#⠀ ⠀ vi. ⠀ ⠀ my hands are made of mistakes⠀ ⠀ ╱ ⠀ ⠀ study.

[weom000]

Sevikas fight style analyzes by a boxer

Sevikas style is centered around defense, and hindering her opponent. After being kneed in the face, when Vi starts to hit her again she completely blocks herself, she gives herself no opening, and does not search for one, she goes completely defensive before slipping to the side, causing Vi to miss, and while that usually wouldn't be something so detrimental as it is here but because Vi anticipated her to continue to block, she puts too much momentum forward and loses her footing for less than a second and during that gap Sevika takes down her defense, leaving her mechanical arm in the way of Vi, and wraps it around the punch she just threw, and grabbing her other one as Vi tries to free herself. This completely incapacitates Vi, her arms are totally locked and locked straight, allowing Sevika to take control of the situation as well as say something to her without interruption, she is able to headbut her twice and then she returns to defense. She Pushes her back, shoving Vi away from her, letting Sevika gain her footing again and keeping Vi unbalanced all in one.

Because of this, Sevikas opponent is now hindered and she has the upper hand, which is when she changed her tactic and throws a shot to the body to keep Vi’s hands down, so she can then give what can be translated to a hook, taking advantage of the time she has before Vi moves again. But, something sevika doesn’t take into account so well at this moment is Vi’s speed, which is a key component as to why her style even works without getting her pummeled as it did in her first fight that we see. Sevika doesn't account that, so when Vi is able to recover so fast (see post about her fight style i wrote) and moves out of the way of the hook instead of just ducking down, which is what most would do in that situation, she is able to get to Sevikas entirely unprotected side where her arm hangs loose instead of up in defense.

Because of this, you get the next snippet which is where Vi gains the upper hand again; she throws a body shot underneath Sevika, and because her arms were down it lands hard, which throws her off. During this sequence, Vi uses one of my personal favorite moves which is rolling to the outside under the punch sevika threw, then grabbing sevikas arm and throwing an uppercut underneath it. It stops her from returning to defense, keeping her face totally unguarded, and then she reaches under to hit her, and her form stays solid and intake, with her shoulder rolling with the punch giving her whole body weight behind it just as you should.��

This doesn't last long however; with Sevikas arm injecting her with shimmer again. BUT, i think that even without the shimmer the fight wouldn't have gone much different, because Vi made the mistake of giving Sevika even a second of a break, which meant that given she got up again she would’ve returned to being entirely defensive, forcing Vi to get predictable. But she did take the shimmer, so going off of that, she still goes back to being entirely defensive, throwing something at Vi, making her prioritize dodging over keeping her opponent in her eyesight, giving Sevika the chance she needed to get back to her, body slamming her, once again rendering her basically defenseless before she grabs her by the neck, both hindering her opponent unable to strike back and also being able to sling her around in an attack. After the following sequence, where Vi knee’s her in the gut, sevika is thrown off and they are both tired. Sevika gets back up, but Vi is back in her stance first, giving her the upper hand, letting her basically hit sevika around and making her unable to get back into a defensive position. This continues on until Sevika tells her the key information that Jinx now works for Silco. If it weren't for that, Vi would’ve won the fight, but that information threw her off, and made her get sloppy, on top of her exhaustion and injuries. Sevika stabs her, and I consider the fight over at that point. 

Sevikas style is consistent throughout the fight, she has patterns of behavior that are unpredictable because while they are patterns they don't necessarily repeat in a sequence as one would imagine. Instead she searches for an opportunity and then does the expected attack. From inside the fight, you would never see it coming, but from an outside perspective you recognize the gaps in her opponent at the same time she does, giving her the opportunity to knock her opponent down and get in hard, heavy hits.

[deiastormborn]

Arcane Season 2 Finale theory. (Jinx, Cait and Vi)

Heya. Since I was somehow on a roll with my theories about the show previously, and I somehow hit the nail on 90% of the things I predicted, here is a new theory of mine.

Jinx is not dead. Yes, of course, that makes sense considering League of Legends exists, and everything that happened in Arcane happened before the game. Arcane was made canon, and a lot of current lore is being rewritten to match the show, so to people that play the game it's no surprise that Jinx is most likely alive. But how?

Here is what I think:

After Jinx said 'I didn't know your mom was in there', Cait realized that Jinx did in fact change. Or, at the very least, could relate to her pain and mistakes. If you think about it, Jinx's actions were mostly fueled with grief, and the rocket that was shot at the council building happened right after Silco died, who was like a father to Jinx. Caitlyn lost her mother, and became angrier, irrational, fueled with revenge. I think Jinx saying that to Caitlyn made her relate, and maybe understand what is hidden below all the madness that Jinx has in her.

I think Caitlyn and Jinx had a dialogue behind the scenes, that was not shown to us. Knowing Caitlyn's character and somewhat a soft heart, I think Caitlyn sat down and told Jinx that she can't be truely free due to the volume of the crimes that she has done. My idea is that Caitlyn tossed the idea to Jinx about escaping, fleeing, and faking her death. Didn't Caitlyn tell Vi that she became too predictable? Doesn't it mean that Caitlyn knew that Vi will try to free Jinx? Didn't Caitlyn say something about this place being thoroughly guarded too? Yet Jinx managed to escape anyhow?

I genuinely don't think it was done without Caitlyn's interference.

Maybe, after the talk that Caitlyn had with Jinx behind the scenes, Jinx asked Caitlyn to keep Vi oblivious to everything that is happening. Hence why Jinx said that Vi deserves to be with Caitlyn - that could not have gone out of nowhere. Caitlyn and Jinx didn't interact enough in the show for Jinx to say that. And Vi never really spoke to Jinx about Caitlyn for her to make this conclusion.

Now, possibly, Jinx took the whole 'fake the death' quite literal, since we see her go quite suicidal after that. It is possible that she thought that it is pointless, and genuinely didn't want to try and run anymore, hence why she attempted to blow herself up. Luckily, Ekko came in, and the rest we know.

However, it doesn't sit right with me. Not just because Jinx is very much alive in game, but also the fact that we were shown Caitlyn looking at the tower where Jinx fell, while holding the Jinx's monkey bomb in her hand. She also let go of a slight smile when she zoomed in on all the exits and rooms in the tower. Something tells me Jinx knew how to escape, and something tells me Caitlyn was the one who told her. Something also tells me that the balloon we saw at the very last scene of the whole show might have had Jinx in it.

The show is notorious for showing scenes that always mean and imply something. I previously had a theory where I drew a parallel between Vander, Silco and Felicia, with Caitlyn, Vi and Jinx, where Felicia was bringing Vander and Silco closer to each other, and her death ended up splitting them both. I truly think Caitlyn was meant to be the same mediator for Jinx and Vi as Felicia was for Vander and Silco. And maybe that was it. Maybe that's what happened.

Knowing Caitlyn, she is more than capable of forgiveness, and seeing good in people. I think it would be in her character to help Jinx escape, even if it is at a cost of lying to someone she loves.

And, since we see Jinx tell Vi to let go, I think it would be in her character to ask Caitlyn to keep Vi in the shadows.

[poisonousquinzel]

we didn't even see Sevika's reaction to Isha dying... she didn't say a damned word since episode 4 from what I remember. like is her being on the council supposed to be a fix all to the shit Piltover's done? It doesn't even look like there's any other Zaunites there it's just her.

Cait and Vi barely even argued before fucking in a prison cell like Caitlyn didn't become a dictator and spent the entire Act 1-2 time skip authorizing and causing terror in the Undercity but there's one comment we saw in the trailer talking about her having Ambessa as her right hand and thats it, as if Caitlyn didn't have anything else to idk apologize for?? Did I miss something??

She smacked Vi with her gun and nearly murdered a child the last time they'd seen each other before episode 6, but nothing of Cait's downward spiral in the first few episodes was addressed outside of just the connection with Ambessa and that was barely! She's a fucking adult and we didn't even hear her say sorry. She doesn't apologize to Vi.

Vi woke up, found out her sister was locked up, fought with her ex who's spent the past like 4 episodes being a full out fascist.

"she wasn't there for my benefit. You didn't trust me to follow through" she says that as if that one dude wouldn't have killed her if Jinx hadn't been there? like baby you wouldn't have followed through because you would be dead!

"can you blame me? How long were you sidled up with that shifty, self serving war pig? She oinked poison in your ear and you just ate it!"

"I know!"

And Caitlyn saying multiple times about not being able to erase our mistakes and good deeds not crossing out our crimes, while just.... going on to not acknowledge the full scope of her own war crimes.

And then after getting locked up by Jinx and being told she's gonna go kill herself in so many words, Vi... acts like that's not what was going on with her? it's not even addressed as an urgent thing it's as if she was just like "no fuck you sis I won't fight for your cause cause I'm an unpredictable rebel" and not implying that she was gonna go off herself.

it's just a moment for Vi to beat herself up more and go on about how Caitlyn was right about how she shouldn't trust Jinx and that she went behind her back, that she chooses wrong every time and that because of her decisions she's lost everyone.

She didn't choose wrong when she stopped Caitlyn from killing Jinx and Isha in episode 3.

but the only response to Vi beating herself up Caitlyn has is to point out she'd moved all the guards to the Hexgates and to say that she's gotten a bit predictable.

and then the sex scene happens. In the jail cell Jinx had spent the entire time skip, one long enough that Vi's hair is grown out, trapped in festering alone thinking about dying.

just wow, what an atmosphere, how romantic

just saw that Amanda has said in a Q&A abt episode 8 that them doing it in the cell was a way of "Vi reclaiming her prison trauma" which is....... a decision. the idea is there but fuck the execution sucked man lmao

VI didn't even react to Ekko being back!

and to have Vi in their ending clip say she's "the dirt under her nails, cupcake. Nothing's gonna clean me out"

what the actual fuck? is that supposed to be cute after all the comments Caitlyn's made about Zaunite being lesser, being animals, saying that it's in her blood? something she doesn't address or grow from or apologize for?

are we supposed to believe that everything that was inflicted on the Undercity by Piltover is just water under the bridge now cause some magic robots fucked shit up for a bit? no acknowledgement of the oppression or using chemical warfare on innocent people or arresting people without cause, or the hundreds of other examples of Piltover lording themselves over the Undercity that happened before the show. The conditions they allowed and thrived off of, the ones that led to Zaun being something needed in the first place.

everything in terms of that foundational conflict feels like it was just completely dropped to focus on the magic plot and Ambessa and it's just... not front lined again. Ambessa did not cause the conditions in Zaun, she made things worse for them, but she wasn't in Piltover for the large majority of this. In the grand scheme of Piltover / Zaun she is an incredibly new player in that fight and came in on the side of the oppressors knowingly and took that to her advantage. Same with Hextech and stuff, this conflict goes so much further back then that and it's wounds cannot be healed by lackluster and minimal effort and a refusal to acknowledge how in the wrong Piltover has been. The pain and suffering caused throughout the decades at the hands of Enforcers, long before Hextech or Ambessa came into the picture.

idk, for me it was just disappointing and a let down ending for a season I was otherwise really enjoying.

[sorrengael]

⠀ ⠀ viii. ⠀ ⠀ violet sorrengail⠀ ⠀ ╱ ⠀ ⠀ tag drop.

[misswynters]

Fighting fire

vi x fighter!reader

synopsis. Reigning from the depths of noxus, you were known for your quick reflexes and heavy punches. But on the outside you were the opposite, who knew you would crumble for zauns gaunlet fighter.

warnings. heavy kissing, touching, grinding (changed by the dialogue because apparently it’s too cringey…)

Chains hung from the ceiling, and the faint scent of sweat and blood lingered. The underground fighting ring in Zaun was alive with energy, a cacophony of roaring spectators, the clinking of glasses, and the heavy bass of music vibrating through the air. The ring itself was lit harshly, casting long shadows over the surrounding stands.

You stood in the center of it all, your body practically gleaming under the lights. The crowd erupted as the announcer bellowed your name, their cheers a testament to your reputation. A fighter from Noxus, famed for your ruthless precision and surprising elegance in battle. Your crimson wraps and black leather gloves were stained with traces of past victories, your feminine features at odds with the dangerous gleam in your eyes.

Across from you, Vi leaned casually against the ropes, a grin tugging at her lips. Her vibrant pink hair was damp from her earlier match, her toned arms crossed over her chest. She looked completely at ease, like this was just another brawl in a long string of fights.

“Ready to get your ass handed to you, sweetheart?” Vi called, her voice dripping with cocky bravado.

You smirked, adjusting the wraps on your wrists. “You talk big for someone about to eat the my fist.” The crowd roared as the bell clanged, signaling the start of the match.

The fight was intense. Vi’s punches came in heavy and fast, each swing of her fists a calculated attempt to knock you off balance. But you were quicker, ducking and weaving around her attacks with a grace that belied your power.

“You’re fast,” Vi grunted as you slipped past her jab, landing a swift kick to her side.

“Oh please, you’re predictable,” you shot back, your voice edged with amusement.

Vi laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine despite the situation. “You’ve got a mouth on you. I like it.”

The fight raged on, sweat dripping down your brow as the crowd screamed for blood. Every hit you landed made the crowd gasp; every blow Vi blocked sent cheers ringing through the arena. It was a clash of two forces, your elegant but deadly style against her raw, unrelenting power. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you saw your opening. Vi hesitated for a split second, just enough for you to sweep her legs out from under her. She hit the mat hard, and before she could recover, you pinned her down, your knee pressing into her chest. The crowd erupted into chaos as the announcer declared you the winner.

Vi groaned beneath you, her chest rising and falling heavily. “Alright, you’ve got me,” she said, a crooked grin spreading across her face. “Didn’t think a pretty thing like you could take me down.”

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, “You've underestimated me, big mistake.” Not even five minutes later, you and Vi were in the back corridor, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. The adrenaline from the fight still thrummed through your veins, making every touch, every glance feel electric.

Vi leaned against the cold, metal wall, her gaze fixed on you. There was something primal in her eyes, a hunger that mirrored the heat coursing through your body. “You are truly something else,” she murmured, her voice low and rough.

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing against her jawline. “You’re not too bad yourself.” Before you could say anything more, Vi grabbed your wrist, pulling you flush against her. Her lips crashed against yours, the kiss bruising and desperate. You responded in kind, your fingers threading through her hair as your bodies pressed together. Her hands found your waist, gripping tightly as if she was afraid you’d slip away.

“Vi,” you whispered agaisnt her lips, your hands trailing down her chest. You could feel her ab muscles beneath her shirt. She growled softly, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re gonna drive me insane, you know that?”

You smirked, pulling her back up to meet your gaze. “Good.”

The corridor felt too small, the air too thick as the two of you lost yourselves in each other. Vi’s hands were everywhere—on your hips, your back, the curve of your thighs. She kissed you like she was trying to devour you, her touch rough but careful, like she couldn’t get enough.

“You’re trouble,” she muttered against your lips, her hands slipping under your shirt to brush against your bare skin.

“And you love it,” you shot back, your voice a mix of teasing and desire.

Vi chuckled, the sound low and vibrating through your chest. “Damn right I do.”

Her lips curved into a slight smirk, her hands drifting down your sides, pulling you closer. Her touch was like fire against your skin, sending shivers through you. As you kissed again, slow this time, you could feel the walls around both of you begin to crumble. There was no more hesitation, no more fighting the connection that had always been there.

She took your hand and led you towards the bathroom, her touch still fierce and demanding, but there was something else there, something softer now. When the door clicked shut behind you, the world outside seemed to disappear. All that existed was the two of you in that tiny, dimly lit space. Its only light coming from a small overhead fixture that cast long shadows across the tiled walls. The air was thick with the scent of your shared adrenaline from the fight just moments ago, and the sound of your hurried breaths was the only noise that filled the room. The world outside the bathroom felt miles away, as if you and Vi were in your own little bubble, cocooned from everything else.

Vi stood before you, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her face flushed with exertion, her blue eyes darkened with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. She wasn't the type to show weakness, but in the silence between you both, you could feel her yearning, the hunger in the way she looked at you.

Her hands moved slowly at first, cautiously as if unsure of how to proceed. Then, without warning, she pressed herself into you, her body flush against yours as she kissed you with an urgency that made your heart race. There was nothing tentative about it— her lips were fierce, demanding, yet soft as they moved against yours. You gasped, feeling the heat of her body seeping through your clothes, her hands sliding around your waist to pull you closer, the contact sending a spark through every inch of your body.

Her breath was hot against your lips as she pulled away just enough to speak. "You're driving me insane," she muttered, her voice rough but filled with an undeniable tenderness. "You're so damn beautiful."

You could hardly breathe, the way she was looking at you, the way her touch was both possessive and gentle, it was enough to leave you trembling. You didn't know if it was the heat of the moment, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, or the way Vi had always made you feel so alive, but every inch of you was drawn to her like a magnet.

"I-Vi..." you barely managed to say, but before you could finish, she was kissing you again, her lips moving with desperation as she pressed you harder into the sink behind you. The cool porcelain of the sink contrasted sharply with the warmth of her body, and you let out a shaky breath as she deepened the kiss, her hand moving to cradle the back of your neck, her fingers threading through your hair to hold you firmly in place. Her other hand slid to your waist, gripping it tightly, almost as if she were trying to hold you together as she kissed you breathless.

When she finally pulled away again, it was only to speak, her voice hushed but commanding. "Turn around," she murmured, the soft command making your pulse quicken. There was something in her tone that left no room for argument, and you obeyed without hesitation, turning towards the dirty bathroom mirror.

Vi's hands were on your waist again, her fingertips tracing the curve of your hips before pulling you back against her with a gentle force. Her chest pressed against your back, the heat of her body surrounding you. She kissed the back of your neck slowly, savoring the way your skin shivered beneath her touch, before her lips moved to your earlobe, biting it softly. You gasped at the sensation, your body already burning with desire, and you could feel Vi's smirk against your skin.

She kissed her way down your neck, her lips leaving a trail of warmth that sent jolts of pleasure straight through you. Her hands moved, pulling you tighter against her, her body solid and unyielding behind you, trapping you against the sink. The feeling of her hips pressed flush against yours made your breath catch in your throat, your hands gripping the cold edge of the sink, your knuckles turning white from the pleasure as you fought to keep yourself steady.

"Oh, the things you do to me," Vi muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, but the raw hunger in her tone sent a ripple through you. You could barely think straight, her kisses driving you wild. Each soft press of her lips, each subtle movement of her hands against your body, pushed you further into a haze of longing. She started to grind her hips against yours pushing you deeper towards the sink. You bit your lip to suppress the whimpers that wanted to escape, but Vi seemed to sense your restraint, her hand moving to your waist, urging you to relax, to give in. Thinking that this might leave bruises on your hips after this.

"You don't have to hold back," she whispered against your skin, her voice like velvet but laced with a demand. "Let go."

The command in her voice was enough to break the final threads of resistance you had left. You let your body lean back into hers, your fingers slipping from the sink to grip her arm as she continued her slow, heated assault on your neck. The connection between you both felt electric, undeniable. "I've wanted this y’know," you whispered, barely able to form the words between the heat of her kisses. "I've wanted you."

Vi's lips paused for just a moment, her breath hot against your skin. She pulled back just enough to look at you in the mirror, her eyes intense, the soft flicker of vulnerability shining through her usual tough demeanor. "Yeah?" she said, her voice quiet, but the sincerity in it made your heart skip.

"You have no idea how much l've wanted you too." The two of you stood there, breaths mingling, bodies pressed together in a delicate, fragile moment that was almost too perfect to be real. It was raw, it was real, and it was all-consuming. Vi, with her usual bravado, was suddenly laid bare before you, and it only made you want her more.

Later, as the two of you finally stepped out of the bathroom and back into the lively chaos of the fighting ring, the crowd seemed to part around you. Some people stared, their gazes lingering on the two of you. Others smirked knowingly, exchanging whispers.

Vi slipped her arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You’re gonna get me into trouble,” she said, though there was no trace of regret in her voice.

“Good,” you replied, resting your head against her shoulder.

The night stretched on, the fight long forgotten in the wake of what had come after. You’d never imagined finding someone like Vi—a woman who could match your strength, your fire. Someone who made you feel seen, wanted, loved.

And as you walked through the ring together, the roar of the crowd fading into the background, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something extraordinary.

banner: @anitalenia

[violetskylights0]

Can you please do selvika if her and the reader did nnn(no nut November) like you did with vi (To be honest she would probably be like no 😭) Its ok if you don't want to

I am a Vi girl to my very core but I must give the people what they want. I thought it would be cute and short...and now we have some of the nastiest shit I have ever written. I hope it's everything you wanted and more xoxo. @starisinlovewiththemoon

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Games we like to play (18 +)

Prostitute!reader x Sevika

Warnings: Degradation/Smut/Pet names/Kind of cute?

No Nut November. Just saying it felt ridiculous. You’d heard about it before—whispers in the brothel about Piltover clients and their strange indulgences in self-denial. You’d always dismissed it as yet another quirk of the privileged: something to laugh at, not take seriously.

And it wasn’t like you had the luxury of turning down indulgence. Working at the brothel wasn’t about holding back; it was about giving people exactly what they wanted. Or needed. You didn’t care much either way—clients came and went, their faces blurring together after a while.

That is until Sevika walked in.

You’d known her by reputation, of course. Everyone in the Undercity did. She was Silco’s right hand, the enforcer with a mechanical arm and a short temper to match. People whispered about her in a way that made you assume she was ruthless, dangerous, someone you didn’t want to cross paths with unless you had to.

So, when she first stepped into your room, you froze. The light was dim, but there was no mistaking her broad shoulders, the scar cutting across her cheek, or the way her eyes flicked over the space with a calculated calm.

You expected her to bark orders, to demand something rough or impersonal. But instead, she went to your bar cart, poured herself a drink, and leaned casually against the wall. “Nice setup,” she’d said, her tone low and unhurried.

Her behavior threw you. You weren’t sure what to make of her—this woman who seemed both entirely in control and quietly restrained. You talked for a while, about nothing in particular, and the longer you listened, the more the fear melted into something else. Curiosity, maybe. Intrigue.

A drink or two in, though? That reserved demeanor? Gone. That night, she paid for three hours—and she’d used every minute.

Since then, she’d been your only client. It wasn’t just the money—though she made sure you didn’t need anyone else—but the connection. She was different. Reserved but attentive, with a way of making you feel like the only person in the room. You didn’t put labels on it—Sevika wasn’t the type for that—but it was something. Enough to make you bold.

Which is how this conversation started.

“I heard one of my coworkers talking about it with her Piltover client,” you said, voice light as you trailed your fingers along Sevika’s arm. The sheets rustled between your legs as she came up for air and propped herself up on one elbow, dark eyes narrowing at you in amusement.

“Go on,” she said, her voice low and rough, already laced with suspicion.

“It’s this thing they do. No Nut November.” You tried not to laugh at the words, but Sevika’s expression—a mix of disbelief and amusment—nearly broke your composure.

“No... what now?” she repeated, her lips twitching into a smirk.

You bit your lip, enjoying the rare moment of catching her off guard. “Basically, it’s a whole month where you’re not allowed to... you know.”

Sevika snorted, dropping her head and rolling on her side “You’re telling me people do this shit on purpose?”

“Apparently,” you said, biting back a grin. “Some kind of self-control thing.”

“Sounds like something those Piltover assholes came up with. Too much money, not enough brains.” Her voice was dry, but the faint chuckle undercut the sharpness.

“Probably,” you agreed, laughing softly. “But... it could be fun.”

Sevika stilled, her gaze snapping back to you. “What?”

“We could try it,” you said, keeping your voice as casual as possible. “Just for the hell of it. What’s the harm?”

She sat up fully, pulling her tank top back on as she shook her head. “No offense, sweetheart, but isn’t the whole point of what we do to not hold back?” Her tone was blunt, but there was an edge of curiosity behind it like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

You frowned, the remainder of your undefined “arrangement” stinging a little. But you weren’t about to give up that easily.

“C’mon, Sev,” you murmured, letting the sheet slip off your body as you stood. Her gaze flicked downward for a moment before she caught herself, her jaw tightening.

“You barely have time to visit me these days,” you said softly, stepping closer. “I know things are... hard right now. Silco’s gone. You’re picking up all the pieces. I just thought maybe this could be something to take your mind off it all. Something just for us.”

You reached up, your fingers brushing against her cheek, tracing the rough edge of the scar there. Sevika exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly under your touch.

“And,” you added, your voice dropping as your hand moved to her arm, “think about how good it’ll feel at the end of the month. Me, all needy. And you…” Your fingers grazed the hard lines of her bicep, drawing her attention.

“Pent up?” she finished for you, a low chuckle rumbling in her chest.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a heavy sigh, she reached for your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” she murmured, her voice softening as her forehead rested against yours.

You smiled, standing on your toes to kiss her. Her lips were warm and surprisingly gentle, a contrast to the roughness of her calloused hand as it held you steady.

“Fine,” Sevika muttered against your lips, pulling you closer as she sealed the deal. “Two weeks. But don’t think for a second I’m making it easy for you.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you pulled back, excitement bubbling up like steam in a kettle about to burst. For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest flush creeping up her neck, but she turned away too quickly for you to be sure.

“Two weeks,” she repeated, adjusting her cape as if to distract herself. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You smirked, leaning against the doorway to watch her go. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

This was going to be very, very interesting.

The first week wasn’t so bad. You stuck to your usual routine, and seeing Sevika three times that week made it unexpectedly fun.

Tuesday’s visit to her apartment was a perfect example. She’d summoned you with a cryptic, “Come by tonight,” and though her tone was casual, it always managed to spark a thrill deep in your chest.

Navigating the labyrinth of Zaun’s backstreets was second nature by now, though it still carried an edge of excitement. The quiet hum of the city and the faint buzz of neon lights guided you to her door, where you knocked three times—the code you’d both settled on.

The door opened with no preamble, and there stood Sevika, framed by the dim light spilling out from her apartment. The sight of her stopped you dead in your tracks.

Her cigarette hung loosely between her lips as she fiddled with her mechanical arm, muttering something under her breath. The dark brown tank top she wore stretched tight over her chest, highlighting the sculpted curve of her shoulders, while her black boxers sat dangerously low on her hips. The disheveled look was almost unfairly attractive, and it left you feeling momentarily speechless.

Her sharp eyes flicked up to meet yours, and a small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You gonna stand there all night or come in?”

You slipped inside quickly, your pulse already quickening. She moved to her couch and collapsed into it like she owned the world, legs spread wide, exuding an effortless dominance that made your skin tingle.

Without missing a beat, you crossed the room and climbed onto her lap, settling yourself like you’d been invited—even though you hadn’t been. You plucked the cigarette from her lips and took a long drag, locking eyes with her as you exhaled.

“You know,” she drawled, her tone low and teasing, “you could always ask before you take.”

“And what’s the fun in that?” you shot back, a playful grin spreading across your lips.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Keep pushing, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice a velvet threat.

Before you could quip back, she had you pinned to the couch, her large hand encircling your throat—not squeezing, just enough to make your breath hitch. Her lips crashed into yours, the kiss deep and consuming, like she was claiming you all over again.

Her knee pressed up between your thighs, and the pressure was just enough to pull a shameless moan from you. The sound made her grin, slow and wicked.

“Ready to give up this silly little game you insist on playing?” she asked, her voice husky as her lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

The reminder of your bet jolted you out of your haze, and you pushed against her shoulders, sitting up dramatically. “You’re already trying to sabotage me!” you accused, narrowing your eyes at her.

“And it almost worked,” she said, her grin unfazed. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give it up. You know you can’t say no to me.”

You scoffed, your gaze darting to the table beside you where her screwdriver lay. With a smirk, you snatched it up and held it out to her. “Give me that.”

Her brow arched, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

“Well,” you continued, shrugging nonchalantly, “since you’re paying for my time, I might as well make myself useful. You looked frustrated when I showed up.”

Her confusion melted into reluctant amusement as she took the screwdriver. “You offering to fix my arm now?”

“Depends,” you said, gesturing for her to sit back down. “Which screw were you trying to tighten?”

She hesitated for a moment before sitting down and explaining the issue. You listened intently, nodding along and offering the occasional suggestion, though you weren’t exactly an expert.

The rest of the evening was spent sifting through her pile of spare parts, sharing drinks, and laughing over failed attempts to jury-rig solutions. At one point, you glanced up from the mess to find her watching you—not with her usual smugness, but something softer, quieter. The look vanished as quickly as it came, leaving you questioning if you’d imagined it.

By week two, though, things got harder—literally and figuratively. Your body betrayed you at every turn, and the tension was maddening. It left you feeling like a pent-up teenager, desperate and all too aware of every brush of fabric, every suggestive glance. But if Sevika thought you’d break first, she had another thing coming.

Which brought you to Friday night at The Last Drop. Sevika’s routine was as predictable as clockwork—every Friday, she’d be at her usual table, gambling and sipping whiskey like she didn’t have a care in the world. It was the perfect opportunity to test her resolve.

You stood in front of the mirror, applying the last swipe of lip gloss and admiring your handiwork. The black leather skirt clung to your hips, catching the faint glow of the moonlight, and your low-cut top highlighted just enough cleavage to make Sevika’s attention inevitable. You smoothed your hair, gave yourself one last smirk, and headed out.

The bouncer at The Last Drop barely looked up before nodding in the direction of Sevika’s table. You spotted her immediately, lounging like a queen among her subjects. Her cigar glowed faintly in the low light, and the subtle curve of her smirk as she leaned back in her chair set your nerves buzzing.

You approached with deliberate confidence, the click of your heels drawing eyes as you stopped beside her. “Is that seat taken?” you asked, motioning to her lap.

The table fell silent, the men and women around Sevika staring openly, their gazes lingering far too long for your liking. Sevika, however, barely glanced at you before leaning back and spreading her legs slightly in invitation.

You lowered yourself onto her lap, adjusting your skirt just enough to let her feel the curve of your hips against her. Her hand settled on your thigh, a possessive touch that sent shivers through you.

She leaned in, her breath brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered, “It’s cute that you thought dressing like a slut would make me jealous. But here’s the thing—they all know you’re my slut. What’s there to be jealous about when they can only dream?”

Her low chuckle rumbled through you as she tossed some chips onto the table, her hand sliding higher on your thigh.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but you weren’t backing down—not yet.

Game on.

The game at the table picked up, the noise growing louder with every passing round. You barely paid attention, more focused on Sevika's drink getting dangerously low. Without waiting for her to ask, you hopped up to grab her another. Her hand delivered a quick, casual pat to your ass as you walked away, and you couldn’t help the sly grin that spread across your face.

At the bar, you scanned the crowd for a target. Spiked-hair guy slumped over near a puddle of vomit? Nope. A buzzcut woman giving you that look from the middle of the room? Way too easy. Then, your gaze landed on her: a loudmouth with an undercut and no clue about the pecking order here. Jackpot.

You sidled up to the bar, ignoring her completely at first. Tapping your empty glass, you got the bartender’s attention, who already knew what to pour: whiskey for Sevika. Only then did you glance her way.

“Looks like you’re having a hell of a time over here,” you said, flashing a playful smile.

She turned toward you, the conversation with her friend forgotten. Her eyes swept over you with a low whistle. “And I think I’m about to have an even better one,” she smirked.

Right where you wanted her. But she needed to work a little harder for it.

As she started asking about you, you casually mentioned the brothel. Her eyes lit up like it was her birthday.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head coyly, “I do give discounts to clients who know how to show me a good time.”

“Oh, yeah?” she grinned, leaning closer. “Convenient, since I’ve got some cash burning a hole in my pocket.” Her hand found the back of your thigh, pulling you in just enough to make the air between you crackle.

You felt Sevika’s gaze burning into your back from across the room, but you didn’t turn around. Instead, you leaned into the stranger’s touch, tapping the muscles of her arm teasingly.

“I think I’d like a preview of what the rest of my night could look like,” she said, her voice dropping as she tapped your chin up with her finger.

“Oh, yeah?” you whispered, your lips inches from hers. “Why don’t you show me what I’m working with?”

Just as she started to lean in, you barely had time to process the hand on your thigh disappearing. A blur of movement later, the stranger hit the floor, a guttural thud snapping the air between you.

Sevika stood over her, gripping the fabric of her shirt with one hand.

