisung straight-up laughs, earning another glare from Felix.

"You're all assholes," Felix mutters, but there's no heat in his tone.

Once everyone has their bags, you make your way toward the exit. The group pauses by the bus pickup area, where a coach is supposed to collect everyone. However, the wait is longer than expected, and the sun is already warming the Parisian streets.

"There's a café near the exit," Jisung suggests, nodding toward the small glass building visible through the crowd. "Let's grab something while we wait."

The group agrees, and Jisung practically drags Felix along as you all head toward the café. The warm, rich scent of coffee greets you as you step inside, and you immediately take charge at the counter.

"Okay," you say, glancing over your shoulder at the guys. "What's everyone having?"

"Iced Americano," Minho and Seungmin chime in simultaneously.

"Same," Jisung says, leaning against the counter as he nudges Felix. "What about you, Twilight Sparkle?"

Felix glares at him, then shrugs. "Tea."

The cashier waits patiently as you translate their orders into French, your pronunciation smooth and confident. You smile politely at the barista, who flushes slightly as he takes the payment.

As you step to the side to wait for the drinks, Felix mutters, "Really?"

You turn to him with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

He nods toward the barista, who's glancing at you every few seconds as he works. "That."

"Oh, come on, man," Jisung says, grinning as he nudges Felix. "Everyone thinks she's hot. Just those two," he gestures toward Minho and Seungmin, "scare everyone else off."

Felix huffs, crossing his arms. "Except you. You're the only one dumb enough to stick around because you're too busy jerking it to Minho every night."

Jisung grins shamelessly, shrugging. "Guilty. I'm not denying shit."

Behind him, Minho's grin grows as he exchanges an excited glance with Seungmin, nudging him lightly with his elbow. Seungmin shakes his head, clearly trying not to laugh.

When the drinks are ready, you grab the cups from the counter, handing them out one by one. You hold Felix's tea in your hand, looking at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. Before passing it to him, you lean down and run your tongue over the lid's mouthpiece, licking it slowly.

"Here," you say, holding it out to him with an innocent smile.

Felix rolls his eyes but takes the cup anyway, muttering, "Not even fazed."

As he takes a sip, Jisung whispers loud enough for everyone to hear, "Indirect kiss!"

Without missing a beat, both you and Felix turn to him and kick him in the shins simultaneously.

"Ow! Fucking hell!" Jisung yelps, hopping on one foot while the rest of you laugh.

Minho takes a sip of his Americano, grinning. "This is gonna be a long trip, huh?"

"Fourteen more days of this," Seungmin mutters, shaking his head. But even he's smiling as the group heads back toward the coach pickup, drinks in hand and the promise of chaos already brewing.

The coach finally pulls into the parking lot of a modest motel on the outskirts of Paris. The building is squat and nondescript, with faded paint and a flickering neon sign that does little to inspire confidence. As the group files off the bus, Minho stops dead in his tracks, his eyes scanning the building with an unimpressed glare.

"Absolutely fucking not," he says, turning to you. "You're not staying in a single room here. This is where people get murdered."

You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms. "Oh, so now you're my knight in shining armour?"

"No," Minho replies, deadpan. "But I do have a vested interest in not having to fly back home to attend your funeral."

Seungmin, standing behind you both, looks over the list of room assignments. "I'll pair up with someone else," he says, waving toward a random guy he recognizes from the flight. "That way you two can share. No one's getting stabbed on my watch."

You sigh, knowing better than to argue with them when they're in one of their overprotective moods. "Fine. But if Minho snores, I'm leaving him for dead."

"Bold of you to assume I'd protect you if the murderer shows up first," Minho quips, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

The two of you make your way to your assigned room, unlocking the door to find a small, slightly dingy double room. The bed is pushed against the wall, the sheets a shade of white that screams "washed too many times," and there's a single chair by the window. You pause in the doorway, your eyes narrowing at the faint outline of what looks suspiciously like chalk on the carpet.

"Is that... the remains of a fucking chalk outline?" you ask, stepping into the room cautiously.

Minho peers over your shoulder, his expression unimpressed. "The college really cut corners with this place, huh?"

"Check the windows," you say, dropping your bag on the chair. "Make sure they're bolted."

Minho nods, walking over to the small window and giving it a firm shake. "Bolted. Barely, but it's something."

You sigh, flopping onto the double bed. The mattress creaks loudly, but you've slept on worse during past adventures with Minho. He joins you a moment later, lying on his back beside you. The two of you stare at the cracked ceiling, the faint hum of traffic filtering in from outside.

"This place is depressing," you mutter, your hands resting on your stomach.

"Very," Minho agrees. "But at least we've got each other."

"Aw," you say, smirking. "Didn't know you were so sentimental."

Minho chuckles, turning his head slightly to look at you. "So, let's cut the shit. Do you have a crush on Felix?"

You splutter, sitting up so fast you nearly lose your balance. "What the fuck, Minho?"

He's laughing now, full-on cackling as you grab the nearest pillow and whack him with it. "I'm just asking! You two bicker like an old married couple!"

"Because he's a pain in my ass, not because I like him!" you snap, hitting him again as he shields his face with his arms, still laughing.

"Okay, okay!" Minho wheezes, tears in his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. "Just checking!"

You throw the pillow back onto the bed, flopping down dramatically beside him. "You're the fucking worst, Minho."

"And yet, you love me," he says smugly, turning his head to grin at you.

"Not right now, I don't," you grumble, staring at the ceiling again.

The two of you lie there in silence for a moment before Minho speaks up again. "But seriously, if Felix tries to pull some 'Twilight Sparkle' bullshit this trip, I'll handle it for you."

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to stop the small smile creeping onto your face. "Thanks, Minho."

"Anytime, Cruella," he replies, smirking.

The pastry-making class is set in a pristine kitchen with wide marble countertops, rows of stainless steel appliances, and a faint smell of butter and sugar in the air. Each workstation is stocked with bowls, utensils, and pre-measured ingredients. Everyone's already donned aprons, black for you, red for Minho and Seungmin, and an obnoxious pastel blue for Felix across the room.

You're thriving. Your dough is already chilling in the fridge, perfect in texture and consistency, because of course it is. Felix, annoyingly, has also finished, his smug grin flashing every time you accidentally catch his eye across the room. You both know you're equally talented in this department, though neither of you will ever admit it aloud.

Minho and Seungmin, however, are another story.

"I swear to fucking god," Minho mutters, staring down at the gloopy mess in his bowl. "This dough is cursed. It's the pastry's fault. I'm perfect, so it can't be me that did anything wrong."

You burst out laughing, leaning over to check his dough. "You're perfect, huh? Well, perfect Minho, your dough looks like it's been chewed up and spit out by a dog."

Seungmin snorts, his own dough looking only marginally better as he tries to roll it out on the counter. "Honestly, it's a good thing you don't have an ego or anything, Min."

"Fuck off," Minho retorts, throwing a pinch of flour at him before looking at you. "Alright, pastry goddess, fix this mess."

You giggle, grabbing his bowl and starting to work the dough. "Okay, first of all, you overmixed it. Second, you didn't measure the butter properly."

"Details," Minho says dismissively, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. "I'm a big-picture kind of guy."

"Yeah, well, the big picture here is that you suck at this," you reply, smirking as you knead the dough back into something usable. "But don't worry, that's why I'm here."

Across the room, Felix is helping Jisung with his dough, his tone patient but clearly amused. "Ji, you have to fold it gently. You're not trying to wrestle it into submission."

"I am being gentle!" Jisung protests, his hands pressing down hard on the dough. "It's just not cooperating."

Felix sighs, stepping closer and showing him the correct technique. "Like this. See? It's all about finesse."

"Fucking show-off," you mutter under your breath, glancing at them briefly before turning back to Minho's dough.

"You jealous, Cruella?" Minho teases, his lips twitching into a grin. "Looks like your little nemesis is winning Teacher of the Year over there."

You roll your eyes, throwing a bit of flour at him. "Shut up and focus, perfect one. Your dough still needs fixing."

Seungmin groans as his own dough tears under his rolling pin. "Why is this so fucking hard? I don't understand. It's just flour and butter!"

"Clearly, it's beyond your skill level," you tease, stepping over to help him. "Okay, stop manhandling it. Just let me do it before you make it worse."

"God, you're bossy," Seungmin mutters, but he steps back to let you work.

"Yeah, and you love it," you reply, not missing a beat.

Felix, who's clearly been eavesdropping, calls out from his side of the room. "Hey, Cruella, how's it going over there? Need me to come save the day?"

You glance at him with an exaggerated fake smile. "Oh, Twilight Sparkle, I didn't realize you were auditioning for France's Next Top Pastry Chef. Should I start clapping now, or wait till you mess up?"

Felix grins, his freckles scrunching up as he leans on the counter. "Keep talking. Just remember, my dough's already in the fridge. Can't mess up perfection."

"Perfection?" you echo, scoffing. "You're such a smug little shit."

"And yet," Felix says, smirking, "you're still watching me."

You flip him off, earning a laugh from Jisung, who's now trying to scrape sticky dough off his hands. Minho watches the exchange with an amused smirk, clearly filing it away for later teasing.

Once you've finally managed to salvage Minho and Seungmin's doughs, you guide them to wrap it up and get it into the fridge.

"See? Not that hard when you listen to me," you say, wiping your hands on your apron.

"Yeah, yeah," Minho mutters, glaring at his dough like it personally wronged him. "Next time, I'm sabotaging yours just to feel better."

"Like you could," you reply with a grin, bumping his shoulder as you walk past.

The class instructor announces the dough will chill for a while before the next step, giving everyone a chance to clean up. As you rinse your hands in the sink, you catch Felix's eyes across the room. He raises an eyebrow, and you can't help but smirk back.

The restaurant is dimly lit, cosy, and packed with the sound of clinking glasses and soft conversation in rapid French. The guys are seated at a round table near the back, a small candle flickering in the centre. Jisung glances at the empty seat next to Minho, frowning as he stabs at a piece of bread on his plate.

"Hey," he says, looking up. "Where's Y/N?"

Minho doesn't even glance up from the menu as he flips through it. "She had somewhere to go tonight."

"Where?" Jisung presses, leaning his elbows on the table.

Seungmin sighs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "The Père Lachaise Cemetery."

Jisung pauses, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. "Why the fuck is she at a cemetery?"

Seungmin exchanges a quick glance with Minho before replying, his tone quieter. "Visiting her mother's grave."

Jisung immediately sets the bread down, his expression softening. "Oh. Fuck. I didn't know."

"Yeah, well," Minho says, setting the menu down and flagging a waiter over. "She doesn't talk about it much, so don't mention it when she gets back."

Jisung nods solemnly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the breadbasket. "Is that why she said her mom was French?"

Minho nods, turning to the waiter as they approach. "Can we get five bottles of wine? One for each of us and one for Y/N when she gets here."

"Five bottles?" Felix echoes, raising an eyebrow. "That's excessive even for us."

Minho shoots him a look. "You met her, right? She's going to need it."

Felix smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Fair point."

The wine arrives a few moments later, and they start pouring drinks while chatting about the class earlier that day. Jisung keeps the conversation light, cracking jokes about his disastrous attempt at dough-making, while Seungmin mocks him for not even being able to handle flour properly. Felix mostly listens, sipping his wine and occasionally chiming in with sarcastic remarks.

Just as Minho raises his glass for a toast, the door to the restaurant swings open, and you step inside. The candlelight catches the sharp angles of your face, your makeup still perfectly intact despite the long day. You're wearing a sleek black miniskirt and a long-sleeved turtleneck under a long black coat. A beret sits tilted on your head, and your lace-up stiletto boots click softly against the floor as you make your way over.

Without a word, you plop into the seat next to Minho and grab the unopened bottle of wine in front of you. "Good timing," Minho says, pouring you a glass.

You fill it to the brim, taking a long sip before leaning back in your chair. "Well, don't everyone look so excited to see me."

"Glad you're back, Cruella," Felix says, his smirk faint but present. "Thought maybe you'd gotten lost in the catacombs or something."

You glance at him, unimpressed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Twilight Sparkle." Then you raise your glass in mock toast. "Sorry to disappoint. Still alive and kicking."

Jisung, who's been noticeably quiet, finally speaks up. "We saved you a bottle," he says, nodding toward the wine in front of you.

"Good," you reply, downing half the glass. "You're not entirely useless after all."

The group falls into easy conversation, the tension from earlier slowly melting away. Minho keeps the wine flowing, and by the time the first bottle is finished, even Felix looks like he's having a good time.

As the night wears on, you catch Minho watching you out of the corner of his eye. When you finally meet his gaze, he simply smiles softly and raises his glass.

