#i wanted to get another one in before bed

[tangledinlove]

lovestruck and looking out the window

part one | PART TWO

pairing: clark kent x fem reader 6.2k

summary: you survive the metropolis museum and just really miss clark. its a shame you have to settle for a disappointed superman instead

content: a lecture from superman, clark kent is silly, everyone's in love!!

As it turns out, the building toppling into the museum was kind of Superman-bait.

You figure this out on your hospital bed, the gash on your arm freshly wrapped in bandages and gauze. You're embarrassingly winded after all those lung tests, and are still seeing spots from when you had a light shone into your eyes. Though her work is done, the nurse who did it is hovering over your side, her eyes fixed to the TV. 

“There’s a major development in our story involving the Metropolis Museum of Art,” one of the newscasters begins, her tone rehearsed in that way all people on TV speak. “We have just received word that the collapse of its neighboring building, an empty but newly built office complex, was caused by an explosive placed on its fourth floor. 

“Officials believe that this device was planted to distract emergency services from the bank robbery in the Central Business District. While it is still unclear how much money was stolen, early estimates suggest losses upwards of seventy-thousand dollars. Bill Rossi is on location with the details. Over to you, Bill.”

The screen cuts to a man in his mid-forties, his mustache thick and his lips pressed thin. There’s a few awkward seconds where he stares into the camera before smiling. “Thank you, Linda. Eyewitnesses believe that this may have been the work of some metahumans, with some reporting seeing ‘a blue figure with a laser gun’ blowing a hole in the side of the building…”

Your focus wanes as the camera pans over to the bank, blue goo dripping down where a wall used to be. First responders rush across the screen, walking through the wreckage of it all.

You wonder again why you chose to live in Metropolis over Central City.

You’ve never been so excited to see the steps out of the metro. 

Your arm aches like crazy and you really just wish you could call Clark, but your phone fell out of your purse sometime when you were being rushed to safety. 

It’s hard not to believe that this isn’t another example of the universe punishing you. You wanted a Clark-free day, and it’s what you’re getting.

Instead, you’re forced to settle for his freaky doppelganger, because Superman is leaning against a streetlight a few feet away from your metro exit. 

The sentence sounds insane to even think about, but it’s a fact. He waves and grins at the few people who pass by, who beam smiles back at him. You get the urge to prod at his dimples, which are made even more pronounced by the upturn of his lips. 

You weren’t lying when you told Clark that you thought Superman was great. As you walk past him, a kid wraps herself around one of his legs, and he crouches down to talk to her. The girl’s dad trails behind her, looking just as starstruck as he speaks with the hero about the thunderstorm that hit Metropolis last night.

Superman seems so genuinely happy about getting the chance to talk to everyone, and you find it surreal that he’d saved you just a few hours ago. You can’t wait to tell Clark about your first meeting with his not-friend.

Superman’s gaze lands on you, and you feel your heart break free from your ribcage. 

He’s just as striking up close, the sweetness of his face offset by the intensity of his eyes. A frown flips his features, and he kindly excuses himself from the conversation he’s having before he… 

Huh. That’s funny.

Superman starts walking somewhat in your direction.

You turn your eyes forward and keep walking. His gaze is so intense, you almost feel bad for anyone who’s ever been on the receiving end of it.

The rich timbre of his voice drags your thoughts away from your walk. Distantly, you hear, “Excuse me, I need to speak with you.”

Your steps falter ever so slightly, but you continue walking. You resist the urge to be nosy and look to see who Superman is flagging down, instead looking in your purse to make sure Clark’s dumb paperweight is still inside. You hadn’t checked if it’d cracked in the commotion, and you feel a little sick at the thought. You’d almost died for this thing, after all.

“Ma’am?” Superman says again. This time, he’s right beside you.

For the first time since you’ve gotten discharged from the hospital, you stop moving. 

You hadn’t had much time to really look at Superman earlier. He’d flown you out of the museum and said something a little rushed and frantic — maybe a ‘get to safety!’ — before he was hurrying back inside to save more lives. 

As you stare up at him now, you have a little more time to really look at him. He sounds beyond upset, but he’s just as gorgeous as he is on TV — a fact that you’ll be sure to leave out when you recount this to Clark.

You turn around to see if someone is standing around you, and frown when you come up empty. The only person on this half of the street is you.

“Oh. Hello, Superman. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to me.”

“I understand. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” he says, his hands falling to his hips. His eyebrows are knit together in what looks like… disappointment. You can’t help but feel like you’re in trouble.

“Okay,” you say, drawing out the last syllable. You can’t quite tell if the hospital was thorough enough in their concussion screening. “Do you mind if we do this while we walk? I really need to get back to my apartment.”

“Of course.” His voice is so agreeable you find yourself getting a little distracted. He redirects you by kindly gesturing ahead, and you find yourself leading Superman back to your home. 

“Would you like me to fly you there?” he offers. “I’m sure it’d be a lot faster.”

“No, thanks. It made me a little sick last time.” 

It’s not that big of a deal to you, but Superman’s frown seems to worsen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it could make people feel like that.”

“Don’t be. It was either that or getting crushed by a falling building, right?” 

Your joke seems to fuel Superman’s bad mood even more. You walk a little faster, letting him lengthen his strides.

“That’s actually what I wanted to speak with you about.”

“The museum?”

He nods, and when he turns to look down at you, the edge of his cape brushes your arm. The fabric is impossibly soft. 

“When I found you, it seemed like you were walking further into the building. Is that correct?”

You wrack your brain to the moments before you were taken out of the building. Had it really only been three hours ago? It feels like it’s been a week since then. 

“Well, kind of. I wasn’t trying to, like, run into the flames or anything, but I was picking up something I’d dropped. And it just happened to be further away from the door.”

The vein on his forehead seems to twitch. “Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

Your head throbs similarly. “Sorry, what?”

You aren’t sure you’re hearing him right. Is Superman… trying to lecture you? 

“I feel the need to ask you what you were thinking,” he says, completely serious. “You were putting your life at risk.”

“I was hardly in danger.” You only half believe that, but can’t find it in you to agree with him. He’s somewhat hijacked your walk home, after all. “It was only an extra few seconds that I was inside the building. And, did it really matter? You were there to save me, anyway.”

“And I’m glad I was.” Superman says, his eyebrows bunching together. “Who knows what could’ve happened if I wasn’t there? Those seconds could’ve been the difference between life and death.”

You frown, but don’t respond. He’s stopped trailing slightly behind you and is now walking alongside you, absorbed in his rant.

“What could’ve possibly been so important that you were willing to risk your life for it?”

Someone gives you an odd look as you pass by. You can only imagine how weird this looks: Superman arguing with a civilian in the middle of the street. It definitely isn't something you see everyday.