“I’ll give you five seconds to get the fuck out of my bar,” Sevika growled, her voice low and razor-sharp. “Before I break every disgusting finger that touched my girl.”

Your eyes widened as the stranger stammered something snarky, but it didn’t matter. Sevika’s fist connected with her nose before she could finish. Blood sprayed, and the woman crumpled onto the ground.

Sevika turned to you, her jaw tight, her eyes blazing.

“Office. Now.”

Before you could respond, she grabbed your hand, dragging you toward the back. The door slammed shut behind you, leaving you alone with the familiar tension crackling between you like a storm about to break.

You leaned back against Silco’s old desk, arms crossed. “Well, someone’s jealous.”

Her glare could’ve melted steel. “Jealous?” she barked, stalking toward you. “It’s one thing to show up dressed like that, begging for attention. But you were practically dry-humping her in front of everyone.”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Isn’t that my job? Making sure potential clients are… interested in what they see?”

Her growl reverberated through the room as she closed the distance between you. “Yeah, well, from now on, I’m your only client that matters.”

Your smirk widened. “Sevika, are you trying to make us exclusive?”

She chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “This isn’t about some stupid game. You’ve been trying to drive me insane since day one, and guess what? You did it. Congratulations. Now I’m gonna make you regret it.”

“Funny,” you teased, hopping up onto the desk and letting your knees fall open just enough. “Seems like everything’s going exactly according to plan.”

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, she just stared at you. Then, with an exasperated chuckle, she stepped between your legs, her hands landing on your hips.

“I knew you’d be the death of me,” she muttered, before grabbing your neck and crashing her lips into yours.

Every ounce of frustration and tension boiled over in that kiss, her grip firm and unrelenting as if to remind you exactly who was in charge now. And this time, you didn’t argue.

You had made out with Sevika plenty of times before. But as her tongue slid into your mouth this time, it was different. There was no pretense, no playful back-and-forth teasing. This wasn’t just a hookup, and you weren’t just some random conquest.

She wasn’t kissing a prostitute. She was staking a claim.

A moan escaped your lips as she pushed you back against the desk, the edge digging into your lower back as her frame towered over you. You gasped when she climbed on top of you, her weight a deliberate reminder of how much control she had.

Her lips trailed from your jaw to your neck, biting down hard enough to leave marks that you knew you’d see tomorrow. “I think I’ll start by ruining this little outfit,” she growled, her voice dark and rich. “Since you’re so set on showing the Undercity what’s mine, I’ll make it easier for you.”

Her metal hand traced up your waist, the cold edge of her finger sending shivers down your spine. You barely had time to process her next move before she dragged it sharply upward, slicing clean through your top like it was nothing.

You inhaled sharply as the fabric fell away, leaving you exposed. Sevika sat back for a moment, her eyes raking over you with a hunger that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Much better,” she muttered, her lips quirking into a wicked smirk as she leaned in, her nose brushing against yours. “But you’re not done paying for that little stunt at the bar, sweetheart.”

Her hand cupped your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze. “You wanna play games?” she teased, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Fine. I’ll play. But we both know how this ends.”

“Do we?” you shot back, your voice breathy but still defiant. “Seems to me like you’re the one losing your cool.”

That earned you a sharp laugh, her teeth flashing as her smirk widened. “Keep talking,” she said, her voice low. “Let’s see how long you last before you’re begging me to stop.”

You opened your mouth to make a smart ass comment  but it was already to late as she started pinching one of your nipples with her real hand. 

‘Look at these already stiff. You really are a fucking whore.” Sevika said aggresily spitting on your chest before leaning down and licking it to spead over your left nipple. 

You started moaning as she swirlled her tongue and lightly bit at your nipple as your hands shot to her hair. She made sure to leave a few hickeys before quickly tearing through your mini skirt as well quickly dropping to her knees and pulling you to the edge of the desk. 

You groaned, your head tipping back as Sevika pinned your thighs nearly flat against your shoulders. The contrast was maddening—her metal hand icy against your left thigh, the sharp edges biting just enough to tease, while the warmth of her calloused fingers on your right thigh sent sparks shooting through your body.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice low and taunting as her eyes roamed over you. "Can’t decide if you like it rough or soft, huh? Guess I’ll just give you both."

Her grip tightened, the cold metal sending a shiver up your spine as she leaned down, her breath ghosting over your neck. The deliberate pressure of her hands, one hard and unyielding, the other impossibly warm and strong, had you arching into her without thinking.

“Keep making noises like that, and I might just keep you pinned like this all night,” she teased, her lips brushing against your ear. “Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the needy whimper threatening to spill out. But Sevika caught it, her smirk practically audible as she shifted her weight, her metal fingers teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Thought so,” she growled, leaning in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your throat.

You loved when Sevika treated you like a ragdoll with no other purpose than to her pretty little fucktoy and cum. And you were already close to cumming thirty seconds after her tongue started dancing across your clit. The sound of Sevika slurping up all of your juices made you go wild. 

You felt her hand on your right thigh move to your entrance groaning at the feeling of her two fingers stretching you out. 

“Cant believe this pussy is so greedy sucking my fingers in. It’s almost like you get off of me degrading you huh” Sevika moaned continuing her assault on your clit with her tounge.

“Well I’ll make it worth your wild hm? Cum on my fucking fingers like the greedy slut you are.” Sevika engouraged instantly sending you over the edge as your legs began to shake as you called out Sevikas name. 

You barley had time to cathcn your breath before Sevika told you to stand up and turn around to brace yourself against the desk. 

You heard her undoing her pants and feeling something kind of warm and hard against your entrance.

“Thought I would wear this think out to see if it was comfortable enough to bring over to the brothel. Didnt know it would come in handy so soon.” She said pressing into you as the object slid inside of you wour jaw falling slack from the sensation. 

‘W-what is that- oh my god.” You said gripping the desk.

“Saw some women talking about this thing when I was up in Piltover running some collections. I think they called it a strap? Figures your sloppy pussy would take it in one go.” Sevika said starting to roll her hips so the strap started moving in and out of you. 

You had never felt something so good your eyes rolling back as she picked up the speed. 

She gripped your hair with one hand as she moved her knee between yours using her muscular thigh to push you bent leg up on the desk. Increasing her speed even more. 

It felt so fucking good you didnt even have control of what was flying out of your mouth just expletives and Sevikas name.

As the slapping sounds began to echo through the room you felt yourself getting close again As Sevikas grunts sounded like a melody against your ears. 

“ Go ahead screm it louder baby. Let everyone in the bar- no everyone in the lanes know who this pussy belongs to.” She grunted bringing her hand down on your ass with a hard slap as she continued ramming into you. 

“Fuck it’s all yours Sev! S-stresching me out so good.” You slurred feeling your orgasm washing over your. You thought she would slow her pace but as your orgasm began to calm Sevika kept punding into you.

You felt your eyes roll back getting light headed from the pressure. A new feeling building in your stomach. 

“I know you have more in you hm? Show daddy how well you can squirt all over my strap. She said smacking your ass again. 

You shrieked her name cursing her out as you felt a sudden rush followed by a feeling of wetness shooting all over your leg as Sevika groaned at how well you were taking it. 

Sevika finally slowed her pace, her movements deliberate and torturous as she eased out of you. The rush of sensation left you dizzy, your body slack, and your legs threatening to give out entirely. You stumbled forward, but Sevika was quick, catching you effortlessly.

She chuckled low in her throat, the sound vibrating through you as she scooped you up into her arms like you weighed nothing. Carrying you to the worn couch in the corner of the room, she settled down with you perched in her lap, your body still trembling in the aftershocks.

“You’re such an asshole,” you muttered, your voice breathy and ragged. You barely had the energy to lift your head, but the accusation carried all the heat you could muster. “First, you tell the whole damn bar I’m your girl, then you ruin my favorite skirt, and then you fuck me like that?”

Sevika smirked, her hand idly tracing patterns along your thigh. “Mm, don’t forget—I also carried your pretty ass over here.”

“Not the point,” you shot back, though the warmth in her touch had your indignation quickly waning.

Her smirk deepened, dark eyes glinting with mischief. “I think you’re forgetting something,” she murmured, her voice thick with self-satisfaction.

You tilted your head, confused and still trying to regain full control of your brain. “What?”

Her grin was almost feral as she leaned in close, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I won your stupid game.”

The realization hit you like a slap. “Oh, hell no—”

“Uh-uh,” she interrupted, cutting off your protests with a possessive kiss that left you breathless all over again. When she finally pulled back, her smug expression had you torn between wanting to strangle her and kiss her again.

“Face it,” Sevika said, her tone dripping with smug satisfaction as her hand trailed lazily up your spine. “You can’t resist me. You never could.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the smug arch of her brow and the way her fingers tightened just enough on your waist shut you up fast. Damn her for being right.

Sevika’s laugh rumbled through her chest as she leaned back, utterly victorious. “That’s what I thought,” she said, her voice teasing as she rested her head against the back of the couch. “Guess that makes me the reigning champion, huh?”

You huffed, your pride smarting, but the way her arms tightened around you, grounding and comforting, made it impossible to stay mad.

“Fine,” you grumbled, resting your head against her chest. “But next time, I’m taking home the crown.”

“We’ll see, sweetheart,” Sevika murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “We’ll see.”

[natsaffection]

OOOOH I HAVE A REQUEST could you do nat x reader where reader is nat’s stress relief (Natasha is a mob leader or ceo or something powerful) and our whole job is to be ready for nat to take, punish, degrade and use whenever she pleases. Top/mean nat super smutty 🫣

Mine to use.

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Using body for own pleasure, begging, strap on, rough sex, oral (n receiving) spanking, power use

Word Count: 2,1k

A/N: ups..💆🏻‍♀️

Natasha Romanoff, known in the underworld as the Black Widow, sat at the head of a long mahogany table in her luxurious office. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her presence commanded respect and fear, a combination that had allowed her to rise to the top of the criminal hierarchy.

Dressed in a tailored black suit, Natasha exuded power and control. Her red hair was neatly tied back, emphasizing her sharp features and piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through any deception. She leaned back in her chair, listening intently to the reports from her lieutenants, each of whom vied for her approval.

“Our shipment from Eastern Europe has been delayed,” one of her men reported, his voice tinged with anxiety. “The authorities have tightened their inspections. We’re looking at a two-week delay, at least.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, but she remained silent, her fingers drumming on the table. She had little patience for delays and incompetence. “And the situation with the East Side gangs?” she asked, her voice cold and measured.

“We’ve managed to secure a temporary truce,” another lieutenant responded. “But it’s fragile. They’re demanding a larger cut of the profits.” Natasha’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Demanding? They’re in no position to demand anything from me.”

As the meeting continued, Natasha’s mind drifted slightly. Beneath the table, hidden from the view of her subordinates, you knelt quietly. You had been summoned earlier, your presence required for a different kind of service. Natasha’s hand found its way to your hair, tangling in the strands as a silent command.

You knew what was expected of you. You leaned forward, your movements careful and deliberate. Your tongue traced a path along Natasha’s inner thigh, your touch light and teasing. Natasha closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her men exchanged glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, fully aware of Natasha’s reputation and her ways with girls.

“How do you plan to handle the shipment delay?” Natasha asked, her voice steady despite the pleasure coursing through her.

“We’re exploring alternative routes,” the lieutenant replied nervously, trying to maintain his composure. “It will cost more, but we can avoid the increased inspections.”

Natasha nodded thoughtfully, her attention divided. “Do it. I want that shipment here within the week.” Your tongue worked skillfully, your movements guided by the rhythm of Natasha’s hand. Sometimes you really wondered how you ended up in this situation and could still remember exactly the first encounter with her:

“Over my knee.” she commanded, her voice sharp and unyielding. You hesitated for a moment, confusion and fear clouding your mind. “Miss Romanoff, I don’t understand—”

“Did I ask for an explanation?” Natasha snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “Over my knee. Now.”

Swallowing hard, you complied, draping yourself over Natasha’s lap. The position was humiliating, but you knew better than to protest further. Natasha’s hand rested on your lower back, holding you in place.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” Natasha asked, her voice icy. “No, Miss Romanof..” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“One of my so-called colleagues made a mistake,” Natasha began, her hand coming down sharply on your backside. You gasped, gripping Natasha’s knee to steady yourself. “And I don’t tolerate mistakes.”

The spanking continued, each strike harder than the last, each one a release of Natasha’s pent-up frustration and anger. Your body jerked with each blow, your cheeks burning both from the pain and the humiliation.

“M-Miss Romanoff, please!” you cried out finally. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” Natasha’s hand paused mid-air. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.

“I—I’m sorry, but I didn’t do anything w-wrong..” you repeated, your voice breaking. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Talking back, are we?” she hissed. “You will learn not to speak unless spoken to.”

With renewed fury, Natasha continued the spanking, her strikes even harder than before. Your body jerked with each blow, your cries filling the room. You clung more to Natasha’s knee, desperate to keep yourself from crying out too loudly.

The office door opened suddenly, and one of Natasha’s colleagues stepped inside. He froze, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t realize you were busy..” he stammered. Natasha didn’t pause in her actions, her hand continuing to come down on your backside with methodical precision. “What do you need?” she asked coolly, her eyes never leaving your quivering form.

“I, uh, have the reports you requested.” he replied, trying to maintain his composure. “Leave them on the desk,” Natasha instructed, her voice steady. “And close the door on your way out.”

The man did as he was told, his face pale as he quickly exited the room, closing the door behind him. Your grip on Natasha’s knees tightened, your knuckles white as you fought to keep silent.

“You see,” Natasha continued, her voice a low growl. “I expect absolute obedience. No talking back, no excuses.”

Natasha’s breath hitched slightly, but she maintained her composure, her eyes never leaving those of her subordinates.

“And the truce?” Natasha continued, her voice betraying nothing of the sensations she was experiencing. “Make it clear that any breach will be met with swift and severe consequences.”

One of the lieutenants dared to glance under the table, curiosity getting the better of him. Natasha caught the movement and her eyes snapped to his. “You.” she barked, pointing a finger at him. “Out. Now.”

The man paled, scrambling to his feet. “Y-Yes, Miss Romanoff.” he stammered, hurrying from the room. Natasha’s eyes followed him until the door closed behind him, then she returned her attention to the others. “Anyone else being distracted?”

Her men shook their heads, clearly intimidated. Natasha’s reputation for ruthless efficiency was well-earned, and none of them wished to test her patience.

As the meeting wrapped up, Natasha gave one final command. “Keep me informed of any changes. Dismissed.”

Her men filed out of the room, each offering a respectful nod as they left. Once the door closed behind them, Natasha’s facade of icy control slipped slightly. She looked down at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Good girl,” she murmured, her voice a low purr. “Finish.”

Your movements became more fervent, driven by Natasha’s praise. The mob boss leaned back in her chair, allowing herself to fully enjoy the sensations. Her control over you was absolute, extending from the boardroom to the bedroom, and everywhere in between.

As Natasha reached the peak of her pleasure, her grip on your hair tightened momentarily before releasing. She leaned forward, breathing heavily, her eyes softening as she looked at the woman beneath her.

“Look at me,” Natasha commanded gently. You obeyed, lifting your gaze to meet Natasha’s. “Come here.” Natasha instructed, her voice soft yet authoritative.

You rose to your feet, your legs unsteady. Natasha stood as well, pulling you into her lap for a brief, tender moment.

“You did well,” Natasha said softly, her lips brushing against your ear. “But remember, your debt is far from paid.”

“Yes, Miss Romanoff.” you replied, your voice a mixture of submission and affection. Natasha’s smile was predatory yet tender as she held you close. “Now, leave my office.” She commanded.

As you turned to go, Natasha’s hand came down in a sharp smack on your ass, a final reminder of who held the power. You gasped, a flush spreading across your cheeks as you left the room.

And it had been like this for several months. You owed Natasha a lot of money but could never pay it on time. Until you begged her to forgive your debts and you would do anything to make it happen. Natasha didn't have to think about it for a second and since then you have been her personal toy. She was feeling bad? You were there. Her coffee was too cold? She took it out on you.

One day had been a disaster from start to finish. Natasha’s meetings with the criminal elite had gone awry, with deals falling through and alliances crumbling. Her temper was on a knife-edge as she stormed back into her office, slamming the door behind her. She needed an outlet, and she needed it now.

She grabbed her phone and sent a single, commanding message: “My Office. Now.”

You arrived quickly, your heart racing as you stepped inside. The tension in the air was palpable, and you knew tonight would be different. “Miss Romanoff?”

Natasha’s eyes were dark with anger as she stalked towards you. “Strip.” she ordered, her voice a dangerous growl.

Your hands shook as you hurried to obey, quickly discarding your clothes. Natasha wasted no time, grabbing you roughly by the arm and dragging you to her table.

“Bend over.” Natasha commanded, her voice sharp and unyielding. You complied, your body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. Natasha’s presence behind you was overwhelming, her anger radiating off her in waves.

“Do you have any idea how infuriating it is to deal with incompetent idiots all day?” Natasha spat, her hands gripping your hips tightly. “To have every single plan fall apart because of their stupidity?”

As she let the meeting enter her mind again, Natasha pulled something out of her drawer and you heard her strapping something on.

“Answer me.” Natasha barked, her hand coming down in a sharp slap on your backside. “No, Miss Romanoff..” You gasped, the pain mixing with an unexpected rush of arousal.

“That’s right,” Natasha hissed, positioning herself behind you. “You can’t possibly understand the level of frustration I have to deal with.”

With that, Natasha entered you roughly with her fake cock, her movements harsh and punishing. You cried out, unable to suppress the sound as Natasha set a brutal pace.

“That’s it,” Natasha growled, her grip tightening. “Scream for me.” Your cries filled the room, your body responding despite the roughness. The more you screamed, the more aroused Natasha seemed to become.

“Do you know how much I love hearing you like this?” Natasha murmured, her voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “It kinda makes me feel alive.”

“Please..” You whimpered, your body responding despite the roughness. “It’s too—oh my god!”

“Don’t hold back..” Natasha commanded, her voice a low growl. “I want to hear every sound you make.” You cried out, your voice filled with both pain and pleasure. “Oh, please!”

Natasha’s pace increased, her movements becoming even more forceful as she fed off your reactions. “You’re mine.” Natasha snarled, her breath hot against your ear. “And you will take everything I give you.”

“Y-Yes, Miss Roma..noff..” you sobbed, your body shaking with the effort to hold on.

Natasha’s grip tightened further as she reached around and pulled your arms behind your back, holding them firmly. The new position allowed Natasha to thrust even deeper, each powerful movement driving you further into the bed. “Stay still,” Natasha ordered, her voice harsh. “I don’t want you moving an inch.”

“I can’t,” you gasped, your body at Natasha’s mercy. “It’s too deep!”

“Good.” Natasha growled, her voice filled with dark pleasure. “P-Please..”you begged, your voice breaking. “I can’t hold it!”

“Then come.” Natasha commanded, and your body obeyed, the release overwhelming and intense. But Natasha wasn’t done. “Again.” she ordered, her voice leaving no room for refusal. “And this time, scream for me.”

“F-Fuck!!” you cried out, your body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. “Please, it’s too much!” Natasha brought you to the edge and over again, her control unwavering. Each climax was a release of Natasha’s pent-up frustration, her anger dissolving with each wave of pleasure.

When it was over, Natasha leaned back, her breathing heavy. She looked down at you, who lay panting on the table, your body marked by the roughness of their encounter.

“Get dressed.“ Natasha ordered, her voice softer but no less commanding. “And remember, you are mine to use as I see fit.”

“Y-Yes, Miss Romanoff, thank you..” you replied, your voice steady despite the exhaustion. You dressed quickly, your body aching but your heart full. You knew you would be summoned again, and you would be ready, as always, to pay your debt in whatever way Natasha demanded.

[slasherbvnnie]

Until We Found You

Hello! This is my first time ever posting onto here, so please excuse any mistakes or any tags that may be missing. I wanted to write about a poly!ghostface au and age up all the characters and place them into college. I hope this gets at least a few reads!

Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

Context: Modern Day College Scream AU, Obsessed AFAB!Reader, Eventual Poly!Ghostface x reader, Eventual NSFW, All characters 18+

You bit down on the tip of your pencil, chewing the metal part of it as you spaced out for the hundredth time today. A few days ago news broke of one of your best friends being killed, Casey Becker, and like every day since that fateful night, news reporters were swarming the campus. Woodsboro University was famous overnight for it, a crazed killer on the loose in the town and no one knew why Casey and her boyfriend Steve were the victims. What made it truly unnerving was that no one knew if they were going to be the only ones.

It didn’t make you scared, not really at least, you were more intrigued than worried if you were going to be the next person to get a mysterious phone call. No, you spent the next morning with Randy and learned all about what happened. How Steve was found bound to the chair, duct tape and blood practically branded onto him, and how the Beckers found Casey. She was one of your best friends, you couldn’t deny you felt like you needed some therapy for not crying for more than maybe an hour over her, but something in you was more interested in who did it.

That was what was on your mind for the hundredth time today, any of Casey’s boyfriends all the way to fucking pre-k could be a suspect, maybe her family, or maybe it was some random stranger who decided to take their anger out on an unsuspecting teenage girl. Randy and you talked all first period about your suspicions on who it could be, even accusing each other of being the killer, it did fit after all, the two horror buffs who knew every goddamn easter egg in every horror movie there was, it seemed perfect.

“Sidney, can you please tell your friend the answer to at least make it seem like she was listening?” Ms. Crane asked, Sidney nudging you and whispering the answer as the class laughed. “ah, um, phosphorus gas.” You answered, looking at Sidney with wide eyes after you answered. “Phosphine, but I will take that. You guys can pack up, let me take role before you all leave.” Ms. Crane said with a sigh.

“What’s up with you? Are you totally sure you don’t want to go to the grief counselor after school? I mean even Tate went-“ “Sid, I’m fine, seriously. I just, it’s freaky is all. I mean not knowing who did it? What if they have a thing for college chicks, I think we fit into that category very well and-“ “And we will be fine, it was probably just a one-time thing…I mean it's more likely that it is, right?” Sidney asked as she packed her bag, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, if you want you can stay at my place for the week, my dad’s on a trip and I would kinda enjoy the company,” she offered, smiling at you reassuringly. You gave a nod, “yeah, let me just at least spend tonight at my place, my mom will kill me if I miss dinner tonight and take off for a week out of the blue.” “Are you sure you’re really 19 and not 9?” Sidney asked jokingly, earning a laugh from you.

After dinner you had taken a shower, your parents had gone out for the night to take a late-night date- which you theorized was them renting a motel to not risk traumatizing you. You brushed out your hair as you sat down on your vanity chair, putting it into a braid before you went to bed. Your cat was sitting peacefully on your bed, moving every now and then to change her position before darting out of your room. “Irena!” You called after her, scoffing when she didn’t come back to the room. You put your hairbrush down onto your vanity, taking a look in the mirror before getting up from your seat. “I hope you don’t think you are eating even more food, missy, you got fed so much while I was at class today,” you said, acting as if Irena could really understand you. You made your way to your door, nearly walking out before noticing a paper had fallen onto the ground near your desk. You picked it up, reading the headline, Casey Becker and Steve Orth- funerals to be held on Friday the 27th at 9-11 AM. You sighed and set it down on the other papers stacked on your desk.

You walked out of your room, heading downstairs “Irena! Come on, I wanna go to bed,” you whined out, calling the cat to your room. You found her in the living room, hiding under the couch and refusing to come to you. “Fine, I’ll leave you a blanket out and don’t you dare come scratching at my door at 3 AM,” you told her, going to the hallway closet to get a blanket out for her. Once you had gotten one, you spread it out across the couch for her and said goodnight.

You were about halfway to your room when your phone began to buzz, digging it out of your pocket and seeing your mom's number you quickly answered. “Hey, what's up? You guys heading back already,” You asked, continuing up to your room.

“Heading back? Who said I ever left?” A strange voice asked on the other line, making you pause for a moment as you moved to make sure it was your mom. “Listen asshole, I don’t have more than 15 dollars in my bank account so have fun with whatever hot cheetos and mountain dew you can get with that,” you said before hanging up on them, putting your phone back into your pocket. You were up the stairs now, deciding to use the bathroom before you went to bed for the night but before you could open the door your phone rang again. “Didn’t I already say I don’t have money? What the fuck do you want?” You asked angrily, “Irena, right? Like Irena Dubrovna? Who did you prefer, Simone or Natassja?” The same voice asked you, making you look down the stairs. Irena hadn’t moved yet and no one was around her, or at least from what you could see. “If you hurt my fucking cat I will personally cut off your balls and feed them to he-“ A laugh from the caller cut you off, “I don’t have fun with animals. I’m not Bundy or Dahmer, I like to see my victims, human victims…struggle.” You heard your parent's bedroom door open, letting out a scream before running into your room and slamming the door shut, locking it quickly before the person began to bang on it. You looked around, going to your window and trying to lift it open.

The door cracked, it was like the scene from the shining, except this killer bore a white mask, you recognized it from the Halloween store- father death. You struggled with the window again, before giving up and grabbing the lamp from your bedside table and throwing it at them. The killer moved out of the way before they were hit, pushing their body against the door once more and climbing in through the opening. You could see them fiddle with their knife as if they had held it in their hands a hundred times already and were skilled at fidgeting with it.

You grabbed a glass organizer from your desk, taking the scissors from it before chucking the holder at them. The papers you had stacked before scattered from the throw as they fell down. You rushed to the window as they struggled to get up but never heard them stand. When your head whipped around to check if they were behind you, you instead saw them looking at the papers around them.

Masked killer, Casey and Steve headlines, Maureen Prescott, Cotton Weary trials, even the cutouts you had of Sidney from court. You were obsessed. There were drawings, suspects lists, hell all these needed were red kiss marks and ‘please fuck me mr ghostface!’ written in pink glitter pen ink.

You stared wide-eyed at them when you saw their gaze now on you, their head cocked to the side as a laugh sounded from behind the mask. Just then you heard the sound of gravel being crushed around from the driveway, your parent's car was pulling in, you saw them getting out from your window. When you turned back you noticed the person was gone, you ran downstairs and met your parents at the door, crying and beginning to blubber on about what nearly happened. 

[maidragoste]

VI. Fury

Harwin Strong x Velaryon!Reader (unrequited love), Alicent Hightower x Velaryon!Reader, Larys Strong x Velaryon!Reader

Series masterlist

Part 6 of this

I still can't believe writing more than 5000 words, there were times when I thought this would never come to light and it frustrated me so please give it a lot of love and let me know what you think of this chapter 🥰💖💖

As always comments, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading 💖

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

When the Queen was informed that Harwin had been seen leaving your chambers in the middle of the night she felt her heart skip a beat. She was afraid that for some reason you had decided to forgive your husband for his indiscretions with the princess and give your marriage another chance.

When it was time for lunch that Alicent, Larys, and you had, there was no need for the Queen or Larys to ask you about your husband's sudden visit because you told them yourself. Harwin offered to help the twins put to sleep and you accepted because you were tired Alicent instantly offered to hire more maidens to take care of the children at night so you could rest but you refused saying that you didn't want other women to take care of your children. While you were saying that Alicent couldn't help but notice that you were looking askance at Larys as if you were expecting a reaction from him but she thought it must have been her imagination because when Larys changed the subject you didn't seem disappointed or upset. Unfortunately, the Queen's worries did not disappear throughout the meal so when you left to go spend time with your sister and mother she shared them with Larys.

"I'm afraid that he will once again occupy a place in her heart," the woman admitted, clasping her hands under the table. "What happens if he convinces her to give him another chance? What if she leaves us?" As she spoke, she took off part of the cuticle of the thumb. If her father was watching her he would be scolding her. She knew it was a horrible habit but the anxiety she felt at the thought of losing you was too great. Alicent wouldn't know how to live alone as your friend again, not now that she had tasted what true love was. No one cared about her like you do.

"You heard her, she only let him stay because of the children" the man reminded her as he poured them both more wine "She will never forgive him" he declared and the Queen was envious of his trust. Larys must have noticed that her concern was great because she added "Besides, she will never leave us, especially you. She always seems to want to kill Criston Cole for daring to breathe the same air as you."

Alicent hurriedly brought the wine glass closer to her mouth to hide her smile. Larys' statement had to upset her, after all, Criston Cole is one of the few people she trusts and she should be upset that you want to hurt him, but instead, she managed to calm her down a little.

But Alicent's worries soon grew worse as the days went by because Harwin kept coming to your chambers and the worst thing was that now the two of you with the twins were walking around the castle together. At first, Larys wasn't worried that Harwin would spend time in your chambers after all you made it clear that you were only using him to babysit the twins. But now Larys felt sick every time he saw the four of them together at court. They seemed like a happy family. Aethan shouldn't look so comfortable tied against Harwin's chest with one of the special clothes your mother had ordered for you from Essos, and you shouldn't look so calm when Harwin's hand is on your back while you hold Alyn. You should move away every time his brother kisses your forehead but you don't. You're never the one to initiate the physical contact but Larys still doesn't like it, he's not sure if you're really not pulling away because you don't want to make a scene or because you're bonding with Harwin now that he's spending so much time in your chambers.

One day Larys reaches his limit. You, Alicent, and Larys are eating together again but the man instead of joining the conversation you two are having is too busy thinking about the image of Harwin with his hand on your back again while you were both talking to some Lord and how later his brother left the conversation but not without kissing you on the cheek before leaving.

"Why do you let Harwin spend so much time with you?" he suddenly interrupts your conversation with Alicent. She looks at him surprised but at the same time seems grateful for him to dare to question your closeness with Harwin since she would never do it for fear of upsetting you.

"I told you he's just helping me with the twins," you replied, frowning at his rude interruption.

"You shouldn't be depending so much on Harwin to take care of your own children."

"Larys" Alicent's intention was a reprimand but he could detect the nerves in her voice and her eyes.

Larys knew he said the wrong thing when he saw how your eyes seemed to spark and how you abruptly dropped the cutlery.

"Our" you corrected him. "And maybe I wouldn't be depending on Harwin so much if you took charge" you spat every word like it was poison.

"We should take a moment of silence before saying something that we regret," the queen proposed in an attempt to calm the waters as she tried to take your hand but you pushed her away and barely looked at her.

"It's not fair. We both knew that when you got pregnant the child couldn't know the truth" Larys said, appearing calm, not wanting to let you see that your words bothered him.

"Of course, they won't grow up knowing the truth but you're not even trying to help me" you crossed your arms. "Even Daemon and Rhaenyra seem more interested in them than you," the bitterness in your voice was clear.

And the only reason for that was because they both wanted to fuck you but Larys wouldn't tell you that because it would only make your anger worse so instead he told you the reason for his distance.

"I stay away to avoid making people suspicious"

Not wanting the court to suspect him of being the father of your children was not the only reason for his distance. The truth is that Larys had no idea what to do with the twins. He saw the immense love you had for children. Not just you, your parents and your siblings too. Everyone seemed to love Alyn and Aethan from the minute they saw them but he didn't. Of course, he was worried about their safety the second you announced to Harwin and Lyonel that he was the father. He didn't want anything bad to happen to them but he wouldn't say that he loves them and he's sure they don't either, especially Aethan because the few times he carried them, they became instantly agitated and cried demanding to come back to you. Their crying made his head hurt and he's sure it made your head hurt too so he stayed away thinking it would save both of you the stress of hearing the children scream.

"People think you're their fucking uncle, no one will suspect that you spend time together. You're family." It was obvious that you were dissatisfied with his defense by the exasperation in your voice. "And don't tell me that you're afraid that someone will realize the truth because Aethan has the same eye color as you because months went by and no one said anything. So stop being paranoid and spend time with your children" You got up from the table "I'm sorry, my queen, but I lost my appetite and I have to continue with my duties"

Neither Alicent nor Larys had any doubt that you were angry but you confirmed it when you left without even giving them both a measly kiss goodbye.

"You have to fix it," Alicent ordered, looking at him furiously. "If we lose her because of you..."

"That's not going to happen," the man interrupted, throwing his napkin at the table angrily. "I'll fix it."

Of course, after that argument, Larys couldn't allow you to get even closer to Harwin so that same afternoon he sent you a message through one of your maids. He asked you not to allow his brother to come to your chambers tonight because he was thinking of coming to see you. In the middle of the night, Larys entered through the secret passage that had your chambers hidden behind one of the paintings. A snort left your mouth when you saw him appear with a small bouquet.