You nod back, grateful for his silent understanding. Because if there's one thing Minho knows, it's when to say nothing at all.

It's late, and the motel room is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlight creeping in through the thin curtains. You're sprawled across the king-size bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone while trying to ignore the questionable creaks and groans coming from the walls. Dressed in black hotpants and a tank top, you've already resigned yourself to the lacklustre accommodations and are just trying to wind down.

A sharp knock at the door interrupts your quiet. Frowning, you toss your phone onto the bed and pad over to the door, pulling it open without bothering to check who it is. Standing there is Felix, looking thoroughly annoyed, his freckled face slightly flushed, either from lingering embarrassment or leftover wine.

"Minho and Jisung are fucking in my room," he announces flatly, his voice tinged with disbelief. "All that wine we drank apparently worked like a goddamn aphrodisiac for them. I walked into my room and saw Jisung balls deep in Minho's ass."

You blink at him, leaning against the doorframe. "Oh. Good for them."

"Good for them?!" Felix repeats, exasperated. "No, not good for them! My fucking room!"

"Yeah, well," you say with a shrug, "you're not staying here. Sleep in the hallway."

Felix stares at you, clearly unimpressed. "You have twin beds, right?"

"Nope," you reply, leaning your head against the doorframe. "One king-size bed. Minho and I have been sharing it. Hence why you cannot crash here unless you want to sleep in the bath or on the floor, because I am not sharing the bed with you."

Felix raises an eyebrow. "You're that against sharing a bed with me?"

"Absolutely," you say, deadpan. "But I'll be generous. I'll give you a pillow and blanket for whichever you choose. Bath or floor?"

Felix sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Floor, I guess."

You smirk, stepping back and gesturing for him to come inside. "Brave man. I don't think these carpets have been cleaned since the place opened, though. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Felix drops his bag near the door, eyeing the carpet with mild disgust. "This place is one step away from being condemned. How the hell did the college book it?"

"Budget cuts," you say, tossing a pillow and blanket onto the floor. "Here. Make yourself at home, Twilight Sparkle."

"Don't start," Felix mutters, crouching down to arrange the makeshift bed. As he stretches out on the floor, he props his head up on one arm, looking up at you. "I misjudged Minho, by the way. I thought he was a top."

You laugh, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. "Minho? Pfft. No. He's a subby man, just like Seungmin."

Felix grins, his freckled face lighting up with mischief. "And you?"

Your reflexes kick in before your brain does. You grab the pillow you'd been leaning on and hurl it at him, hitting him square in the face. Felix laughs, the sound rich and unrestrained, as he pulls the pillow away and smirks at you.

"Struck a nerve, huh, Cruella?" he teases.

"Shut up," you snap, though there's no real venom in your tone.

Felix chuckles, flopping onto his back on the floor. "This is going to be the longest fucking trip of my life."

"Right back at you," you mutter, turning off the bedside lamp and pulling the covers up.

As you settle in for the night, the sound of Felix softly muttering about the state of the carpet almost makes you laugh again. Almost.

It's been an hour since Felix set up camp on the carpeted floor, and he's still shifting around. Every few seconds, there's a rustle of fabric or the faint sound of him exhaling in frustration. You've tried ignoring it, burying your head under the pillow, but it's fucking impossible to tune out.

"Jesus Christ," you groan, sitting up in bed and glaring down at him. "Can you stop moving for five fucking seconds?"

"I'm trying," Felix mumbles, his voice muffled by the pillow. He shifts again, this time with more aggression, as if that'll help. "This floor feels like sandpaper."

You let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing your temples. "Fine. Fucking fine. Get in the bed. You're pissing me off with your constant fidgeting."

Felix freezes for a moment before scrambling to his feet, grabbing the pillow and blanket as he clambers into the bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, and he immediately wiggles around like a contented cat finding the perfect spot.

"This is so much better," he says with a satisfied hum, settling under the blanket. He stretches out with an exaggerated sigh, clearly enjoying himself.

"You tell no one we shared a bed," you warn, pointing a finger at him. "If you do, I will shave you bald."

Felix hums, clearly unfazed by your threat as he nestles into the pillow. "Sure, Cruella, whatever you say."

You roll your eyes, lying back down and turning to face away from him. For a few blissful moments, there's silence. But of course, Felix can't help himself.

"You know," he says softly, his tone casual but tinged with amusement, "I don't believe you hate me as much as you say you do."

You splutter, spinning around to face him. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Felix laughs, the sound low and warm, as he props himself up on one elbow to look at you. "Exactly what I said. I think you're full of shit. If you really hated me, you wouldn't let me sleep here."

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, you're left blinking rapidly, your brain short-circuiting as you try to come up with a rebuttal. Felix's grin only widens as he watches you struggle.

"You're so fucking smug," you finally manage to say, your voice lacking its usual bite.

"And you're fun to mess with," Felix counters, leaning back against the pillow with a self-satisfied smirk.

You glare at him, but before you can retaliate, he speaks again.

"You know," he says, his tone softer now, "you're really pretty with no makeup on."

That shuts you up immediately. Your eyes widen, and you stare at him, completely caught off guard. For once, you can't think of a single sarcastic remark.

Felix watches your reaction, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reaches out, pushing a strand of hair out of your face with gentle fingers. His hand lingers for a moment before he pulls back.

"Night, Cruella," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You're still frozen, blinking up at him as he settles back into the bed, turning onto his side with a faint smile on his face. The room falls into silence again, but your thoughts are anything but quiet.

For the first time in a long time, Felix has left you completely speechless.

The morning light filters through the thin motel curtains as the door to your room swings open with an unceremonious bang. Minho strides in, yawning, only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees you and Felix snuggled up in the bed. His jaw drops, and his voice echoes through the tiny room.

"What the fuck?!"

You bolt upright, startled, your hair a mess and your tank top slightly askew from sleep. Felix jerks awake beside you, his limbs flailing as he loses balance and topples off the edge of the bed with a loud thud.

"Shit!" Felix groans from the floor, rubbing his shoulder as he glares at Minho. "What the hell, Min?"

"What the hell me?" Minho snaps, his hands gesturing wildly at the scene. "What the actual fuck am I looking at?"

You groan, running a hand through your dishevelled hair. "This is your fault, you know."

"My fault?" Minho repeats, incredulous. "How the fuck is this my fault?"

Felix scrambles to his feet, his face red with both frustration and leftover embarrassment. "Because you decided to fuck Jisung in our room! What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Sleep in the hallway?"

Minho's eyebrows shoot up, and a smirk tugs at his lips. "Wait, hold up. You saw us?"

Felix points a finger at him, his tone accusatory. "Yeah, I fucking saw you! You were on all fours, getting it up the ass from Jisung!"

Minho's smirk widens, and he strikes a dramatic pose, one hand on his hip. "Did I look good?"

Felix throws his hands up in exasperation. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"My arch is amazing, right?" Minho continues, completely unbothered. "I can bend like a pretzel. Years of practice, you know."

You groan loudly, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it at Minho's head. "Oh my god, shut up!"

Minho catches the pillow with ease, laughing as he tosses it back onto the bed. "Excuse me for being sexy and irresistible," he says, grinning. "But at least I had a good night, right?"

Felix growls under his breath, grabbing a pen off the nightstand and throwing it at Minho, who dodges it easily. You follow up with a hairbrush, which Minho deflects with the pillow, laughing even harder.

"Okay, okay! I'm leaving!" Felix huffs, grabbing his things and stomping toward the door. He pauses in the doorway to glare at both of you. "This is fucking ridiculous." Then he slams the door behind him.

Minho flops onto the bed beside you, letting out a satisfied sigh as he stretches out. "Well, that was fun."

You roll your eyes but don't resist when he slings an arm around your shoulders. You lean into his side, the comfortable silence between you only broken by the faint sounds of the motel creaking around you.

After a few minutes, you speak up. "I think Felix flirted with me last night."

Minho freezes for a second before turning to you with wide eyes. "Oh? Do tell."

You recount the events from the previous night, the way Felix had called you pretty without makeup, how he'd pushed your hair out of your face, and how he'd smirked as he whispered goodnight. By the time you finish, Minho is staring at you with an amused grin.

"Yeah," he says, nodding slowly. "Oh shit, yeah, he was flirting with you."

You groan, dropping your face into your hands. "Great. Just fucking great."

Minho snickers, patting your back. "Hey, maybe it's not so bad. Felix is hot, you know. And he's definitely into you."

You glare at him from between your fingers. "He's Twilight Sparkle. I can't take him seriously."

Minho shrugs, clearly unbothered. "Sounds like a you problem."

"You know," you say, leaning back against the headboard, "Felix was very surprised that you were subbing for Jisung."

Minho giggles, his grin widening. "Oh, he was, was he?"

You nod, smirking now. "Yep. He couldn't believe it. Guess you really shattered his illusions."

"Jisung was the best dom I've had in a while," Minho says casually, leaning back with a dreamy expression. "You know, maybe that's what you need, a good dom to fuck all your angst away."

You groan, smacking his arm. "Shut the fuck up, Minho."

He laughs, completely unbothered. "I'm just saying! Something to think about, Cruella."

You shake your head, but a small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. Minho, as infuriating as he is, always knows how to make you laugh. Even when the topic of conversation is the most absurd thing imaginable.

The midday sun glints off the glass pyramid of the Louvre, casting shimmering reflections across the courtyard. The group lingers outside, the chatter of tourists and the clicking of cameras forming a constant background hum. You’re dressed to kill in a black leather miniskirt, a green sleeveless halterneck top that shows off your snake tattoo, and your signature black lace-up stiletto boots. Your half-black, half-white hair catches the sunlight as you lean against one of the barriers, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Felix stands a few feet away, looking equally bored. He’s dressed in black baggy cargo trousers and a grey vest top under a black zip-up hoodie, his layered chains catching the light. His hair is pushed back in a way that looks almost effortless. His expression says it all: he doesn’t want to be here.

Your eyes meet across the group, and there’s an unspoken agreement. Neither of you says a word as you slowly edge away from the crowd. Minho is too busy taking selfies with Jisung, and Seungmin is engrossed in reading the itinerary. No one notices as the two of you slip out of the courtyard and onto the streets of Paris.

Once you’re far enough away, Felix lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank fuck. I thought I was going to die of boredom back there."

You smirk, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one followed. "Yeah, standing in a crowd for hours just to stare at a painting sounds like a blast. Come on."

Felix falls into step beside you as you navigate the bustling streets of Paris. "Where are we going, Cruella? You’ve got that ‘I know everything’ look on your face."

You roll your eyes. "We’re in Paris. I lived here for twelve years. Of course, I know where we’re going. Just try to keep up."

The streets are alive with energy, from street performers juggling in the squares to couples sipping wine at sidewalk cafés. You point out landmarks as you pass, your voice casual but tinged with pride.

"That’s the Pont des Arts," you say, nodding toward the famous bridge. "Used to be covered in love locks until they removed them. Too heavy."

Felix glances at it, then back at you. "What, no romantic gestures here? Shocking."

You scoff. "Romantic? Please. The locks were just tourists trying to leave a mark."

As you walk, Felix asks occasional questions, and you find yourself answering more than you expected. Eventually, the two of you end up in the Latin Quarter, where the scent of fresh coffee and pastries wafts through the air.

"We’re stopping here," you announce, pointing at a quaint little café with outdoor seating.

Felix raises an eyebrow. "Coffee and pastries, huh? You trying to impress me with the full Parisian experience?"

"No," you reply, smirking as you head inside. "I just don’t want to deal with your whining if you get hungry."

The two of you order. Coffee for you, tea for Felix, and a platter of assorted macarons to share. Sitting at a small table outside, you take a sip of your coffee, sighing contentedly as you watch the world go by. Felix cradles his tea, taking a sip before leaning back in his chair.

"I can’t believe you’re actually being nice to me," he says, his tone teasing but curious.

"Don’t read into it," you reply, shooting him a look. "It’s nice to show my home to someone who’s never been here before. Even if it is you."

Felix snorts, shaking his head. "Thanks, Cruella. You really know how to make a guy feel special."

You smirk, popping a macaron into your mouth. "You need to try these. You think you’ve had macarons before, but you haven’t unless they’re from a café in Paris."

Felix picks up a macaron, inspecting it like it might bite him. "They’re just cookies, right?"

You scoff. "Just cookies? Oh, you poor, uncultured soul. Try it."

He takes a cautious bite, his eyes widening slightly. "Okay, that’s... actually really good."

"Told you," you say smugly, reaching for another. "We should get the platter and share. That way, you can try all the flavours."

Felix nods, already grabbing another macaron. "Fine by me. As long as you don’t hoard all the good ones."