Or any day, actually. You've never heard about Superman lecturing someone on proper emergency response before.

“It was a paperweight.” The admittance kind of hurts. It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud. “A Superman paperweight from the museum.”

He blinks, his eyes widening a fraction. He stutters out something, and you tilt your head, confused. 

“I need you to understand that what you did was incredibly stupid. You can not and should not be putting yourself in danger for— for a thirty dollar piece of glass!”

You’re impressed at how accurate his price guess was, but irritation still flares up in your chest, souring your mood. “No offense, but you can save the lecture for someone who needs it. I’m not an eight year old.”

He holds up a finger to correct you. “Clearly, you do need it—”

“You’re not my friend or my boss,” you say, just like an eight year old, “so I appreciate the concern, babe, but I think I’m fine.”

Superman’s steps falter. His eyes glance upward. Then, they shift somewhere to the left of you. Your eyes widen as the apples of his cheeks pinken with blush. 

The shiftiness, the glancing away and then around before back at you… you’ve seen it all before.

Superman has the exact same reaction to the nickname as Clark.

His doppelganger, the same man who looks just like the superhero when his glasses are off. But that couldn’t possibly mean…

No.

There’s no way.

Are you seriously considering the idea that Clark is Superman? Just because they get embarrassed the same way? 

You’re being ridiculous. Superman’s name is Kal-El, and he’s some guy from Krypton. You’ve read Clark’s articles about him, the ones he’s written after interviewing him. 

Interviews only Clark seems to be able to get.

You must be concussed. You're definitely just confused.

Superman continues to rattle off words at you, almost pouting with how frustrated he is. The words enter in one ear and out the other as you take him in. 

From a distance, he and Clark look similar enough. They’re around the same height and have the same hair color, and the strands free of gel even seem to curl the same way. They share perfect dimples, and even though Clark hides in those baggy suits of his, you’ve seen him in those nice t-shirts he has. There’s no hiding that frankly, he’s built. Just like the man speaking with you now.  

But Superman shows his face. All the time. He’s not like Batman or The Flash with their masks and hidden identities. Superman is a real man from Krypton, who probably goes home to his massive superhero lair under the city. Not your little apartment complex by the park.

But… there was the blushing. The way Superman knew exactly how much the paperweight was — the same paperweight Clark complained was too expensive. The way he knew just what metro stop you’d be getting off at, and his odd interest in your safety. 

Your head is reeling.

“—I don’t have to be your friend or your boss to be worried about you,” Superman says when you tune back in. You stare blankly at the outline of his back. Could this really be Clark? “It’s up to all of us to look out for each other. The job doesn’t just fall to the people we know.”

Superman walks alongside you a little too naturally, like he’s done it a million times before. He even interrupts his rambling to remind you to watch your step when you pass by the sidewalk with the broken slab of concrete. The way he leads the charge back to your apartment is like second nature.

“So, I’m sorry, if you didn’t want to hear this, but it was very important to me that I spoke with you about this,” Superman says, gesturing very seriously. 

At the end of the street, you let your steps slow, gaze fixed on the man as he continues to speak.

He’s frowning when he says, “I’m sure that you have plenty of people at home that care about you and worry about your wellbeing. So, when you act recklessly like this, you’re not only—”

Without a spoken direction from you, or with you gesturing in any way, Superman turns on his heel and leads you around the corner. Right in the direction of your shared apartment.

You grab the back of his flowing cape and tug.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t do much. He staggers back a step, but you think it’s more to do with the shock of you pulling him back, rather than any show of your strength. Superman whirls on you, startled. You step forward until your chests are nearly an inch apart, staring directly into his eyes.

“What—”

“Clark Kent,” you hiss under your breath. “You must be very proud of yourself.”

His features blow wide with shock. He blinks owlishly, surprise swimming in his blue eyes. “W-I’m not… What?”

“Oh, come on, farmboy.” You lean back to cross your arms, frowning. “I can’t believe all it took was one conversation with you in your costume to figure it all out. You couldn’t have at least pretended not to know where our apartment was?”

Superman — Clark — pulls you closer by your shoulders, holding your injured arm very gently. He throws a few glances around the empty street, like he’s checking to see if there really is no one around. It's only when he’s certain the area is clear that he coughs and lets you go.

“That’s a pretty big assumption,” ‘Superman’ says, his voice taking on an even more authoritative tone. “And one that’s untrue.”

“Superman.” Your voice softens as you say it. He stands up straighter, like he’s trying to make himself even larger than life. “You can hide under that cape all you want, but Clark Kent is going to bleed through no matter what.”

He opens his mouth, about to protest, but you continue.

“You still blush when I call you ‘babe,’” you say, watching his face light up with embarrassment. “And you still nudge me twice to switch spots so you can walk closer to the street.”

“I—That’s… you can’t…” His lips flatten into a line, frustrated, while he wrestles with what to say. When he grimaces, it looks all too familiar.

It does nothing but make you more sure. 

The man in front of you is your best friend. There’s no doubt about it.

A second later, the urge to argue leaves him. 

He drops his voice to a whisper, and you finally hear it for the first time today.

There’s no Superman-tone-of-voice when he speaks, no puffing out of his shoulders, or a dazzling smile meant to put scared people at ease.

He’s just your Clark when he asks, “Can we talk about this at home?” 

(For the second time in one day, Clark takes you flying. This time, he makes sure to go a lot slower.)

“Krypto,” you echo, slumping back against his couch cushions. “You named your dog Krypto.” 

Clark looks the picture of innocence in front of you, your knees knocking together where he sits in front of you on the ottoman. He’s since changed out of the Superman suit at your request — the sight of the symbol on his chest was making for a very distracting conversation. 

As you look at Clark now, in a pair of jeans and one of his old Hanes t-shirts, you have a hard time believing the words he’s saying. He looks like any old person you’d find on the streets of Metropolis while he explains the powers and the flying to you.

Maybe you should’ve made him leave the suit on.

“He’s not even mine. I was just… dogsitting.”

“No wonder you refused to tell me what his name was.”

Clark smothers down a smile. “A bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Hmm. Just a bit.”

You take another sip from the glass of water he gave you. He’d told you that you were only allowed to ask questions if you’d finished the cup, but you know he’d answer no matter what. 

“The whole thing with the yellow sun is pretty crazy,” you add thoughtfully. “If you photosynthesize, does that mean you’re kind of like a plant?”

“Well, I don’t photosynthesize, so, not really.”

You make a noise that’s between a scoff and a laugh. “You said, and I quote, ‘the Earth’s yellow sun is the source of my powers.’ That sounds a lot like photosynthesis to me.”