"If you think I'll forgive you because you brought me flowers, you're wrong," you warned him but your anger shouldn't have been so great because you didn't leave his side when he sat next to you on the bed, in the middle were the twins lying awake. Face up they seemed entertained trying to turn around on their own. Larys was relieved that neither of them burst into tears when they saw it.

"I'm not stupid to think that, I know your character.," he said and extended the bouquet to you waiting for you to take it, you looked at it doubting whether to take it or not "It see like someone wanted it more than you" he commented when you saw Alyn stretch out her small hand as if he wanted to touch one of the flowers. "Do you mind sharing?" you shook your head and couldn't help but smile when you saw him remove a flower from the bouquet to give it to Alyn. You hurriedly pulled another flower from the bouquet and gave it to Aethan before he got jealous. "I will get better at this parenting thing. I will come at night and help you take care of them" he wanted to see your reaction but his attention went to Aethan when he saw him put one of the petals in his mouth so he moved the flower away from the baby making him squeal. Not wanting Aethan to start crying, he gave him the flower again but he had to take it away because he put the petal in his mouth again.

"Why does he want to eat it?"

You laughed as you saw the frustration on Larys's face because every time he gave the flower to Aethan he kept wanting to eat it and then squealed when Larys pushed the flower away. But he wasn't a squealer like when he was about to throw a tantrum, it was one of the ones he did when he played with you or your brothers.

Alyn must have also thought his father was making a funny face because he joined in with your laughter.

"I'm sure that at first the color of the flower caught his attention, but now he just thinks that he's playing with you," you reassure him. "Larys, I want actions, not just empty words. I want you to be there for us," you asked, returning to what your lover had said before.

And Larys showed that he was serious. He started coming to your chambers in the middle of the night to help you with the children. You noticed that at first, he seemed to struggle when they cried but after you taught him that skin-to-skin contact helped calm them down and told him that talking to babies helped too, Larys seemed to handle it well, although the first few times you had to stop yourself from laughing at how uncomfortable and lost the man looked because he had no idea what to talk to babies about. You had to tell him to stop thinking about it so much and just talk. Larys didn't make silly voices like Laena, Laenor, or Harwin but Alyn didn't seem to mind because he happily responded to his father with babbling. It didn't take long for Aethan to join in as well because she didn't want to be left out of the "talk."

You will never forget Larys' smile when for the first time he was greeted by Alyn's excited screams as soon as he saw his father enter your chambers. You feel happy with all this development, not only that but Larys also starts to join you during the day, of course not every day, but sometimes he happens once at the nursery with you or they meet by "chance" with you in the gardens and show the twins the flowers together. Even Princess Helaena joins you a couple of times but she soon loses interest in the flowers and entertains herself with the bugs she finds on the ground. At those times Larys and you have to make sure the twins don't try to put any insects in their mouths.

Everything seems to be fine again...Except for Harwin, who feels displaced when you no longer allow him to spend the nights in your chambers and starts seeing you and Larys together during the day. Harwin knows that he should be happy with the fact that you no longer seem to hate him and with the rapprochement that the two of you had during the time that he helped you with the twins. You don't seem angry when you meet him at nursery, nor do you reject him when during the day he insists on spending time with you and the twins. You don't even yell at him when he proposes that Jacaerys join the four of you. He should settle for that but he can't. He just wants to get your love back.

You should not have been surprised when one of your maids came to inform you that your husband was in the princess's chambers. You didn't expect that now that you could stand his presence and have the occasional civil conversation with him, he would magically forget about Rhaenyra. You weren't stupid, you knew he was still seeing her but you hoped he would at least have a little respect for you. You couldn't believe he dared to be in Rhaenyra's chambers while she gave birth. People were already talking about you three but this would only make it worse. You didn't think they could dare to humiliate you any further, at least at the birth of Jacaerys, Harwin hadn't dared to do this.

Fury took over your body. You ignored your maid's calls as you strode out of your chambers.

You felt the blood in your body heat up, noticing that you were getting closer to your destination. You couldn't stop thinking about your hands around Harwin's neck. You wanted to kill him. But you couldn't do it. If you kill your husband you will not go unpunished and you will suffer some punishment, your death, or your exile, and the last thing you want is to leave Alicent and Larys. So you'd have to settle for making a scene.

If Rhaenyra and Harwin wanted attention then you would make a damn spectacle. Tomorrow there wouldn't be a single person who wouldn't talk about you three.

When you finally reached your destination you abruptly opened the doors making as much noise as possible. You entered, leaving the doors open with the intention that anyone who passed by could hear you. You found Rhaenyra lying on her bed with Harwin kneeling next to her and holding her hand.

All eyes were on you, Laenor looking at you with fear, the midwives tensed while the princess and your husband looked at you with pure surprise. For a moment Rhaenyra thought that you would be at her side and accompany her while she gave birth.

“I tried to get him away from her,” Laenor said quickly, from the corner, seeing the fury in your eyes not wanting to be on the receiving end of it. Not when he had struggled to obtain your forgiveness.

You ignored your brother and headed straight for Harwin. One of Rhaenyra's handmaidens thought you would try to hurt the princess so she tried to stop you by standing in front of you. You barely bothered to look at her before pushing her in Laenor's direction. Your brother, as you expected, caught her before she could fall to the floor. The screams of the other maids irritated you even more. You hadn't even put all your strength into the push, of course, they had to be just as dramatic as Rhaenyra.

“What are you doing here?” with every second that Harwin passed in silence you felt your fury grow even more, the worst thing was that he didn't seem to have any intention of separating himself from the princess because he was still holding her hand. “Why does a sworn shield need to be here? “You questioned but again you didn't get any response causing you to lose what little control you had “You can't protect her from the birthing bed, you idiot! You shouldn't be here! Do you understand how humiliating it is for me, for my children, that you are here?!” As you spoke, you raised your voice more and more to the point that you ended up shouting, you were sure that at least your complaint had been heard by anyone who was there. will be found in the hallways. You were sure that from today the court would be sure that Harwin was the father of Rhaenyra's children.

You saw Rhaenyra flinch, you didn't know if it was because of your screams or because she was having a contraction. You didn't care anyway, she did this to herself you thought. If she were smarter she would not have gotten pregnant by your husband again and much less would she have allowed him to accompany her during her birth.

“She needs me,” said Harwin, looking at you with pleading eyes, hoping you would understand, you should, you know Rhaenyra and you know that she is afraid of childbirth after everything her mother suffered.

“Harwin, we're leaving,” you demanded.

Harwin loves you but he loves Rhaenyra too so he couldn't leave her alone right now, not when she knew she was scared and needed him.

“No,” he said painfully, knowing that the little process he had done between the two of you would be forgotten. Now you would get angry but then he would work hard to win you over again.

Your dragon blood or your Baratheon blood had to have taken over your body because suddenly your hands were on your husband's scalp. Years ago you had caressed his curls tenderly but now you found yourself pulling him with all your strength, if he wasn't willing to get out then you were willing to drag him. You would embarrass him in front of the maids and anyone in the hall.

Harwin quickly let go of Rhaenyra's hand to prevent you from ending up dragging her with him. The princess didn't know what to do as she watched in shock as Laenor grabbed you by the waist and tried to pull you away from Harwin, but you didn't give in, your hands seemed to be clinging to him. All Rhaenyra could do was shake her head as one of her handmaidens approached the door ready to call the guards and silence the rest. The last thing she wanted was to get you in trouble.

“Please, sister, let go. Please,” Laenor asked desperately. He feared that at any moment a guard would walk in and you would end up having an audience with the king for disturbing the princess in the middle of her birth and attacking her sworn shield. The worst thing is that he saw you capable in your state of the fury of telling Viserys to rot for pretending not to know what was happening right under his nose, how his grandson was a bastard: "It's not worth getting in trouble for them. Please release him. If the king and queen find out about this…

He stopped talking when he watched you loosen your grip on Harwin carelessly causing his head to hit the floor. Laenor couldn't help but grimace at the noise. He had to have pushed you away instantly because you once again grabbed Harwin by the hair, lifting his head and then slamming it back onto the floor. This time when you let go, Laenor took the opportunity to lift you up and left Rhaenyra's chambers with you on his shoulder while you shouted curses in Valyrian.

They hadn't even reached the end of the hallway when Laenor stopped, a few seconds passed before he put you down. But you understood his reaction when you saw his father standing in front of you. He was looking at you angrily and again you felt like you were a little girl getting into trouble running away from your babysitters. Laenor must have felt your anguish because he took your hand and intertwined your fingers like he used to do when you were children and you were both scolded, not only that but he put his body in front of yours.

"Did you expect me to stand by and do nothing while they humiliated me?" you questioned your father once he finished scolding you and Laenor. During all of Corlys's talk, your brother didn't let go of your hand and you loved him more than ever for it. He could have avoided witnessing this, he could have left you alone but he didn't. Your brother wasn't to blame for your attitude but he was still scolded for not being firm enough to stop you before making a scene. You were sure that if Laenor had excused himself, your father wouldn't have bothered to scold him later.

"You humiliated yourself," he declared. It didn't matter that he had been ranting for what felt like hours he was still angry.

His words were like a slap. Unconsciously you tried to make yourself smaller in your seat as you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. He is your father, he should be on your side, he should be furious with Rhaenyra and Harwin, not you. He should be shouting and defending your honor. But instead, he's yelling at you.

You remained silent without knowing how to respond, feeling small, pathetic, and humiliated under your father's gaze. Not being able to take it anymore you lowered your head looking at your lap. You didn't like feeling like this, you hated it.

You loved your mom. It was a silly and childish thought but if she were here you believed she would take your side. She may not agree with your actions but she would never make you feel this way.

"Tomorrow the whole court will be talking about how you lost your mind, entering the princess's rooms and beating your husband," your father said making you feel worse. You had wanted to make a scene to get people talking but you thought it would be to your benefit, you thought the court would side with the poor faithful wife but maybe your father was right, maybe in the end you would be the one who would end up badly. Perhaps Rhaenyra and Harwin would not be the ones to make the Velaryons the laughingstock of the court but you. The pain in your throat worsened at that thought. "What if this reaches the king's ears?"

"That will not happen, Father," you were surprised by the firmness in your brother's voice. "Despite the distance between my sister and Rhaenyra. The princess still has great esteem for her and does not want to get her into trouble with the king. If Viserys decided to act and punish my sister that would only encourage people to talk more about the true paternity of Rhaenyra's children" he said as he gave your hand a squeeze hoping to get you out of whatever was scheming in your head knowing that it wouldn't. It must have been nothing good."Besides, I doubt people will think my sister is crazy. "The court will side with her after all it is normal to see a woman hurt by her husband's cheating."

"A maester had to see Harwin," Corlys reminded them with a frown.

"An accident. One of the maids dropped hot water and the idiot slipped and hit his head. It's his fault for being in the delivery bed when he shouldn't be" You couldn't help but laugh at the easy lie your brother made up. You wouldn't be surprised if there were people who believed her. Laenor turned to look at you with a smile, feeling satisfied to see that you were settling back down normally in your chair instead of trying to hide. "The only thing my sister did was go yell at her stupid husband for daring to snub her like that."

Before Corlys could say what he thought about it there was a knock on the door. After your father gave permission to enter a maid reported that Rhaenyra had given birth to a second son named Lucerys and that the three of you could now go and meet him.

"Come on Laenor, we have to meet the future lord of Driftmark," the Lord said once the maid left.

The fury you felt when you heard those words made you forget any feeling of smallness that your father caused you. You could allow your father many things but not this. You weren't going to stay silent while he took away your son's birthright and gave it to Rhaenyra's bastard. You knew that your father was an ambitious man and wanted to go down in history—that's why he had pushed you to spend time with Viserys as soon as Queen Aemma died and when you didn't become queen he made Laenor marry Rhaenyra even though he knew his preferences—but you never thought he would be able to deliver the legacy of your ancestors as if nothing had happened. It was insulting. This was outrageous.

When you least expected it, your father always found a new way to disappoint you.

"You can't be serious," you said, standing up abruptly from your chair while resting your hands on the desk.

"Please don't start again," your father said as if he was treating you like a tantrum child making your fury only grow even more. You could feel your blood heat up.

"He can't be Driftmark's heir," you said, emphasizing each word to get it into his head.

"He is the son of Laenor. It is his birthright"

"He is my son in name only," Laenor reminded him. He loved Jacaerys and was sure he would soon love Lucerys too, but he still knew he couldn't give any of them Driftmark. It would be an insult to Laena, to you, to his uncles and cousins.

“And why is that?” Corlys accused him. He didn't need to say any more words, the three of them knew that he blamed the lack of legitimate children on Laenor's preferences. You would think that after years your father would have accepted it by now.

“Driftmark belongs to Aethan,” you said, watching as Laenor clenched her hands into fists clearly frustrated, putting her attention back on you “He was born before Lucerys, it is his birthright” You tried hard not to raise your voice thinking that if You looked calm and confident. Your father could listen to you for once.

“You know perfectly well that the line of succession follows the lineage of Laenor.”

“That's the point,” you exclaimed. “Lucerys has no Velaryon blood and no offense to Laenor, but we all know you will never have descendants. "You turned when you saw your brother but he didn't look offended by your words so you turned your attention to your father "If Laenor doesn't have children then the line that follows is Laena's but she still doesn't have children so until that happens follow my line. Alyn was born first so he will have Harrenhall but Driftmark belongs to Aethan.”

“Lucerys will inherit Driftmark after Laenor,” your father stated as if he hadn't heard anything you said.

“He doesn't have Velaryon blood!” you argued, losing your patience, a part of you wanted to throw yourself at the desk and beat your father to the point of exhaustion. Maybe this way he would come to his senses.

“History does not remember blood, it remembers names”

Again he was looking at you like you were a little girl, like you were stupid and couldn't understand what she was talking about. But you understood, he was always going to care more about his ambition than his family. This time you did not hide from his gaze but instead took refuge in your fury.

Nightwing shouted angrily from the Dragon's Pit.

Slapped.

Your father looked at you in shock. You didn't feel guilt or regret, in fact, you felt satisfaction. You hoped the mark of your hand would remain on his face. You weren't going to apologize, he deserved it for choosing Rhaenyra and his bastard over you and your son, his own blood.

Laenor was the first to react, taking your arm and pulling you back and then standing in front of you, ready to protect you in case his father tried to do something to you. But you weren't afraid. Your father had never hit you before and you didn't think he would start doing it now, not when you were already a grown woman, not when you could still hear the furious screams of your dragon, not when you both knew that if he dared to touch you your mother wouldn't hesitate to feed him to Meleys

“Get her out of here,” Corlys ordered, regaining his patriarchal composure.

You broke free from your brother's grip. You didn't need an escort. You could go alone but you had one last thing to say. You expected this to torment him.

“You will be the one to ruin our name, you will make us a laughing stock if you leave that child as heir.”

Of course, your fury can't last forever. That's why when Larys entered through the secret passageway that your room had, he found you curled up in bed.

"Are you angry?" You turn your back on him as you feel him lift the sheets to get into the bed next to you.

Your voice was weak and unsure like you were afraid to know his answer. And Larys didn't like it.

"Just for not being able to see how you hit my brother" he replied and you wanted to laugh but it came out more like a sob making the look in Larys' eyes soften. If it was someone else they would find it annoying or feel uncomfortable but you are the exception. He just wanted to make your pain go away. "What happened?" he asked, ready to listen to you complain about Harwin and Rhaenyra.

"My father wants Lucerys Velaryon to be heir to Driftmark instead of Aethan" You turned around and dared to sneak into your lover's chest now that you knew he wasn't upset with you.

You took Larys by surprise because he didn't expect that to be the reason for your discomfort.

"That's not going to happen," he assured you as he gave you comforting strokes on your back. "Not many children make it to the age of two. Even if they do, they can always have an accident during their childhood. And if that doesn't happen, then we'll take care of Lucerys."

You should be horrified by what Larys just said and its implications. You should be scared at how calm he seems at the idea of murdering his own nephew but instead, you feel more in love with him. It's twisted but his words gave you comfort, knowing that you weren't alone in this, that you had someone on your side who was willing to do something so heinous just for you and so that your child would have his birthright. You and Larys must be crazy thinking about the death of a newlyborn baby. You're probably not as good a person as you thought and you don't know how to feel about it. You send a silent prayer to the gods and apologize for your thoughts because that's what a good person would do. You convince yourself that your fury is still poisoning your head and that's why you think of Lucerys dead. Your usual self would never think of that. How would you wish for the death of an innocent baby?

"We won't do anything," you say but both you and Larys can notice the lack of determination in your decision. But he's smart enough not to highlight it, it would only worsen your mood. "It's not Lucerys' fault that my father chose Rhaenyra over me," your voice breaks at the end and it seems like you're about to cry again.

"He didn't choose her, he chose the power he thinks she possesses," he said in an attempt to make you feel better.

"I'm sorry that your father disappointed you," he gently wiped your tears with his thumb. "But you don't need it. You have your siblings, and your mother and you have me. I'm always on your side."

At his last statement, you felt your heart warm up along with a sudden huge need to kiss him. So you obeyed your desire and leaned towards him and then captured his lips. You kissed him again and again, you tasted his lips as if it were the most exquisite wine you had ever tasted, but the thirst you felt for him did not seem to disappear.

"Be good and make me forget about today" you asked with heavy breathing.

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hotd masterlist

[petew21-blog]

Uncharted territory

Danny made sure that he had everything. His costume of Nathan Drake from Uncharted was amazing for this year's Comic Con. He was inspired after he saw his bully dressed as him for Halloween. He needed to be better, but unfortunately he didn't have the muscles to show off. So he went for the shirt.

The bully looked so good. Danny even saved the photo from his instagram and jerked off to it, imagining that he would go to Comic Con as him. He would definitely get a LOT of attention.

He was about to head out to wait for his friend Martin to pick him up. But before leaving he decided to fully use his costume and play one last quick game of Uncharted before leaving.

Danny turned on the play station, excited to start his immersive experience.

The game launched and Danny clicked continue. But something was different. His controller was vibrating and overheating. Something was wrong. Danny felt a force pulling him into the game. He wanted to let go of the controller, but it was too late.

He opened his eyes. Gone was his nerdy room with comic books and a computer set. He looked around to see the jungle surrounding him. He looked down. His Nathan Drake outfit now fit way better then before. But his hands were entirely different. They were strong, veiny and hairy, not like his teen body. His shirt was strechted over his bulking pecs and the buttons of his shirt did a really bad job of covering his hairy torso.

"Oh no" he said out loud noticing the sudden voice change. He put his hand up to his throat to feel the protruding adam's apple. His hand continued and felt the stubble on his face.

"No fucking way" he tried to search for something that would show him his reflection, but the only thing he found was his knife. He pulled it out to take a look at his new face.

"Holy shit. I'm Nathan Drake! No way!" his manly voice was so erotic.

He turned around and grinned.

"I am Nathan Drake. And I am in my own game of Uncharted, with fictional characters and no one who could judge me." his grin was now even more apparent. He immediately ripped off his clothing he had on.

His body was sweaty from the humidity of the jungle, but also from the thrill Danny was now experiencing. He took a whiff of his new armpits. "Ooooh. That smells so... manly!" his hands traced the hairy line of his chest over to his abs. "These are amazing"

He came back to try out his nipples. They were really sensitive. He played with them for a while.

And the jawline! Danny would kill to look like this forever.

Everything was different. No more skinny arms, no more hairless body, no more struggles to grow a beard. No more...

He froze in place. There was one thing he definitely needed to check out

His hand made its way aggresively into his pants. There it was. A beautiful thick meat. Danny felt the weight of it. It was perfect. He never even hoped to be such a stud.

He was ready to enjoy his body fully, but something happened. He started moving through the jungle. His shirt appeared back on his body. His body was moving as if something else was controlling it. There was a background music, which was more and more intense every second. The mission started. He had to fight for his life. But Danny felt as if he had no control of it. And the thing that controlled him did so many stupid mistakes. And then it happened. He died. Danny felt the pain in his body. Overwhelming and liberating at the same time. He closed his eyes.

Danny was forced to open them again. The mission restarted. "What the hell?" someone was playing the game. And Danny was now trapped as Nathan in the game.

The first death was one of MANY. Danny stopped counting after he reached number 28. He just prayed for it to end soon.

Meanwhile, in front of his Playstation sat his body, playing the Uncharted, grinning.

"I'll teach you how to play the game. I'll show you what it's like to die over and over again!"

Nathan was making sure to let Danny Die in his body as many times as possible.

His phone was vibrating.

"Hey. Yeah I'm ready. I'll just close the game and will meet you downstairs." Nathan tried the best impression of Danny to not raise any suspiciouns.

Nathan grinned mischievously.

He ran to the car.

Martin:"What took you so long?"

Nathan:"I had to fix settings in my game. It was too easy."

Martin:"Ok. You ready for comic con?"

Nathan:"Yes, sir"

Danny's struggles unfortunately did not end, because Nathan made sure to leave the game on and not only that. Nathan somehow messed with the settings and the story. Nathan's enemy - Atoq Navarro was now present after every death Danny went through.

What was horrible wasn't his presence, but the fact that he was 3 times bigger and his only goal was to fill Nathan's body with his cum. EVERYTHING was 3 times bigger and Atoq needed Nathan filled up.

Danny:"I hope they come back from Comic Con soon. I'm not sure how many fillings I can take." but Danny knew that he was now a character in the game. There were no limits for his pleasant suffering.

Anonymous request from Inbox

What about a swap between a cosplayer and the character in game? Like someone cosplaying as Nathan drake from Uncharted getting swapped with the ingame character while the ingame character gets put in the real world to play the video game?

[yoongiseesawmp3]

ceilings - san

summary: pe teacher!san x single mom!reader. your kid is finally ready to go to school, and you're spiraling. thankfully, you find friendship with your kid's teacher and she becomes determined to become your best friend. simultaneously, she tries to set you up with the cute pe teacher, but you know him from somewhere deep within your past. can the truth come out without jeopardizing your future?

word count: 12.4k

warnings: afab reader so gendered terms, mentions of accidental pregnancy

masterlist / part two

"violet, come on, we're gonna be late!" you shout to your daughter. it's her first day of kindergarten, her first day of real school, and you're so close to tears. you want to cry because your baby is growing up, because you won't get to cart your little mini me around with you everywhere now, because you're so stressed about getting her to school on time. it's been a rough morning, and your daughter taking her sweet time is not helping.

"i'm almost ready!" she shouts back from the bathroom, and you suppress a groan. what does a five year old have to primp for?

"one more minute and i'm dragging you to the car!" you threaten lightheartedly, knowing she'll only take it to mean she has a minute before you go and help her.

"i'm done," she says proudly as she appears in the doorway to the kitchen. hands on her hips she asks, "how do i look?"

"ridiculous," you laugh. "is that my shirt?"

"and my belt!" she defends herself. "i thought it was cute."

"it is cute, baby, but maybe you should wear something more comfortable for the first day?" you offer. you shuffle over to the laundry basket you left on the stairs and dig around for an outfit, handing your stubborn daughter some jeans and a sweater. "just wear something comfy today, and later this week you can dress silly."

"i wasn't dressed silly, i was dressed like you," violet mumbles, and you roll your eyes. your daughter definitely got your sass, and your stubbornness, but the resemblance kind of stops there. she's a spitting image of her father, a constant reminder of the mistake you made when you were younger. but it wasn't really a mistake, was it? if it brought you the one thing that's made you happier than anything before, it wasn't a mistake at all. violet was the best thing that ever happened to you, and again, the waterworks threaten to fall as you think about dropping her off for her first day of school. a day, you realize, you're late for.

"c'mon sugar, we gotta go!" you shout, grabbing her hello kitty backpack. "i've got your stuff, meet me in the car!"

-

you work close enough to violet's school that you can be one of those annoying carpool parents swarming the school grounds every day. while violet may hate it, you're so excited for all the memories that will come from these trips to and from school each day. like today, you'll always remember how violet started crying a few minutes down the road, claiming she didn't want to go to school because she didn't want to eat school lunch.

"it's not that bad, vi." you tell her as you peek at her through the rearview. "i remember loving some days of school lunch so much i would always go, even if i was sick."

"but you only liked some days," she sniffed. "what if i don't like any of the days?"

"then i'll pack you a lunch," you assure her. "just try it this week, every day, because some days will be better than others. then if you don't like any of it i'll start making your lunch. how does that sound?"

"okay," she nods, her sad little sniffles clearing up. "thank you mommy."

"we're almost there," you say quietly, more to yourself than to your daughter. "are you excited, sugar?"

"kinda," she admits. "i'm excited to see miss jen!"

"she's gonna be a great teacher," you agree. "you're gonna learn so much, and you're gonna have so much fun with her and all the friends you're gonna make. right?"

violet nods again, and you're satisfied for now. you're sure your baby is alright to go off to school for the first time, at least for the time being. surely there will be another thing to freak about later in the day, but for now you need to worry about navigating this carpool line. a man in workout clothes with a haggard looking traffic vest is directing traffic, and while you pass him, you feel your heart skip a beat.

it can't be him, right? there's no way he works here. it can't be. you keep driving, following the cones until you pull up to the sidewalk and a very kind looking teacher approaches your car with a soft smile.

"good morning!" he chirps. "i'm mr. kang, the librarian," he says as he stoops to peer through your window. his gaze goes to the backseat, asking violet, "are you ready for the best day ever?"

she nods shyly, and you watch as she undoes her car seat and slides out of the car with her too big book bag engulfing her frame as she walks away. you shout her name and she turns, a nervous look on her face.

"have a great day, my love!" you blow her a kiss for good measure, and you carry the way she smiles proudly with you for the rest of the day. the man in the traffic vest is all but forgotten, but he watches from afar in confusion. was he seeing things, or were you really here dropping off a kid? a kid, in fact, who looked exactly like he did at that age. weird, he thinks, but he shakes it off and continues directing traffic, wondering how he could find a way to introduce himself over the next few days.

-

when you were younger, your parents always supported you academically, but they were never involved with the school itself. pta meetings were not their thing, and it was a struggle getting them to take off work for a parent/teacher conference. you had decided early on that you would be one of those involved parents, one that knew your kid's teacher well and participated in room mom activities. you were texting violet's teacher last night, actually, asking if there was anything you could bring to help celebrate the first week, and she was eager to have the help.

she'd asked you to bring lollipops, so on thursday afternoon you're searching for a parking spot before school lets out. you were going to drop the goodies off at violet's classroom and help jen with the goody bags during dismissal, quick and easy. except, an intimidating figure walking toward your car may not make this process as easy as you'd have hoped.

san saw your car pull up and immediately stepped out into the parking lot. as the unofficial carpool guardian, one of his daily jobs is stopping parents who try to cheat the system by taking up faculty spots so they can be first in line. san didn't know it was you or he would've approached with a different demeanor, but today was rough. he had at least two criers per class and one kid who ran so hard after lunch he puked outside san's office. he wasn't in the mood to deal with a privileged parent, so he lets out a deep sigh as he approaches your now open window.

"ma'am you can't park here-" he starts, but as soon as his eyes meet yours he chokes on his words. "y/n?"

"hi san," you smile shyly, heartbeat racing. "so i can't park here? there weren't any guest spots out front, and i need to take something to vi's class-"

"vi?" san questions, and you let out a deep sigh of your own.

"violet," you tell him. "my..my daughter."

"i thought that was you the other day," san admits, and you nod in confirmation. "well, um, if you're just coming to drop something off, you're all good, you can leave your car-"

"oh really? i can move, it's no problem-"

"no, no, don't worry about it-"

"are you sure?" you ask, finally stopping the awkward back and forth. "you won't tattle?"

"pinky promise," san laughs, holding your door for your as you get out. "but i'd sneak out before carpool starts up if i were you, it'll be hard to pull out once the lot fills up."

"got it," you nod graciously, slipping your hand into the backseat to grab the bag of candy. san is still standing there, so you clear your throat and try to leave. "well, thanks for letting me-"

"no worries-"

"it was good seeing you-"

"yeah, yeah..." san trails off. once you're a few feet away he calls your name. you turn to see what he needs, and he thinks about it before shrugging. "never mind," he says. "it was nice to see you."

"bye san," you manage to get out before you turn the corner, hands sweaty and heart doing funny flips in your chest.

you hadn't told violet about your visit, so when jen lets you into the room you hear an excited squeal followed by a pair of small arms wrapped around your legs. violet looks up at you proudly, a spot of something on her cheek. you forget sometimes, just how much she looks like san, but your exchange outside has him fresh on the brain. she has his smile. you shake the thoughts from your head and try to take a step, but violet won't budge.

"hey sugar," you laugh, ruffling her hair with your free hand. "go back to your seat, school's not over yet."

"but-"

"violet, do you want to show your mom where to put the bags she brought?" jen offers, and you send her a thankful look. violet tugs on your hand, bringing you over to the "treasure box" which is really just a filing cabinet jen must have filled with candy and toys. violet shows you each drawer, and you make her look away as you place the candy in it's appropriate drawer so it won't ruin the surprise for now. satisfied with her work, violet goes back to her seat as the bell rings for dismissal. you organize some of the other things you brought on jen's desk as she goes over reminders for the class, and then the first few rounds of students start leaving.

"thanks for bringing all this," jen says as she joins you.

"do you need help putting them together?" you ask, and she thinks for a moment.

"no, i don't want to keep you," she starts.

"well, i think i'm stuck for a while anyway," you inform her. "i had to park in a faculty spot, and carpool-"

"oh yeah, you're definitely stuck," jen laughs. "let me get everything set up, and then you can start while i help the rest of the kids leave, if you don't mind?"

"not at all!" you assure her, looking out to find violet watching you both like a hawk. "do you think we'll need another set of hands though?" jen follows your gaze and laughs before waving violet over. the three of you get everything set up, and you ask violet about her day as jen organizes the next group of kids for bus call.

"it was good!" violet says happily. "i liked lunch today."

"what did they have?"

"chicken sammiches," she says, and you laugh.

"sandwiches, baby," you tell her. "sammiches is a me and you word, but some people may not know what that means."

"i like chicken sandwiches and chicken sammiches," she nods. "and then we had pe and a boy in my class threw up. he had pizza."

"gross," you crinkle your nose. "you liked pe though?"

"yeah, it was fun!" violet goes off on a tangent about all the games, and jen rejoins you to help finish the bags. the three of you fall into comfortable conversation with violet as the life of the party. you like jen, you find yourself thinking. you hope it's not weird to be friends with your kid's teacher, because you could really use one here. you're lost in that thought, so you don't notice when someone appears in the doorway.

"mr. choi!" violet chirps, abandoning her task and rushing to meet him. never met a stranger, your child, because she's tugging his hand and bringing him over to you. "this is mommy."

"that's not her name though, is it violet?" jen asks, ever the teacher.

"y/n," san nods, and you don't miss the way jen looks from you to san to violet and back again. "did you get tricked into staying late?"

"no, i offered," you reply. "but i didn't have a choice, i didn't listen to your advice and couldn't leave before carpool started."

"you're all good now," he says, holding up his reflective vest all crumpled in his big hand. "just sent the last kid home."

"good to know," you nod. "vi, where's your stuff? we'll leave soon."

"no!" she whines. "i don't wanna leave!"

"don't you want a snack though?" you tempt her, and that sends the mini menace into motion.

"to what do i owe the pleasure of you stinking up my classroom, choi?" jen asks.

"i wanted to talk to you about the kid that threw up today," he says, and you must look at him confused because he asks you if anything's wrong.

"are you the pe teacher here?"

"yep," he answers. "i didn't know this was your violet," he says, nodding his head toward your kid. "she's a sweetheart. ball of energy too."

"you're telling me," you smile softly. violet walks over then, informing you that she's ready to go. you ask jen if there's anything else you can do, but she insists on you taking violet home.

"you've helped enough, believe me," jen tells you. "i'll see you tomorrow violet!"

"bye miss jen!" violet says with a smile. "bye mr. choi! i hope no one pukes on you tomorrow!"

jen waits for you and your kid to be far enough down the hall before she asks calmly. "so. how do you know y/n?"

"we, uh, we go way back," san says. "went to school together, college, all that."

"oh, so you like, really know her," jen says, a plan brewing in her head. she saw the way san looked at you. she also knows you're single. "you didn't know her kid went here?"