"No promises," you reply, smirking as you take another sip of coffee.

For a moment, the two of you sit in companionable silence, sharing macarons and watching the city bustle around you. It’s oddly peaceful, and even Felix seems more relaxed than usual. As much as you hate to admit it, it’s... nice. But you’ll never tell him that.

Inside the Louvre, Minho, Jisung, and Seungmin stand in the seemingly endless queue to see the Mona Lisa. The atmosphere is a mix of hushed awe and impatient murmurs as tourists shuffle forward. Minho is leaning against the velvet rope divider, his arms crossed, while Jisung fidgets with his phone, and Seungmin reads the little exhibit signs with mild interest.

Jisung glances around suddenly, his brows furrowing. "Hold on," he says, his voice cutting through the relative quiet. "Where the fuck are Y/N and Felix?"

Minho straightens up, looking around with a frown. "Shit. Did they even come in here with us?"

Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple like the realization physically pains him. "Are you fucking serious? They were probably gone before we even walked in the door."

Jisung lets out a low whistle, smirking. "Guess they had better things to do than stare at some overrated painting."

"Yeah, like stare at each other," Minho quips, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Seriously, though, can we talk about how obvious it is that they like each other?"

"Thank god you said it," Jisung replies, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "It's been driving me fucking insane. Like, the constant bickering? The tension? They're one good argument away from ripping each other's clothes off."

Seungmin nods, his expression surprisingly serious. "It's fucking ridiculous. The way they look at each other when they think no one's paying attention? They might as well have a neon sign that says 'we're into each other.'"

Minho chuckles, nudging Seungmin. "Alright, let's make this interesting. Twenty euros says they fuck the night before we leave Paris."

Jisung grins, holding out a hand to shake on it. "You're on. But my money's on Bordeaux. Twenty euros they fuck there."

Seungmin snorts, shaking his head at both of them. "You're both wrong. Twenty says it happens in Nice. They'll let the tension build up for a few more days, then wham bam thank you ma'am."

Minho leans back against the divider, his grin widening. "So we've got Paris, Bordeaux, and Nice. This is going to be hilarious when one of us wins."

Jisung laughs, looking far too pleased with himself. "I can't wait to rub it in your faces when it happens in Bordeaux. They'll be all emotional and shit after drinking wine at some vineyard. Classic setup."

Seungmin rolls his eyes but smirks. "Yeah, well, we'll see about that. Let's just hope they don't get themselves into too much trouble before then."

Minho chuckles, his gaze drifting toward the exit. "Trouble? With those two? Never."

The Abbey Bookshop in the Latin Quarter is a cosy labyrinth of old wooden shelves stacked to the ceiling with books in every language imaginable. The smell of aged paper and ink fills the air, mixed with a faint hint of coffee from the little café section near the entrance. As soon as you and Felix step inside, the world outside seems to disappear, replaced by the quiet hum of literary charm.

"This is heaven," you mutter, glancing around at the organized chaos of books. Your sharp eyeliner and bold outfit contrast with the soft, almost whimsical atmosphere of the shop, but you don’t seem to care. Felix trails behind you, his black cargo pants swishing softly as he looks around, his layered chains glinting in the dim light.

"Looks small from the outside," Felix says, his voice hushed. "But this place is huge."

"It’s a maze," you reply, already heading for the French literature section. "Try not to get lost."

Felix snorts, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets as he follows. "Guess I’m the pack mule today, huh?"

"You catch on quick, Twilight Sparkle," you say with a smirk, grabbing a copy of Le Petit Prince off the shelf and handing it to him. Felix takes it without complaint, holding it against his chest as you weave through the narrow aisles, scanning the spines of the books.

Next comes Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, then Notre-Dame de Paris, followed by La Princesse de Clèves, La Peste, Les Misérables, and finally Les Trois Mousquetaires. Each one lands in Felix’s growing pile.

"You’re going to buy all of these?" Felix asks, peering around the stack of books in his arms. "Pretty sure this is half the French canon."

"They’re better in the original language," you say simply, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you pull another book off the shelf to examine its cover. "You should learn French, though. You’d get it."

"Really?" Felix asks, tilting his head as he adjusts the stack of books in his arms. "Think I’d be any good at it?"

You hum, your lips quirking into a half-smile. "Maybe. If you don’t butcher the accent."

Felix grins. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cruella."

You roll your eyes, glancing down at your phone as it vibrates in your pocket. The screen lights up with a familiar contact: Appa. Your expression hardens slightly, and without a second thought, you swipe up to put your phone on Do Not Disturb, silencing the call.

Felix catches the shift in your demeanour and raises an eyebrow. "You can grab that if you want."

"Believe me," you say, your tone clipped, "I do not want to grab that call."

He doesn’t push, just nods and adjusts the books in his arms again. "Alright. What else can we do after this?"

You tilt your head, considering your options as you run a finger along the spines of the books on the shelf. "We could go to the Jardin du Luxembourg. It’s like a ten-minute walk from here."

Felix hums, nodding thoughtfully. "Sounds nice. Or?"

"Or," you say, turning to face him fully, "we can hop on a train and see the Palace of Versailles."

Felix looks genuinely torn, his freckled face scrunching slightly as he thinks. "Both sound good. Guess it depends on how long you want to carry me around as your personal assistant."

You smirk, grabbing one last book to add to his pile before making your way to the counter. "You’re surprisingly good at your job. Maybe I’ll keep you around."

As you pay for the books, Felix leans against the counter, watching you with a faint smile. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something soft in his gaze, something he’d never admit out loud. When you’re finished, you hand him a few bags of books and gesture toward the door.

"Come on, Twilight Sparkle," you say, leading the way back into the bustling streets of Paris. "We’ve got more ground to cover."

"Lead the way, Cruella," Felix replies, falling into step beside you, the weight of the books seemingly forgotten as he keeps pace with your confident strides.

The sun has dipped low on the horizon by the time you and Felix step out of the cab and into the gravel lot of the motel. The air is cooler now, and the faint hum of city noise has quieted to a low murmur. You’re juggling a few bags filled with books, your black leather miniskirt swishing slightly as you walk. Felix carries the rest of the bags, his hoodie unzipped and chains catching the faint light.

As the two of you approach the entrance, you spot Seungmin, Jisung, and Minho standing by the door. They look like they’ve been waiting, their postures ranging from bored to irritated. The moment Jisung locks eyes on you and Felix, his expression shifts into full-on dramatic exasperation.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" Jisung practically screeches, his arms flailing for emphasis. "No note, car gone! You could have died! You could have been seen!"

Felix stops dead in his tracks, blinking at Jisung. "Are you seriously quoting Molly Weasley right now?"

"Get off your high horse or your flying car, Lee Felix!" Jisung snaps, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You two just vanished without telling anyone!"

Seungmin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "To be fair, Ji’s got a point. You could’ve at least sent a text or something. We were about five minutes away from putting your faces on milk cartons."

Minho, leaning casually against the wall, smirks as his eyes flicker between you and Felix. "You do realize how fucking suspicious this looks, right?"

Felix groans, rolling his eyes as he adjusts the bags in his hands. "Relax, Molly. We just went into the city. It’s not like we were out committing crimes."

"Yeah, well," Jisung huffs, crossing his arms, "a little communication wouldn’t hurt, Twilight Sparkle. You know, for the people who care about your sorry ass."

You let out a loud sigh, walking past Felix and shoving the bags into his chest as you take your own. "This is exhausting," you mutter, turning to Minho with a raised eyebrow. "Minho, let’s go to our room and drink some cheap wine."

Minho’s face lights up immediately, and he pushes off the wall. "Fuck yes. You don’t have to tell me twice."

"Wait a minute-" Jisung starts, but you’re already brushing past him, dragging Minho by the arm toward the door. Felix stares after you, an unreadable expression crossing his face.

"You’re just going to leave?" Jisung shouts after you, throwing his hands in the air. "What the hell!"

You don’t bother answering as you and Minho disappear into the motel, your laughter echoing faintly in the hallway. Felix watches you go and Seungmin elbows him lightly, smirking.

"Jealous much?" Seungmin asks, his voice low enough for only Felix to hear.

Felix scoffs, shaking his head. "Of course not. Why would I be?"

"Whatever you say, Twilight Sparkle."

In Felix and Jisung’s motel room, the air is filled with the sweet aroma of takeout desserts. The small table between their beds is piled high with boxes of crepes, profiteroles, crème brûlée, madeleines, tarte au citron, and a few other pastries they couldn’t resist ordering. A bottle of wine sits uncorked, their glasses half-full as they dig into the sugary spread.

Jisung, already halfway through his second serving of profiteroles, gestures at Felix with his fork. "You finally ready to admit you’re crushing on Y/N?"

Felix freezes mid-bite, a forkful of crepe hovering near his mouth. "No," he says firmly, though the redness creeping up his neck betrays him.

Jisung grins, shoving another profiterole into his mouth before speaking, his words muffled. "So you have a crush, but you’re still not ready to admit it? Got it."

Felix chokes on his wine, coughing as he sets his glass down and glares at Jisung. "That’s not- What the fuck are you even talking about?!"

"You’re blushing," Jisung says smugly, pointing at him with the fork. "Look at you. All red and flustered."

"I’m not-" Felix starts, but the way he splutters and stammers only makes it worse.

"Just admit it to me, Lix," Jisung presses, leaning forward with a wide grin. "Come on. I won’t tell anyone."

Felix sighs, dropping his fork onto his plate and running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he mutters, avoiding Jisung’s gaze. "I like her, okay? I’ve liked her since first year."

Jisung’s face lights up like Christmas morning, and he lets out an obnoxiously loud laugh. "Knew it! Fucking knew it!"

Felix groans, burying his face in his hands. "Don’t make a big deal out of it."

"Are you kidding me?" Jisung says, practically bouncing in his seat. "This is huge. Now we need an action plan."

Felix lifts his head just enough to shoot him a withering glare. "An action plan?"

"Yeah, dumbass!" Jisung says, reaching for the wine bottle and pouring himself another glass. "You’ve been crushing on her for almost two years. It’s time to do something about it. You’ve gotta romance her. She has to like you too, right?"

Felix hesitates, then sighs. "Fine. Let’s plan. But don’t make it fucking weird."

"Too late," Jisung says, grinning as he grabs a piece of paper and a handful of glitter pens from his bag. "We’re in France, my dude. We’ve got two more days in Paris, the City of Love. Then we’ve got Nice and Bordeaux. Prime romancing locations."

Felix rolls his eyes but grabs a pen, settling in across from Jisung. "Alright. Mindmap time."

"Fuckin’ A," Jisung says, uncapping a glitter pen and writing ROMANCE PLAN FOR CRUELLA in big, sparkly letters at the top of the page. "No ideas are bad ideas. Let’s brainstorm."

Felix leans forward, tapping his pen against his chin. "Okay. Dinner at a fancy restaurant?"

"Good start," Jisung says, writing it down. "What about a picnic in Nice? Beaches and shit are romantic."

"Not bad," Felix agrees. "What about flowers? Like, one of those Parisian flower markets?"

"Classic," Jisung says, nodding. "But we gotta balance the sweet stuff with something big. Like, I don’t know, serenading her under the Eiffel Tower."

Felix groans. "That’s terrible. I can’t sing for shit."

Jisung shrugs. "It’s supposed to be romantic, not good."

"Fine," Felix mutters. "What if we go wine tasting in Bordeaux? She likes wine."

"Now you’re thinking," Jisung says, scribbling it down. "Ooh, ooh! What about locking a love lock on a bridge? Isn’t that a thing here?"

"They removed most of the locks, dumbass," Felix says, snorting. "But I guess we could still do it somewhere."

Jisung grins, clearly getting way too into the brainstorming. "Okay, hear me out. What if you rent one of those little rowboats and take her out on a lake?"

Felix raises an eyebrow. "That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen."

"Disasters can be romantic," Jisung says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Felix shakes his head but doesn’t argue, watching as Jisung adds it to the list. The page is quickly filling up with a mix of ideas, ranging from sweet and thoughtful to utterly ridiculous.

"Okay," Felix says, leaning back with a smirk. "What if I just challenge her to a baking competition? Winner gets to make the other do something embarrassing."

Jisung cackles, slapping the table. "I love it. That’s so you two. Petty and competitive as fuck."

As the list grows longer, Felix finds himself smiling despite himself. Maybe Jisung’s enthusiasm is contagious, or maybe he’s just finally allowing himself to imagine what it might be like if things were different between him and you. Either way, he doesn’t stop the ideas from flowing.

And neither does Jisung. "Alright, last one, get a fucking bottle of champagne, bring it to the Seine at sunset, and confess. Boom. Game over."