It’s kind of endearing how seriously he takes your half joke. He perks up at the chance to explain something. “Plants don’t have powers, the last time I checked, but I understand where you’re coming from. They’re converting light energy to chemical energy, but—”

Clark trails off when he looks over at you, and you don’t bother with hiding the smile on your face.

“...You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you? So you don’t have to hear the rest of my lecture about your safety?”

“There’s more?” You try not to sound shocked when you say it, but you do. “And it’s not my fault you’re so easily distracted, Superman. All I did was ask you if you’ve been faking being asleep all this time. You were the one who wanted to go into the specifics of if it’s really necessary for Kryptonians to eat food or take naps.”

He mumbles something like, “It was a really good question, actually,” before he replaces the empty glass you’re holding with his own hand. He tugs you up from the couch and you trail behind him dutifully. 

You swipe over his calloused palm and squeeze until he has to let go.

He moves to the fridge and you watch him intently from your new seat atop his counter. You really like Clark. You find yourself charmed by most things he does, whether he’s hunched over his laptop working or filling up your cup.

He presses his side against your left thigh when he hands it back to you. “Here you go.”

You feel warm. “Thanks, superstar.”

Clark’s eyes shine. “That’s going to be right up on the list of nicknames with farmboy, isn’t it?”

“Oh, you bet. I’m trying to decide which one I like better.”

“I’m partial to both, I think.”

“That’s good. I like Big Blue, too.”

“I’m sure Green Lantern will be stoked to hear that.”

You lean heavily on his shoulder, and he curls an arm around you, taking care not to disturb the bandages around your bicep. Usually, you’d find the silence in the room discomforting. But there’s something so natural about being in Clark’s apartment, letting him bring you glasses of water and teasing him about whether or not he’d classify as a plant. 

He squeezes your side and you let out a pleased sigh. 

“Hey,” he teases. “You wanna explain why you were at the museum and not halfway to Civic City earlier?”

Right. You’d almost forgotten that you’d lied to him about that. Your chest pangs with regret.

“I was buying you a gift.” You gesture back in the direction of his front door, where you left the piece of glass by his key dish. “Remember? The ridiculously expensive paperweight?”

“Yeah, I remember.” His voice is light, but you recognize this sidehug for what it really is. 

Clark is softening you up to get you to confess. And the worst part is — you think it’s going to work.

“What was the occasion, though?” he adds, very nonchalantly.

“No occasion,” you answer quickly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to lean too close to him. “It was just because.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s real sweet of you.”

“Well, you’re a sweet friend.” You press your lips together firmly to try and resist the urge to spill your guts to him. “You don’t believe I’d buy you a gift just because?”

Clark laughs. “I believe you. But I also know that’s not the case right now. I notice a lot more than you think.”

“Yeah? And what are your supersenses telling you, Superman?”

He seems amused. “Well, I can hear the sound of your heart beating a little faster.” He brushes your hair away from your face to look at you better. “You blink more often when you lie, and you try not to look at me as much. But you also don't like eye contact when you're embarrassed, so sometimes it's hard to tell. I usually can though."

His words have pulled the rug out from under you, and he can tell. 

You’ve never felt so… seen before. You notice all of Clark’s weird quirks because you really like him, and honestly have for a while. You never once expected that he’d been doing the same for you — taking note of your tells and habits.

The little smile on his face grows. “You’re not the only one who knows the other person so well.”

You can’t help it. You poke at one of his dimples, and his warm laughter curls up inside your chest. 

“Whatever, detective.”

“Are you going to tell me, then?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll pay for your coffee next week,” he bribes. 

“You do that anyway,” you point out. “I’ll tell you for free. As long as there’s no dinner pancakes for the next two weeks.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deathly.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest while he mulls it over. The idea is very serious to him, apparently.

After a few seconds, he says, “Alright, fine. No pancakes. Now get talking, superstar.”

Your lips press together while you look at him, and his eyes remain on your face even when you glance away. 

The feeling of his gaze feels like little pinpricks on your skin. You wonder how much of that is Superman, and how much of that is Clark.

This entire situation is just so embarrassing. 

“I was avoiding you,” you admit, dropping your voice to a whisper. 

The words sound harsh, but he seems to take them head on. His head tilts. “Why?”

You whack his shoulder. “Did you forget the part where I joked about wanting to be in Superman’s harem? And then immediately told you that you were the spitting image of him?”

Clark’s lips turn up into a closed-mouth grin. 

“You freaked out, and then I freaked out, so I assumed—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, cutting off your rambling with a hand on your thigh, “I wasn’t freaked out by what you’d said. I was worried you’d put it together. About me being Superman. You’d never seen me without my glasses on before.”

You frown. “My first thought when I realized that you looked the same wasn’t that you were Superman. I was more annoyed that you looked cute with or without your glasses on.”

Clark flushes red. You preen.

“My glasses,” he says, like he’s just remembered something. He pats around his collar until he finds the frames, the temples tucked into the neckline of his shirt. “I forgot to tell you. They’re Hypno-Glasses. They kind of mess with your head. Trick you into thinking I look a lot different than I actually do.”

He slips them on, and your lips part. 

It’s just like it was last night. The difference on his face is there, you just can’t pinpoint where, or how.

You urge Clark closer until he’s standing between your legs, your gaze transfixed on his face. His eyes go a little crosseyed with how close you are, the remnants of his blush still lingering on his cheeks.

You hold onto the frames and push them up slightly, until they no longer obscure his features. 

It’s so weird. It feels like your eyes are straining, but when you blink, the tension is gone, and Clark’s face changes.

“Woah.” It’s all you can manage to say.

He looks a little shy under your attention, which is funny when you consider the fact that he moonlights as a public figure. “How different do I look?”

You hum, letting the glasses slip back down his nose bridge. Your touch lingers on his shoulders. “Not too different. It’s kind of like… like when Catherine upstairs got her haircut. Your face is the same, but it’s also managed to change everything.”

His eyes dance over your face, and you find yourself a little self-conscious. You wonder just how well he can read you with his enhanced senses. Your hands feel clammy. 

“Sorry, it’s hard to explain. You already know you still look cute, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you add.

He smiles to himself, his eyes cast downwards. “I’ll sleep a lot better tonight, thanks.”

“You’re always welcome, Clark.”

His line of sight trails down to something by your side, and he stiffens. “Your arm.”

You glance down and see what he’s so worried about. The cut on your bicep has bled through the bandages slightly, a small blot of red blooming there. 

When you look back up at Clark, he’s already digging through the cabinets over the sink.

“What’re you looking for?” you ask, raising your voice over the sound of various cleaning supplies being knocked over.

His head pops back out, a white box in his hands. “This.”

It’s a first aid kit, which he drops down next to you on the counter. A thin layer of dust flies up, and he waves it away with the back of his hand. Clark cracks open the container and begins to take stock of what’s inside, his face screwed up in thought.