"didn't know she had a kid at all," san shakes his head, and he seems to get lost in a thought before he remembers what he came here for. "anyway, this kid today, you gotta tell him not to eat so much before pe..."

-

you and san didn't grow up together, exactly, but you have known him since high school. you floated around similar groups of friends, so you hung out regularly without ever getting too close. it wasn't until college that you actually became friends. you both went to a local school, at least as local as you can get for your small town. living in a city all by yourself was intimidating, but you weren't worried about not making friends. you knew they would come.

the day of your orientation, san saw you sitting by yourself in the auditorium and immediately recognized you. he brushed off his sweaty hands before walking over and softly calling your name. when you registered who he was, you smiled and invited him to sit next to you. both happy to see a familiar face, you spent the rest of orientation attached at the hip. in fact, you spent the rest of your time at school like that. san was your best friend, nothing more. he didn't always feel that way, but he did a good job of hiding his feelings. he was able to hide how he felt about you all the way up to the final semester of your senior year.

you were thriving, one of those seniors itching to finish school and get out into the real world. you knew you were just months away from a successful career, and you wouldn't let anything get in your way. you liked that you didn't know what was coming next or where you would end up after graduation. the prospect of moving to a new city, hell, maybe a new country, was exciting. this restlessness is what made san speak up. he was ready to graduate too, sure, but he was ready to get out of the city. san always wanted to be a teacher, and he already had offers all across the state, but the only job he cared about was in his hometown. it's where he wanted to be, and he knew that if he didn't tell you how he felt now, he may never get the chance. he wanted you to know so he could at least have a chance with you, even for a little while.

so he confessed, one night early in the semester. he was walking you home, his dorm only a few doors down from yours. at the door to your dorm he pulled you into a hug, which was normal for him. san was always a touchy friend, but what he said as he pulled away still bounces around in your head.

"y/n, i think i'm in love with you," he said earnestly. you looked in his eyes, trying to find the beginnings of a smile, some hint of a secret, that this was a joke. but he was serious. when you didn't say anything he shrugged, stepped away, and added, "i just wanted you to know."

you still don't know if it was shock or fear that kept you from saying anything that night, from calling his name and pulling him back in. but you didn't say anything then, you didn't say anything for months. san pretended like it never happened, and you just went along.

it didn't come up again until the going away party at the end of the year. school was over, finals done, and graduation was days away. everyone wanted to celebrate the past four years and freak out over what was next, all sharing where they were going and how scared they were. san was moving back home to be a teacher and wasn't scared at all. you were leaving for a bigger and better city the day after graduation and you were terrified.

later, san pulled you to the side and asked if you were ok. you knew he was referring to the job stuff, but you had other things on your mind. you were a little tipsy, so you decide that's why you leaned in and kissed him. it was quick, soft, barely a kiss, but you did it. you kissed him and pulled back faster than san could think, his eyes still closed when you parted and said, "i just wanted to know what it would feel like."

you were able to avoid him for the rest of the party, enjoying your last few hours with some of your best friends. you had an early morning, so you stopped drinking before everyone else and found yourself as a designated walker at the end of the night. you and san were elected to walk a few friends back to their dorms, dropping them off as you passed each building on your own walk home. inevitably, you were left alone with san at your door like that night months ago. san looked like he wanted to say something, and you didn't want him to leave, so instead of separating at the door you invited him in.

you'll never forget that night, and neither will san. but with your paths parting in a few days, you thought it would be something you could move on from eventually. a few weeks later, in your new city, at the perfect job, you found out you were pregnant. it hurt, the decision to not tell san, but the thought of stopping your life before it even started hurt more. you figured you would never see san again, or that you could at least keep the kid a secret if you ever hung out with your college friends again. you never thought that you'd somehow end up moving your daughter to the neighborhood where san grew up, or that the great school you fought to enroll her in could possibly be where san currently worked. but that's life, isn't it? or fate. or maybe just dumb luck. whatever it was, the universe was trying to get you to tell the truth and you're not sure you're ready to do that. to yourself, to violet, or to san.

-

san can't stop thinking about you. he tries so hard to catch a glimpse of you during carpool, but he's too busy focusing on a million other things and never manages to find you. he tries to think about how he could use violet to talk to you, like sending a note home with her, but that's inappropriate. he needs to see you again, though. that's when he gets an idea.

you and jen have become genuine friends, which has made things confusing for violet only because she treats jen like her teacher in casual settings. you met up for dinner the other night and violet raised her hand to ask jen a question, so hopefully she'll get used to it. san knows you two are close, and he knows if he asks jen about you she'll tell him whatever he wants to know.

at lunch one day he finds jen in the teacher's lounge and motions to the empty seat at her table. she lets him sit, but warns, "wooyoung saved the other seats for himself, so leave now if you want to."

wooyoung, one of the third grade teachers, was actually one of san's best friends. he's a hand full, yes, but fiercely loyal and caring. san doesn't necessarily want him to hear the conversation he wanted to have with jen, but oh well. as soon as san has that thought, wooyoung is bursting through the door with a stack of plastic containers from the lunchroom in his arms.

"m'lady," he nods to jen as he passes her a container. he looks to san and asks, "you want one bro?"

"what's in it?" san asks skeptically, and wooyoung shows off a stack of chicken sandwiches. "seriously?"

"hey, they're really good," jen pipes up. "the kids are lucky they get to eat these."

"how did you get so many?" san asks wooyoung as he takes a sandwich anyway.

"flirted with the lunch ladies."

"course you did," jen rolls her eyes, taking a bite of the sandwich. she chuckles to herself, and then shares, "you know, there's a kid in my class who calls these sammiches? no matter how many times you correct her, she won't say anything else. she told me this morning she didn't want to come to school, but she did because it was sammich day."

that's violet. san knows it is. he heard a snippet of your conversation in jen's classroom weeks ago, but he also knows he's heard violet say something similar when she comes to the gym. she loves those sandwiches, and san must admit, now that he's tried one he gets the hype. this is his shot though, he thinks to himself. he clears his throat and asks, "that's y/n's girl right?"

"who's y/n?" wooyoung asks, and jen responds, "san's girlfriend."

"no she's not," san says quickly. "she's kidding."

"you like her though?" wooyoung smirks, and san shakes his head.

"i-it's not like that," san explains. "i knew her a long time ago, and haven't seen her for a few years. that's all."

"so what about her?" jen asks.

"what do you mean?"

"well you brought her up," jen laughs. "you want me to tell her you asked about her? that feels very elementary of you, san."

"no, no, i was just, uh," san racks his brain for a response, "um, she's your room mom right? i may need to talk to her, for um, uh, field day."

"sure," jen nods. "i can give you her number, if you don't have it?"

"yeah, yeah," san nods too, "sure, if you think that'll be ok. i mean, i just needed to ask something, really quick, but, um, sure, yeah."

"if you really need to talk to her, she's coming in tomorrow i think," jen says, checking her phone. "yeah, tomorrow is violet's birthday, so y/n is bringing cupcakes at lunch. you can just stop by my class table and ask her whatever you need to ask her."

"oh, cool, great," san nods. wooyoung and jen share a quiet laugh, noticing that san seems like a bobblehead nodding so nervously. "yeah, tomorrow. lunch tomorrow. i'll be here."

-

you're running late. it's your kid's frickin birthday and you're late. you wanted to be supermom, make cupcakes from scratch, but work has been crazy on top of all the prep for violet's party, and you're just one woman. you can't do all of this by yourself, and it's times like these that you wish...no. that's not where you're going to let your mind wander today. today is all about violet, so as you rush out of the grocery store, you handle the store bought cupcakes with intense care. you can't be late and show up with smushed cupcakes.

thankfully this town is small enough that everything is within spitting distance, so you arrive at violet's school with just a few minutes left in her lunch. you hurry through the check in, rushing off to where you hope the lunchroom is. it would be just your luck to get lost right now, but you let out a breath of relief when you turn the corner and see the cafeteria ahead. you have to pause at the door to look for her class, and you hold back a sob when you see one very broad shouldered man sitting next to your beautiful daughter. you manage to walk up without violet seeing you, but at the sound of your footsteps, san turns. he smiles at you softly and he looks so much like violet it hurts. your eyes drift to your daughter, who's noticed you now and bounces in her seat.

"hey birthday girl," you say meekly, clearing your throat before you speak again. "how's your day been?"

"good!" violet smiles, showing you a half eaten vanilla cupcake with purple icing. "mr. choi brought me birthday cake!"

"aw, that's sweet," you say, looking to san. he's staring at you intensely as you ask, "did you tell him thank you?"

"i did!" violet confirms, but she turns to san and repeats, "thank you, it was yummy."

"do you have room for another?" you ask her, holding up the cupcakes you brought. violet already looks ready to bounce off the walls, so you'll have to apologize to jen later, but you ask if she wants to help pass out cupcakes to her friends. you hold the containers as she carefully hands out the treats, and you're pleased to know there were plenty of cupcakes for everyone. actually, there's some left over, so you start packing them up to take home but violet stops you.

"mommy, we need to give mr. choi one," she tells you, and you look to san sheepishly. "and there's one for you too, mommy!"

"i guess we're having cupcakes," you chuckle with san, offering him one of the last two cupcakes. "vi, can i take your spot?" she nods eagerly, letting you sit on the hilariously tiny lunch chair. you struggle balancing on it and look up to see san watching, trying not to laugh. violet is oblivious though, icing smeared all over her face as she talks to her friend across the table. "hey, no laughing. it's been a long day."

"sorry," san says, the remnants of a smile still on his face. "you doing alright?"

"i'm fine," you sigh slightly. you look at san again, really look at him, and you feel your heart constrict. "thank you for bringing her a cupcake."

"oh, sure," san says. "i didn't want to overstep, but jen told me yesterday, and i figured violet could at least take it home, but when i got here and didn't see, uh...you weren't here-"

"you can say it, i was late to my own kid's birthday," you laugh, rubbing your hand over your face. san finds himself staring at your fingers and something pops into his head.

"and again i ask, you doing alright?" he laughs with you. "being a parent must be hard."

"it has its bad days," you admit. "but for every bad day there's hundreds of good ones, so it makes the whole single parenting thing a little easier."

there it is. single. san looks down to your hands again, and has to hide his satisfied smirk. there's no ring.

"so, what-" san starts to ask, but the bell dings and the cafeteria erupts in even more sound. students talking, teachers yelling, chairs scraping as everyone is set in motion. jen walks over then, smiling when she sees you and san sat so close together. she waves hello before calling for her class, and you give violet a big squeezey hug and a kiss on the forehead before she takes her food and runs off. san watches you watching violet, and now it's his turn for his heart to twist. he's missed you. a lot.

"i guess i better go," you say as you gather all of the cupcake trash. san covers his hands over yours, stilling your movements and your heart, and says, "let me, i'll clean up."

"th-thank you san," you say shyly, and he waves you off. he can feel your eyes on him as he walks to the trash cans, and he can't help it, when he turns around he pulls a face that used to always make you laugh. his success rate is still high, because a beautiful giggle appears from deep within your chest, and then san is standing back in front of you. you know him, and you know there's something he wants to say, so you ask, "are you doing alright?"

"i'm fine," he nods, and you playfully push his shoulder. he smiles as he goes on, "actually, i was thinking about it, and i'll need your new number. for field day purposes, of course."

"oh," you breathe. "oh, right. room mom stuff. um, well unless you deleted my contact info, my number is the same."

"oh."

"yeah."

"right, then i guess i'm good," san says, looking around for any last bits of trash. "always good seeing you, y/n. tell violet happy birthday again from me."

"will do," you squeak out, calling out your thanks to him one last time as he walks away. you're left in the now silent lunchroom, heart and mind racing.

-

"i'm just saying, you and san would make a cute couple," jen repeats for what feels like the millionth time today. she's come over to your house early to help set up violet's birthday party, and you're thankful for the help but wishing the set up was less obvious. "you already know each other, so it's not like you'd have to go through that awkward dating phase-"

"did we put balloons on the mailbox already?" you cut through her words, grabbing a couple pink and purple balloons from the pile on the table. "i'll do that now, so people know which house it is. if vi wakes up, tell her i'll make birthday pancakes as soon as i'm done."

"will do," jen salutes you, taking the remaining balloons into the living room. "i'll tack these to the ceiling or something."

"please don't!" you call out before you shut the door, and you take a deep breath when you're outside alone. you don't know how to make jen stop talking about san, and it's draining. you've tried changing the subject and she always finds a way to bring san back into it. she means well, you know that. but what she doesn't know is that everything she says about san just rubs salt in the wound you inflicted on yourself, and it's getting harder to ignore. you're either going to snap and tell her to shut up, or you're going to snap and admit to what you've been hiding. either option isn't ideal, so fingers crossed violet wakes up soon and you can use her as a buffer.

tying the balloons to your mailbox ended up being more of an ordeal than you thought, so it takes you a while to trudge back into the house. you're tired already and the party hasn't started yet. you're making another cup of coffee when you realize the house is quiet, no sounds of jen and no sounds of vi. you let the coffee pot run as you walk around in search of the girls, and you hear a faint noise coming from the backyard. a peek through the window shows jen and violet running streamers from the back porch to vi's playset, and your heart warms. while they're outside, you get to work on the birthday pancakes in peace. you're almost done with them when you get a call, groaning to yourself thinking it's a parent calling about the party. you don't check the name before you answer, letting out a perfectly nice, "hello?"

"y/n, hi," san says on the other line. "is this a bad time?"

"um, n-no," you stammer, "it's um, no, i can talk. just for a minute."

"if you're busy i can call back-"

"no, san, go ahead," you insist. "just be warned i'm making pancakes, so i am a little distracted."

"oh yeah, you used to suck at those," san teases, and for a moment you're thrown back to college. you remember san staying over at your dorm, claiming he was too drunk to walk the fifteen steps down the hall. you let him crash on your floor, and he woke up to an awful hangover and the sound of you cursing over your batch of blackened pancakes. trying to be nice, san tried one anyway. you'll never forget the way you both belly laughed after he lied and said they were good with a look of fear in his eyes. later he admitted he'd never had something so bad, and you swore to never make pancakes again. san obviously remembers, because he asks, "what made you stop the pancake ban?"

"they're for vi's birthday."

"her birthday was on tuesday i thought?"

"yeah, but we're having her party today," you explain, and then you clap your hand to your forehead. you shouldn't have said anything.

"oh then i won't keep you," san says quickly. there's something strange in his voice, but you're so far removed from him that you can't pick up on it. "i hate to call about school stuff on the weekend, but this is the only time i had..."

while san explains the reason for his call (room mom duties + he missed you, but he leaves that part out), jen and violet come in from the backyard. streamers are done, and violet is wearing a torn one around her neck like a scarf. you wave her over for a hug and a kiss, and jen mouths, "who are you talking to?" so you show your phone screen. she gasps when she sees it's san, and it's like you're watching a lightbulb spring from her head. she's got an idea.

"invite him to the party!" jen hisses, and you push her away.

"is that the birthday girl?" san asks, and there's a softness in his voice that makes you melt. "do you need to go?"

"no, just one of the birthday elves being annoying," you grumble, trying to elbow away from jen but she grabs your phone anyway and says a cheery hello to her coworker.

"hey san! happy saturday," she starts off. "listen, are you doing anything around, say, one o'clock?"

"uh, not that i can think of-"

"great! then i'll have y/n text you her address, you should come to violet's party. there's plenty of food, and we'd love to see you!" jen says with an evil smile plastered on her face.

"um, can you hand me back to y/n?" san asks, and jen relinquishes your phone then disappears.

"san, you do not have to come if you don't want to, jen is-"

"jen's what!?" jen shouts from somewhere within your house.

"i want to come," san says, and you're so surprised you almost drop the pancake you're trying to flip. "if that's ok."

"i..." you trail off, and then you look at violet. sweet, lovely violet. you would do anything for that girl, but you know she deserves more. she deserves both parents, and the little part of you that's been wondering if san's reappearance was a sign is the part that wins you over. you say, "yeah, come to the party. i want you here."

"then i'm there," san says, and you can hear his smile. "should i bring a present?"

"no, god, don't worry about that. girl's spoiled already, she doesn't need another toy," you tell him, and san laughs.

"alright. then text me the address, and i'll see you soon i guess."

"yeah, see you soon," you mumble as you hang up and look around for jen. she's rightfully hiding somewhere, but violet's voice distracts you as she asks who you were talking to. "well sugar, i have an extra birthday surprise for you," you say as you plate her pancakes. "mr. choi might be coming to your party, is that ok?"

"mr. choi?!" violet shrieks as she stands in her chair. you remind her not to do that and she listens, but she looks at you and asks, "for seriously? he's my favorite teacher."

"hey," jen whines as she rejoins you, throwing away the remnants of wrapping paper in her hands. "and to think i got you the biggest coolest birthday present ever."

"really?" you and violet ask in unison, and jen nods enthusiastically at your daughter. when she joins you at the sink she whispers, "i didn't go overboard."

"yes you did," you whisper back.

"what did san want?" jen asks with that evil smile again, and you try to elbow her side but she darts away too quickly.

"i had told him about the game the kinder moms wanted our grade to do for field day, and he forgot what supplies it needed," you explain. "so he was calling about that, and the call was almost over when someone interrupted."

"y/n, listen," jen says sternly, and you both look over to violet to make sure she's distracted. jen keeps her voice down as she continues, "he likes you. don't ask me how i know, but i know. and the way you get so nervous around him, i know it sounds childish, but i think you have a crush on him-"

"jen," you say seriously. "please stop. you don't know what you're doing."

"no, y/n, you don't know what you're doing!" jen says, and you step back. "no, i don't mean it like that. i just mean, you said you were having a hard time doing this on your own. it may not be my place, but i think san could help. he'd be good for you and violet."

"you remember how san and i were friends years ago?" you ask, and jen nods, about to add to her case, but you cut her off. "we were close. really close."

"did you kiss?" jen asks excitedly and you roll your eyes.

"will you focus?" you smile anyway, and add, "we spent most of our time together, but then life stuff changed. we went in completely different directions, and it was just easier to say goodbye and go our separate ways. that was five years ago. well, six, now i guess," you correct yourself, your eyes betraying you as they flick back over to violet.

"oh my god," jen gasps. "no."

"yes."

"no way."

"yes."

"you're a liar."

"mommy's not a liar," violet chimes in, and you let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry. "miss jen, that wasn't very nice."

"i'm sorry violet, you're right," jen says calmly. she looks closely at violet and then to you. "but sometimes what's right is hard to do."

"i know that," you sigh. "believe me. but we can talk about this later."

"you bet your ass we are!"

"miss jen!"

"sorry, sorry!"

-

you and jen do a good job of ignoring the truth bomb you set off just before guests started arriving, but knowing san will be here soon keeps you on edge all day. violet is having the time of her life, which takes a little bit of pressure off of you at least. you just have to play host to your family and friends all while keeping one eye on the door for san.

he arrives just past one. you heard the doorbell from the backyard, but as you're walking through the house you see your aunt opening the door for him. it opens to a stunning version of the man you've tried so hard to hide from, and just looking at him makes you blush. he's dressed casually, but nicer than the work out clothes you see him in at the school. jeans and a sweater, and glasses. san never wore glasses in school, and you're wondering why this news is making your stomach flip. when san finds you, his face lights up. he makes his way around a group of kids and pulls you into a polite hug, mumbling his greeting into your hair. you wish time would stop for a moment, let you stay in his hold a second longer. but he's pulling away and shyly presenting a gift bag, his sheepish eyes saying "sorry but not sorry."

"i told you not to bring anything," you scoff, taking the gift over to the present table anyway.

"it's something small, but i think she'll like it," san says, and you thank him. it's awkward for a second as you both search for something to say, but in the quiet san reaches to push his glasses further up his nose and you smile.

"so you getting old, choi?" you tease him, pointing to the glasses. "how long have you needed those for?"

"just a couple years," san shrugs. "i don't mind them, but it's easier to wear contacts at work. i actually like the way they look."

"they're cute," you agree, and you feel your heart thudding in your chest as san processes the compliment. he looks around your house then, and he distractedly puts an arm around you in another hug as he says, "your house is great, by the way. you've really made a life for yourself, y/n." he looks at you while he says the next part, "i hope you're proud of yourself."

"i am," you nod, suddenly very aware of how many people are here and possibly looking at you two. you feign a cough and san gets the hint. he pulls away and you immediately feel cold, but you catch a glimpse of jen eyeing you in the corner of the room. you shake off whatever was distracting you because of the man at your side, and you're about to excuse yourself to find violet when the woman in question appears below you.

"mr. choi!!!" she shouts as she jumps in place. "you're here!"

"i am!" he replies, holding hands and jumping with violet. "are you having fun?"

"yeah! cmere, i wanna show you my swings!" she says excitedly, and then san is being dragged outside. you follow at a safe distance, wanting to see how they interact without making it too obvious you're watching san and not your kid. some of the school kids present recognize a big kid in san and soon he's got a whole herd following him around. you laugh seeing him be so silly, so freely himself with these kids, and you wonder if this is what he's like as a teacher. then you find your mind wandering to what san would be like as a dad. you know he'd be great, so what are you doing?

you know you have to tell him. you see the way violet is smiling and laughing, and you can't keep this kind of joy from her anymore. you don't know when, and you don't know how, but you will tell san that he's the father of your daughter.

-

violet's birthday party was perfect. she had an amazing time, her friends had an amazing time, and you had an amazing time. with san. he fit back into your life perfectly, and as you were saying your goodbyes at the end of the night, you had the intense desire to kiss him. you didn't, but that's only because jen came over with a sleepy violet that she thrust into your arms. you and san were cooing over the tired party girl and jen inconspicuously snapped a picture of the three of you. you and san, looking down at violet with so much love in your eyes, and violet smiling her biggest smile. jen texted it to you later and you were grateful to have this moment captured forever.

you were staring at that photo now, waiting for violet to finish getting ready for school. you weren't really paying attention to the time, caught up in admiring san. you felt a sense of calm and safety when you thought of him, looked at him, and you're kicking yourself for keeping that same feeling from violet's life. you were so distracted by your thoughts that you didn't hear violet walk up, so you almost jumped out of your skin when she says, "whatcha doooin?" directly into your ear.

"oh baby you scared me," you gasp. she giggles and points to your phone.

"you were staring at mr. choi!"

"i was not," you roll your eyes, but she nods and goes, "yeah huh."

"i'm not getting into a yeah huh nuh uh fight with you right now," you say as you ruffle her hair. "you ready for school?" it's then that you give her a once over and screw your face up in confusion. "where's that shirt from? i don't remember buying you that."

"it was my gift from mr. choi, 'member?" violet says proudly as she shows it off.

"yeah, yeah, i guess i do," you reply. "you wanted to wear it to school?"

"so i can tell him thank you," she says simply, and you place a soft kiss on her forehead. your sweet girl.

"i'm sure he'll be happy to see it. c'mon, let's go."

-

san had an awful morning. none of the classes would listen to him, half of his equipment for this unit was broken or missing, and apparently he was getting evaluated this afternoon. nothing was wrong, it was just protocol, but why did he find out about it two hours before it was supposed to happen? he was stressed, unprepared, and wearing a t shirt that apparently has a hole in the armpit. one of the unruly classes so kindly pointed that out for him. so yeah, it's been a bad day. that's why he sat down at lunch with a huff, interrupting whatever jen and wooyoung had been talking about prior to his dramatic entrance.

"what's wrong with you?" wooyoung asks bluntly, and san scoffs.

"one of those days where i'm considering child abandonment."

"san!" jen gasps.

"i'm joking, chill out," he sighs. "i just. can today be over? i'd like it to be over. or can i get a redo? that might be better, considering i have an eval today i know i'm not gonna pass."

"if you go into it like that then duh you're gonna do bad," jen says. "but it hasn't even happened yet, so why be so negative?"

"whatever," san huffs again, poking at his food like it's the root of his bad day. "how has your day been."

"great, my kids are angels and i love my job," wooyoung jokes, so san kicks him under the table.

"your class was the first one to put me in a bad mood this morning."

"yeah, because i told them i accidentally killed our class pet."

"wooyoung!" jen gasps again.

"accidentally!"

"how'd you manage that?" san asks with the beginnings of a smile on his face. not that he was laughing over the death of a very tiny pet, no. but he did enjoy seeing wooyoung making mistakes. makes the world go round, he thinks.

"i forgot to take it home for the weekend and i came in this morning to bob the beta fish belly up," wooyoung explains. he raises his carton of strawberry milk in a toast, which san and jen play along with. "he didn't live long, i didn't like him, and the kids barely knew he was there. bob, may you rest in peace."

"this isn't making me feel better," san whines as they clink their drinks together.

"oh!" jen says happily, "i have something!" she shuffles around looking for her phone, and excitedly pulls something up for san to see. she shoves the screen so close to his face he can barely see anything, so he takes her phone and blinks to let his eyes adjust. he smiles immediately when he realizes it's the picture of him, you, and violet. he's so mesmerized by your beauty, all these years later, that it takes him a minute to shift his focus to the equally beautiful violet squeezed between you. she's perfect, san thinks. if he had a kid, he'd want her to be just like violet: kind, funny, full of energy and life.

"who is that?" wooyoung asks, pushing his face close to san's to catch a glimpse. "ooo, is that your milf?"

it's jen's turn to kick him underneath the table, but san must admit, that was a little funny. he doesn't answer right away, though. something about the picture has caught his attention.

"no," jen says sternly since san has gone mute. "that's my friend y/n and her kid violet, we've talked about them before. san came to her birthday party this weekend."

"the milf?!"

"no!" jen repeats. "violet. i helped y/n with the party, and since she and san go way back, i kinda invited san without her knowing."

"nice," wooyoung nods. "good. get him into the house, and then into her heart. maybe the pants too-"

"dude," san finally cuts in. "what's wrong with you?"

"you two are boring me," he sighs. "sue me if i wanted to have a little fun with our conversation."

"you took this?" san asks jen, ignoring wooyoung now. she says yes, so he asks, "can i send it to myself? do you think y/n would mind?"

"no, i think that's fine," jen replies with a smile. "go ahead."

"thanks," san mumbles, typing his number in quickly to send the photo. he doesn't want to seem weird, sitting here staring at it, but there's still something he can't quite put his finger on. something familiar about it. not quite deja vu, but like he's seen this before. he hands jen's phone back to her, and she continues some inane argument with wooyoung as san checks his phone. huh, he thinks, taking one last look at the photo as he saves it to his library. violet sure has a nice smile.

-

san's day does not get better. the evaluation was mediocre at best, but the assistant principal doing the visit pulled him aside and promised better equipment in the new year. at least one good thing came out of this awful day.

well, two good things. san keeps opening his phone just to stare at that picture of himself with you and violet. his desire to patch things up with you only continues to grow, and he's been thinking about you so much that he swears he hears your voice calling his name at the end of the day. then a squeakier, tinier voice joins in, and san realizes, oh shit, you and violet are in his office.

"hey, sorry," he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "god, sorry. how long were you standing there?"

"not long," you assure him. "i hope we're not bothering you?"

"not at all," he says as he stands. violet runs up to him then, turning from side to side with her hands clasped in front of her. san laughs, looking from her to you as he asks, "what's going on?"

"vi had a surprise for you, and she forgot she didn't have pe today so she got into the car crying because you didn't get to see it," you explain. "we turned around as soon as i got the story, and now we're here. do you recognize her shirt at all?"

"oh my god!" san smiles, violet joining in. san bends down to pick her up and swings her around to the sound of giggles. "you're wearing my present! do you like it?"

"i do!" she chirps, hiccuping a little as the giggles continue. san slows and carefully places her back down as she says, "thank you for coming to my party."

"thank you for inviting me," san replies, and you realize he's talking to you. you consider telling him now, you can feel his gaze pulling the words right out of you, but you chicken out.

"thank jen," you remind him. "she's the one who ambushed me."

"ambush?" san laughs nervously. "i hope me coming over wasn't an ambush."

"i shouldn't have said that," you shake your head. "i just." you take a deep breath. "it's been hard, you know, seeing you again. getting used to you being back in my life."

"happy to be here," san says coolly, and you pick up on the undertones. you knew he must have been upset with you, only wanting him when you couldn't have him. he'd given you so many chances to be his, but you grasped the last one. san was mad at himself first, and he's not mad at you per se, but the memory of that still hurts. he could have been in your life, violet's life, this whole time. it was you who kept the door bolted shut. now it's like there's little cracks filtering in bits of sunlight, and you're basking in them. you're just afraid that the warmth you feel from san now will burn you someday, that your past will be too hard to get over, and you can't tell him about violet until you know how he really feels.

"listen, we should go, but i want to hang out with you soon," you tell him, and san looks at you confused. "we need to catch up, don't you think?"

"sure," san agrees. "let me know where to be and when, i'll make it work."

-

that friday night, you have a babysitter (jen) and plans to meet san for dinner. jen is already here, you can hear her and violet whispering about something in the living room as you finish getting ready. this is not a date, but you're so nervous it might as well be. you could end up telling san tonight, if things go right. and if they go wrong...that's what's making you so nervous. the anxious side of you is already thinking of schools you can move violet to if the night goes bad, and the optimist is thinking about san finally being a dad to violet.

it's like he knew you were thinking about him, because his caller id lights up your phone (yes, his contact photo is that picture).

"you're cancelling," you say as soon as you pick up.

"what? no, freak," san chuckles. "i'm outside, but i'm sorry, i can't remember if your house has the red door or the blue one."

"you're what?" you ask, walking from your room to the front door. jen and violet watch on in curiosity, and you let out a sound of disbelief when you open the door to see san, standing by his car, looking from your house to the one next door.

"oh. found it," he teases, hanging up as he comes to the door. "you're not ready yet?"

"no, because i thought we were meeting there, i had more time," you say as you check your phone and notice you actually did not have time. "ok, i thought i had more time, but still. you didn't say you were picking me up."

"surprise?" san says sheepishly, peeking inside to wave to the girls.

"hi mr. choi!" they respond in unison, and san chuckles again.

"um, well, i wasn't expecting- i still have to-" you stammer out, basically turning in circles before staring back up at san. "give me two minutes."

"two? it'll be more like ten," san calls after you. you sort of sprint back to your room, checking that you look put together. your eyes look nervous, though. you hope san can't pick up on that. you grab your favorite necklace, one that violet picked out for you recently, and hold onto the heart pendant as you take a deep breath. you can do this. it's just san, your old pal! your friend! the father of your daughter who has no idea his life could have been completely different or that it's going to change with the information you're about to give him! great! let's go eat some tacos!

you and san both give violet hugs goodbye (she insisted) and jen says goodbye with a wiggle of her eyebrows. she thinks this is a date, and she spent an appropriate amount of time hyping you up tonight. she's known san more recently, so she gave you good insight on the whole telling him situation. she assured you that, while he may be frustrated by you not telling him sooner, under it all he'll be happy. he's wanted a family of his own since he started working at the school, so she's sure he'll be nothing but thrilled once the initial shock wears off. boy do you hope she's right.

-

san is being such a gentleman. first picking you up, then rushing out of the car to open your door for you, pulling your chair out at the restaurant...it's making this feel like a date. it's also making you scared that you're going to chicken out, but you can't.

"so," san says with a :] smile. "what did you want to talk about?" you take a moment to mess with the chips and salsa in front of you before you respond. you're taking so long that san takes a deep breath and starts, "i hope you know i'm not mad at you."

"what?" you ask in a small voice, chip halfway to your mouth.

"i'm not mad at you," san goes on. "i never was. i hope you know that."

"but i was a dick," you tell him, and he lowers his head with a laugh. you want him to listen to you though, so you grab his hand laid out on the table and squeeze. "no, seriously, that was such an asshole move on my part. only letting down my walls and letting you in the night before we both moved away? i've never forgiven myself for that."

"but you should," san shrugs. "i understand. i'm glad it happened. if i had to choose, i'd rather it happen the exact same way than not happen at all."

"right," and now it's your turn to look down. you let go of san's hand and go back to messing with the food in front of you. "i'm still sorry for how i acted."

"it's ok, i promise," san assures you. you aren't looking at him so he clears his throat and says, "actually, while we're talking about...back then. i have something to tell you too." oh no, you think. you nod to encourage him to continue, not sure you can speak right now. "um, well, here goes. i know it's been years, and we've barely talked since school, but..i don't know, y/n. i still think you're the one for me, and i was just wondering, maybe, since we're both in the same town again, and we see each other so often..."