Felix groans, but the faint blush creeping up his neck gives him away. "You’re such an idiot."

"Yeah, but I’m an idiot with amazing ideas," Jisung says, grinning as he holds up the finished mindmap. "Cruella’s gonna fall for you, Lix. Just wait."

The final day in Paris dawns bright and clear, the perfect weather for a free day. The group heads to the Palace of Versailles, the grand estate shimmering under the morning sun. The palace looms in front of you like something out of a dream, its golden gates gleaming and its architecture an overwhelming display of opulence.

You’re dressed to kill as usual: a red leather miniskirt, a black sleeveless halterneck top that shows off your intricate snake tattoo, and your signature black lace-up stiletto boots. Your half-black, half-white hair is styled perfectly, and your makeup is sharp enough to cut. Beside you, Felix looks effortlessly cool in beige baggy cargo trousers with black stripes, a black t-shirt, a cropped black jacket with silver zipper detailing, and stacked silver chains.

As you all make your way through the gardens, Felix walks beside you, stealing occasional glances your way. Jisung, walking a few paces ahead with Minho and Seungmin, catches Felix looking and immediately grins, giving him an exaggerated thumbs up.

Felix groans under his breath, running a hand through his pushed-back hair. "Subtle as a brick," he mutters, earning a side-eye from you.

"What’s his deal?" you ask, nodding toward Jisung.

"Nothing," Felix says quickly, a little too quickly.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously but let it slide, focusing instead on the sprawling gardens around you. The air smells like freshly trimmed grass and blooming flowers, and the sound of fountains bubbling in the background adds to the serene atmosphere.

Meanwhile, up ahead, Minho notices Jisung’s antics and raises an eyebrow. "What’s that about?" he asks, nudging Jisung with his elbow.

Jisung leans in, whispering conspiratorially. "Love! Romance! Bow chicka wow wow!"

Minho stops in his tracks, turning to Jisung with a smirk. "Like our bow chicka wow wow?"

Jisung grins, waggling his eyebrows. "Oh yeah. Felix will, uh-"

"Dominate the shit out of her?" Minho interrupts, his voice low but filled with amusement.

"Yeah!" Jisung says, nodding enthusiastically.

"Good," Minho replies, his smirk growing. "Y/N needs that. Maybe it’ll take the edge off her eternal ‘fuck everything’ vibe."

Seungmin snorts, shaking his head as he listens to their whispered conversation. "You two are the worst," he mutters, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

Back in the rear of the group, Felix feels like his ears are burning. He doesn’t even need to hear what Minho and Jisung are whispering about to know it’s about you. Beside him, you’re admiring the ornate fountains, completely unaware of the chaos brewing just a few steps ahead.

"Wow," you say, your voice tinged with genuine admiration as you take in the gardens. "I forgot how ridiculous this place is. It’s like stepping into another world."

Felix chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Yeah, it’s insane. Kind of makes you wonder what it’d be like to live here."

"Probably boring as fuck," you reply, smirking. "I mean, what do you even do with all this space? Play hide-and-seek with servants?"

Felix laughs, the sound warm and unguarded. "You’d probably make them regret taking the job."

"Of course," you say, flashing him a wicked grin. "It’s part of my charm."

Felix shakes his head, his lips twitching upward despite himself. He risks another glance at Jisung, who’s now whispering animatedly to Minho, gesturing wildly like he’s planning a heist. Felix sighs internally. This trip is going to kill me.

"Come on," you say, grabbing Felix’s arm and tugging him toward one of the side paths. "I want to check out the Queen’s Hamlet. It’s the only part of this place that doesn’t look like it was made for a goddamn peacock."

Felix lets himself be dragged along, ignoring the knowing looks from the rest of the group. As he follows you deeper into the gardens, he can’t help but wonder if Jisung’s ridiculous romance plan might actually have a chance of working.

The Queen’s Hamlet is quieter than the main gardens, the rustic charm of its cottages a stark contrast to the ostentatious grandeur of the palace. You and Felix walk side by side, the gravel crunching under your boots and his Air Forces. It’s peaceful, but the air shifts when your phone buzzes loudly in your bag.

You stop abruptly, pulling it out. The screen lights up with a familiar name: Appa. Your expression hardens instantly.

"Hold up," you mutter, stepping away from Felix. "I need to take this."

Felix watches you go, tilting his head slightly. He leans against a low stone wall, idly fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. At first, your voice is too low for him to catch much of what you’re saying, but then it rises, sharp and clipped.

"No, Appa, I told you already," you snap. "I don’t want to meet any more men you’re trying to set me up with."

Felix freezes, his brows furrowing as he pretends to focus on the surrounding scenery. But your voice keeps drifting over, laced with frustration.

"I’m not interested," you say firmly. "What part of that don’t you understand? I don’t care how rich or successful they are. Stop treating me like some... project you can hand off to the highest bidder."

Felix’s grip tightens on the stone wall. He’s never heard you sound like this- So raw, so... vulnerable.

"I’ve said no every fucking time, haven’t I?" you continue, your voice biting. "And yet, here we are, again. You call me, drop a name like it’s supposed to mean something, and expect me to just fall in line."

There’s a pause, and Felix assumes the person on the other end is speaking. He risks a glance in your direction, seeing the way your shoulders are tense, your free hand clenched into a fist at your side.

"Because it’s not your fucking choice," you bite out, your voice trembling slightly now. "It’s my life, Appa. Mine. I’m not going to live it on your terms."

Felix swallows, his chest tightening as he listens. The sharp edge in your voice is familiar, it’s the same one you use when you’re deflecting, trying to mask something deeper. He’s heard it plenty of times in your bickering, but it feels different now. More real.

"I have to go," you say abruptly. "Don’t call me about this again. I mean it."

You hang up and stand there for a moment, your shoulders rising and falling as you take a deep breath. Felix looks away quickly, pretending to inspect the nearest flowerbed when you turn around and walk back toward him.

"You good?" Felix asks casually, though his voice is softer than usual.

You nod, slipping your phone back into your bag. "Fine. Just family shit."

He doesn’t push, though a dozen questions burn on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he falls into step beside you as you continue walking, the silence between you thick but not uncomfortable.

For the first time, Felix finds himself wondering if there’s more to you than the sarcastic, sharp-tongued persona you wear so well. And he hates how much he wants to find out.

The next morning, the group boards a coach for a day-long tour of Nice. The warm Mediterranean air filters in through the open windows, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and blooming flowers. The vibe is decidedly more relaxed than it was in Paris, but chaos still manages to cling to your group like a second skin.

You’re dressed in a green leather miniskirt and a black sleeveless halterneck top, the snake tattoo on your left arm catching the morning sunlight. Your stiletto boots click softly as you step onto the bus, your hair styled to perfection. Felix follows behind, his blue baggy jeans cinched with a black belt, a white t-shirt peeking out from under his black sleeveless leather vest. His boots thud against the metal steps, and his silver chains glint under the sun.

"I’m sitting with you," Felix says casually, brushing past you and dropping into the seat by the window before you can argue.

You roll your eyes, sliding into the seat beside him. "Lucky me."

Further back, Minho is sprawled across Seungmin’s lap, his head resting comfortably against Jisung’s shoulder. Seungmin looks mildly annoyed but doesn’t push Minho off, while Jisung beams as though having Minho draped over them is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

The tour guide begins rattling off facts about Nice over the intercom as the bus pulls away, but you barely pay attention. Felix leans over slightly, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"You’re glowing today, Cruella. Mediterranean air looks good on you."

You glance at him, your lips quirking into a smirk. "Nice try, Twilight Sparkle. I know flattery’s just your way of killing time."

Felix chuckles, his freckles scrunching as he grins. "Who says I’m not serious?"

"You always have an ulterior motive," you reply, crossing one leg over the other. "And I’m not buying whatever it is you’re selling."

Felix leans back, arms resting on the seat’s armrest, his grin never fading. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes in mock innocence.

Across the aisle, Jisung watches the exchange with poorly concealed glee. He nudges Seungmin, whispering, "They’re at it again."

Seungmin snorts, shaking his head. "I’m telling you, I’m winning this bet. My money was on Nice."

"They’re slow-burning," Jisung whispers back. "This is buildup. They’re not fucking here. Bordeaux is when it’ll happen. Mark my words. Minho’s already out—he bet Paris."

Seungmin hums thoughtfully, his eyes flicking to Felix and you before muttering, "We’ll see."

Minho stirs in Seungmin’s lap, his head tilting to look up at him. "You two gossiping about my loss?"

"Obviously," Seungmin deadpans, and Minho groans dramatically.

The bus stops at the first destination, a stunning overlook with a panoramic view of the Mediterranean. As the group pours out of the coach, Felix sticks close to you, his casual demeanour laced with a certain intensity. You pretend not to notice, but the way his arm brushes against yours as you walk doesn’t escape you.

"Look at that view," Felix says, nodding toward the sea. "Almost as pretty as you."

You snort, folding your arms as you glance at him. "You’re laying it on thick today, aren’t you?"

Felix grins. "Can’t help it. The setting’s inspiring me."

"Careful," you tease, leaning in slightly. "Keep talking like that, and I might think you’re serious."

Felix holds your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, his grin softening just a touch. "Maybe I am."

The group moves from site to site throughout the day, exploring historic plazas, charming old streets, and local markets. Felix keeps up his flirtatious remarks, and you match his energy without missing a beat. It feels almost natural, the back-and-forth between you two flowing effortlessly.

At one point, as the group gathers for lunch, Jisung elbows Seungmin again, whispering, "See? This is foreplay. Bordeaux. I’m calling it."

"You’re so fucking smug," Seungmin mutters, taking a sip of his water. "But we’ll see who’s laughing when I win."

Minho chimes in from his spot, still half-draped over Jisung. "Whoever wins, we’re all enjoying this way too much."

By the end of the tour, the sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over Nice. You and Felix walk side by side back to the coach, your conversations now dipping into quieter, more personal territory.

And though you’d never admit it, you find yourself enjoying his company far more than you expected.

The moonlight dances on the surface of the River Seine, casting shimmering ripples along its winding path through the heart of Paris. The air is cool but not cold, the faint scent of the river mixing with the aroma of freshly baked bread from nearby cafés. You and Felix walk side by side along the cobblestone path, the sound of your stiletto boots clicking rhythmically against the ground, contrasting with the quiet scuff of his sneakers.

Minho and Jisung had disappeared together hours ago, giggling about some “special” plans, while Seungmin had hit it off with a charming Frenchman and gone back to his hotel. That left just you and Felix, the two of you strolling in companionable silence under the soft glow of the city’s streetlamps.

"You’re quiet tonight," Felix says after a while, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. The silver chains around his neck glint faintly, matching the slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Just enjoying the peace," you reply, your sharp eyeliner cutting through the soft shadows of your flawless makeup. "Nice change from Minho and Jisung’s nonstop chaos."

Felix chuckles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black baggy jeans. "True. Those two could talk a brick wall into running away."

You snort, a small smile tugging at your lips as the river laps gently against the banks. The quiet stretches on for a moment longer before you break it, your voice soft but direct.

"Just ask."

Felix blinks, looking over at you. "Huh?"

You glance at him, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised. "About my father. I know you’re curious, so just ask."

"Pfft," Felix scoffs, his hand brushing through his blonde-and-black pushed-back hair. "I wasn’t curious."

You give him a look, sharp, knowing, and utterly unamused. "Sure, Twilight Sparkle. Keep lying to yourself."

He grins sheepishly, his freckles catching the light. "Okay, fine," he concedes. "I was kinda curious."

You pull a cigarette from your bag, lighting it with ease before exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air. "My mother died when I was two," you begin, your tone even but detached, as if you’ve told the story a hundred times before. "Ovarian cancer. They caught it too late. She’s buried in Père Lachaise Cemetery."

Felix’s grin fades, his expression softening as he listens.

"After she died," you continue, taking another drag, "I got shipped off to my father in Korea. I only spoke French and English at the time, so I had to learn Korean from scratch. That was... a fucking nightmare."

Felix stays quiet, letting you talk.

"Then I hit sixteen," you say, your voice sharpening, "and all he’s done since is shove marriage proposals down my throat. Rich men, powerful men, people who’d secure my future." You scoff, rolling your eyes. "And he gets less than happy every time I turn them down."

"That’s why you crash at the frat house so much?" Felix asks, his voice careful, soft.

You nod, flicking ash off the end of your cigarette. "One time, I called Chan from home. My loving father had just pushed me down a flight of stairs for saying no to one of his fucking ‘matches.’"

Felix’s jaw tightens, his hands balling into fists in his pockets.