“Hey, Superman,” you say, leaning over on the counter to look through it with him. It’s full of all the medical supplies you could ever possibly imagine. “What hospital did you rob for this?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, reaching for something towards the bottom. “I bought this myself, actually.”

“I thought the big yellow Sun helps you heal.”

“It does.” He answers you absentmindedly, squinting at a small packet of… something.

You pick up a yellow tube on the top of the pile. “Then who’s the Neosporin for?”

“You.”

Clark gives you about five seconds to let the words sink in before he says, “Ha! Here it is.”

It’s a roll of bandages. He gestures for you to stick out your arm, which you do without a word. You feel dizzy.

“Sorry—this is for me?” 

“Yep.” He’s winding another thin layer of the material around your arm again, looking very concentrated. He frowns, rewraps a section, then continues again when he’s satisfied. “Do you remember that time you almost cut your finger off chopping onions?”

“That’s an exaggeration. The cut was hardly that deep.”

He laughs. “Well, it made me realize that you’re… a lot more fragile than I am. So I got this in case you ever really did hurt yourself.”

Clark had gotten all of this for you. He’d bought all of these things that he’d never use himself, just in case you’d ever need it.

It feels like you left your heart in the sky while soaring a thousand feet over Metropolis. You fight down the lovesick look threatening to take over your face.

“The man said at the hospital that a little bleeding is normal,” he explains. “I’ll just have to add another layer of bandages and then apply pressure, and then the bleeding should stop. We’ll have to go back if it’s still bleeding after half an hour, though.”

“The man at the hospital,” you repeat. “You were at the hospital?”

Clark freezes where he’s applying firm pressure to your cut. “Superman may have passed by today.”

“While I was there?”

“Maybe. You might have been. It’s a big hospital.”

You think you’re on your way to falling really in love with Clark Kent.

You pass him a piece of medical tape, which he uses to seal the bandage neatly. He takes care to press it down flat, making sure there aren’t any creases. He’s awfully committed to the task, glancing over the wrap, testing your circulation and seeing if it’s too loose.

“I was really worried, you know,” he says, after checking the bandage for the fiftieth time. It’s obvious that it’s secure, but he seems to need something to do. “I didn’t recognize it was you until after I got you out of the museum. And I almost didn’t believe it.”

“Oh, Clark, I’m sorry for lying about where I was. I was embarrassed by what I’d said, but I also just needed…” 

Things you can’t admit to him.

“…I guess I wanted to be alone today.”

He seems to wilt.

“The paperweight was an apology gift,” you admit, a little ashamed. “I felt so bad not talking to you. I was going to go down to the park and eat lunch, but I was really just thinking of you the entire time.”

Clark’s smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “I know that I worry, and I’m not going to apologize for that. I worry because I care about you. But I am sorry if I… make you feel coddled. I don’t mean to, I just want you to be okay. So if you—you ever want space, or a day to yourself, I understand—”

“No, Clark, that’s not it at all,” you answer unthinkingly. 

“It’s not?” He looks beyond confused. “What is it then?”

You hadn’t thought this far into the conversation when you responded to him a second ago. 

How do you even begin to explain this to him? Sure, you avoided him because you were embarrassed, but you also avoided him because you were scared. Scared of your feelings, scared of wanting to be more than friends, scared of what that’d do to your friendship. 

But this is Clark. You refuse to let him think he’s done something wrong for even a second. You have to tell him the truth, even if it means humiliating yourself all over again.

“Well…” you begin, unsure. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands, unable to take the look on his face. He’s so earnest. “You’re my best friend, if you couldn’t tell already.”

“Uh oh,” he jokes, tapping your side. “This can’t be good.”

“I don’t want space from you. That's kind of my problem.”

“Why would that be a problem?” It’s such a genuine question that it makes your heart ache. “I love spending time with you, too.”

“It’s ‘cause I really like you, Clark. I like you so much I got scared and told you I was leaving the state. I like you so much I thought a day away from you would make my feelings more normal. I—I like you so much I spent thirty dollars on a stupid paperweight for you!”

He looks winded. You watch his eyes widen with each word, and your stomach churns anxiously.

“Honestly, now that I think about it, you could’ve gotten that paperweight for free, right?” you ramble on. He’s staring at you, his mouth parted in surprise. “I mean, you could've just flown in dressed as Superman and probably asked for one.”

“It’s not the same, though.” The soft lilt in Clark’s voice makes your head spin. You’re momentarily distracted by him caressing the skin of your thigh, but he makes sure you’re looking at him when he says, “It means more because it’s from you. Someone who I also like. A lot.”

Oh, you think to yourself.

“Oh,” you say out loud. 

Clark’s amused. “Do you really think I let just anyone drool on all my sleep shirts?”

“Wow.” You dig a finger into his chest, your face heating up. “Who knew Superman was such a dick?”

“I thought I’d have to watch a horror movie all by myself tonight,” he says, a teasing smile on his face. 

You thread a hand through his hair, and he leans into your touch. You’re shaking a little. “Maybe you’d actually be able to finish one without me there.”

He beams at you, practically shining. “But then who’d be there to grip onto my shirt and make me turn on all the lights?”

“Hmm. Dunno. She sounds very reasonable, though.”

”Very.”

“The night isn’t over yet, Clark,” you remind, hand sliding down his chest. “We can still watch that horror movie.”

His eyes light up, his gaze flickering over your face. “I actually had something in mind.”

“Clark, fuck—oh my god.”

He smiles, pressing a tender kiss to your jaw.

“Holy shit,” you gasp out. “You’re actually fucking crazy.”

His arms tighten around your sides, and you think you’re clutching onto him so tightly it’ll draw blood.

“When you said you had ‘something in mind,’ I didn’t think you meant something like this!”

Clark tilts his head. He looks down.

All the way down.

From the top of one of the tallest buildings in Metropolis. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if you walked right into a flying bird at this height. The concrete ledge he's lowered you down onto feels halfway to crumbling.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he says, aiming to soothe. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You give him the most incredulous look you can muster. “Clark, you know I trust you with my life. But what are we doing up here? Besides raising my blood pressure, that is.”

He laughs again, the slight breeze biting his cheeks. “If you’d unlatch yourself from my neck, you’d be able to see.”

“I’d also be able to fall one hundred stories to my death.”

Clark exerts no effort when he turns you in his grasp, despite your death grip on him. He spins you around in the direction of the city, and you hold your breath, afraid to breathe wrong so high up.

In front of you, is the most gorgeous sunset you’ve ever seen. The horizon is lit up in a smattering of gorgeous purples and pinks and oranges, and you gasp.

“Oh,” you say, relaxing in his hold. “I thought you were doing this to mess with me.”