"what, san?" you whisper, afraid of what he's going to say.

"will you go out with me?" he asks. "finally?"

"san," you sigh, and he shakes his head.

"no, don't say no yet. you can think about it. i know you have a lot more to consider than i do, so i don't mind waiting. but i wanted to put it out there. in case, uh, in case you were interested."

"put it out there? why are you talking about this like a couch you're trying to get rid of?" you tease him to ease the tension. "you just asked me out and now you sound like you're not sure."

"i'm sure," san says firmly. "very sure. but i don't want you to feel pressured."

"you've never made me feel anything but loved, san," you let slip, and you want to etch the look on his face into your memory forever. he looks so pleased, so purely happy at your words. they're hanging in the air as the waiter comes by to take your order, and that provides enough of a distraction that you both go back to a semblance of normalcy when he leaves. you fall into an easy conversation, catching up over your lost years. san tells you all about work, his family, his friends. it makes you happy that you chose this town, this school, to raise your kid in.

you fill san in too, but only the highlights. you don't want to ruin your dinner with the news, so you tell him about your career since he knows the least about that. he can't stop telling you how proud he is, and reiterates how amazing you are for raising a kid on top of it. you've got a steady blush on your cheeks as you keep chatting, and you notice then that the meal is over. your plates have been cleared for a while, and san paid without you knowing. how'd he do that?

"i was going to pay for my food," you protest.

"nope, my treat," san says. "let someone else take care of you for once."

"well thanks," you squeak out. "i've got you next time though."

"if there's a next time, i'm still paying," san replies so you roll your eyes and drop it for now. "um, before we go though, i was wondering...can i ask about violet? i feel like you barely mentioned her."

"oh, sorry," you laugh it off. "i don't get a chance to talk about myself a lot, so i'm not saying i forgot to mention vi, i just..."

"i get it," san nods in understanding. "you wanted to brag about yourself for a minute, that's ok. i'm glad you did."

"good," you smile shyly. "but, yeah, violet. what about her?"

"i wanna hear as much as you're willing to tell me," san says, and looking into your eyes, you know he means the father. "was there some great love of your life you don't want to tell me about?"

"san, it's not like that," you tell him, then think to yourself that in a way it is true. you think san is the love of your life, but you can't say that yet. "right, well, i have something to tell you, actually," you say in a voice stronger than you expected. you thought you'd be nervous, but it's like some mom power kicks in and you're able to stare directly into san's strong, gorgeous eyes as you speak. "can i?" you motion to his hands, and he holds them out so you can place your smaller ones in his. still looking into the eyes you've grown to love, you take a deep breath and say, "i'm sorry i didn't tell you sooner. but san, you're violet's dad. she's your daughter."

"what?" he asks in a shaky voice.

"when we.." you try to explain, and have to start over, "that night. five years ago-"

"six," san corrects.

"six, you're right. that night was when she...yeah. i found out about violet a month later, after i had moved. i tried calling you. i did, i swear, and i know that sounds so childish but it's the truth. i tried calling you, tried figuring out how to tell you...but i heard how happy you were, how easy it was for you to settle into your life back at home. i didn't want to throw something unexpected at you and change all of that."

you rambled, and you're not sure how easy that was to follow. or how believable it was either, but you've said it. you're watching san take it in, and he's unnervingly calm. you can't read his face at all, but you realize you've been squeezing his hands and he's squeezing yours right back. you relax your grip then, but he doesn't. he stays quiet.

"san, say something."

"th-thank you," he stutters, finally slipping his hands out of yours. "thanks for protecting me from that, i guess."

"san, i-"

"no, y/n, it's fine," he shakes his head and stands. "come on, let's go. it's getting late."

-

the car ride is silent. san says nothing, but you can feel the emotions radiating from him. or maybe those are your own? fear, resentment, sadness...you always thought telling san the truth would make everything better. make you feel at peace at last. but currently you feel more ill at ease than you ever have. you want to crawl out of your skin, you want to scream at yourself, at san, just to get some kind of reaction out of him.

when he pulls into your driveway, he puts the car in park but doesn't unlock the door. you can tell he wants to say something, so you wait. you think you see jen peeking through the blinds, but you're not sure. a quick glance at the clock tells you violet's been in bed for a while, but knowing jen she probably let her stay up a little longer. you hope she's still awake when you go in, you could really use a hug from her right now.

"y/n," san calls your name softly. you turn your body completely so he can see you fully, and you see he's gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. "does she know?"

"huh?"

"violet," san says her name so carefully, so purposefully. like it's taken on a new meaning. "does violet now i'm her dad?"

"n-no," you stutter, and san slumps his head down. "but i told her about you. about her dad."

"she looks just like me," he says, and that's when you notice the sadness in his voice. he sounds broken, and it feels like your heart rips itself to shreds.

"san, i am so sor-"

"don't. just don't." you watch him carefully, and you think you see tears. "i can't..."

"can't what?" you want to reach out and touch him, to brush the tears away, but you hesitate.

"i can't believe you kept this from me," he says in a whisper so small you barely heard it.

"i was young and stupid and scared, san," you defend yourself. "i didn't know what i was doing, i should have tried harder to get in touch but-"

"i didn't get to be there y/n," he spits out, and you stop talking as he turns to you. "i missed her birth, her first steps, her first words. i wasn't in her life! she's my kid and you kept her from me for some of the most important years of her life."

"i know, and i'm..i'm sorry."

"sorry doesn't cut it." he's full on crying now. "i thought...i thought you cared about me. about what we meant to each other. how could you do this?"

"i was wrong to keep you away," you admit. "it ate me alive every day, but the longer i waited the harder it was to call you. and this is totally self inflicted but raising a kid on my own was hard! after i made that choice i barely had time to think about anything else!" you're shouting now, not out of anger, but frustration. "it was selfish, and i'm sorry. but i told you. you've always been part of violet's life. i tell her about her dad all the time. she asks about you, and i've never lied to her. i only kept your name, who you are to me, a secret."

"yeah that makes me feel so much better," san rolls his eyes, and you scoff before reaching over him to unlock the doors. as soon as you do, you're out of the car and rushing to your front door, san running behind you calling your name.

you get into the house and see jen moving around in the kitchen, but no signs of violet. san has stopped behind you, standing awkwardly at the threshold, so you grab his shirt and pull him along with you into violet's room. at the sound of the door opening she bolts up in bed. she looks confused, seeing two figures in her doorway, but when she recognizes you she makes little grabby hands for you to join her. again, san stays at the door, watching the two of you with a new perspective.

"cmere sugar," you whisper softly, sitting on violet's bed. you maneuver her so she's sitting on your lap.

"why is mr. choi here?" she asks, and you hear san take in a breath.

"his name is san, violet. and he's very important to me," you explain. violet is facing san as you ask, "can you tell us all you know about your daddy?" she nods, and then begins.

"mommy says he's very nice, the nicest man in the world!" violet starts out. "she says he's smart and strong and funny and handsome. she says i have his smile!" and with this she smiles, teeth and all, and san sees himself in her. it brings tears to his eyes, but she keeps going. "mommy says he's caring, and i had to ask what that meant. she says being caring means you're a good friend and you're nice to everybody. that reminds me of you, mr. san!"

"anything else baby?" you ask violet, stroking her hair. "what else do we say about daddy?"

"we love him very much," violet answers proudly. "and even if he's not with us, like in the same house or something, he's always right here!" and with that she puts her hand over her heart. she looks up at you then, asking, "did i miss anything mommy?"

"nope, you got it all sugar," and you kiss the top of her head, afraid to meet san's eyes. "thank you, violet. are you ready to go back to bed now?"

"yeah, but i want a bedtime story," she pouts, and you wonder if san notices how similar they look then too. "babysitter jen does too many funny voices, and one of them scared me."

"ok, i'll read you a story," you whisper, slowly and carefully dumping her back into bed as you stand. "but i need to talk to san really quick, is that ok?"

"uh huh," violet nods with a yawn, cuddling back up to her favorite stuffie. as san looks around her room, he notices a pillow he used to have, tucked in the corner of violet's bed. he used to call it shiber, it was something silly, but he loved that thing in college. it went missing the week before school ended, and san always wondered where it went. well, now he knows.

you carefully pull violet's door shut as the two of you back out into the hallway. the rest of the house is quiet, so you wonder briefly if jen has gone home. you look to san, ready to defend yourself further, get him to understand where you're coming from, but then you see the tears on his cheeks. now you do reach up and wipe them away, his hands covering yours and squeezing tightly.

"i am so sorry for keeping you away," you say one last time. "it was wrong. it will take time, but i will do everything i can to make that up to you."

"you can do it right now," san breathes out, the first easy breath he's taken since this conversation started. "let me be in her life. in yours. i missed so much, i can't miss anymore of it."

"we're here if you want us," you tell him, and san squeezes your hands again before pulling them from his face. he drapes your arms over his shoulders, his drifting to your waist.

"i do," he nods eagerly. "i want you." and with that, he kisses you. it's not a soft kiss, no. there's more force behind it than that. there's six years (maybe more) of repressed feelings in that kiss. it's the kind of kiss that makes you want to pop your foot up, the kind that sends butterflies soaring up from your stomach through your chest. you're so lost in the feeling that you don't hear violet's door open, and then...

"oh! mommy! mr. san is biting you!" violet shrieks, so you and san finally detach. you keep your foreheads together as you look down at violet staring disapprovingly at you.

"he's not biting me, we were kissing," you explain to her, but she doesn't like that answer.

"hey, i got in trouble for kissing a boy on the playground," she whines, and san looks at you in shock. you nod to confirm as you tell her, "that's because you shouldn't kiss at school. and you're too young. you can kiss when you're-"

"thirty," san finishes for you, making you both laugh as violet whines more.

"i was just gonna say when she's older," you whisper to him, and he shrugs.

"had to assert my parenting style somehow."

"why are you and mr. san whispering?" violet asks with a jump and her arms in the air. you're about to pick her up when san bends down and scoops her instead, so you can talk to her eye level.

"we're talking about you," you say as you boop her nose. "and stop calling him mr. san."

"what do i call him then?" she pouts, and you share your first silent parent language stare with san.

"actually baby, we have something we need to tell you..."

[weepingchronicles]

Hello there! Regarding your recent post, what do you think about Arcane with platonic yanderes Jinx and maybe even Silco to throw into the mix? Not sure if you’d want to do this or not but what I had in mind was once someone of Zaun who worked for Silco but when they came to understand what exactly his operations were they used the funds they gained from the job and other favors to move into Piltover. Only to then return maybe a couple years from then to help Caitlin with her investigation.

this is so old, i am sorry but happy arcane season 2!! cries.

❝platonic!yandere jinx and silco with reader❞

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 i think this is an awesome idea, i think jinx and silco would react slightly different however to your betrayal.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 jinx would see it as a straight up betrayal. she been down this road before, she's just sad to see you turn out like the rest of everyone else.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 jinx would have a influx of emotions because of her trauma and sporadicidity. she'd be mostly angry, unwilling to forgive but that stems from her deep-rooted trauma of vi leaving her. it comes from how sad and hurt she is by you leaving.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 she'd be very quick to go to hating you to wanting to back. remember when powder instantly hugged silco and said "she is not my sister anymore" about vi? yeah, kinda like that.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 but once you come back, the years of hurt and resentment have piled up. and even though it hurts so much to see you, she still wants you. she misses you and thought of you like family just like silco. she constantly shifts between that black and white thinking and it'd be hard to gain her full trust in you again. if even possible.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 since she's yandere in this there is no doubt she'd kidnap you if she ever caught you again. yes, she hated your guts, yes, she wants to kill you but there is no way she is letting you go back to piltover with those enforcers. you're going to be with her, where you belong whether you like it or not. so come willingly or she might get violent, to others.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 silco on the other hand i feel is a tiny bit mature about this. he has been betrayed by people just like jinx, for sure. he'd be hurt and angry but he isn't as unstable as jinx is. he has the life experience to actually think things through before rushing in headfirst with impulsitivity.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 he is slightly delusional or rather it is a means of manipulation and control but he believes you've just been brainwashed by piltover and the enforcers.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 of course a thing like you would fall for their tricks. you're naive and too trusting, how do you think vander was played before betraying him? and look how he ended up.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 how is he doing anything wrong by just wanting to protect his people and most importantly of all, you and jinx. he didn't want to get his hands dirty but sometimes the means to an end are justified if zaun can become a greater place.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 piltover are the villains here, not silco. compared to them he has been microscopic by means of oppression and harm done.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 this is how he will manipulate you, to fall back into his side. he'll smile and hug you, telling you've made the right choice. but don't be fooled, he isn't going to let you make the same mistake twice. you'll be under constant supervision either by jinx, himself or sevika. he can't afford losing you twice.

[aphroditessaturn]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 || 𝐌. 𝐎.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!reader (is a spider-woman, tho nothing specific)

summary || you have anger issues and it’s no secret to anyone in the Spider-Society, Miguel might as well be the only who can tame you. His methods are, quite effective…

warning || smut! p in vi, oral (female [fingering] and male receiving) throat fucking, nipple play, spanking if you squint

note || I had to get him out of my system and I'm not even done, this piece is for my anger issues and I need a Miguel to fuck them out of me. please reblog/comment and give feedback! I would love to know if you like my Miguel fics, I have so many more ideas

legend || mi luciérnaga = my firefly; abre la boca = open your mouth; buena niña = good girl; mocosa = brat; puta = whore; dios mío = my god; niña traviesa = naughty girl

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“I do not have anger issues, who does he think he is?” you asked to no one in particular while walking around Miguel. He let out a sigh, pressing his fingertips against temples.

“He’s like what? 15, yeah you don’t say that to someone twice your age,” you continued, your blood pressure building up with every second you thought about the incident.

Miguel tried to be calm, but the last mission worked him up and scratched on his nerves. The mission went fairly well, except for you going ballistic and the newcomer – Miles – commenting on it. Oh, and the target almost escaping because of Miles which lead to all of this.

“Can’t fucking believe this, he was the reason the mission almost failed, and he dares to say I have anger issues!” the last part you nearly screamed. You never paused, always moving around.

You couldn’t stay calm, couldn’t calm down. Every vein beneath your skin run hot, some just waiting to explode.

Suddenly both of you heard someone coming near Miguel’s platform, said Spider turned around with a glare. He knew exactly who came and what would happen if you saw him, but now there was no preventing it.

You walked to the edge of the platform and looked down at Miles, “came to apologize?” you asked and crossed your arms over your chest.

Miles looked confused, no he wasn’t here to apologize, and he would make that clear, “you threatened me, screamed at me because I let the anomaly almost escape. You overreacted,” he stated.

Your eyes squinted together, expression hardening. “You can’t do a thing right and accuse me of having anger issues? I do not have fucking anger issues!”

Just as you were about lounge at Miles, arms wrapped around your waist, “enough,” Miguel’s deep voice rang through your ears. Normally his voice would smooth you, but you were already too gone.

Your man however ignored that and pushed you behind him.

“Miles, we will talk about this later. You made a mistake -,” “what, you’re saying she didn’t go bonkers?” Miles didn’t want to accept that what you did was right.

“If you’d let me finish, you would know that she will get her fair share of consequences,” Miguel snapped at the young boy, while it made a small part of Miles feel better it only angered you more.

“Are you serious? You let that little shit get away with saying I’m in the wrong? He lost the target and we had to-,” you couldn’t finish your sentence. “Miles, leave,” Miguel’s voice was dark and left no room for back talk, he sounded scary to be honest.

Miles immediately left, knowing it was better for now and he needed to get away from you.

“We weren’t finished yet,” you barked at Miguel who didn’t bat an eye. You stalked up to him, trying to intimidate him – unsuccessfully. “Yes, we were and it’s time you calm down, mocosa,” he whispered and grabbed your waist.

You were manhandled onto his desk, wrists held together in his right hand. With his left hand he ripped down your suit, “you asshole! Can’t you-,” “yeah mocosa, stop your whining,” Miguel rolled his eyes.

Without warning he pushed pointer and middle finger into your drenched cunt, you gasped. Realising with just a few words he had you wet and in your rage you didn’t even notice.

He curled his fingers against your walls, your head fell back. Right hand letting go of your wrists and sliding down to your neck.

Miguel moved his head into the crook of your neck, kissing along your carotid artery.

A shudder run down your spine when you felt his sharp teeth graze your skin. You adored the feeling of his teeth piercing your skin as it made you feel a kind of pleasure nothing else brought you.

Miguel had easily picked up on that all those years ago and now used it taunt you, “niña traviesa,” he commented with a small smirk.

His fingers kept a slow pace, it was torture and Miguel knew that. “Miguel,” you snapped, a plead for more however the man above you wasn’t having it. “You think you can be a mocosa and I’ll just give you what you want?”

“I wasn’t a brat! It’s not my fault your spider people can’t do their job and then-,” “dios mío,” again Miguel cut you off, picking up the pace.

Hitting that spongy spot inside you which pulled a loud moan from your lips. As his fingers worked their magic on brining you closer to your high, Miguel run his tongue along your earlobe and gently nibbled on your skin. With your hands free you threaded them through his beautiful hair

You closed your eyes, the feeling just too wonderful and for a moment you lost yourself but quickly Miguel reminded you that this was a punishment.

“Look. At. Me,” his voice deep, commanding. His hand was suddenly in your hair, gripping it tight as he pulled your head back. It was a way to underline his words.

You looked at him with pleading eyes, god you loved this side of him. Miguel would make you take whatever he gave you if you could or not – you were surprised with how much you could actually take.

“I’ve barley did anything and you’re already putty in my hands,” he teased, slowing his pace down again. You wanted to scoff at his words.

He didn’t do ‘barley anything’, he almost bit into your sensitive neck, rubbed his fingertips over you bundle of nerves and hit your g-spot with every thrust. Miguel very well knew that all those little things would send your body into overdrive.

“You know exactly what you did!” you spit at him and drew a low chuckle from him, it amused him how you kept pushing, “are you that much of a puta for me that you can’t shut up?” “Guess if you want me to shut up then you have to fuck my-,” “fine.” Miguel retrieved his fingers from your cunt pulling a whine from you.

Both hands gripped your middle, manhandling you down to your knees. He gripped your chin with his thumb and pointer finger tilting your head up to look deep into your eyes.

Then his suit slowly started to dissolve, starting by his neck, and revealing his naked, toned chest, his broad shoulders, and muscled arms. The light of the screens dipped Miguel into a dangerous red which made him look like the devil in person.

Now he was completely naked, his mushroom formed tip hitting his lower abdomen. “Abre la boca,” when you didn’t instantly comply Miguel slapped your cheek, causing you to gasp and open your mouth, “now,” he added.

His thumb moved between your lips and pressed onto your tongue to make you kept your mouth open, “you’re going to be a buena niña and suck my cock.”

You caved and let your mouth hang open, tongue already awaiting him. At first, he gently placed his tip on your tongue, giving you a chance to taste his salty precum. Then without warning he thrusted his cock full on into your mouth.

You gagged as it hit the back of your throat, Miguel looked down on you. There was still a part of him that didn’t fit inside your mouth, but it was his mission to make sure it did.

Miguel began fucking your face, abusing your throat with his harsh thrusts. You looked up at him with teary eyes, his head was tipped back in pleasure and a deep groan fell from his lips. You clenched your thighs together, you were a whore for Miguel as it was already but something that always got you were his moans.

Miguel was vocal, so fucking vocal. For one his mouth never stopped running, but then there were his moans. They were deep, hoarse, and loud.

However, your throat couldn’t keep up with his pace any longer, though you loved the feeling of getting used by him too much. Salvia dripped from the corner of your mouth, his cock twitched in your mouth which was his cue to pull away.

You whimpered pathetically, of course Miguel catched up on that and wiped your mouth with his thumb. “Such a cock slut already, just for me,” he stroked over your hair before kneeling down your level and hosting up into his arms. Your back hit his desk, legs dangling over the edge.

“What hermosa? No, smart comment?” Miguel teased with a smirk, you couldn’t say a word. Your throat hurt, no tone would come from your lips.

Miguel dipped his head down, teeth closing around your nipple while his right hand grabbed your breast. Massaging it as his tongue lapped on your nipple, causing you to whimper again. In response your man slapped your breast making you moan, “fuck,” your voice barely audible, throaty thanks to Miguel.

Switching sides he sucked on your right nipple, your hand coming up to grab his hair and pulling on his roots. “Ay, dios mío,” Miguel moaned, loudly.

He pinched your neglected nipple causing you to arch your back and a line of goosebumps to adorn your skin.

Suddenly you felt his tip stroke over your drenched entrance, distracted by his work on your breasts you hadn’t noticed immediately.

“Miguel,” you whispered and in the next moment he had plunged his huge cock into your cunt. A pained yet pleasurable moan left your body, loud and hoarse.

His cock was big, and thick, god even after all this years you needed time to adjust to his size. You could feel those veins, how he stretched you out. “Don’t fret mi luciérnaga, I’m not fully inside you yet,” Miguel whispered against your lips before kissing you.

You loved his kisses, they were full of fire and passion. Miguel kissed you like he owned you – he did, and it was one of your favourite things. His lips were so soft and warm, sliding over yours before his teeth bit into your bottom lip.

“After all those years and you’re still so tight,” he gushed and slowly pushed deeper inside you, lifting his head to look at you with a smirk.

“Feel that mi luciérnaga? Feel me deep inside your belly,” Miguel pressed his hand onto your stomach, feeling his tip bulge out, “am I too big for you?” he taunted.

You didn’t know what possesed you, but something did, “you wish,” you snapped. Miguel looked dumbfounded for a second before his expression turned into a glare, “guess my mocosa is back.”

He pulled out all the way before harshly pushing back in with his full length, cunt pulsing around him as he pounded into you without mercy. You couldn’t catch a break, he constantly hit your sensitive spot, “you like it, huh, like me fucking you like the puta you are,” aside from his cock pushing you into an abyss of pleasure, Miguel’s voice made you shiver.

It also didn’t help that he groaned uncontrollably, growling when you tightened around him. You were close, so fucking close and he knew it.

Miguel wrapped your legs tight around his waist to keep you close. His thrusts became harsher, and his thumb pressed down on your bundle of nerves, drawing hard circles.

His pace was animalistic, “look at you, mi luciérnaga already cock drunk. That’s what you need, someone to fuck all the anger out of you, fuck you dumb.” You couldn’t say anything, only unidentified words came past your lips.

Your high was near, it came and washed over you like a fresh shower, “mhm, come for me, buena niña,” Miguel only strengthened it.

“I’m not finished yet,” he stated and manhandled you, so your back was turned to him.

All the while still having his cock in your needy cunt and fucking you through your orgasm. His hands gripped your ass as he rutted into you, “Miguel,” you whined, holding onto his desk, “come on where’s your fire mi luciérnaga?” he slapped your ass.

You had nothing in you anymore, your head was completely empty. As much as would’ve wanted, you couldn’t. You just laid there, enjoying the pleasure, and taking everything Miguel gave you.

“Maldito infierno,” he cursed as he reached his orgasm, for a moment he stilled inside you and painted your velvet walls with his cum. Filling you up to the brim, not pulling out.

He slid his hand around you and pulled you against his broad chest, right hand wrapping around your throat like a necklace.

“How you feeling mi luciérnaga,” he whispered, softly stroking your sides while you closed your eyes.

“’m fine, Miggy,” you mused laying your head on his shoulders. Everything felt at peace, you were calm and had no issues with anything.

You could just lean against Miguel and he would take of you. He scooped you up and slowly pulled out to make sure he didn't hurt you, his cum leaking out of your cunt. A sight Miguel could never forget – one he didn't want to forget.

Miguel went to your universe, laying you into your bed and cleaning you up. Meanwhile you dazed around, until he joined you in bed.

"I don't have anger issues," you muttered into him as you cuddled up against him.

He covered you two with the blanket, "no, you don't," he agreed and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. You were fast asleep, tired and spend while Miguel admired your beauty.

You have anger issues, always will but Miguel knew an affective method to control them. Add to that he loved your fire, needed it.

And Miles did fuck up.

please reblog/comment and give feedback! I would love to know if you like my Miguel fics, I have so many more ideas

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[skzdarlings]

part v: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 18k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamic plus explicit violence, threatening behaviour, mentions of homophobia, implied suicidal ideation, and explicit sexual content.

-

Jisung sighs with agonizing sorrow as he turns his baseball cap around.  He tugs the brim low then steeples his hands on the desk. 

“I see,” he says grimly.  “I understand.  You found paradise in Hyunjin.  You had a good friendship, it made a good romance.  So you didn’t need a friend like me.  Now you come to me and say, ‘Han Jisung, come bowling with me and my evil boyfriend.’  But you don’t ask with respect.  You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to go bowling—”

“We’re in earth science right now,” Felix says, bemused. 

“He’s quoting a movie,” you say.

“Ah.”

“And for the last time, Hyunjin is not my boyfriend,” you say.  “We’re just… hanging out.” 

Your second ‘date’ with Hyunjin was once more a family affair as your father invited him and his parents to the mansion for lunch.  It was professionally catered because your father does nothing by halves, so at least the food was good.  You and Hyunjin were mostly silent in the company of your parents, but you were allowed to walk around the yard by yourselves after. 

He looked good because he always looks good, in a fuzzy purple sweater and name-brand jeans.   His charisma was dwindled to nothing, though.  He kept his fists curled up in the sleeves of his sweater and smiled a lot of forced smiles.  His parents’ presence clearly does a number on his mentality.  He did unwind somewhat when you were finally alone, but it was hard to shake the feeling of observation, their eyes stalking your every step like animals in a zoo. 

“Maybe we should just have sex on the ground here,” you said dryly.  “See if that satisfies them.”

He burst out laughing at that, an endearingly wheezy sound that made you giggle too.   

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head.  “When you make jokes like that I remember you and Han Jisung really are best friends.” 

“Guilty,” you said with a snort.  “Stupid jokes is what is friendship is all about.” 

He smiled at the subject of friendship.  His expression was full of so much warmth, very contrary to his polite but cold countenance during lunch when he only flirted appropriately. 

You like Hyunjin as a friend and you think he might feel the same way, hence the reservation on both your parts to truly commit to this farce of a relationship.  It feels wrong to use him to keep your father happy.  

You caught his eye this morning in the school corridor, sharing a smile as you crossed paths.  Even though a true relationship has not been defined, you told him you wanted to tell Jisung before you started hanging out at school. 

You made the mistake of saying this within earshot of Hyunjin’s parents.  His father unfortunately overheard you, enquiring as to the identity of this Jisung. 

“Just her little school friend,” your father said.  “Nobody important.” 

Jisung might be nobody important to your father but he is still your friend.   And unlike your father, who merits the value of life on business calculations, the first question Jisung asks is, “Does he make you happy?” 

Felix is scribbling in his notebook but lifts his head at that question.  You cannot look at him directly because you know it will shatter your very careful mask. 

“Hyunjin is actually really nice when you get to know him,” you say, because the best lie has a hint of truth in it.  “And I really do like spending time with him.  So… it would make me happy if you could be happy for me too.”   

Jisung scrutinizes you, then glances at Felix who has gone back to scribbling in his notebook.  Eventually Jisung smiles and spins his cap backwards. 

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Jisung says.  He turns very dark and serious when he says, “But that pretty rich boy is paying for my nachos.”

You catch up to Hyunjin in the hallway.  He laughs when you tell him Jisung’s stipulation. 

“I think I can afford it,” he jokes, then quirks an eyebrow.  “Jisung… He doesn’t know about your dad, does he?”   

“Only a bit,” you say, thinking back to the countless times you abstractly complained about your father to him.   “I mean, he knows he’s strict but he doesn’t know why.  I complain about some stuff but… I don’t really go into detail.”  Truth be told, you like that your friendship with Jisung is so far removed from your home life.  He has nothing to do with your father or your wealth or your abuse.  He likes you for you and that has always been the case. 

“What about Felix?”  Hyunjin asks.  He nods behind you because Felix is never too far away.  He is blending in as inconspicuously as he can, pretending to read notices on a bulletin board. 

“What about him?” you say, heat creeping up your neck.  You hope you appear casual.

“How close are you?”  Hyunjin asks, his casual tone coloured with a hint of suggestion, like he already knows the answer. 

You suppose anyone might assume Felix has a crush on you seeing as he is never far from your side.  There is little explanation that a civilian could glean other than Felix being clingy or lovesick.  No one would guess it is his job to trail after you. 

But the suggestion is difficult to rebuke because your true feelings get all twisted up inside you.  You and Felix do like each other – too much for your own goods.  Though there has not been a reprise of the other morning, in fact you have not mentioned it once, there is a new electricity in all of your touches.  That exchange did not satisfy or quell any desires, in fact it seemed to accomplish the opposite.  When you wake in the morning to him so close, your heart turns into a thunderstorm and it sends sparks flying through every inch of your body. 

You want him more than ever.  You also hope you never get him or you will never find the resolve to let go. 

“He’s just my—”  You cannot force the word friend.   “He’s just Felix,” you say.  “He drives me crazy, to be honest.”  That much is true.   

Hyunjin’s brow furrows.  He looks at Felix then turns your body so he is blocking you from sight.  He leans in close to speak. 

“He isn’t bothering you, is he?”  Hyunjin asks.  “Because if he is—”

A sharp laugh jumps out of you.  The offer of protection is unexpected and unintentionally amusing.  You have seen Felix in the midst of his training, his body a well-honed instrument that he knows and controls with utmost precision.  Hyunjin uses his body in a different way, playing to his strengths with his showmanship, but he would be no match in confrontation. 

Not that he knows it.  His offer is very sincere. 

You gaze at him, studying his kind but determined face.  You remember how Hyunjin was expelled from his old school for fighting with another boy, supposedly over a girl.  You read the report yourself and you recall how the other boy was badly pulverized.  It is hard to picture Hyunjin doing something like that, but you know how violence often lurks in unassuming places. 

“Thank you,” you say.  “But it’s fine.  Really.” 

You guide the conversation back to bowling and it distracts him well enough. 

At least you were allowed to plan this date.  Your father essentially ordered you to go on a solo date with Hyunjin, except you could not be truly alone because Felix had to be there.  When you questioned the logistics of that, your father said to work it out, that he would heed Felix’s discretion on the matter. 

Fortunately, even with things tense between you, Felix does take your opinion into consideration.  He agreed when you suggested a casual venue where you could hang out with Hyunjin and better acquaint him with your friends.  

You are still not sure how long this charade is meant to continue, but for now you try to enjoy having another friend. This turns into a daunting task.  Your social skills are lacklustre to say the least and attempting to befriend Hyunjin’s huge circle of friends proves perilously overwhelming.  Fortunately, Hyunjin doesn’t take offense when you bail early at lunch to sit with Jisung instead.  Hyunjin has a lot of friends but none with whom he is especially close. 

“Having a best friend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” you joke, watching Jisung bowl by swinging the ball two-handedly between his legs.  You slouch in your seat as if embarrassed by him, shaking your head while Hyunjin laughs. 

“He’s funny,” Hyunjin says. 

“Then why do you antagonize him?” you ask, lightly but curiously.    

“Because it’s fun,” he says with a smirk, making you laugh and Felix chuckle.  “And easy.”

The three of you watch Jisung wail as his ball predictably rolls into the gutter. 

“Fair enough,” you say.  

You can tell Hyunjin has his guard up.  It does not make him unkind but he is less personable even while he is more charismatic.  You know that persona is in place to protect him, that Hyunjin wears happiness and charm the way you wear ire.  Although they are contrary dispositions, both keep people at bay. 

Jisung, being Jisung, manages to slip through the cracks of that guarded wall, much like he did you.  You got to know Jisung slowly then all at once, empty moments passing between you until one day you realized he had long passed the guarded gate. 

You are mulling this over when you spot him.   You are so surprised that you choke on your soda and sputter the liquid painfully out of your nose.  Your spontaneous violent hacking startles the boys, all of them jumping then fussing over you.  

You are still coughing when Lee Minho approaches.  