"Once I’m twenty-one, I’m free," you add. "My mother left me an inheritance, enough to make sure I never have to deal with him again."

Felix nods, his voice low when he speaks. "You got a smoke for me?"

You glance at him, one eyebrow quirking up. "You smoke now?"

"Apparently," he says with a shrug, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

Rolling your eyes, you hand him a cigarette and your lighter. Felix lights it clumsily, inhaling with a small cough before adjusting his hold. He exhales, watching the smoke curl into the air before looking back at you.

"So only Chan knows?" he asks.

You nod. "He patches me up if I need it. Minho and Seungmin know about the proposals, but not the rest. Chan’s the only one who gets the full picture."

Felix stares at you for a moment, his cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. He’s trying to find the right thing to say, but nothing feels big enough for the weight of what you’ve shared.

"You’re tough as hell, Cruella," he finally says, his tone quiet but sincere.

You glance at him, lips quirking into a small, sardonic smile. "Takes one to know one, Twilight Sparkle."

For a while, the two of you walk in silence, the river flowing beside you and the smoke from your cigarettes curling into the night sky. Felix can’t help but admire the way the moonlight catches in your two-toned hair, highlighting the sharpness of your features and the strength in your posture.

The quiet between you stretches for a few beats, the occasional murmur of tourists passing by in the distance blending with the sound of the Seine lapping against the riverbank. You take another drag from your cigarette, exhaling slowly as you glance at Felix, his gaze fixed on the water.

"What’s with the switch-up, by the way?" you ask, your tone sharp but not biting. "You’re being nice to me. It’s... weird."

Felix turns to you, smoke curling from his lips as he exhales upward, the tendrils dissipating into the night air. His silver chains glint faintly in the moonlight, and he quirks a brow, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a smirk. "Can’t a guy change?"

"Change?" you scoff, flicking ash onto the cobblestones. "Our entire dynamic is based on verbally abusing each other. Now you’re Mr. Thoughtful and Mysterious? It’s fucking throwing me off, Twilight Sparkle."

Felix lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he takes a slow drag from his cigarette. He exhales again, the smoke floating lazily between you as his gaze locks onto yours. "You’re so blind."

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Felix doesn’t answer, not with words, anyway. Instead, he steps closer, the faint scent of smoke and leather clinging to him as he closes the space between you. Before you can fire off another sarcastic remark, his hand reaches up, fingers tangling in your half-black, half-white hair.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not tentative or hesitant. It’s a kiss filled with frustration, intensity, and a heat that catches you completely off guard. His lips move against yours with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt, soft but firm, demanding but not rough. The world around you blurs; the hum of the city, the gentle ripple of the Seine, all of it fades as his other hand grips your waist, pulling you closer.

For a moment, you freeze, shocked by the suddenness of it all. But then your instincts kick in, and you kiss him back just as fiercely, your lips moving in sync with his. Your cigarette falls from your fingers, forgotten, as your hands find their way to the lapels of his leather jacket, gripping tightly.

Felix groans softly against your lips, his fingers tightening in your hair as he tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss. The gentle tug on your hair sends a shiver down your spine, and your breath hitches as his hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you even closer.

It’s electric. Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, every subtle shift of his hands. There’s a heat between you that feels both overwhelming and inevitable, like this moment has been building for years. When you finally pull back, it’s only because you need air, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

Felix’s forehead rests lightly against yours, his thumb brushing the back of your neck. His voice is low, slightly hoarse. "Took me long enough, huh?"

You blink up at him, still dazed, your lips tingling. "What the fuck was that?"

He smirks, his freckled face glowing under the moonlight. "What do you think, Cruella?"

"You kissed me," you say, as if stating it out loud will make it less surreal.

"Yeah," Felix replies, his tone soft but unwavering. "I kissed you. And I’m gonna do it again if you don’t stop me."

Your lips twitch into a small smirk of your own, your hands still gripping his jacket. "Bold move, Twilight Sparkle."

Felix chuckles, his nose brushing against yours as he leans in again. This kiss is softer, slower, but no less consuming. His hands hold you like he’s afraid you might slip away, and for the first time, you don’t feel the need to push back, to argue, to keep your walls up.

When he pulls back this time, he lets out a breathy laugh, his fingers still gently tangled in your hair. "You’re not as scary as you think you are."

"Shut up," you mutter, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

As you both stand there by the Seine, the river sparkling behind you, it’s clear that the dynamic between you has shifted. And for once, you don’t mind.

The Alpha Phi living room is dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows on the walls as Coraline plays. The eerie stop-motion animation fills the room with an unsettling yet oddly comforting vibe. You’re perched sideways in Felix’s lap, one of his arms draped securely around your waist while the other rests on your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the leather of your miniskirt. His warmth seeps into you, and you lean slightly against him, the two of you completely at ease.

You’re wearing a black leather miniskirt, a black sleeveless halterneck top, and your signature lace-up stiletto boots. Your hair is styled to perfection, the half-black, half-white strands cascading down in sleek waves. Felix looks effortlessly put together in black baggy jeans, white sneakers, and a white t-shirt under a black leather jacket. His layered silver chains catch the light every time he moves.

The movie’s dialogue is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, followed by footsteps. Chan walks into the living room, mid-sentence about something, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees the two of you. His mouth opens, then closes, his brows furrowing as he blinks rapidly like he’s trying to clear his vision.

"Oi!" he finally says, pointing at the two of you. "Everyone, get in here! I need to know I’m not fucking hallucinating."

"What the fuck are you yelling about now?" Minho calls from the kitchen, followed by the sound of chairs scraping as everyone gets up.

One by one, they pile into the living room: Changbin, Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Jisung, and Jeongin, all looking various shades of confused and curious. The room grows crowded quickly, the boys practically shoving each other to get a better view.

"What the fuck?" Hyunjin mutters, his wide eyes darting between you and Felix. "Am I seeing this right?"

"Is she... in his lap?" Jeongin asks, pointing as if he needs confirmation from a higher power.

"She is," Minho says, his tone laced with mock astonishment. "Holy shit. This is real."

"Since when do you two-" Changbin starts, but Jisung cuts him off, grinning like a maniac.

"Wait, hold up," Jisung says, stepping forward and pointing dramatically. "When did you first fuck?!"

You snort, rolling your eyes at the sheer lack of decorum, but Felix answers without missing a beat. "Bordeaux."

"YES!" Jisung shouts, throwing his fists into the air. "The betting pool was sixty! Sixty times two is one twenty. What’s the euro to won conversion rate?"

"181,327.80 won," you deadpan, smirking as Jisung immediately turns to Minho and Seungmin, holding out his hand expectantly.

"Fucking hell," Minho mutters, digging into his wallet. "I knew I should’ve doubled down on Paris."

Seungmin sighs, pulling out cash as well. "I should’ve known you’d win, Ji."

Jisung grins triumphantly as he collects the money, stuffing it into his pocket like it’s the best day of his life. "Thank you, thank you. I’ll be accepting all congratulations and apologies from the losers now."

Felix shakes his head, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh as he mutters, "You’re all fucking insane."

"You love us," Jisung says, winking at him.

"Debatable," Felix replies, smirking before looking down at you. "How’d we end up with these idiots?"

"Bad life choices," you say, leaning back into him with a grin.

The room erupts into laughter, the atmosphere buzzing with the usual chaotic energy of Alpha Phi. As the conversation shifts to other ridiculous topics, Felix leans in close, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

"Still think our dynamic is just verbal abuse?" he teases, his breath warm against your ear.

You glance up at him, your smirk softening just slightly. "Guess you’ve got a point, Twilight Sparkle."

He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before pulling back. "Took you long enough to admit it, Cruella."

The two of you stay like that, tangled together on the couch as the chaos of your friends swirls around you. For once, it feels like the world has fallen into place.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

Requested by anon

Proofread by @eastjonowhere

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thanosscross · 5 hours ago

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My Pain in the ass - Choi Seung Hyun/T.O.P x reader part 2

Summary: After getting sick, Seung Hyun was quick to make sure his favorite girl was taken care of, not realizing he was showing not only you but his bandmates also, how much he truly cared about and loved you

Warnings: None <33

The next day you had the morning off, thankfully, being able to spend it with the boys after what felt like forever of nonstop working. Tiredly sitting up in your bed, you looked around for any of the boys, only seeing empty beds instead.

You made your way out of the room, your blanket being tightly wrapped around you as you entered the living room, looking at the four boys pouting "Why didn't anybody wake me up for breakfast?" You mumbled, watching as they all sat around, left overs from their breakfast sitting on the table, you slowly made your way to Seung Hyun silently, telling you were still exhausted, he just raised his arm, knowing better than to mess with you while you're still waking up. Moving to lay down against his side you sighed "You were still sleeping, we figured put yours in the warmer until you were up" Seung Hyun assured, going back to focus on his book, you just curled up against him, closing your eyes again.

"Y/n/n" You heard a deep voice pulling you back out of your sleep, feeling two lips press against your forehead before being shaken lightly "Sweetheart, wake up, we have to get going" Seung Hyun huffed, glancing at the clock and then the boys "I told you! Like a cat!" He huffed crossing his arms, trying to stay annoyed but as you shifted, taking his hand in yours, even in your sleep, it melted his heart. "Well she's got to get up" Ji-Yong frowned walking over "Why has she been sleeping so much?" He asked as he went to pat your cheek, as his hand made contact with your cheek, he felt how warm you were "Nooo! Shit!" he cursed, you all had a show tonight and rehearsals in an hour, and you were still asleep feeling like you just came out of an oven or heater. Looking in their friend's direction, they slowly walked over, watching Ji-Yong run a hand through his hair "She's sick. Think about it, whenever she got sick last time? She basically slept for three days straight" He huffed, crossing his arms "We're going to have to call YG, they're going to be pissed it's so last minute" He rambled, it wasn't that he was upset with you, just stressed as hell, he knew this would upset a lot of fans, especially the ones specifically coming to see you.

You were left at home, Seung Hyun making sure you had everything you needed before they left for rehearsals and their show. Their show went good, YG staff only being slightly frustrated with your absence, but Seung Hyun couldn't help but feel guilty as he performed. Ever since you joined BigBang, you and Seung Hyun had based your chorography off of each others, so with you not being there, he felt like he was leaving you out and like he was alone. The feeling didn't leave his chest until they all arrived back home around 3 in the morning, as he kicked his shoes off at the door, he made his way towards the bundle of blankets on the couch, noticing your water and dinner still untouched he sighed. As the living room light came on, you groaned loudly, trying to pull the blanket tighter over your head "No, come on" Seung Hyun demanded sternly, for the first time since you met Seung Hyun he grabbed your hand, pulling you off of the couch and on your feet "You're taking a warm bath, and eating, then two cups of water, and you're going to bed" He explained, tiredly walking to the bathroom, leaving you standing in the doorway as he disappeared into the bedroom, whenever he came back in, he held your swim suit and some night clothes. "Change into these, and call for me" He said as he handed you the swimsuit before stepping out of the bathroom, he hated seeing you sick, you always looked so sad and miserable compared to your usual giddy self, not to mention you would stop taking care of yourself entirely due to lack of energy.

Whenever Seung Hyun helped you out of the bath, you tiredly leaned against him, grunting softly as he wrapped an arm around your waist helping you move to the bedroom, holding the towel around you as tight as he could along with his robe he had grabbed for you. That was the others' sign that Seung Hyun had finally fallen for you, that man hated being sick, and germs, whenever one of the boys were sick, he had made a point to get a hotel room, just so he wouldn't get sick. Here he was though, helping you move around, helping you wash your hair, without a single complaint. Seung Hyun wouldn't dare complain, he knew you needed him, you had told him multiple times you felt safe around him, even admitting he was one of the only guys you trusted with your life and safety, knowing he wouldn't dare risk either of them. As you tried to crawl onto the bed, Seung Hyun stopped you "Aein, You can't sleep in a soaking swim suit" He chuckled as he grabbed your clean nightclothes, closing his eyes before he started taking off your swimsuit and changing it out for a pair of sweatpants and one of his hoodies. Once the hoodie was pulled down over your chest, Seung Hyun opened his eyes again, leaning forward quickly to let his shoulder catch your head that slowly fell forward.

"Oh, Aein" He whispered sadly, helping you back onto the bed, keeping his hands on your shoulders as you slowly leaned back until your head hit the pillows "Sweetheart, You need to keep yourself hydrated" He whispered, shaking his head as you just pulled the covers over your face tiredly. Knowing you wouldn't budge, Seung Hyun just climbed into your bed next to you, sighing as he placed his arm over your waist.