Clark smiles into the crown of your head. “As if I’d ever do such a thing.”

You really like Clark. You can’t believe you ever thought you’d be able to wish away your feelings for him. 

“I’m returning that paperweight if you drop me, by the way.”

“Oh, honey, please, anything but that.”

You kiss Clark Kent in front of the Metropolis sun until your knees buckle and you nearly slip off the building ledge.

Thankfully, he makes sure to pick up where you left off when your feet are on solid ground again.

Ivyyy @supermans_wife OH MY GOD OH YMG FOD OH YMG FODKD roe @gothamsurvivor ↳ replying to @supermans_wife oomf are you okay Ivyyy @supermans_wife ↳ replying to @gothamsurvivor IM AT MY FRIENDS HOUSE AND JUST LOOKED OUTSIDE OF THE FUCKING WINDOW AND I SAW SUPERMAN MAKING OUT WITH SOME GIRL ON SOME ROOF WHAT THE HELLLLLL not carly @c4rlycane ↳ replying to @supermans_wife that was me sorry ❤️we’re asking you to please respect our privacy at this time JustinIT @justinit04 ↳ replying to @supermans_wife Holy shit are you serious lmfao Ivyyy @supermans_wife ↳ replying to @justinit04 I AM NOT KIDDING. attachment: [supermanhasagfthisisnotadrill.jpg] 🍒 @iluvtheflash ↳ replying to @supermans_wife His tongue is definitely down her throat… DELETE THIS NOW PLEASEEEE [CLOSED] SUPERMAN IS CUFFED 😭😭 @ sup3rman ↳ replying to @supermans_wife Excuse me ma'am, not to be disrespectful or rude but could you please take post down. That is my sister who was killed by a metra train. And it this post is very disrespectful. Idk who you are or if you even know her but I need you to take this down please. D4RKNESS @FILLTHEV0ID ↳ replying to @supermans_wife #Supershit getting a girl before me 🥀 star | 8 days until s2!! @ robintruther ↳ replying to @supermans_wife Thank you ivy I actually can not wait to list your account and this photo as my thirteenth reason

BONUS:

Clark pokes your side, voice rough with sleep. “What are you doing?”

You look up at him through the glasses you stole from him. They really do absolutely nothing — they’re just a magical pair of blue light glasses.

Clark’s pretty as a picture laying on your bed, the rising sun painting his back golden.  You press a kiss to his arm, the closest part of him you can reach.

You smile. “Nothing. Just catching up on some Superman hate posts.”

notes: clark the people's prince thank you for bringing back the concept of #RealMen. let me know if u had a blast i know i did!!!

tags: @yondiii @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @anuncalledbridge @okayiamkassandra @gabrielle-tia @mantumuncher223 @or-was-it-just-a-dream @angelayse @k-tblog @lunascerebro @as1yasss @chenellearose @reblcaptain @ogjacksonsimp @warmdragonfly @claudiwithachanceof @weepingwolfdaze @stereading @dahling-dahlia @softestqueeen @deadbird14 @eepyfaerie @iyskgd @a-taken-url @roastyyytoastyyy @trendknd @accoochtrement @luvvly-lydia

[munsonsmixtapes]

One of Our Own

Johnny Storm x fem!reader

summary: You decide you want to have a baby with Johnny when you see him playing with Franklin.

cw: MDNI (18+) smut ( p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) breeding kink

Laughter fills the living room where you sit with Johnny, Reed, Sue, Ben, and Franklin. Johnny is holding Franklin as you all make conversation with one another and you can’t help but stare at him. You’ve always wanted children and right here and now, you’re sure that you want to have Johnny’s baby. 

It gets to a point where you have to turn away before your thoughts consume you. You’re both always so careful in the bedroom, trying to prevent pregnancy and you’re not entirely sure how he would feel about actually getting you pregnant right now. You’re actually very sure because you always agree that you want them eventually. 

You wonder if he’ll let you take him back to his place and do unspeakable things to you. You need him so bad that you’re starting to ache between your thighs and he needs to take care of it soon or there will just be a huge mess. 

Johnny knows something is up with you, but he can’t quite put his finger on what. You’re antsy and he’s wondering if you maybe had too much caffeine. You did have three cups of coffee the entire time you’ve been there and he’s thinking maybe that he should cut you off. He doesn’t want to go another night where you don’t sleep. He would hate that for you. 

Reed has suggested that the five of you play a game, but you need to get Johnny home right now and you haven’t had a chance to discuss why you’re acting so strangely. After agreeing to stay for games, he moves to sit next to you after he hands Franklin off to Ben. Your hand lands on his thigh as you scoot closer, your thighs touching. 

“I need you,” you whisper in his ear.

“I’m right here,” he tells you, only understanding what you mean when he pulls back, your eyes boring into his. “Sorry guys,” he turns to face everyone else who’s on the opposite side of the living room. “But y/n’s stomach is upset. I hate to cut this short.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Sue says as she stands up from the couch, following you both to the door like the good hostess she is. “Feel better, y/n,” she tells you as Johnny helps you put on your coat. As you head out the door that Johnny is holding open for you, Sue hands him some leftovers from dinner while leaning close to her brother so you can’t hear what she’s about to say.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are,” she tells him with a glare. “I’d come up with a better lie next time.” With that, she ushers him out the door and slams it in his face when she sees he’s about to try to defend himself. He just shakes his head and helps you get into the car like the gentleman he is. 

He’s definitely going way over the speed limit but he doesn’t care. He probably needs you right now more than you need him, which didn’t seem possible. Those damn pants that you’re wearing have been torturing him all night and he’s very much looking forward to ripping them to absolute shreds as soon as he gets you into the house. He wants lie you on your bed and fuck you until neither of you can take it anymore. He wants to make a mess-to absolutely violate you. His mind is racing with impure thoughts and he’s surprised that he’s able to get you both to your house in one piece. 

You don’t even make it upstairs, your lips on his as soon as you’re in the house and he’s backing you into the living room. Clothing is flying as you undress each other and when you’re both in your underwear, you push him onto the couch, unhooking your bra as you do so. 

Your panties follow and he’s gotta take a second to look at you-to admire the woman who, for whatever reason, chose him. He doesn’t know how the fuck he got so lucky but never takes you for granted. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he sighs. 

“I love you too,” you reply, wondering how you’re going to tell him that you don’t want to use a condom. There was only one time where you didn’t use one and that was only because you were drunk and neither of you could get the packaging open. “I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I saw you with Franklin tonight and it got me thinking…what if we have our own baby?” His eyes widen and you get worried that you’ve fucked everything up. 