Hyunjin and Jisung do not see him at first, too pre-occupied with wiping your shirt and asking if you are okay.  It is Felix who spots Minho next, realization dawning on his face before his expression sours.  You have been seeking that reaction, looking for the vaguest hint of jealousy or at least acknowledgement.  Felix does not seem very intimidated by Hyunjin, even when he flirts with you or touches you.  He can probably tell your feelings are only friendly.  But you did like Lee Minho once and he knows that. 

Your heart skips beats when you and Felix look at each other.  He has not been holding your gaze lately, quick to look away when you catch him staring.  It sounds strange to say that you miss him when he is sleeping in your bed every night, but you ache with the loss of intimacy.  He is the first person you see in the morning and the last face you see at night, but he has never felt farther away.  Even your very first night together involved more genuine interaction. 

If he truly did not want you, it would be easier.  But when you do catch him staring, his eyes are intense, his gaze forever thoughtful.  When he is not minding his actions, he naturally leans towards you just as you do him, orbiting planets around the light of your stars.   

Jisung likes you as a friend, Hyunjin likes you as an ally, but Felix knows every part of you, the good and the bad, the normal and the crazy.   When he touches you, he touches all of you, and you feel like a whole person, full of more life and possibility than you ever thought you could be.  You told yourself not to rely on his touches and maybe you should have listened, maybe this withdrawal would not ache so terribly now, but you cannot bring yourself to fully regret it. 

What you want is to reach across this table and hold his face, to bring it close to yours.  Even if you don’t kiss, it would be enough to have him close, his breath on your lips and his freckled cheeks warm under your palms. 

You will take what you can get, basking in the devoted attention of his gaze as your former crush approaches the table. 

Minho comes up behind Hyunjin and smacks a hand onto his shoulder, startling him. 

“I could hear you from the parking lot, Hwang Hyunjin,” Minho teases.  “How many degrees was it again?” 

When the rival popular boys were both at school, their interactions were minimal despite their reputations.  Their few encounters were only jokingly hostile, one running gag revolving around Minho cooking Hyunjin in an air-fryer. 

“One-hundred-eighty degrees,” Hyunjin completes the joke.  He laughs with everyone else but he is blushing scarlet from the tips of his ears all down his neck. 

It is strange.  Hyunjin is a physical person, at least when performing.  This is the same guy who made out with his girlfriend in a classroom.  The same guy who got detention on his first day for skipping class to fool around with some girl.  And yet his shoulder dips as if Minho’s hand is too heavy to bear, as if he is overwhelmed by the touch. 

Hyunjin once remarked on your powers of observation.  It is especially easy to read someone when their behaviour is similar to your own.  Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.  The stilted proximity, the way they naturally lean towards each other, so heavily affected by the simplest touch on the shoulder. 

How they absolutely cannot bring themselves to meet eyes.  

Minho talks to your table, friendly enough, but it is obvious he has no idea who the rest of you are.  He only knows Hyunjin, and he addresses Hyunjin directly, but he does not look at Hyunjin for more than a few seconds, and they do not look at each other at the same time. 

Eventually, Minho squeezes the back of Hyunjin’s neck and Hyunjin curls up his fingers.  Minho smiles and says his goodbyes, casual, friendly, sparing one final glance at Hyunjin that Hyunjin does not return.   Hyunjin reaches for his glass and takes a drink while Minho leaves to join his own friends across the room. 

You wonder if Felix registered any of it, but he is still frowning at Minho’s retreating back.  You suppose he was watching you more than Hyunjin.  Jisung is taking a picture of his abysmal bowling score. 

You look at Hyunjin but he is smiling again.  He offers to pay for dinner, swiftly diverting the conversation in that direction.  Jisung goes with him to counter to order, leaving you and Felix alone. 

Felix has gone back to feigned indifference, sipping from his soda as he stares at nothing particular. 

“I need to be alone with Hyunjin for a bit,” you say.  That quickly snaps his attention to you.  “I just want to talk to him.” 

“Talk,” Felix says, lifting an eyebrow.  “Uhh, about what?”

“If it was your business, I wouldn’t need to be alone with him,” you say curtly.  You are being intentionally antagonistic with that one, but you get a little thrill when it succeeds in piquing his interest.  You suppose you have always resorted to bad behaviour for attention.  Encouraged by the heat darkening his gaze, you flutter your eyelashes and drawl, “My daddy would get mad if you got in the way of us, you know.” 

He laughs with disbelief.  Stubborn as ever, he looks away, popping an elbow on the table and digging his fist into his temple.   

“What?” you say with exaggerated innocence.  “Wouldn’t he, Felix?  Doesn’t he think I’m a bad girl who needs a good boy to fix her?” 

He looks at you, just a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, but it gets you so hot that you momentarily forget your whole endeavour.  

He drops his arm with a thump, smiling at you with all that performative saccharine sweetness.  It is the smile he projects when he is convincing the world he is just sweet, innocent Lee Felix.  Beanie, flannel, ripped jeans, just another guy, cute and unassuming.

He stands and swiftly turns on the heel of his foot, slapping a hand down on the back of your seat so you instinctively lean back.  He follows you down, in your face when he speaks in that low, honeyed voice, “Hyunjin doesn’t have what it takes for that, sweetheart.”   

Then he is back in his seat, arms crossed and back to ignoring you. 

“I hate you,” is what naturally falls from your lips, no other word sufficing to summarize the sheer inundation of feelings.

The corner of his lips quirk up in a little grin.

He is the present bane of your existence, but Felix does oblige your request.  At the end of the evening, he purposefully leads Jisung away with some empty distraction, holding conversation while watching you over his shoulder.   He does not go far, but far enough to be out of ear-shot. 

Hyunjin is bent down, changing his shoes, and it takes you a minute to muster the nerve to speak. 

“Hyunjin,” you finally say, your voice coming out weaker than you intended. 

Your tone is usually sharp so the unexpected softness has him tensing before he even lifts his head.  When he does, it is with a dimpled smile, handsome and so polite. 

You scrub a hand over your face, shaking your head, trying to think of something to say.   You do not want to put him in an awkward spot, but you definitely do not want him walking into a worse situation because of ignorance. 

“You… you weren’t expelled for fighting… were you?” you finally ask.  “And you and Minho weren’t enemies.”  

His expression caves, a sharp breath parting his lips.  He stares at you for a long moment, flickering between a fake laugh, anger, fear, and finally resignation. 

“How did you…” he starts, then laughs without any humour, dry and airy as he pushes his hair back.  “You really are good at seeing people, huh.” 

“I stand by what I told you at that party,” you say.  “That I’m sorry you feel like you have to hide the best parts of yourself.  But as your friend, I need you to understand… my father is a very, very dangerous man.  He uses people.  All the things that make you who you are… he will just categorize them statistically and work out how to use those things against you to benefit him.” 

He covers his mouth and stares at the ground, looking contemplative.  After some time, he drops his hand, and speaks in an unsteady voice that makes him seem very young.  “I can handle it,” he says.  “My father…”  Another dry laugh.  “I had a… friend… at my whole school.  My father found us together.  He tried to get him leave me alone but… stupid kid… he didn’t listen.  So my dad hired this thug, I mean, I didn’t even know you could do that… He shook him up and we paid off the family and then he moved me here and he said… he said…”  His voice trails off and you don’t think he will find it again. 

“Image,” you say.  “Expectation.  Whatever.” 

He huffs a breath, rolls his eyes, laughs again. 

“Yes,” he says.  “I thought it would be easy.  He wasn’t asking me to change, just pretend.  I said… well, that’s not that bad, it could be worse.  It’s worse for other people.  I can pretend.  But it’s not easy and…”  He sucks in an unsteady breath, his face crinkling with emotion.  His voice is strained when he continues, “I don’t like lying, and just because I don’t like girls it doesn’t mean I like using them.  You were the final straw, I just…”  He rubs his temples and shakes his head.  “I just need to get through this year.  I can move out after school but… my dad won’t give me access to my savings until the end of the year and only if I can show him I’m… ‘better’.  So I… I need to get through this year.” 

“Hyunjin, I want to help you,” you say, “but you need to know what you’re getting into with me.  My father is more dangerous than just hiring a thug.  He is the thug, his whole operation is thugs.  He snaps his fingers and half the city is rearranging itself for him.” 

“You talk back to him a lot,” Hyunjin argues, a fact you cannot refute.  Though you are marginally better behaved in company, you are never truly docile. 

“Yeah,” you say with a helpless laugh, “but trust me, I’m messed up.”

“So am I,” he says.  “We can help each other.  Keep our dads off our backs for now then figure it all out.” 

Silence falls as you consider each other’s words.  You feel like no matter what choice you make, it will be the wrong one. 

“He works two jobs,” Hyunjin suddenly says, staring over your shoulder.  You don’t have to turn to know it is Minho, on the other side of the room, laughing with his friends.  “One is at a coffee shop.  On the weekends he teaches dance classes to kids.  His family isn’t well off but he is so casual about it that no one cares.  Things everyone else gets ashamed or embarrassed about just doesn’t seem to bother him.  I thought I hated him at first, because it all seemed so easy for him, and I was jealous because I thought I should be the lucky one.  Then one morning after a party I was hungover and bitching at him, and he just said tsk…”  Fondness creeps into his expression now, smoothing out the sadness that was there before.  “Then he made me some coffee and kissed me when I wasn’t expecting it.  I started working myself up about it and he called me idiot and did it again.”  He looks at you.  His voice is steady now.  “My dad would never make coffee for someone.  He doesn’t even know how.  He pays someone to do all that meaningless stuff for him.  Meaningless.  That’s all his life is.  He think it’s so important but it’s not.  But I know better.” 

He sits straighter and says with complete confidence, “My life will not be meaningless.  I just need to get through this year.” 

You know it is not so simple as that.  You do not see a light at the end of the tunnel the way he seems to do.  But he speaks with so much heartfelt conviction that you really do feel it for a moment. 

In the end, it is impossible not to take his hand. 

-

Felix is quiet on the car ride home.  You know despite the pretence, he is curious about you and Hyunjin.  His regard was a scrutinizing one, watching you hold hands until you said goodbye in the parking lot. 

But Felix is acting his role, an indifferent and professional bodyguard.  You take turns glancing at each other, occasionally catching eyes but looking away soon after. 

The house will be empty for the next couple weeks as your father is on a business trip overseas.  You strut confidently into the house with Felix on your heels.  You busy yourself with scrolling on your phone, pretending you do not hear his agitated sighs.  You plop yourself down on the couch and cross your legs.   

Felix stands in front of you, arms crossed.  You smile an excessively syrupy smile and bat your eyelashes.

“Yes?” you say.  “Can I help you?”   

“What are you doing with Hyunjin?” he asks. 

“You know what I’m doing with Hyunjin,” you say dryly, looking at your phone again.  “Just what my daddy said.”

“Okay but uhhh, you don’t like Hyunjin,” he says.  “And you definitely don’t like obeying ‘daddy’.”  He pitches up the word in a nasally whine to mock you, smiling when you glare. 

“Maybe I changed my mind,” you say.  Then you shrug like the whole thing is beneath you, like you could not care less about his reaction even while it is all you care about. 

You stand and knock shoulders when you brush past.  You make it a scarce foot before he grasps the back of your neck and guides you back to him, gentle and slow but ungiving in its demand.  Even when he lets go, you feel tingles where his fingertips so lightly pressed. 

You are standing close, almost cheek to cheek.  You can count each familiar freckle. 

“Are you free right now?” he asks, dropping his voice in such a suggestive way that you immediately feel flushed.  You nod without thinking too hard.  When you do, his face lights up with enthusiasm and he smiles, eyes oh-so adorably crinkled with mirth.  “Great!” he says.  “Put on exercise clothes and meet me in the gym for training.” 

He leaves the room in a brisk jog, waving over his shoulder.  You stand there for another moment, staring at the empty doorway and computing the whiplash of that whole ridiculous exchange.  

Never have you come so close to actually hating that abominable nightmare boy. 

You have clearly worked Felix into a mood, so you decide to be marginally complacent and do what he asks lest he hunt you down and force you to do push-ups in the bedroom.  We can work-out in the bedroom all right, you imagine yourself saying with a wink, knowing very well there is not a chance you would ever actually be able to say that.  Agitating him with a healthy dose of implication is different than outright stating it.  Though the look on his face would be funny. 

When you reach the gym, he is in sweatpants and a t-shirt just like you.  He is stretching in front of the mirror wall.  He smiles that sardonic smile through the reflection, beckoning you to join him.  You make sure to stomp as petulantly as possible, crossing your arms like a stubborn child when you reach the mirror. 

“You need to warm-up first,” he says.  “Do you know how to stretch?”

“Yes, I know how to stretch,” you say venomously, a useless lie since he has witnessed your pitiful demonstrations of athleticism in gym class.  He doesn’t comment, though, just lifts his eyebrows and says, “okaaaay,” before moving on. 

You copy a few of his stretches, though he makes his movements look easier than they are.  Then he makes you run a few laps around the room, simply smiling when you scowl at him.  You are pretty sure that part was just a petty punishment. 

Finally he sets up some mats and starts explaining basic tactical defense positions.  He clearly knows what he is talking about and the familiarity of the subject seems to ground him in his body.  It draws you into a similar state of relaxation and soon you find yourself actually listening to his instructions.  

You mirror a few of his positions, focussing on holding yourself steady, on finding your centre of gravity.   

“You won’t beat most people with brute strength,” Felix says.  “I mean, uhhh, ha-ha, I’m not exactly the biggest guy in the world, myself, you know?  It isn’t about that, though.  Look, feel your core strength…” 

You lose yourself in your concentration, watching your own motions in the mirror as he steps around you.  Your attention only fractures when he lays a hand on your shoulder.  He is just fixing your posture but your body does not seem to care that the action is casual.   You curse your own sensitivity and tell yourself to get over it, especially when he starts demonstrating more bodily manoeuvres, requiring you to put your hands on his arms or hands or shoulders. 

He acts unbothered the whole time, making you feel even more ridiculous.  Then he explains something while wrapping an arm around your neck from behind.  You step closer instinctively and your eyes widen when your backside collides with his front and you realize he is not as indifferent as he is acting.  It is only the vaguest stirring of interest, but his sweatpants do little for modesty. 

He nudges you away and clears his throat, continuing his lesson but with a little stutter.  You feel flustered and embarrassed too, somehow simultaneously craving this sort of evidence and also balking at it.  You actually masturbated in front of each other but for some reason it is more embarrassing when he catches you looking at the subtle imprint in his sweats.   He clears his throat again but continues the lesson like nothing happened.   When he steps up behind you again, you are both careful to keep your distance, his arm only hovering around you. 

“So the best thing in a situation like this—” he starts. 

“I know what to do,” you say, the tension so unbearable that if you do not shatter it, it will break you instead.  You abruptly swing your arm back, elbowing him in the gut.  You catch him by surprise and he stumbles back with an oof, holding his stomach and glaring with playful intensity. 

“Very funny,” he says and steps closer again. 

“This works too,” you say, giggling then stomping on his foot.  It isn’t very hard but it is unexpected so he curses, taking a playful swipe at you when you skip away. 

“Mature,” he says sarcastically, but with a genuine smile.  You stick your tongue out at him and he reaches again, laughing when you dance out of arm’s reach. 

He chases after you and you yelp when he catches up, his retaliation a truly heinous, punitive tickle attack.  You squeal and laugh in his arms, squirming to get away and apologizing through your shrieks.  He just laughs, continuing his evil barrage of tickles.   You get tangled together in your flailing, stumbling around and eventually landing in a giggling heap in front of the mirror. 

Finally he stops, just as winded from laughter.  You are sitting between his legs, slouched against his chest, facing the mirror as you pant and wind down from your giggles. 

You look at each other through the reflection, the longest you have held each other’s gaze in a while.  It feels different, less direct, but also more complete.  You see yourself as well as him, sitting in a fairly intimate position and looking for all the world like a normal young couple, glowing with carefree happiness. 

You take a few steadying breaths.  He does as well.  The rush of your game settles.  In the absence of laughter, the room is quiet.  The whole house is quiet, a big empty space with the two of you alone in one small room, securely tucked away in your privacy, looking at each other through a mirror. 

He swallows. 

Your heart is racing and not from any playful exertion.  He has a hand on your elbow and the other on your knee, but he is holding very still, as if a move in any direction will be catastrophic.  He is probably right to think that. 

You touch his hand anyway, holding his gaze in the mirror while you slide his hand from your knee to your thigh.  His brow pinches, expression contorted as if in pain, though the hardening press of him against your backside tells you it is not pain. 

He says your name.  Then he sighs, closes his eyes, and rests his temple against your head. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, drawing out all the softness of heart in his low drawl.  You whimper, from that or his touch, his hand high on your thigh.  Even through your clothes, his touch burns, waking nerves where it roams. 

“Please,” you say, watching his face through his mirror.  Finally he meets your gaze there, dark eyes on your face as he lets you guide his hand between your legs.   

One deft stroke through your clothes has you making a sound like a sob.  It pulls him over the brink of his hesitation, leaving it all behind as he cups you with a possessive sort of determination.  His touch is clumsy and desperate but you don’t care, because it’s him. 

It all seems to happen so fast and not fast enough, two pairs of nervous hands pushing and pulling.  He tugs your knee over his, spreading your legs wide, and slides his hand into your sweats while you buck back against him.  Your eagerness overwhelms you so he shushes gently in your ear, his free hand splayed across your collarbone.  His forehead is pressed into the side of your head and he looks at you sideways through the mirror.  You nod, holding his gaze as he touches you properly. 

It is a fumbling, hungry touch, the hunger of someone who thinks he might never eat again after all this plenty.   He might be right.  He might be wrong.  It doesn’t matter right now.  You give yourselves over to the experience, as raw and inelegant as all that earnest passion is. 

Your breathing is loud enough to fill the whole room, the whole house, broken sighs and guttural moans louder than the yelling that usually fills this place.  His touch is only surface, not daring to go so far as putting his fingers inside you, even while rubbing his fingers through all that wet desire.  Your knee is hooked over his, keeping you helplessly open under his touch when you come.  He looks at you with an incredulous sort of amazement, then his eyes close and his low moan turns to a broken whimper as tumbles over the edge too. 

You are both breathing hard in the aftermath, eyes closed, heads touching.  You slowly bring your leg back and he slowly withdraws his hand.  You look into the mirror when you take his hand, when you put it back between your legs over your clothes and hold it there.  He says your name and curses. 

It is the last thing he says for a while.  You are both quiet.  It is only later that night when the silence breaks, when he gets into bed after checking the security system.  You look at each other across the space of that bed and mutely come to an accord, his arm outstretched in offering as you move into his embrace.  He holds you against his chest, his heart beating under your ear. 

“Do you hate me,” he asks, like he already knows the answer. 

You sniffle.  You nod. 

“Okay,” he says, and strokes your back until you fall asleep.

-

Your final year of school passes in a blur of afternoons with Jisung, fake dates with Hyunjin, and long, unsatisfied nights where you and Felix hold each other with the knowledge of everything between you – and do nothing about it.  He keeps his head down, trains, and dutifully reports to your father.  At least your father is more agreeable these days because of your supposed relationship with Hyunjin.  He thinks it is changing you for the better when really you are just being careful for Hyunjin’s sake. 

The end of the year rolls around and soon you are down to the last few days of classes.  You and Hyunjin are due for a conversation about what happens next.   You whisper this to him in class, sitting close as you are sharing a lab desk for two.  He is bent down scribbling in your yearbook, his pen scratching when he freezes.   He looks up at you and nods.

“Yo, are you lovebirds done?” Jisung asks, spinning around from the desk he is sharing with Felix.  He points a ruler at Hyunjin.  “You better have left the last page blank like I said, man.  I have things to say to my girl.”   

“I did, I did,” Hyunjin says with playful exasperation, handing Jisung your yearbook so he can sign it too.  Jisung takes it with a snap, clapping the ruler on the desk before turning back to his own seat to write his message.  You and Hyunjin look at each other, helpless but to laugh at his shenanigans.   

You catch Felix’s eye.  He knows your relationship is fake, though he doesn’t know why.  He probably figures you are just trying to keep your father off your case.  Even if you trust Felix, it is not your place to tell Hyunjin’s story, guarding it so long as he asks. 

It does mean Felix looks at you with the occasional battered-puppy eyes. 

“Come on, Felix,” Hyunjin says with his big, dimpled smile, “let me write in yours too.” 

The yearbooks were handed out this morning so everyone is running around getting their friends to sign farewell messages.  You have already signed more yearbooks than you ever imagined you would, Hyunjin’s friends considering you an acquaintance if nothing else.  Signing for them was easy at least, lots of have a great summer and good luck with your future.  

It is much harder coming up with something for genuine friends.  While Hyunjin writes in Felix’s yearbook, you stare down at Hyunjin’s, trying to think of what to say to your fake boyfriend and real friend. 

I hope you get everything you want and more, you finally write.   I’m glad I got to know you.  LUV U BOYFRIEND!!!!

He laughs at the last part when you show him.   “I wrote the same thing in yours, loving girlfriend,” he says. 

You laugh too.  You crumple up some paper to chuck at Jisung who is still scribbling in your yearbook. 

“What, are you writing a novel?” you ask.  “Hurry up!” 

“Patience!” Jisung says.  “You can’t rush a masterpiece!” 

You, Hyunjin, and Felix all laugh.  Once more, you and Felix look at each other a little longer.  You did not bother to write in his yearbook as no words could suffice to summarize anything. 

He jokingly wrote Have a Great Summer : ) in yours. 

Jisung finally finishes his apparent epic, smacking your yearbook onto your desk.  You reach for it but he holds it shut, giving you a very serious look. 

“You can’t read my message now, okay?” he says.  “Read it at home.  Alone.  With violins in the background.”

You snort and roll your eyes but smile fondly at him. 

“Okay, Jisung,” you say, “I promise to cherish it and read your masterpiece properly.”          

“That’s all I ask,” Jisung says with a salute. 

After school, Felix waits while you and Hyunjin have a quick word. 

“Can you come to my house?”  Hyunjin asks.  “I want to talk properly.  Not here.”

You know your father will agree but you need his permission as you cannot visit without an escort.  Hyunjin knows you always have a bodyguard not too far from sight; he just does not know that Felix is one of them.   Your father sends his own men on your excursions together. 

Felix is never too happy when separated.  He is cordial enough with your father’s security team but it is obvious that Felix thinks he is more skilled than them, often commenting on their weaknesses or blunders.  You do not see things with his professional precision but you take his word for it.  It is easy to believe Felix is the best.  After all, it takes a whole team of people to replace him. 

As predicted, your father agrees to let you visit Hyunjin for the evening.  The Hwang mansion is nowhere near as big an estate nor are their security measures even close to your impenetrable, bulletproof, gilded prison, but it is still a secure location where you can be supervised.  You go with a few of your father’s men, sharing a dry look with Hyunjin when you arrive at his house.  He just smiles, used to it. 

You have dinner with his him and his parents, smiling all the while, playing the part you have played all year.  Your father’s men surround the house and you pass them in the backyard, making your way to Hyunjin’s old tree-house for some privacy.  It leaves you within sight of your father’s men but well out of ear-shot.   

You plop down on the little wooden balcony, sighing as you stare into the distance.  The sun is setting over the neighbourhood, an orange sky dappled with rosy pinks, sparkling as it catches glass panes and ostentatious embellishments.  The creaky old tree-house has a cozier feel, a world separated from the nonsense below.   

“Thank you,” Hyunjin says after a moment of shared silence, just watching the sunset.  You look at each other and he smiles.  “Having a real friend who knows me made a difference this year.” 

The forthright sincerity is a bit much for you, seeing as you are not so good at communicating so plainly.  You think you are improving, though.  The old you would have drawn back, but you are able to smile at Hyunjin in return. 

“I hope it helped,” you say. 

“It did.”  He moves a little closer just to be safe.  “My father gave me control of my savings.  My grandmother left me an inheritance and I needed the money.”  His smile brightens his whole face in the rosy light.  “I bought a house.”

“A house?” your voice breaks as you try contain your surprise in a whisper.

He laughs at your reaction, still smiling. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Well, it’s more like a cabin.  It’s not much to look at.  I needed it to be off the record, all in cash, and far away from here.”   

You find the image of a small, homey cabin to be devastatingly beautiful.  It could be the most dilapidated, ramshackle mess of a construction and you would still consider it perfect.  You imagine sitting on a tiny porch with Felix, him smiling a big smile that crinkles his eyes and shows his teeth, his face sunny and golden and truly carefree, not just pretending. 

You look at Hyunjin and see him staring into space with the same smile.  You picture him with all the tension gone from his shoulders, laughing his wheezy laugh instead of forcing polite smiles.  You swallow a lump in your throat. 

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you say, holding his hand.  “That’s really wonderful.” 

It brings him back to you.  Some of the dreaminess leaves his expression but he is definitely still happy.  He squeezes your hand back. 

“I can’t go yet,” he says.  “My parents would just… They’d find me.  I’m their only son.  It would be an embarrassment to them if I just left.  When I think about what my father did to my friend just to teach me a small lesson…”  You squeeze his hand in sympathy.  You both know his parents did not have that boy beaten to keep him away, but to teach Hyunjin a lesson.

Hyunjin takes a deep breath and says, “They won’t let me walk away easily.  I have to do it right if I’m gonna be free.”

“How are you going to do that?” you ask, curious for his sake and even your own.  The image of a far away cabin, untouched by trouble, is quickly nestling itself in some hidden cockle of your heart.  You know that it will be difficult for him to leave but it would be next to impossible for you, so there is no sense in dreaming.

And yet…  If Hyunjin can find a way, it makes you think that maybe certain dreams are not so impossible. 

But he just sighs and looks away. 

“I don’t know yet,” he says.  “But I’m going to find a way.”  He lets go of your hand to reach into his pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper.  He passes it to you and you unfold it.  You brow furrows as you read.    

“Is this—”

“The city and address to the cabin,” he says. 

“Why are you giving this to me?” you ask in a small voice.  Not for the first time, you curse your inconstant feelings, the quick rise to emotional heights in the matter of seconds. 

This is Hyunjin’s future written in a single line on a single piece of paper, such a seemingly simple thing and yet it has the power to completely destroy him.  This is his means of his escape, his only avenue of liberty, and he is showing you despite your proximity to some truly wretched forces.   He trusts you more than he fears them. 

“It’s an easy address to remember,” he says.  “I know things are hard for you.  I don’t know what will happen to you.  I don’t even know what will happen to me.  But I know it’s harder when you’re alone.  I know having people make a difference because they made a difference for me.  If you ever get out, if you ever need somewhere to start…” 

You cannot think of what to say.  No words seem sufficient in reply.  You can only nod and take a deep breath.  You look up into the fading light and blink away your tears. 

“Thank you,” you say.  “I hope if we meet again, things will be different.” 

The address has a sweet rhyming lilt to it, easy to remember like he said.  You read it over a few times, commit it to memory, then tear up the slip of paper beyond any salvaging. 

You sit in the tree-house until the sun fully sets.  Little lanterns flicker to life one-by-one in the darkening yard below.  When the sky is a blue wash and the path below is twinkling gold, you sigh. 

“I don’t want to go back,” you say miserably.  You don’t want to see your father or that house.  Even Felix will stir nothing but anguish right now, as you think about how you are trapped and he is shackled to you.  You also don’t really want to linger here.  Your uncontrollable emotional pendulum has swung back from its precipice.  A few minutes ago, you were close to crying, and now you feel so empty and resigned that you think you will never cry again.   I’m so broken, you think helplessly.  You want someone to tell you otherwise but you don’t know how to ask. 

Hyunjin leans back, peering into the yard.  Your father’s men are getting a little complacent in their boredom, one of them yawning where he is slouched in a deck chair.   They are not really paying attention to you.  They figure there is no where for you to go, the main steps from the tree-house leading right into their path. 

Hyunjin puts a finger to his lips.  You follow him quietly across the tree-house, obscured in enough darkness that none of the security team notices.  He leads you to a dangling rope ladder, hidden on the opposite side of the tree.  He points across the yard to a little garden around a koi pond. 

“There’s a gate just past the pond,” he whispers.  “There’s a path that leads through the neighbourhood.  I’ll stay up here until they say something, then I’ll tell them you went home.”  He smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder.  “You probably should go home,” he says, “but at least this way you’ll have a bit of time alone first.” 

You smile back at him, patting the hand on your shoulder. 

“Thank you, Hyunjin,” you say. 

“See you around,” he says, then pushes back his hair and smoulders at you.  “And don’t take the break-up too hard. I know I’m handsome but there will be other men.”     

You laugh and roll your eyes, pushing his shoulder. 

“Oh, please, I broke up with you,” you say.  “I couldn’t keep up with your vigorous beauty routine.” 

“This face is natural,” he says, laughing too.  Then he nudges you and looks more serious.  “Go now.  They’re not paying attention.” 

You briefly weigh your odds.  You have not snuck out in a very long time so the punishment might be proportionate to your otherwise good behaviour.  Felix is not here so he will not be blamed for your escape.  And you will not be avoiding a reprimand no matter what you do, because your father is going to be angry that you and Hyunjin broke-up – especially without consulting him first.  If you are going to be punished anyway, you might as well take a walk and clear your head first. 

You grab Hyunjin’s hand one last time, giving it a squeeze as you smile.  Then you climb down the rope ladder and hurry across the garden.  You are out the gate and on the path before you know it. 

The wealthy neighbourhood is quiet and brightly lit, every yard illuminated despite the quietude of the street.  They are all so pristinely manicured, different yet identical magazine-ready mansions.  They look a bit eerie with the darkness around them, like some alien recreation of what a home should look like.  It makes you dread the return to your own house.  You wonder how much time you have to yourself, if the car is going to pull up alongside you any second now to drag you home. 

It is then you remember you do have one more place you can go.  Ridiculously, stupidly, your emotions come back in full swing and you feel like crying again.  Maybe it is because you have not snuck out in so long, so it is reminding you of the very first time you ever did.  You went to the very place you are going now: Jisung’s house.

You always met there before darting off to a party together.  Those parties never amounted to much.  You and Jisung always talked a big game then spent most of the time in a corner or on a roof, but it was the only time you were ever away from the prying eyes of your father’s overprotective security.   You passed many nights that way, complaining to your best friend, talking about nothing, then rushing home before your absence was noticed.   

You remember the route to his side of town, catching a bus and getting off at a familiar stop.  This neighbourhood looks very different than Hyunjin’s, a range of houses both new and old, rundown and fixed-up.  They don’t waste energy lighting their yards unless they have guests.  All the light is from the streetlamps and the little yellow squares of homey light beaming through their windows. 

You have never actually been inside Jisung’s house.  You would usually just meet him in the yard before continuing on.  This is the first time you walk up the porch steps and ring the doorbell. 

You start to shiver.  The adrenaline or your escape kept you warm but now you can feel the chill of the evening. 

You are looking around the block and shivering when the door opens.  You turn and see an older woman with a scowl on her face.  Even if you did not know Jisung lived with his single mother, you would recognize her because of her round cheeks and big eyes, much like him.  Except where his face is usually open and friendly, she looks at you like a bug she wants to squish. 

“What?” she asks. 

“Um, sorry to bother you,” you say, somehow more intimidated by her than your father’s burly security team.  “I’m friends with Jisung.  I was just wondering if he’s home…?” 

She takes a step back and screams his name into the house.  You stand awkwardly in the doorway, waiting while thumps and bangs come from the upper level, then Jisung is hurrying down the stairs and skittering into view.  You so seldom see him without a hat that it is momentarily jarring, his flop of dark hair going everywhere as he comes to a wide-eyed stop. 

He gets over his surprise and smiles wide, saying your name with an upward what-the-fuck inflection. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, stepping aside to let his mother pass.  She says nothing more to you, disappearing into a side room. 

“I, um, I don’t know,” you say, your emotions in turmoil again.  You think about what Hyunjin said, about how having a friend made all the difference for him, and you suddenly realize how much you missed spending time with Jisung, how he was your first and only escape for so long.  Tears are falling before you can stop them, a mess of everything with Hyunjin and Felix and your father, but you can only stammer a vague excuse, that you broke up with Hyunjin and wanted to talk to someone. 

Jisung’s face is twisted up with surprise and sympathy.  He says your name a few times and apologizes, guiding you into the house.   

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he says, taking your hand and leading you up to his bedroom. 