It took three days for you to be back to your usual self, Seung Hyun quick to return to his usual self as soon as he noticed you were okay. As you approached the rehearsal studio you made eye contact with the boys, all four of them smiling excited to see you back up and moving. As you entered the room, you immediately rushed to Seung Hyun, hugging him tightly "Noo! Go away! Germs! Get away!" He shouted raising his arms in the air, you just squeezed him tighter "Thank you for taking care of me" You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his hands, respecting his wishes of not wanting to get sick. Seung Hyun rolled his eyes playfully "I just didn't want to continue doing your parts for shows, your dancing is way too feminine for me" He joked, you just giggled, knowing damn well one of his favorite things to do was to mimic your chorography, especially whenever he was drunk. "Thank you.." You repeated, hugging him one last time before turning around to thank the others for helping you with you not going to the show. As you went through rehearsals, you couldn't help but notice Seung Hyun's eyes on you as you followed the moves you had learned a few weeks prior. As you spun your hands in front of you slowly, you rolled your body forwards with each step you took before spinning around, swinging your arm above your head as you swiveled your hips around. Looking over your shoulder behind you at the mirror, where the crowd would be if you were performing, as the bass of the song started to fade, you slowly kneeled down before holding your pose as the music ended.

Whenever you turned around, Seung Hyun had his hand over his mouth, gripping his own jaw as he dragged his hand down his face watching you closely. "Stop staring like that!" You gasped blushing brightly as you caught him, He just blushed as he looked away from you "I can't help it! It's so..different!" He protested as you marched over, poking his chest playfully "You're different" You joked, taking his hand in yours, much to his protest "And you're weird" He shot back, laughing as you gasped in shock "How rude of you!" You laughed, blushing brightly whenever you felt his hands on your waist, swaying you softly as you both spoke to each other.

Whenever you arrived home, it was like usual, you had gone straight to the couch, flopping onto Seung Hyun's much to his disliking. "Why are you so obsessed with touching mee!?" He shouted as he whined, trying to move himself out from under you without causing you to fall. "Because You're hot and nice" You huffed, hugging him tightly "Why won't you accept my love?!" It was your turn to shout and whine, growing frustrated with him, he had been acting weird with you all day, and it was starting to upset you now. "Because I love you in a different way!" He huffed before realizing what he had said, you looked at him in shock, letting his words process in your mind before you took a deep breath "Like how?" You asked, messing with the threads of his sweater nervously "Like..I want to kiss you like the other day but all of the time" Seung Hyun admitted shyly, you hid your blush behind your hands before looking at him "Why don't you?..You don't have to ask me...not you" You whispered, biting your bottom lip as you watched his eyes flicker between your eyes and lips, taking a moment before pressing his lips against yours firmly. As your lips moved together, Seung Hyun held onto you tightly as you laid on top of him, your lips feeling like pure clouds against his. Slowly pulling away, you bit your bottom lip giggling "I love you too" You whispered shyly, noticing his bright smile that you swore was contagious.

Lovelies? You like? <33 I'm heading to bed though lovelies as it's currently 3AM my time, but I hope you enjoy this story, and make sure to keep your eyes out for some smutty requests I'll be posting later today along with more parts to both T.O.P and Ji-Yong stories <3 ;) goodnight! <3 I shall talk to you lovelies in a bit! <3

Taglist!!

@onyxmango

@ag02212023

@acehasmyheart

@mitchko11

@learninglinesintherainn

@seunghyunwifey

@alexandralibbre

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

@lilou-0401

@maenoakasuna

@ericityyy

@alexandralibbre

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

@frangiipanii

@seunghyunwifey

@sturnioloslut-b

@isssaaaa2111

#squid game #thanos x reader #choi su bong x reader #top x reader #squidgame #thanos squid game #t.o.p x reader #choi seunghyun #squid game thanos #t.o.p #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p icons #top #bigbang x reader #bigbang #choi seung hyun x reader

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problemswithbooks · 6 hours ago

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I will agree that calling Stolas names isn't very nice, nor does it add to OP's criticizing, but I understand where they're coming from. I'll explain why OP and others might agree with the idea that Stolas staying in the marriage doesn't make sense, and therefore people like OP blame him for staying.

Stolas going to the party wasn’t about “obligation.” It was about avoiding whatever retaliation Stella would dish out if he didn’t. Abuse operates on control, and the victim learns to navigate around the abuser’s unpredictable wrath to minimize harm. Stolas went because, in his mind, the fallout of staying home likely felt worse than enduring a miserable evening at Stella’s side.

I'm sorry, but where is this at all backed up by the show? Stella's tone in no way conveys that she cares whether if he goes or not. Stolas in no way is fearful of Stella in the scene, and even curses at her when he asks what is going on. The show in no way presents Stolas as going simply because he's afraid of retaliation, and given Stella didn't even give him the invitation herself and he only found out because it was in the paper, it's unlikely he's obligated to go for societal reasons.

Hell, I could equally argue that Stella did not want him to come at all. Hence, her not even telling him about the party and her making her awful comments about him as close to him as possible because she wanted him to overhear--her retaliation for him showing up. It'd also explain why she didn't care that he left. If she wanted him to be there, she'd have been angry he wandered off and go find him and drag him back.

The reason Stolas is at the party is that the plot needed him to be there. It needed him to be miserable, so he'd drink and then get so excited about Blitz being there. He's not in any way shown as being there because of some hinted threat by Stella. Due to the short run time of these episodes, surly the writers didn't feel like any reason needed to be given as to why Stolas would attend, abuse or having nothing else to do, either way. They simply needed him there to move the plot along, so that's why he's there at all.

Which is why, especially since they put in Stella's shrugged "You can come if you want" line, makes it look as if he went to an event he knew he'd hate for no reason.

Stella’s volatile personality made leaving a high-risk move. The likelihood of her retaliating—socially, politically, or even physically—was enormous. Stolas staying wasn’t about being a “sucker for punishment”; it was about survival. And let’s not forget, he had Octavia to consider. He believed staying gave her a chance at stability, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness.

Yes, leaving an abusive relationship is hard, but none of the reasons that that's the case apply to Stolas (at least as far as he knew).

Stolas is one of the most powerful people in Hell. He outranks Stella's brother. He has immense magical power that Stella seems totally lacking. It is not an elected position and he never seemed worried at the possiblity of lossing it if he became unpopular. After Octavia was born he was under no obligation to stay so that seems to rule out his father refusing to let him leave. Financially, he was fine after the divorce and only lost everything because of the Full Moon Deal he made with Blitz came out.

Sure, you could argue it might have effected his social standing, but he seems disliked by most of them anyway. Plus, Stella is already ruining his social capital with the upper class as it is, by publicly badmouthing him, so it's no benefit, socially, for him to stay.

Stella is only shown as a stupid bitch, who is never nice, ever, so it's not as if the relationship is going through the usual cycle where the abuser apologizes and acts nice for a while, therefore luring their victim into thinking they've changed, and giving them happy times to remember, which makes leaving harder. Stella and Stolas always hated each other, so that's not why he stays either.

Abuse creates a cycle of control, self-doubt, and helplessness. Victims internalize their circumstances, convincing themselves that enduring the abuse is the safest or only option.

Yes, abuse does do this, but that is not what we are shown for Stolas.

He is never afraid of Stella. EVER. Instinctively, he protects his face when she throws things at him, but that's it. He never holds himself back from telling her what he thinks or showing he's angry with her out of fear. As I said before, he wasn't even less harsh or careful before he stood up to her. He doesn't show any signs of being affected by Stella's abuse, either, like subconsciously flinching away from Blitz yelling and getting in his face.

Hell, even after he finds out she hired Striker, he's not afraid. Instead, the focus is on his relationship with Blitz, and it's not portrayed as him doing so, because he's so afraid that he wants to distract himself with the one possible good thing in his life.

This take also misses how abuse warps decision-making when children are involved. Stolas stayed because he genuinely believed that keeping Octavia in a two-parent household was the lesser evil. Was it the right call? Maybe not. But it wasn’t about stupidity—it was about trying to protect her within a deeply broken system.

The problem with this is that, again, Stella is only shown as pure evil. If she's always been volatile, someone who never bothers to hide how awful she is, who will always say the mean thing regardless of how dumb a choice that is, then there is no reason for Stolas to ever assume Octavia having her mom in her life is a benefit. If Octavia, as we've been shown doesn't and has never, had a relationship with Stella, why would Stolas risk the possibility of Stella being cruel to Octavia? Which--given what we've seen of her, would be the most reasonable conclusion.

Plus, as I pointed out earlier, from everything we've been shown, and for all Stolas knew at the time, the systum would have been on his side. At most, he may have had to do pacial custody (as we see in the show) and lost a bit of money. Even if other Goeita don't like him, he seems to have more then enough power/high enough title they couldn't have done much about it.

And let’s not act like leaving would have been a magical fix. Stella isn’t the kind of person who’d let Stolas walk away quietly, much less take Octavia with him. She would’ve weaponized every ounce of her power to destroy him and maintain control over their daughter.

Again, where are you getting this?

Stella for all that Stolas knew, up until Striker kidnapped him, was leaving without a huge fuss (for her). At most, she wanted more money, which from the dialog doesn't appear he was lawfully obligated to give her. She never asked for Via and both of them seemed fine with taking turns with her. It was her brother's idea to 'manipulate' Via (which they don't really do, considering they can't stop loudly bragging about how evil they are in front of her) because he wants Stolas's power.

She's not presented as desperate for control over Via at all. She only hired Striker because Stolas cheated, not because she wanted to keep sole custody of Via. And, while yes, I think it's likely she would have tried to kill Stolas if he simply divorced her, we see no evidence to suggest Stolas thought that (he doesn't even notice when she hires Striker over the phone in front of him). Nor is he concerned about her brother in any way. The best we get is him saying "I don't care what your brother thinks" which more implies that he thinks Andre will simply be squawking in his ear about the divorce, which is annoying but not a threat.

If you can’t understand that, maybe it’s time to rethink how you approach character analysis—or better yet, try learning a thing or two about the psychology of abuse before you come for Stolas again.

I'm sure some people who don't like Stolas don't understand abuse or what it does to someone, but that's not everyone who points out issues with how he's portrayed. Personally, I, due to my own circumstances have to live with my abusive parent, so I get the psychological effects and reasons why someone wouldn't choose to leave an abusive situation. The problem is that the show does a poor job of conveying this reality with Stolas. Inturn this makes people not understand the situation he's in.

This isn't really a Stolas problem--he's not real. It's a writing problem. Not just for Stolas but for Stella. There were multiple ways to make this narrative work, even in small ways, like actually showing moments where Stolas was nervous around Stella, particularly in that pre-divorce flashback (similar to Moxxie and his abusive father).

Instead of a nonchalant, "Come if you want", have her say "you know what will happen if you don't come" with one of her malevolent smiles.

Maybe when he meets with Ozzie and sees Striker is involved, we get a shot of him being scared, and when he steps up to help Ozzie it's clear he's doing it in hopes of perhaps getting back at Striker in some small way.

Have Stolas flinch when Blitz gets in his face during Apology Tour, with it becoming more and more clear as they fight that he's growing more afraid/triggered by the fight, until he, in a panic, warps Blitz away. And instead of following Blitz right as he's kicked out we get a shot of Stoals trying to calm down before he has a full blow panic attack, maybe Stella's voice mocking him in his mind, with him trying to shrug it off while he looks down at the invitation, showing that part of the reason he goes to the party is to get his mind off of his past abuse.

During Sinsmas at some point he catches Stella watching everything down below and freezes momentarily in sudden fear.

Just, simply present it as Stella actually being someone he sees as a threat, someone who can actually do damage to him if he leaves. Instead, the show presents it as Stolas having all the cards. He has the money, the power, and social position (Ozzie, a Sin, likes him, and Vessago likes him too, so he's not completly isolated politically) to not just leave but leave Stella with practically nothing (so far all her social standing and personal wealth seems to come from Stolas, given she moved back in with her brother after the divorce and Andre says she'd get nothing if Via inherits). If he has no fear of her, if he'd lose nothing finacially, or socially, or politically. If his father isn't making him stay, then it does come across as him simply staying because...well, he wanted to.

The Lens of Abuse: Understanding Stolas’ Actions

💁🏽‍♀️🤖: Before we dive into the nitty-gritty, let’s remind ourselves of one critical fact: Stella is abusive. The show doesn’t beat us over the head with it, but the signs are everywhere—from her open contempt and cruel insults to her explosive fits of rage. Her dynamic with Stolas is defined by control, belittlement, and a lack of empathy. Abuse isn’t just about physical harm; it’s about creating a constant undercurrent of fear and power imbalance, and Stella wields both masterfully.