“A baby?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Honey,” he pauses and you hold your breath, “I think that’s an amazing idea.” You finally breathe and all either of you can do is smile about the decision you’ve just made. He kisses you again and again as you slide off his underwear then get on top of him. He’s pounding into you as you ride him, the most filthy things he’s ever said coming out of his mouth and that’s making you even more wet. Your hands are scratching down his back as moans pour from your mouth, only encouraging him even more.

“God, you’re gonna be so hot,” he says, his nails digging into your hips, yours scratching down his chest. “I’m gonna lose my mind just thinking about it.” Your pace picks up and he follows, both of you moving so fast and hard that the couch is shaking underneath you. 

“Well, you’re going to be a great dad,” you reply. “I just know it.”

“Shit, sweetheart, are you trying to make me cum?” 

“Yeah, baby, that’s kind of the point,” you laugh. You both move even faster and just by the look on Johnny’s face, you can tell that he’s close. He just needs a little more and then he’ll get there. A few more thrusts from him and he’s at his peak. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whines as he’s coming, fully seated inside you and you can practically feel him in your stomach. You both stay there as he comes down and then you grab a damp washcloth to clean yourselves up. Once you’re done, he carries you up the stairs where you both climb into your bed, snuggling up to each other just like you do every night. You go to sleep with smiles on your faces, hoping that not long from now, you’ll be showing him the positive test.

part two

[quarterlifekitty]

Werewolf!Soap who’s tried so hard to keep his dog on a leash for you.

Not that he isn’t still nasty. He is. He’s still burying his nose in your pits every time you come back from hiking. You know what he is— but he’s never let you see him turn. He’s terrified of hurting you, or worse, without even knowing— he isn’t himself when he turns, he can never remember the things he does, so it’s best for everyone if he just stays away.

Until one night after a long deployment. Six months he’d been away— six months since he’d seen you, smelled you, touched you. The pair of used panties he’d taken with him had practically been worn to shreds with how often he fisted his cock with them and felt for them in his pocket. He’s so damned excited to see you, his leg thumping the entire ride home, practically sprinting away once Price dismisses him.

He’s too heavy with anticipation and need. He doesn’t keep track of the date. Of his cycle.

He wakes up at dawn with that sore, tingly feeling that follows his transformations. Once it settles in his brain, he shoots straight up. Your side of the bed is empty, save for some stray specks and one larger pool of blood staining the sheets.

Johnny immediately buries his face in his hands, bearing only to look at the evidence through the gaps in his fingers. He sobs. His worst fear in the entire world has been realized, the monster inside him that’d always hungered for you had finally got what it wanted. His stomach lurched and rolled with the possibilities— what might have ultimately become of you. Where the body was— if there was one. Maybe, if he was lucky, you crawled off and lived and would never want to see him again. But he knows his instincts would have never left escape an option— especially not when it came to you. The ring box that’s been sitting in his coat pocket is proof of that.

His entire body shakes with the torment and grief of it all, teeth clenching, his eyes shut as the tears just keep escaping. Love is over, because he killed it.

He’s so caught up in his despair that he doesn’t hear the footfalls on the floor. He doesn’t hear the clink of a glass set onto the nightstand. He doesn’t feel the dip of another weight on the bed.

Soap almost thinks it’s a trick from his deranged mind, a symptom of lupine madness, when he feels the warmth of a hand comfortingly rubbing up and down his back, another hand at his shoulder in a half-embrace.

“Baby, what’s the matter? Was it a nightmare?”

He had them, on occasion. Nature of the job, you knew that when you got involved. But he’d never seen this bad. It takes a minute or two before Johnny can bring himself to pull his trembling hands from his face, eyes puffy and wet with tears.

“B-Bonnie…? Yer… Yer okay?”

Soap was beginning to care less and less if this was a delusion. He would live in whatever reality kept you with him.

“I should be asking you that… Oh, Johnny—“ you sighed before wrapping him in a tight hug, even though his face and neck were wet and a little snotty from all of his crying.

“But, the blood—“

“Oh my god. Please, I’m so embarrassed… my period started while I was sleeping. I was so excited about you coming home that I totally lost track of the days…”

“So ye were gone because—“

“I left to clean myself up and get water… I wanted to change the sheets, but I didn’t want to wake you…” you start connecting the dots, even more embarrassed from all the worry you caused. “Did you think something happened to me?”

“Thought I fockin’ killed ye!” He says with a new wave of tears rushing to him, this time in relief. He pulls you in about as close as he can.

“Well, uhm… you basically did with like the dozen orgasms you gave me when you turned. I didn’t… I didn’t know your cock would do that thing, uhm, where it swelled up and… god, it was so hot,” you murmur, face feeling a bit warm just recalling it. A shiver runs through Johnny’s spine— your confession would have him thumping his tail if he still had it.

“Marry me.”

[absolutemea]

FratBoy!Sukuna x Chubby Reader

A/n: Thank yew guise for all the love you've shown me and my works it means so much to me! Sorry if this feels short.

previous Part 3 next

Who the fuck...?

That's what you thought when you saw a text notification flash across your phone screen. You had been waiting on Sukuna to text you that he got home but instead you were met with an unknown number... You unlocked your phone and opened the message to be hit with a harsh reality.

Unknown Number: "Hey. Just wanted to let you know Sukuna is only going out with you as a bet. They pick the most untouchable girl and try to get at her. I thought you deserved to know."

Your heart felt like it dropped out of you. What did they mean he only went out with you as bet? Was it really all a sick joke like you had initially thought. Of course it was. It was too good to be true. You felt a thump begin to grow in your throat and your eyes begin to string. But right before a tear could drop you were met with another text this only adding to your anger.

Sukuna: "Just got home, ma."

A small "oh fuck you" spilled from your lips and so did tears. They ran down your face like a stream. For once in your life you had felt desired, like someone wanted you but of course it was just a false reality. Of course you were just the chubby girl who had the bad end of the stick. It wasn't fair. It wasn't the first time you had been be done wrong by a guy like this. It brought you back to your teen years when a guy had asked you to hang out and ended up not showing up or when they would show up but later ditch you. Why couldn't you catch a break. Maybe the universe was out to get you. It sure felt like that. But the worst part of it all, you had enjoyed your time out with him. You actually sat and got to know him. Had he been vulnerable as an act? You mind reeled with questions but eventually through your teary eyed state you pick up your phone and started typing to that unknown number.

You: "Who are you? How do you know this..."