“Won’t your mom mind?” For some reason, despite the mania of emotion inside you, that is what you fixate on. 

Jisung just laughs dryly, shaking his head as he closes the bedroom door behind you.  “Trust me,” he says. “She won’t care.  Sit down.” 

Jisung’s bedroom is undeniably him, music posters overlapping on the wall, stacks of journals on his desk and bedside table.  It is a sprawling canvas of music and writing, not to mention litters of clothes and baseball caps.  He pushes a pile of clothes off his bed so you can both sit, shoulder-to-shoulder.  His bed is against the wall, under the window, cool stars twinkling down at you while his bedside lamp fills the room with warmth. 

Your sobbing has slowed to a heaving stutter.  Jisung hands you some tissues to wipe your eyes. 

“I’m gonna kill that evil pretty boy,” Jisung says.

You hiccup and shake your head.  “It was me,” you say.  “Hyunjin is my friend, he’s a good guy, I just—” You start crying all over again, tearing the soggy tissues to shreds.  Jisung leans over to fetch some more, his face scrunched up with concern while he watches you dab your sore eyes.  “I’m just so messed up, Jisung,” you say.  “You have no idea how much.  I don’t even think I could properly love someone if I tried.  I just make a mess wherever I go.”

“What! Yo!  No.  Why are you saying these things?”  He looks equal parts bewildered and horrified, quickly wrapping an arm around you.  You let your head fall on his shoulder, still wiping your eyes while he rubs your arm.  “You are not messed up.  You’re my best friend and you’re awesome.  How could you have a best friend if you can’t properly love someone, huh?” 

“I’m a bad friend though,” you say.  “I bail on you all the time and I’m crazy and emotional and—”

“And you have an evil dad who locks you in the house, remember?”  Jisung says.  “Look, I know it’s not my business, I’d never make you say it, but from what you’ve told me… Dude, that guy fucking sucks.” 

You cannot help but laugh at that.  Jisung smiles, tweaking your nose. 

“I’ve never been mad about that stuff,” he says gently.  “Not at you.  At your dick dad, sure.  But that has nothing to do with you.” 

“I’m emotional like him,” you say, tears slowing to a lip wobble.  “I fight him all the time but maybe that just proves it. All that anger inside me.” 

“Anger isn’t bad,” Jisung says.  “It’s a feeling just like anything else.  Some people do bad shit while smiling the whole time.  Remember that guy who bullied Felix that time at school, and how you hit him with that book?  Or other times you just snapped back at some stupid dick?  That wasn’t bad!”

You don’t have an argument in you.  You just exhale, dabbing under your eyes with the crumpled tissue.  Jisung continues to rub your arm.

Your eyes drift and land on one of his baseball caps.  It is perched on a stack of schoolbooks.  You think back through the years, all those school days, all those stolen parties and late nights.  It was a slow beginning, then one day you realized he was your friend, your first ever friend, that he was making you laugh and you had inside jokes and you wanted to spend more time with him.  You weren’t afraid to be around him and you knew he wouldn’t make fun of you or push you or judge you. 

You feel his arm around your shoulder now and realize you are not afraid of it.  You can no longer remember the first time you hugged Jisung, probably because it wasn’t a kiss or anything romantic and so you did not really register it.  It was a moment that arrived silently, without any heart palpitations or fanfare, no sweaty palms or hot cheeks.  He would have just put his arm around you like he is doing now, asking for nothing in return for it. 

You realize he must have been the first person to hug you.   Your mother passed away when you were in infancy and the only family you ever knew was your father and his now-late father.  They did not hug each other and they did not hug you.   The only kind of love you knew was a violent, controlling one, and it made you into a distrustful, feral little child in return. 

You have reflected before how it took a long time to warm to Felix.  Bit by bit.  Touch by touch.   It would have taken longer if you had never known Jisung.  He drew you out of your shell before anyone else did. You were able to reach for Felix because Jisung reached for you.  You were able to befriend Hyunjin because Jisung befriended you. 

You find yourself choking back a different sob, one conjured by the realization of just how much Jisung has done by being there.  You understand what Hyunjin meant, about a friend making all the difference. 

Before you can say anything, Jisung gently asks, “It’s bad, isn’t it?” 

You sit straight to look at him, brow furrowed.   

“Your dad,” he says.  “Things are… they’re bad, aren’t they?  Worse than just not letting you hang out?” 

Tears spill over again.  You realize he is sniffling now too but holding back tears.  He reaches across to wipe your face with his bare hands, swiping at your tears.   

“I knew for a while,” Jisung says in a strained voice.  “I could see the bruises.  I didn’t know what to do.  And I felt like I was letting you down because—” 

He chokes on his breath.  It gives you a moment to interject.

“You have nothing to feel bad about,” you say. You wipe his tears too, laughing at your equal dramatics.  “Seriously, Jisungie.” 

“No, you don’t understand,” he says, grabbing your hands and pulling them off his face.  He shakes his head like he is trying to shake his tears out of him.  It seems to work.  After another breath, he manages to speak clearly.   “Do you remember our first conversation?  At school?”

“About the weather?” you say, thinking back to the first time Jisung started a conversation. 

“No, before that,” he says.  “We sat beside each other for months but we never spoke.  Then I missed a week of school because I made myself sick, all my stupid anxiety and whatever.  My mom, you know, she tries but she… It’s just easier for her to ignore me most of the time, I think.   I know she didn’t want kids.  So I was taking care of myself.  And I missed school sometimes because of it, but no one ever noticed when I was gone.  It’s like I was invisible everywhere I went.  And I got so sick that week that I just wanted to die.  But then I went back to school and I got my homework from the teachers and then you—”  He slaps his hands in his lap and looks at you, smiling a teary-eyed smile.  “You were the first person to ask where I was and if I was all right.  And you made a face like you didn’t believe me when I said I was.  Then I started talking about the weather.” 

“Oh,” you say, shredding the tissue in your lap for something to look at, trying to keep your tears at bay.  “I didn’t remember that part.” 

“You’re really good at seeing people,” Jisung says.  “Even when they’re trying to hide or pull away.  I don’t know how you think you can’t love when you’re like that.  You know how to do it better than the rest of us who forget to even look.”  He takes your hand again, drawing your eyes up to his.  “But I’m looking back now, okay?  And I’m gonna save you.” 

It is so frank and sincere that it makes you laugh. 

“I am!” he says, laughing through his own watery voice.  “Don’t laugh at me!  You saved me and now I’m gonna save you too.”

“It’s not that easy, Jisung,” you say.  “You have no idea how crazy everything in my life is—”

“It is that easy,” he says.  “You’ll see.  I promise.  And a best friend promise is a forever promise, okay?” 

You cannot bring yourself to argue.  You just nod, your bottom lip wobbling again. 

“Okay,” Jisung says.  “Now come hug me so you can’t see me when I start crying like a baby.” 

You laugh but fall into his arms nonetheless.  You sit under that window for a long time.  At least, it feels like a long time.  You don’t look at the clock and you don’t count the minutes.  It is not the kind of hug that is leading to anything because he doesn’t want to kiss you and he has no other motivation.  He just hugs you until you are both calm, when your tears feel silly and dramatic and your eyes are sore but you feel strangely refreshed. 

“I need to go,” you say, to which he whines in complaint.  You laugh.  “Saving me will have to wait for another day.  For now, if I don’t get home…” 

As if summoned by that very thought, your phone erupts with buzzes and rings.  You sigh and fish it out of the pocket of your shorts, watching messages from your father, his security, and Felix come flooding in.  The others are making commands and demanding your whereabouts.  Felix asks, Are you okay?  Then, I have to turn on your GPS.  They’re gonna come get you wherever you are. 

You answer Felix, telling him you’re fine, that you’re with Jisung.  He sends an emoji that manages to look very unimpressed, then just says, that’s what the boss gets for sending amateurs. 

Your father’s men are far from amateurs but it is still funny when Felix insults them. 

You turn your phone to silent after that, not bothering to answer the others.  They will find you in no time with Felix’s help. 

“I better go,” you say.  “My dad is sending someone to pick me up.  I’ll be fine tonight, I promise.  But I’m gonna start walking because I don’t want you mixed up in any of this when they get here.” 

Jisung tries to argue but lets you go when he sees how serious you are.  He insists you take a hoodie for warmth so you do.  You give him one last wave before you begin the trek down the block, hoping to get far away before your father’s men find you. 

You have made it two blocks over when a sleek black car approaches.  You start to walk towards it because there is no other reason for a car that nice to be slowing down on a street like this.  Only when it gets closer do you realize you the make and model of the car is not one that your father usually uses, and you do not recognize the driver. 

Your heart kicks up with a startled, frantic flutter as the car comes to a slow stop not far from you.  You swerve, crossing to the other side of the street to avoid it.  You try to act nonchalant, reassuring yourself that it is coincidence, that your father’s insanity is seeping into your brain and making you paranoid. 

By the time you realize your anxieties are not baseless, it is too late.  Not that you stood much of a chance in the first place. 

You try running but there are three of them overall, one driver and two armed muscle guys.  They chase you down and cover your mouth before you can scream.  You kick and jostle but all of Felix’s self-defence lessons fly out of your brain in your panic.  Your tears are all used up so you don’t cry.  Even terror passes, leaving only nausea in its wake. 

It doesn’t feel real, being shoved into the back of a car by men in black suits.  This is not something real that happens.  This is something your father threatens, something inane and melodramatic, something out of a movie or a book, not real life.  Not your life. 

Yet here you are, flanked by two strange men while the driver peels across the tarmac.   They do not cuff or gag you, simply buckle you into a seatbelt and point a gun at you.  You are shaking too bad to do anything useful anyway, and your voice feels clogged in your suddenly dry throat. 

They are talking to you but it takes you a minute to register any word, everything fuzzy and out of focus. 

“—just be a good girl and co-operate and everything will be fine.” 

That is all you hear. 

That and the name Miroh. 

You try to calm yourself.  You think rationally.  Miroh has no reason to kill you or even torture you, as far as you know.  In all likelihood, he is using you as leverage to get something from your father.  That is why your father is always worried about you being taken.  He doesn’t talk about damage to you, just his business. 

You manage to calm the worst of your shaking.  Then the one with the gun yanks on your hair and you jerk away violently. 

“She’s better behaved than Miroh said,” he says with a laugh.  “Might not even have to take a finger.” 

You clutch your hands tightly together, glaring at him, but it just garners more chuckles.  The driver laughs too, peering at you through the rear-view mirror. 

“Too well behaved,” he suddenly says, eyes narrowing.  “You check her pockets?” 

It is then you remember your phone.  Felix turned on your GPS.   They can track where you are going.  Felix can track where you are going.  If nothing else, you trust that Felix can do something.  Felix, Felix, Felix.  It is all you can think about.  Felix will find you.  You will be back with Felix tonight, safe in your shared bed. You are always safe with Felix.  You want to be there right now.  You can’t even remember how you got here.  Your whole day is turning into one blacked out nothingness, a dreary bleak empty before you found yourself in this car hurtling to god-knows-what fate. 

The man finds your phone.  You try to reach for it but then you feel the gun at your temple and your whole body locks up.  You have seen a gun before, many times, but you have never had one pointed at you.  You always thought you would be brave, having been around them your whole life.  Maybe that is why you are afraid.  Your body is trying to protect you, freezing you like it always does. 

The man rolls down the window and throws your phone into the wind. 

You sit back and close your eyes, willing this nightmare to end.  You try to convince yourself that this is your father’s doing, that he is just trying to teach you a lesson.  You wouldn’t even be mad.   You just want to go home. 

But there is no sign of your father’s security team.  You pass dozens then hundreds of cars as you leave the residential area and take the highway.  None of your father’s vehicles are among them.  And how could they be?  They can track as far as your phone and then they have nothing.  There is no way for them to know where Miroh’s men are taking you.  You have no idea what they want.  You can’t even cry or panic because your body is shutting itself down in its panic.  The periphery of your gaze is obscured in shadow.   Their voices fade in and out, rarely directed at you anyway.  They seem to know you will not answer.  They have experience with this sort of thing. 

Of course they do.  Miroh is your father’s only equal.  Your father does nothing by halves.  Miroh would only send the best. 

You leave the highway and turn onto a country road out of the city.  Wherever they are taking you, it is far and they are unhurried.  You have a long time to stew in your anxiety.    

You can only see directly in front of you, through the windshield and the rear-view mirror.  You stare, willing one of your father’s black cars to appear in it even though you know that will not happen.  The only cars are civilian cars and even those begin to disappear as they take side roads to their own destinations.  Soon it is just one other car trailing you at a distance.  It is a beat-up civilian truck, not very big, a splotchy, peeling burgundy.   The rims are muddy from frequent use and little washing. 

It is ugly but it could be the last thing you see for a while.  It makes you stare more intensely. 

You are focussing so hard on the tiny details that you do not even notice it is speeding up.  It goes from a distant spot to filling the rear-view in moments.  

The driver mumbles a curse to himself, shaking his head and frowning. 

“What’s this idiot doing?” he grumbles.  “As if we don’t have enough to deal with.  Now we got some drunk on the road.” 

The truck is swerving, back and forth, then it speeds up and whips past your car.  It startles the driver, making him veer a hard right as the truck goes left around him.  He shouts a curse even though the other driver can’t hear, the truck already speeding away into the darkness.  There are no street lamps on the country road so it completely vanishes, disappearing when it leaves the glow of your headlights. 

There is a moment of quiet.  A tunnel of light.  Darkness around it. 

The truck appears again in the middle of it, parked and blocking the entire road lengthwise.  The driver shouts another curse and slams on the brakes to stop from barrelling into it. 

The whole car lurches with the sudden halt.  You snap forward and back again, held down by the seatbelt.  The other two hit the seats in front of them, cursing as they fix themselves.  The weapons guy drops his gun and it clatters somewhere on the ground of the vehicle.  You watch him dive down, cursing to himself before he finds it. 

“Get him out of the way!” the driver shouts, pointing to the stopped vehicle.   The two men get out of the car, sounding more aggravated by the obstacle than afraid.  The other one pulls a gun so they are both armed as they approach the vehicle. 

The men circle the truck.  You can see they are yelling and cursing again.  They come stomping back over to the vehicle.   Even with all the windows rolled up, you can hear him as he shouts, “There’s no one fucking there!” 

“What!” the driver returns, pointing ahead.  “He didn’t just disappear!  Check the—”  

He is interrupted by the rattle of unexpected thunder – what sounds like someone running up and over the car from behind.  You both look up as if you can see through the car roof.  The men outside react just as fast, guns raised.  Shots are swiftly fired and you cover your ears, flinching. 

The figure comes into view.  It feels like your heart stops. 

Felix takes a flying leap off the roof of the car and comes swinging into view.  He lands on the shoulders of one of the men.  In one sharp move, Felix snaps the man’s neck.  When his body crumples, Felix jumps, tackling the other man and knocking his gun out of the way.  He pulls his own gun out of his waistband and you don’t even have time to cover your eyes before a bullet shatters the man’s temple.  That body falls too. 

It was a matter of seconds.  The driver scarcely has time to react.  He is fumbling with the glove compartment when Felix walks up to the car and shoots his window.   The bullet does not penetrate the glass but it fractures it, sending shards flying onto the man. 

You shriek, your voice coming back to you.  Felix smacks the broken window with the butt of the gun, shattering it completely.  He unlocks the car, his face devoid of all emotion as he throws open the door and reaches in.  He grabs the man by the scruff of his neck and repeatedly slams his head against the steering wheel, knocking him out cold. 

He closes the door with a kick and tucks his gun back in his waistband. 

Adrenaline completely takes over your body.  You do not think or reflect, only feel and act.   Felix steps toward the car to open your door but you are already pushing it open.  He steps back when it flies past him, already breathing hard when you stumble out of the vehicle on shaky legs. 

“Do you have any idea—” he starts, his deep voice breaking.  “Any, any idea how worried I was?  And those stupid, fucking, incompetent—”

He is pointing to nowhere, just gesticulating in his emotions.  It all seems to pour of him, terror and agony, anger and helplessness.  He is wearing casual clothes, ripped jeans, a sleeveless red flannel over a t-shirt.  He was probably sitting at home when he jumped into action.    

His dark roots are starting show in his golden hair.  You will have to colour that for him, you think, giddily, half-mad. 

“You could have died,” he is saying.  “They could have—”

You throw your arms around his neck and crash into him.  It is a collision of a kiss, more teeth than lips until you figure out to close your mouth. 

Those men could not move him but you can.   He backs up under the guiding push of your soft hands, walking, walking, walking, each quick backward step until you have him pressed up against the truck, your lips still locked.  When you finally separate it is with a gasping, wet split.  You stare at each other, taking in the reality of the other person.  Him, with blood disappearing into the red threads of his flannel.  You, alive, unharmed, right here in front of him with no one to stop him from kissing you again. 

He grabs you by the neck and pulls you back to him, kissing you with an open-mouthed desperation that has you practically sobbing with need.  He flips your positions, cupping the back of your head so you are not hurt when he pins you to the truck.  You sink your fingers into his hair, wrapping a leg around his waist as he grinds against the softest spot of you.  He licks into your mouth, making a rumbling noise of deep, heartfelt satisfaction that makes you throb. 

His lips are pink and raw when he stops for a breath.  You kiss the side of his face, clinging to him, making a pleading noise when he does not resume kissing you. 

He steps back and points to the car. 

“Get in the truck,” he says firmly.  “This isn’t the time.  Don’t argue.” 

You have no desire whatsoever to argue.  You climb into the passenger seat while Felix makes a phone call.  You watch him through the window, running a hand through his hair, his mouth pink, his shirt blood-stained. 

You have always known Felix was capable of this sort of thing, but seeing it is very different than imagining it.  Before it was some nebulous concept of a person but now the reality of him collides with the boy who has been sharing your bed for years.  This is the same boy who needed your help to tie his school tie.  Cartoon-watching, computer-building Felix, with his dry wit and toothy smiles. 

You are not sure what it says about you that you are not afraid of him, not even a little bit.  Maybe it is because you are not surprised.  Maybe it is something else.  But the only thing you want right now is for him to put his arms around you. 

He gets into the truck and sits there for a moment, just breathing as he looks down at his phone.  A thought flickers across his eyes, a twitch of his brows, then he turns off the phone and tosses it into the backseat.   The gun follows with a clatter.  You look back at both then at him with shock. 

Felix has never turned off that phone.  It is always completely charged and within reach.  The GPS cannot be tracked if it is off.  Your father cannot reach him if it is off.   It is never supposed to be off. 

You stare at him, tracing his profile as he pushes his hair back then starts the car.   You only look away when you pass the other vehicle, the unconscious driver still slumped over the wheel.  You turn your head, watching the scene disappear into the darkness behind you. 

“Your father’s men will clean it up,” Felix says, drawing your eyes back to him.  He does not look away from the road, resolutely focussed despite the lack of traffic on the country road.

“You left one alive,” you say.  “What if he wakes up?”

“Uhh, he’ll be lucky if he is conscious in two days,” Felix says with a scoff.  His lips draw into that thin line.  “Your father will want someone to interrogate.”

You look out the windshield and sigh.  You feel like you have aged years tonight yet it also feels like none of this really happened.  It seems impossible that moments ago you were staring through a different windshield, petrified. 

Felix looks at you.  You turn your head and meet his gaze, watching grief twist his features before he looks ahead again. 

“Did they hurt you?” he asks, gripping the wheel tight with both hands. 

You shake your head, still facing him, studying him. 

“I was thinking about you,” you say, the words escaping in a breathless slur.  “It was the only thing that made me feel safe.”  You find it easier to speak your feelings after everything.  It’s like all that fear blasted through a barricade.  You thought you might never see him again and all those feelings were trapped inside you.  You cannot help but let them pour out now, like blood seeping from an open wound, your hand shaking as you reach across the console to touch the side of his face. 

His breath stutters.  He takes your hand and for a moment holds it, squeezing it in his.  He does not look away from the road.  Eventually he puts your hand in your lap, curling it around your thigh and squeezing, then he grabs the wheel again. 

Your gaze drifts to the wheel then the overall truck.  The rest of reality comes back to you in increments and you suddenly realize this is obviously not one of your father’s cars. 

“Where did you get this truck?” you ask. 

“I stole it,” he says. 

“You stole a car?!” you shriek, voice naturally pitching up with surprise. 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just killed two men,” he says.  “You’re worried about the car?” 

“I don’t know!”  You slouch in your seat, looking out the window.  “Don’t talk to me, I’m traumatized.” 

He shakes his head but laughs a little.   You do not speak for a bit, the only sound the tires rolling over the gravel road.  Then Felix sighs. 

“They wouldn’t listen,” he says.  “Your father’s, hmmm, ‘professionals’.”  He rolls his eyes and clicks his jaw, clearly still pissed about it.  “I knew it had to be Miroh.  You were heading west to the highway when your GPS stopped.  I knew where they’d be taking you.  But your father’s geniuses thought you threw your phone and were running.  But you wouldn’t do that, yeah.  You want to be found.  That’s why you run.  You want him to care enough to chase you and bring you home.” 

You look out your window, resting your head in your hand as rows of dark trees pass you by. 

“Home,” you say.  “Miroh.  Not sure there’s going to be a difference in what’s waiting, is there?” 

Felix says nothing to this.  The gravel road comes to an end as you approach tarmac.  Instead of turning left to return to the highway, Felix turns right.  You look back through the window, confused, wondering if you mistook your location.  But no, you are definitely driving further into the countryside. 

“The highway is that way,” you say, looking at him.  His whole body is tense, eyes locked on the road.  “Aren’t we going home?”

“Yes,” he says, then turns up a different country road.  “Eventually.” 

You do not know what to expect with Felix.  His emotional fluctuation is not as blatant as yours, but he does waver unpredictably, one moment leaning towards you and then pulling away.  You do not know what he is planning and you do not ask.  You simply stare through the window as you turn up a few more roads, getting further and further from the main road until you turn into a small gravel lane between some fields.  Bushes surround the car on either side, the main road very far behind you. 

Felix turns off the car but keeps both hands on the wheel, still staring intensely out the front window.

“Where are we?” you ask, squinting through the dark at the fields.  It feels exceptionally quiet without the engine running. 

“This cannot happen again,” Felix says.

He is still facing forward, concentrating on nothing that you can see.  You look ahead then back at him, sighing with exasperation.  If he drove you out here to just to lecture you some more…

“I know,” you say.  “I shouldn’t have left in the first place.  I’m sorry.  I know it’s your job to—”

“This has nothing to do with my job,” he says.  He shakes his head.  “I— You—Do you understand how I—  This is— This is reckless.  Stupid.  It cannot happen again, yeah?  Do you get me?”

“I know,” you say.  “And it won’t.  I get it.  No more running, I just—”

Your breath catches when he looks at you.  There is so much heat in his gaze that you feel immediately flushed.

He undoes his seatbelt then reaches across the console and undoes yours.  When you hear the click, it all registers.  You reach for him as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls.  This kiss is a crash as well, but a stumbling one, less vicious than thirsty.  Arms get tangled in seatbelts but he manages to whip them aside.  He guides you into his lap as you climb ungracefully over the console with all your shaking limbs. 

You make a sound like relief when you are in his lap, chests touching, knees pressing into his hips, arms around his neck.  His hands are under your borrowed hoodie, then under your shirt, palms splayed against the bare skin of your back as he kisses you with a wet open mouth, hungry and seeking, asking and taking. 

He reaches to the side and fumbles for something.  You squeal with surprise when the seat abruptly drops, your combined weight pushing it flat when he flips the lever.  The surprise passes and he spills back, taking you with him.   He yanks at your hoodie and you sit up to pull your arms through.  Embarrassingly enough, you get tangled trying to remove it at the same time as your shirt.   You get them both off, laughing shyly and feeling ridiculous with your ungraceful action. 

He blinks up at you, his face full of much more wonder and affection than you think you merit.  It is almost more embarrassing than your clumsiness. 

Your awkward hand covers your collarbone but he takes that hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing you palm then your fingertips.  You throb with the recollection of the last time he took your fingers in his mouth, except this time he doesn’t look away, all that heat centred on you. 

He grasps your hips then slides his hands up your body.  You wonder if other people feel like one big shivering mess at such simple touches.   You blame it on today’s chaotic episode.  For a moment, you were nothing and no one, floating in a bleak emptiness with no past or future.  Just a bartering tool, business collateral, a thing sitting in a car for transport to be used by a different bad man for financial leverage. 

Felix touches you and your body comes to life, all that humanity rushing back.  You’re a person and so is he, flushed and excited, just a little messy but earnest.  You find yourselves in a stolen moment in a stolen car, nothing yours but each other. 

He palms your breasts through your bra then fumbles with the clasp, his usually dexterous hands suddenly jumpy.  It makes you both laugh, tittering little sounds as you get it off and toss it aside.  His calloused hands on your bare skin erases any lingering embarrassment.

Straddling his hips, you rock against him.  The hard line of him is pushing at the fly of his jeans, as receptive and eager as you.  You make similar sounds, soft low hums, used to keeping quiet.  You remember you don’t have to restrain yourself so you moan when he cups you through your shorts, grinding the heel of his palm against the soft wet heat of you.  You push his shirt up, running your hands over his chest, noticing a few scars but not lingering much right now. 

You touch him like he touches you, hands wandering, working each other up until you are wild in your wanting.  He makes a rough sound when you squeeze him through his jeans, then he is trying to work off your shorts while you unbutton his fly.  You have to get off him to take the rest of your clothes off.  His fingers are twitchy as they scrabble over his fly, unzipping then shuffling his jeans down his hips. 

You are confronted with that moment of intention again, when his jeans are at his knees and his shirt is pushed up, when you are completely naked in a car in the middle of nowhere and climbing back on top of him, making the deliberate choice to do what you are doing.  It is exhilarating.  It is scary.  You have big fears, about the repercussions in the world outside this vehicle, and you have little fears, like what if you are not good at this and you let him down after everything. 

But that seems impossible when he looks at you like that, warm and desirous, breathing hard as he drags his fingers down your body and slips them between your thighs.  You touch him too, marvelling in his sounds and faces, the flush of his cheeks, his mussed hair.  With just his fingers inside you, he is already looking at you like you are a singular miracle. 

It does feel miraculous.  When you think of where you started, when you think of who you are, this seems so impossible.  But you are here, losing yourself to his steady touch and tender gaze.  You grab his wrist, instinctively seeking control when he works you up to an orgasm, making you clench around his fingers.  You shudder on top of him, your head tipping back.   

“Fuck,” he says, so low and guttural it hardly sounds like a word.  Then he says softly, “Sweetheart.” This is accompanied with a long touch inside you, dragging his fingers so slowly, drawing out your orgasm until your whole body feels soft and pliant.  You ache with the loss of him when he withdraws his touch, just his thumb rolling across that oversensitive nub of pleasure.  Your skin already feels sweaty where you are touching, your hand curled around the length of him as you position yourself above him. 

Even with his effort, it is a stretch and burn when you first sink down.  You smack a hand on the roof of the truck, scratching your nails over it as you sit in his lap with him inside you. 

He curses.  His head falls back, his eyes closing. 

“Is it okay?” you ask in a strained voice. 

He replies, “Ahh…” then, “Uh!” then “Uhhhahh…” then finally, “Yes, yes.  God yes.”  He lifts his head and looks at where he is inside you, then he looks up at you.  “Are you, uh, are you okay?” 

His voice is a raspy thing, his face so raw with pleasure that you find yourself giggling in spite of yourself. 

“Yeah,” you say on a breath.  “Just… a lot.” 

He sits up, careful not to jostle you too much.  You still feel him moving inside you.  When you clench, he makes a sound, but he is not distracted from his mission, cupping the back of your head and bringing you close for a kiss.  You sink into it, your hands sliding onto his shoulders as his tongue slips past your lips. 

He helps you move, both of you following base instinct and little else.  It starts to feel deliriously good.  You are light-headed from kissing, worked up from knowing he is as close to you as he possibly can be. 

You move slowly, hands roaming over each other.  You get his flannel off and toss it into the passenger seat.  Then he braces himself to move his hips better, holding you steady.  You touch the roof so you don’t hit your head, rolling your hips to meet him.  It’s good but not enough and soon he is turning you over, laying you on your back under him.  He has to separate from you to get comfortable. 

You whine, touching yourself, and he smacks his head hard against the roof with surprise.  You laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth while he winces and rubs his head. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, still giggling.  Fortunately, he chuckles, wincing again for show before sighing. 

“Never better,” he says, and takes off his shirt.  You are both perspiring and not just from exertion, the car trapping all your combined heat and breathing.  The windows have completely fogged over and it shields you completely.  You have never felt more safe.  You eagerly open your legs to him as he settles on top of you and finds his place again. 

You wrap around him, whimpering and moaning and sighing when he finds a rhythm in this position.  He cradles you in his arms, rocking into you until you are dizzy with it.  He somehow feels deeper and deeper with every motion.  He kisses your chest and throat, up to your ear, across your face, your mouth.   You kiss him back, hooking your ankles behind his back and pulling him hard against you like you want more. 

“Got you,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear.  “Got you, sweetheart.” 

He makes you come again, tears springing to your eyes from the sensation of it all.   When his breathing gets frantic and his hips erratic, you let him go.  You breathe hard under him as he sits back and grabs his discarded flannel, coming into that.

 He tosses it aside after, then runs his fingers through his hair as he stares down at you.  You slowly sit up and lean in for one more kiss.  He obliges, cupping your face and kissing you deeply. 

You want to wrap around him again, hold him to your chest and lay there until you are both ready for more.

You take what you can get.  This was dangerous, but you have no regrets.  Even when you are both dressed and in your own seats, you feel enflamed and alive and glowing. 

He tosses his flannel out the window, leaving it on the ground behind you.  You roll down the windows and return to the highway.  It is a long drive home. 

-

Your father does not punish you.  He does not punish Felix in place of you.  The house is deathly silent when you arrive home.  Your father is in his office and Felix takes you there to see him. 

Your father does not even look up from his book.  After a moment he asks, “Did they hurt you?” 

You shake your head but he isn’t looking at you, so you are forced to find your voice and answer, “No.” 

“Good,” he says and turns the page to his book. 

You are teetering on the edge of panic all over again, waiting for him to erupt, to throw something at you, to grab you by the hair and give you a beating worse than anything ever before.  But he just turns another page to his book, so it’s you that erupts. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” you say in a frantic rush. “Hyunjin and I broke up and I was upset so I wanted to see Jisung, that’s it, I just wanted to see my friend.  It’s just because—”

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, trying to stop you from running your mouth when you don’t need to do so.  It succeeds in silencing you, your voice breaking.  You swallow down a sob. 

Your father finally lifts his head.  His expression is completely blank.  There is no trace of anger, no sadness, no guilt.  You do not know what to do when he is like this.  He is giving you nothing worth a reaction so all your emotions bubble inside you with nowhere to go, spilling over and scalding you like a boiling pot.

“Go to bed,” your father says.  “What’s done is done.” 

It is not surprising that you have a nightmare, waking in a fit that even Felix cannot comfort.  Your half-asleep mind panics when he grabs you, forgetting who he is.  Only when he repeats your name in that sweet, low voice do you remember yourself.  You collapse against him, shaking while he strokes your back and talks gently to you, lulling you back to sleep.  It remains fitful and uneven but you get through the night. 

You are expecting the punishment to come in the morning but your father does not speak to you even though he is in the house.  You do not see him all day.  You have another restless night of bad dreams, Felix comforting you as best he can.  You wake the next morning thinking that surely, the punishment would come today.  There is no way your father is letting you get away with this.  He is planning something, something big, something you will never forget. 

But your father is gone and so is the security team.  Felix phones him and your father informs him that he had some impromptu business to take care of, that he would be gone for the next week.   

You are driving to school on Monday morning when Felix says, “Maybe he thinks it was punishment enough on its own.”  

“Do you really believe that?” you ask. 

Felix does not answer because he knows how far-fetched that is.  He knows your father as well as you do. 

There are only a couple more days of school.  This late in the semester, the lessons are completed, exams being graded.  Everyone is gearing up for graduation, signing yearbooks, taking pictures.   Classes offer more down time than work, letting students mingle.  It is easy few handful of days, the most exceptionally fun days of the whole year. 

Jisung would not miss it.  And he would not abandon you after your conversation.  When he is missing from school on Monday, you are immediately filled with horror. 