When analyzing Stolas’ choices—whether it’s staying in the marriage, going to that party, or how he handled things with Octavia—it’s essential to understand that they don’t exist in a vacuum. Abuse clouds judgment, limits perceived options, and forces victims to prioritize survival over happiness. Let’s break down why this perspective is crucial to understanding Stolas and why the critique of him being “pathetic” or “a sucker for punishment” completely misses the mark.

1. “He didn’t have to go to the party” — That’s Not How Abuse Works

It’s easy to sit back and say, “He didn’t have to go.” But when you’re in an abusive relationship, even basic decisions like this are never simple. Abusers like Stella don’t offer real choices—they create situations where every option carries a punishment.

Calling him “pathetic” for attending the party is an oversimplification that dismisses the psychological toll of years of manipulation and coercion.

2. “He didn’t have to suffer in the marriage” — Leaving Isn’t Easy

Here’s the thing about abuse: leaving isn’t just a decision—it’s a process. Victims often stay in harmful situations because of fear, obligation, or a belief that leaving will only make things worse. Stolas’ marriage to Stella wasn’t just an unhappy partnership; it was a deeply ingrained system of control.

The idea that Stolas “didn’t have to suffer” ignores the reality that, for victims of abuse, the path out often feels blocked, whether by fear, societal expectations, or the abuser’s power.

3. The Cycle of Abuse: Why Stolas Didn’t Leave Sooner

Abuse creates a cycle of control, self-doubt, and helplessness. Victims internalize their circumstances, convincing themselves that enduring the abuse is the safest or only option.

Stolas wasn’t “just an idiot who can’t turn down obligation.” He was stuck in a dynamic where Stella controlled the narrative and made him feel powerless. Add to that the societal expectations of Hell’s elite, and it’s no wonder he felt trapped.

When victims like Stolas finally leave, it’s not because they’re suddenly smarter or braver. It’s because something shifts—whether internally or externally—that gives them the push they need. For Stolas, this shift came when he chose to pursue his own happiness, even at great personal cost. That’s not idiocy; that’s growth.

4. Octavia and Parental Decisions Under Abuse

Stolas’ decision to stay wasn’t about weakness. It was about navigating a situation where no option felt truly safe.

5. Why This Argument Falls Apart

This take boils Stolas down to “an idiot who can’t turn down obligation,” but that’s an insultingly shallow reading of his character. Abuse isn’t about obvious choices or easy outs—it’s about power, control, and the psychological toll of living under constant threat.

Stolas’ actions make perfect sense within the framework of an abusive relationship. Calling him pathetic ignores the complexity of his situation and dismisses the very real struggles that abuse victims face every day.

TL;DR

Stolas’ behavior isn’t about being “pathetic” or “a sucker for punishment.” It’s about the psychological realities of abuse: the fear, the manipulation, and the way it warps decision-making. Leaving an abuser isn’t easy or obvious, especially when children and societal expectations are involved.

#Stella Goetia #stolas goetia #reply #I get being annoyed at the insults #but that doesn't mean they're wrong #by presenting it the way they do #the writers do sort of inadvertently make Stolas look bad #and i don't really get it #the show is not subtle #i mean they were able to show the abuse dynamic between Moxxie and his dad easily #so idk why they didn't do a better job with Stolas and Stella #they didn't even need to focus on it much #but giving Stolas actual fear of Stella #even if he can stand up to her at times #would have helped explain things better #as it is fans just have to assume #despite all the contrary evidence shown #that Stolas was to afraid of Stella to leave #when again that doesn't match up with anything we're shown #from everything we've seen Stolas wasn't scared of Stella or what she'd do if he left #he didn't expect her to hire striker #or Andre to scheme to take his power/title #so why would he stay for so long if he's not afraid or financially dependent #or have any fondness for her #or forced to by his dad/the law #It's less deeply psychological and more poor writing choices #could have been deep #but was executed so poorly it's just dumb

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widowromanova · 2 days ago

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Sniper (part 2) - Natasha x Female Reader

warnings: mentions of violence, SMUT!!!

word count: 4891

a/n: here's the asked for part 2 (with (part of) their backstory) ;)

You shouldn’t have hesitated, you couldn’t afford to hesitate. God! How could you be so reckless! You had spent so long training just to avoid this. And yet, when you saw her tonight, the same fire in her eyes that once drew you in, every carefully constructed wall you’d built came crashing down.

It had been years since the two of you were more than just co-workers. Back then, it hadn’t just been reckless - it had been dangerous and intoxicating. Natasha had drawn you into her orbit effortlessly, she had a way of making you feel like the only person in the room, the only one who mattered, even when you both knew that wasn’t true.

The secrecy wasn’t just about breaking SHIELD’s rules; it was about protection. You had both made enemies, people who wouldn’t hesitate to use your connection against you. Hiding it wasn’t just to keep your careers intact - it was to keep each other safe. But the risk had only made it more intense.

It all started at that party, "God, what a cliché," you thought. SHIELD’s annual gala was never your scene, but Fury had insisted on your attendance, throwing out some half-hearted excuse about team morale. You had arrived late, your shirt buttoned-up wrong, trying to disappear into the background.

And then you saw her.

Natasha was standing at the edge of the room, her back to the wall, a glass of champagne in hand, her body dripping in a silk black dress. She looked untouchable, like she always did. But her eyes - those sharp, calculating eyes - were scanning the crowd with purpose. She wasn’t there for the small talk or the niceties. She never was. And yet, when her gaze found yours, something shifted. For a moment, the room and its noise blurred, the crowd nothing more than a collection of moving shadows. Her lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, and you knew she’d seen right through your plan to fade into obscurity.

She approached you first. Of course she did. Natasha never waited for anyone to come to her.

“You look miserable,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “Let me guess, Fury dragged you here too?”

You’d laughed, caught off guard by the lightness of her tone. “Something like that. And you? I thought you thrived in situations like this.”

Her smile widened, but there was a glint of something deeper in her eyes. “I do, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy them.”

“Yeah, not exactly my idea of a good time,” you admitted, looking around the room.

She tilted her head, studying you with that sharp, assessing gaze. Her eyes flicked downward, and a small smirk tugged at her lips.

"Not your idea of a good time," she said, her tone laced with amusement. "Or maybe you’re just bad at dressing for it."

You frowned, confused, until she reached forward and tugged lightly at the collar of your shirt. It wasn’t until she stepped closer, the faint scent of her perfume brushing past you, that you realized what she was doing.

“Your buttons,” she murmured, her voice low, almost playful. Her fingers worked deftly, undoing the mismatched ones near your collar. “You can’t walk around looking like this- it’ll ruin the reputation Fury worked so hard to build for you.”

She delivered the last part with a dripping sarcasm that made you huff a quiet laugh despite yourself. “Oh, is that what Fury’s worried about?” you shot back, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk.

Her lips curved into a knowing grin as she finished fixing your shirt. “Absolutely. You’re the poster child for professionalism,” she said, her tone still laced with mockery.

“Thanks,” you muttered, feeling warmth creep up the back of your neck. You weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or the proximity of her hands, brushing just lightly enough against your chest to make you uncomfortably aware of how close she was.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, her tone casual, but when she looked up, there was that spark in her eyes again, the one that made it hard to breathe. “There. Perfect.”

She patted your chest lightly, the gesture half-teasing, half-sincere, before stepping back with a satisfied smile. “Much better. Now you look like someone worth talking to.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips. “I didn’t realize I was under inspection.”

“Always,” she quipped, looking you up and down in a satisfactory manner before grabbing her glass of champagne again. “You should know that by now.”

And just like that, she had you. In the span of a minute, Natasha Romanoff had taken a mundane moment and turned it into something you couldn’t stop thinking about. Looking back, you wondered if that had been her plan all along.

She tilted her head, studying you for a moment that felt longer than it should have. Then, with a mischievous spark, she handed you a drink. “Come on. Let’s make it more interesting.”

That was how it began - not with a grand declaration or a dramatic moment, but with Natasha pulling you out of the gala and onto the rooftop, away from the crowd. The conversation had been easy, surprisingly so. You had laughed, teased, talked about things you probably shouldn’t have, and for the first time, you saw Natasha not as the infamous Black Widow but as someone real.

The rooftop was quiet, the distant hum of the city below filling the silence. You leaned against the ledge, while Natasha stood a few feet away, her posture relaxed but somehow still charged with an energy that made her impossible to ignore.

For a while, neither of you said anything. It wasn’t the uncomfortable silence of strangers or colleagues forced into proximity, but something more natural. You could hear the faint clink of her glass as she swirled the last of her champagne, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

“You know,” she finally said, her voice softer now, almost thoughtful, “this is the first time I’ve been able to breathe all night.”

You turned your head to look at her, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of her face. “Yeah? Doesn’t seem like anything gets to you.”

She smirked at that, a small, almost wistful expression. “Maybe I’m just good at hiding it.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest tighten. There was a vulnerability in her voice, and you wondered how many people ever got to hear it.

She set her empty glass down on the ledge, turning to face you fully. Her green eyes held yours, unguarded in a way that felt disarming.

“Why do you do that?” she asked suddenly, her tone shifting.

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re not interesting,” she said, taking a step closer. “Like you’re just… background noise in a room full of people.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but she was already moving, closing the distance between you with a deliberate slowness. Her hand brushed your arm, light and tentative at first, then bolder as her fingers trailed down to your wrist.

“You’re not,” she murmured, her voice low and steady.

You should’ve stepped back, put some distance between you. Instead, you found yourself rooted to the spot, caught in her pull. Natasha’s free hand reached up, her fingers brushing the side of your face, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

For a moment, everything else faded - the gala, the rules, the risks. All that mattered was the way she was looking at you.

“Tell me to stop,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

Your heart pounded, each beat louder than the last as her words echoed in your mind. You should’ve said something - anything - but the way her eyes searched yours stole the breath from your lungs.

Natasha tilted her head, closing the gap the rest of the way, her lips brushing yours with a softness that sent a shiver through you. The kiss wasn’t rushed or demanding, but deliberate, as if she was waiting for you to pull away, to stop her. When you didn’t, her hand slid from your wrist up to your neck, her touch both steady and grounding.

Your hands found her waist, hesitating for a moment before you pulled her closer, the tension melting away. And now, all of a sudden, the cool night air seemed warmer.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead resting against yours, her breath mingled with yours in the space between. She didn’t speak right away, her eyes flickering over your face as if she was committing every detail to memory.

“This changes things,” she said softly, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, “it does.”

From then on, you met in secret. The first time you met was two days after the gala, when you received a message from an anonymous number with a single address and the words “8 PM.” You debated whether or not to go, well aware that anything involving Natasha would likely lead to trouble. But something about the thrill of her pulled you in.

At 8 o’clock, you arrived at the address, a small, unassuming apartment building on the outskirts of the city. You climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, pulse racing with anticipation and uncertainty. The door opened revealing Natasha, dressed casually in a black tank top and jeans, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. At the sight of you, a slow smile curled at the corners of her lips.

"You didn't give me much choice," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the way your heart rate spiked at the sound of her voice.

She smiled softly, stepping aside to let you in. The apartment was cozy, dimly lit, and almost surprisingly normal-looking.

"Drink?" she asked, gesturing toward a bottle of scotch sitting on the kitchen counter. You nodded, accepting the glass she handed you. The silence between you was heavy. You watched her as she took a sip of her drink, studying you for a moment before finally speaking.

"I wasn't sure if you'd show up," she admitted, setting her glass down on the countertop and leaning on her arm against it. You shrugged, "Curiosity got the best of me, I suppose."

She raised an eyebrow, her smile growing into an almost predatory smirk. "Curiosity, huh?" You didn't respond, choosing instead to take a long drink. The scotch burned your throat, but you drank until you felt the heat in your cheeks cool.

Natasha tilted her head, her eyes roaming over you in that assessing way she had. She took a step closer, her proximity making it harder to think. "You're tense," she observed, her voice low and smooth. "Relax. I don't bite," she ran a hand up and down your arm. You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken. "I'd bet money you do," you quipped back.

Her smile widened. "Maybe I do," she murmured. "But not tonight." She held your gaze, her expression unreadable. For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat drumming in your ears. Then, she lifted her hand to your face, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of your jaw.

"You're making this difficult," she murmured, her touch leaving a trail of heat. "I didn't expect you to be so..."

"So what?"

She paused, her eyes searching yours. “So… different,” she said finally, her voice soft but firm, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit it. “I’ve been trying to keep things simple, but you…”

Her words trailed off as her hand rested against your chest, her thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt. The faintest smile tugged at her lips, “You make it quite hard.”