You nervously waited as it sent only for the message not to go through or say delivered. You were blocked. How dare they drop a bomb like that and then block you. Goodness you were furious. Tears came pouring down your face until you flopped onto your back under the blanket and curled up. Fuck this. This bullshit. You need to stop crying over some fuck ass bum frat boy with a body count higher than his iq. So you did, you put your big girl underwear on and wiped your tears away with the back of your hand. You sniffled a bit but took a deep breath. You were worthy of love and this whole ordeal was just a learning experience you reminded yourself. This wasn't gonna be one of those times where you wallow in self pity and self depreciate. Nope. Nun uh. You were gonna move forward. So what if you were a stupid bet. Someone out there would die to look like you or even be with you. You were smart, funny, and pretty. Not a single man has had the pleasure of claiming you because well... you were almost unattainable. Too busy focusing on yourself and y'know what you should've kept it that way. That was exactly why you were chosen because you were unattainable, a prize to be won, a wild animal to cage and domesticate.

Fuck that. You pick your phone back up and opened it immediately going to Sukuna's contact and blocking him before doing so to him on all social media. You were gonna play this cool, simply act like nothing ever happened. And so you did, you went to sleep like you weren't just crying a few minutes ago. You put on some music in the background and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning you work up feeling a bit better and more refreshed. It was a Saturday so you were able to sleep in a bit. You stayed in bed, scrolling on your phone for a bit. Eventually, you rolled out of bed and put your slippers on before shuffling to the bathroom to go pee and do your morning skin care routine. After that was done you went to the kitchen to grab a light snack and something to drink. You were feeling like having more of a slow day since you weren't busy this weekend and had no studying to do. So, you walked back to your room with your snack and laid back in bed. You ate while watching a new youtube video uploaded to your favorite channel. By the time you broke out of the trance your phone had you in it was about twelve pm. You knew you had to do something productive as much as you didn't want to. Maybe, cleaning? No, the apartment isn't even that messy. Grocery shopping? Nah, your fridge is stocked already. Maybe you would just have an unproductive day and lay around in bed. That was the plan you had settled on until you heard a knock at the door.

Who the hell is at your door. It better not be some solicitors. But nonetheless you rolled out of bed and shuffled to the front door. You didn't even bother checking the eye hole and just opened the door. But to your dismay it was the one and only Sukuna Ryomen standing outside you door and he looked furious.

Not today Satan. You thought and just slammed the door in his face. But, little did you know Sukuna was too invested into you now. So what he did next almost made you scared. He had the audacity to open your front door and walk in before closing the door behind him.

"You blocked me... On everything." He said almost as if he was hurt by the fact.

"What the fuck? Get out of my apartment. I'll call the cops if you don't."

"The cops won't do shot first of all and second Im not leaving until you unblock me and tell me why you did it."

The audacity on this man made you beyond anger. So you did what any sane woman would. You got up close to him and pointed your manicured finger in his face before yelling.

"Oh, you wanna know why? I'll tell you why. Because you're a fucking asshole who only went out with me as a bet!"

Shit. Not only was he in deep shit but that was so hot. You were the first woman to truly stand up to him like that and it really was messing with his head.

"Fuck..."

"Fuck? That's all you have to say? No sorry? Wow, you really are worse of a person than I thought." You were astound at the lack of remorse he had.

No. No. No this wasn't how Sukuna wanted things to go. Not after he had such a good time with you.

"Ma, please let me explain."

"No! You don't deserve to be heard. I don't care about whatever shitty excuse you have."

"Please, listen to me. I'm practically begging you to. Just give me five minutes." Sukuna had never been so desperate for a woman before, it was making his head spin.

"No! Get the fuck out of my apartment!" You yelled at him and walked around him to open the door for him. You pointed your finger towards outside and gave him a look that could kill.

"Fine. But this isn't over, ma, I'm just giving you time to cool down." With that being said he turned on his heels and walked out your door. In all honesty the only reason he was walking away was to not seem desperate.

"Fuck you." How dare he talk to you like that.

You just slammed the door behind him and locked it. Now you were just plain enraged. The audacity on that man made you wanna tear him a new one. But you were better than that. He didn't deserve your energy. You rolled your eyes and scoffed as you walked back to your bed. This was absolutely ridiculous. But little did you know what you were getting into with Sukuna.

tag list- @loser-user69 @toesucker59 @evii1e @erenspersonalwh0re @pinkpickle @soxocs @poopooindamouf@xenop0p @onyxxtheghost @lull3nn @p1nkfl0wers @kitty-yaps @mad-katsuki @trafalgarlaw-wife @twirlingpanda @raritysspouse @crispyvirtueskull @beeloveboo @6yulight @thvslayover @tojisonlyfns @leonkennedyscums1ut @mayhem-1738 @jelly4fish @pinkcokebythepinksand @l4y14 @denypipa @monster-l0ver @moon--juice @sleepykittyenergy @robertthehoover @pinkangelz @kunikuzushis-darling @browrm @mingisleftpinky @llavenza

[tsuy4n]

The Artist Who Lives for the Plot𓂃🖊

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/swearing, Still Chaotic™, Verbal bullying disguised as flirting, petty drama, reader still very much suffering (comically), Unwilling reverse harem(?), Reader is done with them all (not really) [A/n]: Guess who's getting greedy. Hard? or Easy? 😈

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, >Part 9<

Days passed in a blur of noise, spice, and sass.

Somehow, living with them had become... normal. Like brushing your teeth in the morning, or screaming into a pillow before bed. Just routine. 

A bizarre, chaotic routine where someone always wanted to be drawn in the sketchbook like it was some sacred text.

And also where someone threatened to fight you by 9 AM, and you countered by staring them dead in the eye while eating cereal. With a fork.

A prime example of a bizarre morning? You stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and half-awake, only to find Jinu—shirtless, abs on full display, still glistening from a fresh shower.

You yawned.

He blinked. "…Did you just yawn while I'm shirtless?"

"Sorry for being sleepy?" You squinted, unimpressed. Half. "Did you want applause?"

Jinu, poor boy, looked offended. Like his abs had been personally betrayed. It was the first time your eyes had ever seen his, and they couldn't even be bothered to sparkle.

"Are you even looking properly—?"

"Oh, I'm looking alright." You shoot back, shameless, eyes scanning his figure. Not in a perverted way. No.

His cheeks flush. For a second, he's flustered—caught off guard because you're looking at him like that. But the illusion shatters quickly.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him with the clinical intensity of someone committing every line and shadow to memory. Not flirty. Not flustered. Just… focused.

Like an artist cataloging references.

Jinu blinks. The tiniest pout forms. Still…he supposes he's glad he has your attention. But the moment he's started to bask in it you just had to say—

"Hold that pose." And then you left. Literally ran back to your room and came back wielding a sketchbook like it was a sword.

"Left shoulder up a bit. Chin down. Yep. You're a lamp now."

"…A lamp?"

"Shh. Lamps don't talk."

Cue Abby walking in, dramatically shoving Jinu aside and throwing off his shirt like a magician's cape. "Ahem. Now gaze upon perfection."

You didn't even flinch. Pencil flying, you said, "Yeah, yeah. Move a little left. I need contrast."