Felix looks at you when he realizes Jisung is missing, doing his best to calm you with his eyes. 

“He wouldn’t,” you murmur, just loud enough for Felix to hear.  “Tell me he wouldn’t…” 

Felix says nothing.  He knows your father as well as you do. 

You try phoning Jisung at various intervals through the day but it keeps going straight to voicemail.  Jisung is not great at keeping his phone charged so this is not unusual on its own, but you cannot shake the dread in the pit of your gut. 

Before the day ends, you all but throw yourself at Felix.  All it takes is one teary-eyed please for him to nod, understanding. 

You have the driver take you to Jisung’s house.  Felix steps out of the car and calls your father, needing to report your diversion from routine, but also hopefully gleaning some intel into your father’s potential involvement.  Meanwhile, you run up the porch and frantically bang on the door, not stopping until Jisung’s mother whips it open. 

“What?” she snaps.  “Why are you banging— oh it’s you.”

“Where is he?” you ask.  “Is he sick?  Can I see him?” 

“He’s just at the hospital,” she says like this is no big deal at all, even while you are sweating through your clothes with anxious terror. 

“The hospital?” you ask.  “Why is he—”

“Calm down!  He just had an allergic reaction,” she says.  “Stupid child ate peanuts and didn’t have his pen.  He’ll be fine.” 

“Can you tell me which hospital?” you say.  Some tension leaves your body with this revelation but even so, you will not feel truly at ease until you can see that Jisung is safe with your own two eyes.

His mother tells you where to find him and you thank her while she closes the door in your face.  You are feeling lighter already, heart bursting with light when you spin and jump off the porch. 

You rush up to Felix, eager to report your good news, but you draw to a slow stop at the look on his face.  This is not his professional indifference, listening to commands, but instead an expression of obvious remorse.  He looks apologetic, eyes full of pity, as he extends his arm, handing you the phone. 

You press the device to your ear, heart skipping beats in the worst way. 

“Hello?” you say. 

“After everything I have done for you,” your father says.  “After everything I have given you.  After my leniency despite your repeated abominable behaviour.  For you to end things with an appropriate boy to go chasing after some no-count, miscreant loser with no future and no—”

“What are you talking about?” you say.  “I don’t even know—”

“You stupid little—”  You can picture his face, mouth frothing with rage, brows pinched in fury.  You can picture him catching his breath as he slams a hand on his desk.  “Do you think I couldn’t see it all over your face?  That you were out whoring around with that nobody boy you call a friend?  I could see your commitment to the Hwang boy was a front but I foolishly thought you were making an effort to improve yourself.  How long have you been deceiving me?  Fronting with the Hwang boy while you run around with your schoolboy behind my back?” 

He thinks you’re dating Jisung.  He thinks this is all because of Jisung.  You cannot tell him the truth without ruining your life, Felix’s life, and Hyunjin’s life. 

You scramble for a defence, a denial, but memories of you and Felix flood your mind, the panic of that night takes over you, and soon you are freezing up. 

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” you eventually manage, your voice quivering with the rest of you.  “Please, Jisung is completely innocent, he’s just my friend, he—”

“Please,” your father says derisively.  “You have the audacity to say please to me now.  To ask for my permission now.   You listen to me and you listen well.  What I did to this boy was nothing. Having an allergen slipped into his food was a warning to you.  Your one and only warning, a warning I am only giving you because I prefer not to deal with civilian messes when I can avoid it.  But I whole-heartedly assure you, that if I find out you are in contact with this boy, if I find out you are even thinking about looking in his direction, it is over for him.  I will have him shot in the fucking head in front of you if that’s what it will take to get through to you.” 

You are bombarded with the image of Felix shooting those men.  Suddenly, you imagine it is Jisung across from him instead.  You look at Felix with a frantic, terrified look.  Your voice is weak when you say, “Dad, please, he’s—”

“Do not talk to back me!” he screams.  “You spoiled little slut!  He’s trash, is what he is!  Do you know what kind of life I have given you?  How dare you insult me this way.  How dare you throw it all on that waste of a person.  You go to that boy and you tell him to stay away or it will be the end of him.  Do you understand me?  Say yes or so help me—”

“Yes,” you say, sucking in a hard breath to keep your tears at bay.  “Yes, fine, just leave him alone.  Don’t hurt him, please.” 

Your father hangs up without another word.   

You look up at Felix.  He takes the phone, sucking in a breath of his own. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say. 

Jisung is sitting up in his hospital bed when you find him.  His phone is a dead brick sitting on his bedside table, uncharged as anticipated.  He is sipping from a carton and watching television when you walk into the room, surprising him.  His face lights up with delight and he chokes on his drink, dribbling a bit down his front. 

You hurry to his side, worried, but he just laughs and wipes his chin. 

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” he says.  “It was just a flare-up.  They’re just keeping me for observation to make sure I don’t, you know, suffocate and die in my sleep.”  He says this like it is ridiculous and funny but you are overwhelmed with the image of Jisung lying still in this bed, all the life and colour of your wonderful and vibrant best friend drained to nothing. 

Jisung can see something is wrong.  The humour falls from his expression, replaced with concern as he sees you well up with tears. 

“Hey,” he says, softer.  “I said I’m fine.  Don’t worry.  Is this about something else?  Are you okay?” 

You are not crying but you can feel the emotion in your throat.  If you speak, you think it will pour out in a flood.  You can only sit there, perched on the edge of his bed, staring at him.  He still looks strange without his hat.  Although he is joking around, there is an admitted pallor to his complexion.  He is on the mend but he has clearly been very ill for a day at least. 

That pallor and serious expression look so wrong on his face.  When you think of Jisung, you think of happiness, the first burst of sunshine in your life after growing up in shade.  You think about his awkward laughter during your first conversation, his many hugs, his stupid jokes, his winks and encouragements.  You did not know how to love anyone or anything until you met him. 

In your silence, he looks around, spotting Felix hovering in the doorway. 

“Felix!” he says.  “Hey!  What’s going on?”

“Hey,” Felix says gently.  He looks at you, sees your downturned face as you gather yourself.  He smiles at Jisung with his best distracting grin, like everything is fine, like everything has always been fine.  “Just saying bye, man,” Felix says. 

“Bye?”  Jisung asks.  “Where are you going?  Right before grad?  Not back to Australia, are you?”  Jisung looks at you and pets your head.  “Is Felix leaving?  Is that why you’re upset?”  

“No, Jisung,” you say, forcing your voice.  You shake your head.  “No, it’s not Felix.  I just…”  You look up and meet his eyes, so big and concerned.  You see him at age twelve, thirteen, fourteen, all those years he coaxed you out of your shell and ran around with you.  He was the first person to look back at you, to see something worth reaching for.   You want to touch his face and hug him, but you are certain if you start any of that, you will not be able to do what you need to do.  “Jisung, I’m leaving,” you say.  “I won’t be able to see you again.” 

“What?” he asks, confused for just a moment before he shakes his head and frowns.  “This is about your dad, isn’t it?  Is he doing something?  You have to let me help you—”

“Jisung, you can’t help me—”

“Yes, I can—”

“You can’t—”

“Then who’s going to?” he demands. 

“Not you!”  Anger and sadness combine and you look away, staring at the crinkled juice carton on his bedside table.  He is here because of you.  “Jisung, he made you sick.  He will try to kill you.” 

“What?”  Jisung asks, barely above a whisper.  “H-how?  I don’t even—”

“He has professionals,” you say, meeting his bewildered gaze again.  “And he can do much worse than this.” 

Jisung opens and closes his mouth, failing to find the words, then finally he shakes his head and says, “No.  I don’t care.  I’m not scared, I’m—”

“I’m scared,” you say.  “Jisung, I don’t want to see you ever again, because if something happened to you—”  You cannot conceive of a world where this is no Han Jisung.  You would not be the person you are now if he had never existed.  You would not have any emotions at all.  For the first time, you do not curse your sensitive feelings, rather you relish in feeling them at all, that you have a friend that it hurts to lose.   “Jisung, please,” you say.  “Don’t make this harder for me.  I’m going to go and we can’t see each other again.  The best thing you can do for me is have a good life.” 

Jisung starts crying, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. 

“That’s not fair,” he says.  “What about you?  What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.  You laugh dryly, looking aside. “It would have been better for you if you never knew me.”

“You already know that’s not true,” he says in a small voice. 

You are certain his face is full of pain but you cannot bring yourself to look at him again.  You try to say the word goodbye but it gets stuck in your throat, so finally you just stand up to leave.   

He grabs your arm, tugging you back.  You stare at the bed, not at him. 

“I said my promise was forever,” he says.  “I don’t care if it’s in five years, or ten years, or fifty.  I know I’m not—I know I can’t do much but—if you need me—”

You just nod, scrunching your face to stop the tears.  It does not work.  You pull your arm away and he lets you go, his hands falling helplessly limp to the bed.  You stare at the ground as you walk away, not looking back at him, not even looking at Felix. 

You are standing in the doorway when Jisung says your name one more time, barely more than a whisper yet stopping you faster than all your father’s screaming. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he says. 

You look up at Felix.  You know when you leave this place, you are going to take his hand.  When you climb into bed tonight, you are going to wrap your arms around him and let him hold and comfort you.  You are going to soothe his nightmares the way he does yours.  You are going to carve out a corner of light and happiness in your otherwise dark life.  You are going to do that because you know how, because having a friend made all the difference. 

“Oh, Jisung,” you say, wiping your face.  “You did save me.” 

You do not stop again, walking past Felix and into the corridor.  He follows swiftly behind, laying a hand on your lower back then taking your hand.  You squeeze it and he squeezes back.  You let him guide you out of the building, your vision blurry.  He knows there is nothing he can say to help right now, but he touches you gently and helps you along.  When you get home, he trails behind you as you trudge up the stairs to the bedroom. 

“Can I do something?” he asks. 

You shake your head.  “Not right now, thank you.” Your voice is still weak.  “Maybe later.” 

“Okay,” he says.  “I’ll be here.”

You nod and continue up the stairs, not even sure what your plan is right now.  It feels strange to go about your usual routine but that is what you do, your body carrying you automatically through each task, changing clothes, putting your uniform away, washing your face. 

You sit at your desk and decide you might as well go through your stack of school supplies.  You have been dumping textbooks and notebooks here as the semester ends.  You sort the empty notebooks from the used ones, the books you will never re-read from the ones to shelve.  You find your yearbook in the middle of it all.  You realize you never actually read Jisung’s message. 

You open the book, skimming the other messages from other students.  Lots of Have a Great Summer from Hyunjin’s friends, but a few cute personalized memos too.  Felix’s joking scrawl is at the bottom of a page and it makes you smile and shake your head.  You smile again when you read Hyunjin’s note: Our lives will not be meaningless.  He ended it with a playful, LOVE YOU MY GIRLFRIEND!!

You flip through the book.  You were not in any clubs or on any teams so there are very few pictures of you, just your posed portrait and one photo on a collage page – you, Jisung, and Felix awkwardly smiling as the yearbook photographer snapped a picture of you at lunchtime. 

You swallow.  You already know turning to the last page is going to make you cry.  You could avoid it.  You could close this book and never think about it again.  Your father would never walk into any situation that would deliberately compromise his mental and emotional integrity.  He would deride you for doing so.  You used to think he was right, that your feelings were a weakness. 

You realize your feelings make him weak, not you.  He wants you to be a robotic doll, devoid of feelings, blindly obedient, but you are not.  You will never strive to be that. 

You flip to the final page, filled with Jisung’s writing.  You smile and cry and curse out your father, then close the book and hug it to your chest, your heart beating steadily where you cradle it close. 

-

To the bestest most awesome girl in the world (not just saying that because you’re the only girl I know) from the bestest most awesome boy in the world (including your evil boyfriend, sorry!) 

Usually it’s easy for me to put my thoughts in writing but I’m drawing a blank.  How can I tell you in words how important your friendship is when that friendship is made up of more than words?  I never thought I’d be someone who runs off to parties or sneaks out onto rooftops, and I never thought I’d have so many friends.  Thank you for giving me the world.  I hope we can keep exploring it together. I know no matter what, we’ll still be friends, even if we’re far away after school ends.  Our parents might suck and we might be kinda weird as hell, but we have each other and that counts for something.  We loved each other first so no matter what else happens that will be always true.  Boyfriends will come and go but your best friend is forever!!  And you know I’ll be ready with a shovel if anyone breaks your heart.  I know it’s sappy to say, but it’s always safe with me.  

Times might be hard and we might drift apart, but I know we’ll see each other again and it will be like we never left.  Take care of yourself if I’m not there.  Keep fighting!!!  Nothing will be impossible for you. 

Your best friend now + always,

Han Jisung ♡

[sthavoc]

hii can i request something from the previous stories where they meet at the oscars but reader wins an award, so he sees them hug their co star and going up the stage?

- love your work<3

࿐ ࿔ 💎 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐑 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

·˚ ༘ pairing: enzo x actress!reader

·˚ ༘ summary: enzo and you meet at the Oscars. he admires you as you go up the stage to receive your award.

·˚ ༘ warnings: fluff, mentions of nervousness?

·˚ ༘ note: yall I just made up a random movie name lmao. i’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to write one fic, this has been sitting in my draft for weeks now 😓. ps u can tell I love enzo in black. I'm sorry if there's any grammar mistakes. i’ll try to update soon!

Cameras flashed all around the carpet, you embodied every new pose for each camera and revealed a few smiles.

“Y/N look this way!”

“You look amazing!”

After ending a few shots you walked across the carpet trying to get into the venue, that was until you crossed paths with a group of men. One of them bumped into your body frame when you tried walking into the entry of the venue, your hands plopped from the front of your dress.

“Oh- I’m sorry.” You perked up to see a man in a black suit, somewhere between your age, if not older. And you swore you recognized him from somewhere. But you weren’t sure from where.

“I’m sorry, miss.” His accent was thick. You stood by thinking for a second until it hit you—

“¿Enzo?” The tone of your voice seemed with excitement that you couldn’t hold back.

“¿Sí?” He replied with a questionable style, but his lips showed a smile.

You extended your arms in a way of surprise. Meeting other celebrities that you were a fan of because of their work would always get you so hyped up. You still were not used to the fact of meeting other celebrities in person, not just through the screen. “¡No puedo creer que estés aquí! Soy T/N, gran fan tuya—” You shake your head placing your hand on your opened chest. “Excelente trabajo que hiciste en la Sociedad de la Nieve.”

His smile only grew with your praise. It was the hugest one you had ever seen, it almost made you wonder if it didn’t hurt his cheeks. “Ay, pero vos—” he copies your motion of putting his hand on his chest with a small pout of warmness. “Me fascina tu trabajo.”

The both of you kept on lauding each other with so many compliments, that at this moment everybody had seen the two of you together. But for both of it felt like you were just having a normal conversation as two friends, not even two people that had just met.

“Vi que estás nominada a mejor actriz.” He mentions.

Your head nodded with excitement, excitement that you couldn’t hold back. You were so happy to be here and thankful as well that all your hard work got you to where you once wanted to be.

“Estoy muy emocionada pero también muy nerviosa.”

“Ya verás que ganas, vos sos la mejor.” He gave you a side smile with a wink that didn’t seem flirtatious but more friendly. “Y si no, no pasa nada. Un premio no define tus logros y gran trabajo.”

“Ay gracias.” You blushed at his compliment.

The both of you walked into the venue of the Oscars. You had to part ways but you wished each other the best of luck before you went to your respective seats. The nerves inside you never stopped and continued to tremble through the night. Even more with how close they would get to the best actress.

You were trying to repeat the words Enzo had told you. Even if you didn’t win you were still proud and happy to be one of the nominees. That is something that shows how big of an accomplishment you’ve made and it makes you nothing but proud.

When the host got the envelope that revealed who was the winner of tonight’s best actress, your heart felt like it was running the mile.

“And the nominees for best actress are—”

Each of the actresses began to appear on the screen, including yourself, with scenes from the movies. Each of you had a round of applause that made you smile, from the nerves and happiness. This was it.

“And the Oscar goes to—” The screen lit up with all the nominees having a camera facing towards them.

From where Enzo sat he looked only at you through the screen. He smiled seeing how you couldn’t hide your shakiness and nervousness, but also excitement.

“YN. Later On Tonight.” Enzo watched the moment your face went into shock as you did a little jump before turning to look at your co-stars who had the same reaction as you.

The venue erupted into clapping, Enzo with them. He watched how you raised from your chair and walked over towards the stage, your dress slightly dragged on the shiny floor, but it wasn’t important at the moment. Enzo watched how you accepted your Oscar and how you stared at it with shock in the eyes, he was honestly proud.

He thought you looked beautiful, your dress was a light shade of green, your hair was half up and the intention was for it to look messy, for you had a couple of strands on your face. Your makeup wasn’t much, but you could still notice it. There was a little glittery eyeshadow on your eyes and your lips were a tinted strawberry red. You looked like a princess to him.

“Wow, This— I don’t know how to start.” You giggled out of shock. “Thank you so much to everyone in the crew, my parents, friends, and agent, I wouldn’t be here tonight accepting this award if it wasn’t for any of you. I am so grateful, and all of the nominees tonight you all are amazing in what you do, big fan of all of you.”

Your lips let out a sight trying to think, you were able to make contact with Enzo who only smiled and stared softly. You thought of how to finalize your speech.

“A wonderful person tonight told me, and I quote, “Un premio no define tus logros y gran esfuerzo” An award does not define your accomplishments and great effort, and they are right. So to anyone who doesn’t win tonight, or didn't, just know you are amazing at what you do, you are still the best and already winners. Thank you so much.” You raise the Oscar in the air. When you glanced towards Enzo once more you noticed his smile.

He watched you run towards your friends immediately embracing each other in a huge hug. He watched how you jumped up and down, to what he found cute. He watched how you snapped a picture with the award and a silly smile. He assumed your reasons were to show a loved one the award.

You looked pure, mesmerizing. He felt the necessity to snap a picture of your moment and send it to you. You needed this framed. Maybe his way of starting a conversation with you after the events. When he took the picture, he captured you smiling with the Oscar in one hand and covering your mouth in shock with the other.

He’ll see when he sends it.

After all, you'll answer. Will be surprised, but you'll answer.

[imgeekgirlfan]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : VI]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content waring : 18+ smut/nsfw, manipulation, fingering, p in v, virgnity loss, unprotected sex, creampie (Just asking for a friend: Do the Bene Gesserit need a condom?🤔)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: On your twentieth birthday, after spending nearly three years with Qimir, you finally decide to reveal your secret to him. And from that moment, your relationship with him will never be the same again.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : As mentioned, This fan fiction mixes elements from two universes, so some details might not match canon perfectly. I’ve made adjustments but will try to keep key canon elements intact. I hope you read this for enjoyment, not to nitpick details.

ps. Writing smut in English is rather demanding for me. I hope you can forgive any mistakes in this EP. I’ve done my best 😭

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread

[Episodes 6] Four things cannot be hidden—love, smoke, a pillar of fire and a man striding across the open bled.

On your twentieth birthday, after spending three years with Qimir, you finally decide to reveal your secret to him.

There is no point in hiding it any longer, especially after he has already seen something he shouldn’t have on that ship. Besides, you no longer wish to conceal it. That near-death experience has changed your perspective—not just on your own feelings but also on the visions that have surfaced from deep within your subconscious. Through the fog of time, you sense profound changes—both in the future paths and in the bond between you and him.

A bond you never wanted to form. Feelings you wish to deny. But no matter how hard you try, in the end, you can’t escape it.

Sometimes, fate has a strange way of twisting things—you can’t help but think that when you recall your first meeting. You hated Qimir with all the intensity of your feelings. You couldn’t stand him. There were moments you even plotted his death, planning to flee far away. But who would have thought that three years later, you’d find yourself lying in his arms on a small bed in a rundown hotel near the Starports on Olega, far removed from the bloody events on Tatooine.

You are uncertain if it can even be called love. But one thing is certain: Qimir's presence changes your life forever. He changes you. You change him. And you have no idea if it is for better or worse.

Resting your head on Qimir's chest, you let his large hand caress your back. It's strange how safe you feel with him, despite having witnessed him kill so many people.

But it's not just you who feels this way. Qimir doesn't seem to fear you either. His words are blunt and direct when he finally asks about what he's seen. "I saw what you did—you control people with just your words," Qimir says. "What exactly are you? A member of some witch's coven?"

He turns on his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, holding you close as if to comfort you from the terrifying events that have unfolded earlier. Yet at the same time, it is clear he intends to keep you there, preventing you from leaving until you answer his question honestly.

You know Qimir’s intent, but do not push back. You remain silent for a moment before replying.

"It is an ancient technique passed down by my people," you confess, feeling as though you are revealing a terrible sin to some forgotten god. "We use our voice to command others, bending their will to our desires." You pause before adding, "And no, I am not part of any witch’s coven. My mother said those covens are nothing but lowly imitators, trying to replicate what we truly are."

"Your people? What do you mean?" Qimir frowns, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. A wave of unease washes over you as you realize that the moment of truth is finally upon you.

“I am Bene Gesserit.”

Bene Gesserit—those words, foreign to most in this age, are known only to a select few who have studied ancient history.

According to old records, before the rise of the Jedi Order, the Bene Gesserit was a powerful religious order that held great power throughout the galaxy, known as the Sisterhood. They only accepted women deemed worthy into their ranks.

It is said that the Bene Gesserit were the true originators of the Force, passing down their teachings through generations. The Bene Gesserit sisters possessed mysterious powers and physical capabilities far beyond the reach of ordinary people. They could neutralize poisons within their own bodies, control others with the power of the voice, and train their minds and bodies to heights that defied natural limits. Some could even glimpse into the future with an eerie sense of prophecy, though only fragments of what was to come—except for the Reverend Mothers who led the order. They alone held the power to peer through the memories of their ancestors, journeying through the past, present, and distant future.

And it was this obsession with the visions they received that drove their beliefs. The Bene Gesserit were convinced that the universe was heading toward destruction, haunted by the prospect of a terrible future. Their only solution was to guide human evolution to its pinnacle through meticulous breeding programs that spanned generations. They strengthened their power by sending their sisters to marry and breed with the ruling houses of various planets, integrating themselves into the political and religious structures, and influencing every layer of society, from the lowest to the highest ranks—all for one ultimate goal: the creation of the Kwisatz Haderach, a superior human who transcended all others.

Yet ironically, it was the Kwisatz Haderach himself who brought about the very doom of the universe, which the Bene Gesserit had feared and attempted to avoid all along.

The Bene Gesserit succeeded in creating the Kwisatz Haderach as intended, but they utterly failed to control him. Paul Atreides, the only son of Duke Leto Atreides and Lady Jessica of the Atreides, a Bene Gesserit sister, became a religious icon before he reached twenty. He was revered as the Lisan al Gaib—Voice from the Outer World—and was worshiped as a godhead. He led the Fremen, the ancient people of Arrakis, in a jihad that spread across the galaxy. Tens of millions perished in the holy war, and hundreds of millions more during the tyrannical rule of the Kwisatz Haderach’s own son.

Eventually, the Kwisatz Haderach's dynasty was annihilated by the vengeful masses, and the universe slowly began to heal, giving rise to numerous new sects, including the Jedi Order.

The Bene Gesserit were said to have vanished during this time, and rumors of their demise were widespread. Some claimed that the Kwisatz Haderach, driven by his hatred for the Sisterhood, had eradicated them entirely, while others believed they were blamed for the jihad and were hunted down by the vengeful populace.

Regardless of the cause, the true reason for the destruction of the Bene Gesserit was their overwhelming power and the mysterious goals they pursued. It was decided that the Bene Gesserit witches should no longer exist in the universe, as no one wanted to risk the emergence of a second Kwisatz Haderach.

For thousands of years, you have been the last Bene Gesserit. Although your skills and powers are far weaker than those of your ancestors due to a lack of proper training, you still surpass both Jedi and Sith. Your power is the source of the Force they wield—an ancient power that none can fully replicate unless they are also Bene Gesserit.

“I am not only a Bene Gesserit; I am also a Fremen,” you reveal, deciding to share another layer of your secret with him. You point to your deep blue eyes, the eyes of Ibad, the distinct mark of your ancient race, now long extinct along with the Bene Gesserit. “My Fremen name is Hara[1], a name known only to my mother."

You are surprised at yourself for disclosing your Fremen name to him. For the Fremen, a tribal name carries deep meaning and significance, given only to those who can be trusted completely.

However, you feel a sense of relief after finally speaking, though it's not complete. There are still secrets you haven’t shared with him, but revealing this much is already more than enough. You trust Qimir, but you are unsure how much of this truth he can truly accept. Deep down, you are terrified he might see you as a monster, shun you, or worse, decide to eliminate you like others might. Your very existence might be too dangerous to allow you to survive.

But Qimir says nothing. He appears deep in thought, his expression unreadable. You can’t discern his feelings, and the silence grows unbearable. Finally, you ask, 'Do you fear me now that you know who I am?'"

As the words leave your mouth, you bite your lip unconsciously while waiting for his reply, worry gnawing at you. How strange it is to be afraid of his rejection more than your own death."

"Fear?" Qimir tilts his head, puzzled by your question for a moment. Seeing your distressed expression, he quickly grasps your concern. "I have no reason to fear you," he says, stepping closer to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "I do not fear you," he emphasizes, sealing his words with a firm kiss on your lips.

You let Qimir kiss you a little longer. When he finally gives you a chance to catch your breath, you ask, 'Even though I am dangerous?' Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with uncertainty.

Everything feels too perfect and too smooth, and instead of providing reassurance, it only makes you feel more uneasy.

Qimir smiles widely, almost as if he wants to laugh but is holding it back. "Oh, in that case, it’s me you should fear more." He teases, his tone playful, as he resumes kissing you. Not on your lips, but now on your ear, nibbling playfully, while one of his hands moves up to your breast, caressing and teasing your nipple through the fabric with his thumb.

Your eyes widen as you realize what is about to happen. You grab Qimir’s arm, quickly halting his mischievous actions before things can go any further. “Qimir,” you call out his name, your heart pounding, your voice faltering with each shaky breath.

Qimir stops immediately, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. You see the clear reflection of desire in his dark eyes. “Don’t want to?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of pleading, though the playful smirk at the corner of his mouth suggests something more sly, as if he knows every thought in your mind without reading it, knowing that you won’t refuse.

His knowing demeanor makes you feel annoyed, but there is little you can do. In a situation like this, you are at a disadvantage in nearly every way.

“Well, I…” You try to speak but hesitate for a moment, your cheeks burning hot as if set aflame. You don’t know how to explain it to him without making yourself feel even more embarrassed. “I don’t know how... I’ve never... you understand, right?”

That isn’t entirely true. Even though you have never been intimate with anyone, you aren’t that naive. As a Bene Gesserit, you can see the past through ancestral memories, which sometimes bring you glimpses of things you shouldn’t see, intruding into your dreams. But dreams and reality are entirely different. You feel out of place, unsure of what to do, like someone who has read extensively but fails when it comes to practical application.

Qimir lets out a clear laugh, his sly smile shifting to one of genuine amusement, making you blush even more. Before you can protest, he seizes the moment and silences you with a kiss.

This time, though, it feels different.

Never before has a kiss between you two felt so deep and intense. His lips and tongue are sharp and distinct as they invade, filled with a potent desire that permeates every touch, burning with unwavering purpose, as if he wants to touch the very core of your being, reaching the true self you have never revealed to anyone.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His mouth lingers on your lips, and his hands gently cradle your cheeks. “Relax, don’t be afraid,” Qimir whispers, his lips trailing to your neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your skin, then moving down to your chest. “I told you before, you don’t need to hide yourself when you’re with me.” His voice is soft, almost dreamlike, but every touch is real.

You follow his lead, as if under a spell, letting him undress you without resistance. His large hands roam over every part of your soft skin, planting kisses along the curves of your body, from your shoulders down to your hips, and finally to the inside of your thighs. His dark eyes examine your naked form without looking away, not missing a single detail, taking in every perfection and flaw—nothing hidden, nothing concealed.

“I want you to feel every emotion within you—anger, fear, and desire…” The word ‘desire’ from Qimir’s lips was as sweet as honey. “Embrace who you truly are, what you can be, and what you can do when you’re with me—only with me.”

You flinch as his fingertips brush against your delicate folds before sliding inside you. You can feel every knuckle as he slowly works his way deeper, one finger becoming two, gently stretching you as he allows you to grow accustomed to the sensation. He then begins to move them slowly, his thumb rubbing your bud, massaging every sensitive spot inside and out, sending shivers of unfamiliar pleasure through your body.

Waves of strange, stinging bliss ripple across your skin, making you restless as you writhe in the throes of sharp delight. But his other hand presses firmly on your lower abdomen, forcing you to stay still.

“Be a good girl,” Qimir admonishes, a grin tugging at his lips, clearly enjoying watching you struggle helplessly beneath him.

You moan, burying your face in the pillow, your entire body trembling with the intensity of your climax, making you feel like you are floating in a sea of stars. After catching your breath for a moment, you look up to see Qimir hastily removing his own clothes. His skin is pale, his body sculpted with lean, defined muscles, as beautiful as a statue in a temple. But what sets him apart are the scars, some small, some large, like cracks in marble. Yet these imperfections only make him more striking, unique, and beautiful.

Qimir turns to look at you, fully aware that you have been watching him the entire time. His face softens in the dim light, but his eyes remain dark. You sense the intense longing within them—a desire he’s harbored for a long time. You wonder why you never noticed the fragile restraint in him until now. He seems on the verge of snapping, as if he’s been wound too tight, ready to unravel at any moment.

Qimir wastes no time, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close until there’s no space left between you and him. His hardness presses firmly against the crevice of your thighs, the heat spreading through your body as his cock gradually sinks into your swollen slit, filling you completely.

A low moan escapes his lips, soft and barely audible. Qimir pauses briefly, giving you a chance to catch your breath and adjust. As he takes a moment to relish the closeness, he revels in the warmth of your tight, slick, silky walls that embrace his length perfectly.

"It might hurt at first, but it’ll get better soon. Just bear with it," he murmurs, his hand gently stroking your hair. He plants a warm kiss on your cheek, trying to comfort you as your face contorts with pain. It feels like he’s about to tear you apart as he pushes in fully. You lock eyes with him in shock as a flood of emotions washes over you—strange, frightening, painful, and thrilling all at once.

Your lips part, letting out a silent moan as Qimir begins to move, thrusting in to the hilt until you can feel every inch of him deep within you. He brushes away a stray lock of black hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His lips press a kiss to your sweat-dampened temple as his hips thrust forward, quickening the pace. Your soft inner walls tighten, clenching around him as his tip repeatedly hits your sweet spot.

By now, the pain has subsided, replaced by waves of pleasure building inside you, ready to explode.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you grip Qimir's shoulders as if your life depends on his mercy. Your hips rise to meet his movements, every fiber of your being striving to get closer to him, nearly melding into one.

The rhythm changes slightly, slowing down and becoming less steady but more forceful. You pant heavily, feeling the climax approaching, each movement bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Just a few more thrusts, and you both reach the peak together. He spills into you, his release filling you up and spilling over. The hot, wet feeling of his cum makes your body shiver and feel dizzy, still unaccustomed to these new sensations.

The room gradually returns to calm. When Qimir pulls away, your body suddenly feels light and empty, like weightless cotton. You drift in the calm afterglow, enveloped in his embrace as he nuzzles you, kisses your cheeks and forehead, and caresses your hair tenderly, just as lovers do."

But there are no words of 'love' from his lips. The last thing you hear from Qimir before slipping into sleep is, 'You’re no longer alone. You belong to me.”

Instead of feeling reassured by these words, a strange unease flickers through your mind, as if you've just stepped onto a path of grave mistake.

Footnotes:

[1] In Fremen culture (as depicted in the film Dune), Fremen names are special names that differ from regular ones, only shared with outsiders when there’s deep trust and acceptance. For example, Chani tells Paul her Fremen name, 'Sihaya,' as a sign of accepting him as a lover. That’s why the reader needs a Fremen name—it’s culturally important (and I certainly WILL NOT USE Y/N as a Fremen name, absolutely no way!). I’ve hinted at this name since EP : I (if you pay attention, you’ll notice it), and it ties into the story, so I hope you're okay with the name I picked.