The space between you seemed to shrink. You wanted to ask her what she meant, to press her for clarity, but you already knew the answer. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. "Simple isn't really your style, is it?" you managed to say, your voice betraying the emotions churning inside.

Her wry smile deepened, a glint of mischief sparking in her eyes as her fingers lingered at your jaw, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Simple is boring,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You tried to reply, to find some clever retort that would keep you grounded. All you could focus on was the way she looked at you, like she was daring you to close the last sliver of space between you.

“Natasha…” you started, but her name came out more like a sigh than a warning.

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. “What?” she asked, her tone teasing but soft. “I thought you liked complicated.” Before you could answer, her hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

And then, without hesitation, she kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative or unsure; it was deliberate, purposeful, like she wasn’t going to give you a chance to second-guess her. Again, her lips were warm, soft, but there was an urgency beneath it.

You responded instinctively, your hands finding her waist as you pulled her against you, deepening the kiss.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, and she let out a soft, almost amused breath. “See?” she whispered, her voice laced with a hint of triumph. “Complicated isn’t so bad.”

Her hand was still on the back of your neck, her fingers tracing idle patterns that sent shivers down your spine. "No," you breathed, your voice a low rumble against her skin, "it's not." You reached for her, pulling her head to the side to kiss her neck. She let out a soft, almost surprised gasp as your lips found her skin. Her fingers tightened in your hair, her body instinctively arching into you. You traced a line of kisses down her throat, tasting the salt and sweetness of her skin. Each press of your lips seemed to ignite a fire in her, a barely restrained need that mirrored your own. Her hand roamed down your back, nails scraping light and dangerous, sending another shiver through you. "You're not playing fair," she murmured in your ear, her voice ragged and breathless.

You smirked against her skin, pulling her closer, your hands sliding under the hem of her shirt. "Who said I was playing fair?" You pushed her backwards until she was against the wall, pinning her there with the weight of your body. Her eyes darkened, a mixture of desire and challenge in them. You reached up, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head. She let out a small gasp, her lips parting in surprise, her chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. She could have easily freed herself, but instead, she leaned into you, her body pressed flush against yours.

You tightened your grip on her wrists, holding her captive as you dispersed kiss after kiss, tracing the veins on her neck. She arched into you, her mouth brushing the shell of your ear, a low whisper of “What do you think you're doing?” You didn't respond. Your lips found her jaw, trailing a path of fire down her neck. Her body responded to your touch, her breaths uneven, her skin flushed. A quiet moan escaped her as you kissed along her collarbone, and you felt the tension in her shoulders start to loosen. But before you could go further, Natasha’s hand found its way to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she pulled your head back sharply, bringing your eyes to meet hers.

“I didn’t say you could keep going,” she said, her voice breathless, a playful edge beneath the words.

You could see the challenge in her eyes, the same one that had always drawn you in - fearless, confident.

“Maybe I don’t need permission,” you murmured, your lips curling into a teasing smile.

She raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in the air between you, before her fingers slid from your hair, holding your face in her hands. “I like it when you’re bold,” she said softly, her voice now a mix of approval. Her thumb brushed over your lower lip, a gesture so intimate it made your heart skip a beat. “But," she continued, her voice a low, gravelly murmur, "don't get ahead of yourself."

"And why not?" you challenged.

Natasha smirked, the challenge clear in her eyes. "Because I said so," she replied firmly, her fingers tightening around your jaw.

She took a step forward, closing the small distance between you. Her body was now pressed against yours, her gaze intense and unwavering. "And if there's one thing you should know about me," she continued, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "I always get what I want."

In one swift motion, she turned, slamming you against the wall, her body pinning you there as her mouth found yours. The kiss was fiery, possessive, her tongue demanding entry as her hands gripped at your shirt, pulling you closer. Her leg pressed between yours, her knee rubbing slightly against the growing wet spot there. You could feel her smirk against your lips, her teeth nipping at your tongue. Her hands were under your shirt now, nails scraping down your stomach.

She pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Her thumb traced over your lips, swollen and tender from her, her touch feather-light yet utterly possessive.

"Still think you're in charge here?" she murmured, her voice a low husk. Her grip on your hips tightened, her knee pressing into you further, eliciting a low moan from you. She looked you up and down, "You're wearing too much."

Without waiting for a response, she started tugging at your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one swift move. Her gaze raked over your exposed skin, a look of hunger in her eyes. You watched her, goose bumps pebbling across your skin. She took her own shirt off now, her skin gleaming under the light, a canvas of muscle and scars, a stark contrast to the delicate curve of her hip. She moved closer, pressing herself against you, her bare skin against yours. Her hands roamed over your body, mapping every contour, every muscle. She traced a line down your chest, nails scratching lightly against your skin. Her mouth found your neck, her lips grazing over the sensitive flesh there, her breath hot and heavy against your skin. You began to fiddle with the clasp of her bra, desperately trying to undress her.

She pulled away slightly, her hands catching yours, pinning them against the wall above your head. Her expression was stern, almost predatory, a silent command to stay still. "Patience," she murmured, her breath tickling your ear. She let go of your hands to reach behind her back, unclasping the garment herself. You watched as she seductively took it off to drop it at your feet then pulled the waistband of her underwear down as well, dropping them beside her bra. Her hands skimmed over your hips, her thumbs hooking into the waistband. She looked up at you, a silent question in her eyes, seeking permission. You could only nod, words failing you. Your brain was a hazy mess of need and the sharp awareness of every inch of your body where she touched you.

You felt the material slither down your legs, heard the whisper of it falling to the floor. You were exposed now, vulnerable in a way you hadn't been before. But there was no shame in your nudity under Natasha's gaze, only a growing sense of belonging. She harshly grabbed you by the face again, your lips clashing as she haphazardly walked you over to the sofa where she pushed you to sit down.

You landed on the couch with a thud, your breath leaving you in a rush. Before you could even catch your bearings, Natasha was on you, straddling your lap, her body pressed flush against yours. Her mouth found yours again, her kiss rough and demanding. Her weight was pinning you to the cushions, the feeling of her skin against yours sending sparks through you. Your hands found their way to her hips, gripping tightly.

You moved your leg to position itself between hers, watching her as she tensed slightly at the movement, a small gasp escaping her lips. She broke the kiss to bury her face in the crook of your neck, her teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there. You could feel her shiver, her body involuntarily rocking against your leg.

"Eager," she murmured against your neck, her voice a ragged whisper, "aren't you?" Her tongue traced a path down your throat, pleasure searing through you. She ground against your thigh, seeking friction, her breath coming in uneven gasps. Your hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements despite the loss of control. She whined in your ear, as you managed to gasp out a few words, your voice thick with desire. "I thought you were the one in charge," you panted, your fingers running up her sides to caress the soft skin of her back.

She pulled back slightly to look at you, her eyes dark with desire. "And I am," she replied, her words punctuated by a roll of her hips against your thigh. "But," she continued, her voice dropping as she let out another moan, "I like it when you get... unruly."

Your hands roamed over her body in response, one staying on her hip while the other moved higher, tracing the curve of her breast. She arched into your touch, a soft moan escaping her. The sight was almost too much to bear, the way she responded to you like a drug. She leaned in closer, her mouth finding yours again, her tongue insistent, demanding entry. She moved against you, each roll of her hips against your leg driving you both closer to the edge. You were lost in her.

Your fingers slowly moved down her stomach, stopping just above her pelvis. Her breath hitched at the feel of your fingers so close to where she wanted them most. Her hips instinctively thrust towards your hand, a silent plea for more. A low moan escaped her throat, her eyes dark and burning into yours. "Stop... teasing," she gasped, the words barely more than a ragged whisper.

You smirked at her, watching her domination over you waver, your hand staying exactly where you placed it. Her body was tense against you, a barely contained coil of energy waiting to snap. The look in her eyes was a mix of frustration and desire as she shifted her weight, her knees digging into the couch on either side of you. "I said stop..." she repeated, her voice a low growl. But her body betrayed her words, her hips still moving on their own accord, seeking out your touch. Your fingers trailed lightly over her skin, drawing lazy circles that drove her wild, but never quite giving her what she wanted.

Her eyes darkened, a growl-like sound rumbling in her throat. She grabbed your face firmly, her grip just on the edge of being painful. "You're playing a dangerous game here," she muttered, her body pressed flush against yours. Her fingers tangled in your hair, forcing your head back, leaving your neck exposed to her. Her mouth latched onto the sensitive skin of your neck, teeth sinking in just enough to make you gasp. "You're making it difficult to stay in control," she breathed against your skin, her breath hot and ragged.

"Good," you simply say.

Your words make her pause, her mouth still against your neck. You can feel her smirk, a mix of irritation and amusement as she laughs, "You do realise," she purred, her voice low, "that I could have you begging on your knees right now if I wanted?"

"Yeah, but..." your hand moves over her clit to trace circles, "you really don't want me to stop this, do you?" A shudder runs through her body, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again to lock with yours. Her breath catches, a stifled gasp escaping her. She tries to hold on to her composure. "Not... fair," she manages to say, her voice shakier than before. You smirk, your fingers continuing to move down to enter her, stretching her out perfectly. She lets out a low growl, "God.." Her hips snap against your hand, desperate for more. "Just... like that," she gasps, her body betraying her words. Her hands grip your shoulders, nails digging in, leaving little moon crescents in your skin. It is beyond clear she has lost most of her composure.

Her body tenses again, her thighs trembling slightly around your hand. Her eyes are dark, clouded over with desire, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. "Don't stop," she whispers, the words barely a breath.

"I wasn't planning to," you tease.

"Shut up," she mutters, but there's no real venom in her words, just a hint of desperation that betrays how badly she wants you. Her hands slide down from your shoulders to your biceps, holding onto you like a lifeline. "Who knew," she grunts, her voice catching.

"Knew what?"

"That you could..." her sentence cut off with a moan, "reduce me to this." She manages to gasp out the words between ragged breaths, her body arching into your touch. You can feel how close she is, her body strung tight like a bowstring, ready to snap. "Just... keep going.." she practically pleads.

You keep going, your fingers dancing over exactly the right spot, driving her higher and higher until-

Her head falls back, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she comes undone. Her body shivers against you, her nails digging into your arms. Her limbs tremble, her head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as she tries to catch her breath. "You..." she breathes.

"I, what?" you retort, a wide grin playing on your face. She lifts her head, her eyes meeting yours, still swimming in a heady mix. "Why is that look so damn attractive on you?" she mutters, still riding her high while her hands still grip your arms tightly.

You laugh, "What am I, Nat?"

"Annoying," she mutters, her eyes narrowing. "Possibly aggravating," she continues, her breathing slowing down slightly. But despite her words, her hands don't let go of you, her body still pressed tightly against yours.

"Now why would you say that?" you question, feigning hurt.

"Oh, let me count," she muses, her voice regaining some of its usual sardonic edge. "Your smugness when you get the upper hand, your infuriatingly attractive smile-", you watch her with admiration, a smile forming on your face, "-the fact that you somehow always manage to push all my buttons. Not to mention, you're doing a damn good job of driving me crazy right now." Her words are an equal measure of wanting to strangle you and wanting to kiss you senseless.

As if to prove her point, she pushes against you further, her body moulding to yours. She leans in, her mouth at your ear, her breath hot against your skin. "You have any idea what you do to me, huh?" she whispers, the words a murmur in your ear. "And right now, I don't know if I want to kill you or kiss you."

You pretend to pay attention, your mouth slowly finding her neck again, your tongue tracing a path over her skin. She lets out a soft sigh, a shudder running through her at your touch. Her fingers rake through your hair, a possessive gesture as she holds you against her. She's trying to regain a semblance of control, to take back the upper hand.

But despite her best efforts, her body betrays her. She arches into you, a moan escaping her as your mouth finds that sensitive spot below her ear, "Fuck you, L/N..."

"I was hoping you would," you quip. The rest of the night became a blur, the walls of your memory stained with the hazy scent of sex that lingered throughout her apartment as you found... comfort... in each other for the next day.

But for all the passion, there had been cracks in the foundation of which neither of you could admit to at the time. Natasha had always been an enigma, parts of her locked away so tightly even you couldn’t reach them. And you - you had started to wonder if loving her was just another risk you hadn't been strong enough to take.

Tonight, you had faltered.

Your grip on the rifle tightened, and you exhaled, watching your breath curl into the night air. Natasha was always in control, and somehow, despite everything, you had let her slip through your fingers again.

The rooftop was quiet now, but your thoughts were anything but. Because she wasn’t just an assignment. She never had been. And the next time you saw her, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to pull the trigger - or if she’d already have you in her sights first.

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed, there will be a part 3 (i have more to add to their backstory, i just did not want to put it all in one part ;)) the smut will continue!

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