Jinu stood behind Abby like a sulky Sims character. His tail would've been wagging when you called his name—but instead of a solo spotlight, he got posed next to Abby like a backup dancer.

It had only been five days since you officially started living with the boys, but at this point, you could predict their shenanigans like a weather app. 

And just like weather apps, they were only accurate 50% of the time and still managed to ruin your day. It's safe to say, you had adjusted.

Kind of.

Sometimes you wondered if this was some ancient masochist tradition. Like, was teasing their roommate a new form of meditation for them? (You feel a sense of déjà vu...)

Your wound was healing up nicely—thanks to the boys' thoughtful decision to buy you ointment and cream. Both for hands and the scratch. You had a growing suspicion they'd argued over the brand like a bunch of aunties in a pharmacy aisle, but hey, it worked.

Romance was the first to start it, because of course he was. His skincare obsession had blossomed into a nightly routine with you. Sheet masks, serums, him judging you for using 3-in-1 products (you're still offended). It was a bonding experience. One that also made your skin stupidly soft.

Sometimes he'd knock on your door with a, "It's hydration o’clock," and you'd be forced into another twenty-minute "spa night" that ended with him holding a jade roller like a wand. He called it "beauty sorcery."

The gochujang, however, was a sore spot.

Literally.

You made it from scratch, okay? Handmade with love. For dipping. Because guess what. You weren't imagining it then when it felt like it was touched that night.

Baby was indeed eating it. Like. Fucking. Soup.

You opened the fridge one day and it was just... gone. Evaporated. Atomized. You stared into the fridge, hand still on the door, eyes dead.

"…What."

You turned slowly, like a horror movie protagonist about to discover the killer in the hallway. "WHO—"

"Yo, this is fucking bomb." Baby said through a mouthful of toast, lips a little too red from the suspiciously familiar sauce. "You made more, right?"

You didn't respond. You just blinked. Then blinked again. Then looked at him like you were witnessing the fall of humanity in real-time.

This was the same man who, on the night of their debut, won the hot sauce-chugging contest streamed live. You've been replaying it because it haunts you.

Was his tongue even real? Did it have taste receptors? Was his digestive system made of metal?

And now he'd chugged your gochujang like it was orange juice.

You were too stunned to be mad. Maybe even a little flattered he liked it so much. Aside from the sauce theft, life had settled into a strangely sweet groove.

Movie nights became a thing. You introduced them to anime. Abby was instantly hooked on the flashy ones with explosions.

Mystery liked the chill slice-of-life shows but denied it. Baby preferred horror, because of the jumpscares.

They got so into it, it became law. So of course when a jumpscare happened during one screening, and you instinctively grabbed Baby's arm, it was over.

He didn't brag. He just coasted on the high for the whole damn day—smirking like he knew something you didn't. Which, to be fair, he probably did.

"No big deal." He'd say, lips twitching with that almost-smile he does when he's particularly pleased with himself. "You can grab me again next time. I won't bite."

He paused. Then grinned, just slow enough to be annoying.

"Unless you want me to."

Abby picked you up before you could jump on Baby. The smug cat only whipped his phone out.

Ever since, the boys played rock-paper-scissors to fight for the seats next to you. It was war.

Clothes? Covered. Each of them had bought you one piece, like it was a team-building exercise. They said you didn't need many. That you could just borrow theirs.

You decided not to think too hard about what that implied. It was better for your sanity. Besides, you also had a few spare clothes from your friends anyway.

Your motto these days was: "Let them be weird. I have money to make."

Your friends not only gave you clothes, but also underwear (thank you, God), a USB fan shaped like a frog, and a Huntrix shirt. You sent proposal emojis. They said yes.

Your room now looked lived-in. There were comics stacked in the corner, a small plant you named Minty, and your sketchbooks safely tucked into your drawer like national treasure.

Ever since Romance had gifted you high-end art supplies, you were lowkey doting on him. Everyone noticed. Everyone suffered. Romance had three of your drawings framed in his room now. You claimed it was a "test run."

He claimed you were in love with him.

Mystery disagreed. He laid on your lap like a smug bastard every time he got the chance, glaring at Romance from under your sketchbook.

There was also that day.

A short trip to buy kitchen utensils—originally supposed to be you and Jinu. But the second you two walked into the store, the other four magically appeared.

Jinu didn't hide his pout.

Mystery, meanwhile, barked at a man who'd been staring at you too long. No words. Just— barked. Then turned to ask your opinion on whisks like nothing happened.

"Silicone or nonstick?" He asked, holding up a spatula as if he hadn't just gone full German Shepherd two seconds ago.

Jinu was not amused. You? You kind of were.

There's also a new thing. They picked up your lingo. Randomly calling outfits "straight from Pinterest." You caught Baby calling someone "a walking mood board" and nearly fell out of your chair due to laughing too much.

Your suspicions have started to rise though ever since that stupid misunderstanding about the 'lucky guy' (You still make fun of them with it).

The boys were weird. They've been going out lately, understandable considering they're officially idols. But it's a coming-home-late-at-night weird or disappearing suddenly weird.

Jinu sometimes sneaks out, but the others weren't particularly bothered or the slightest bit curious.

You feel like you're missing something but didn't want to pry. You rubbed your forearm where the thin scar was still fading.

Tonight, you were enjoying peace (for the time being). Phone to your side, webtoon book in hand, blanket over your shoulders, earbuds in as you sang along to Soda Pop. Shoulders dancing. Swaying.

"Cool me down, you're so hot—"

Then came the banging.

You blinked and removed one earbud. "What now…"

You stood up and opened the front door. The boys stood there like a K-pop group at the end of a war film. Clothes torn. Handsome faces scratched. Strands of hair standing like they were lost in the wild.

They stared.

You stared.

"...What the fuck happened."

All five men, cleaned, bandaged, and pouting in various parts of the room.

You had played nurse because someone had to. They refused to help each other. Mystery sulked because you bandaged Romance first.

Baby pouted because you didn't dab his scratch with the same 'gentle touch' you gave Mystery. Which was a lie. You were careful with all of them.

Abby complained about not getting the same brand of bandaids. 

And Jinu? Well, he was quiet.

Which was weird.

Not the dramatic-sighing, doorway-lurking kind of quiet—more like the processing-an-error-in-his-code kind. His eyes hadn't left the floor for five minutes straight. You almost checked if his batteries died.

Finally, you asked what happened. Like a teacher asking who started the food fight in the cafeteria while standing ankle-deep in mashed potatoes.

"We were ambushed." Romance said grimly, like someone who once started a kitchen fire trying to microwave eggs.

"…By who?" You asked slowly.

Jinu didn't hesitate. "The Huntrix."

The what?

Your brain flatlined. It did not compute. You looked at them, all bandaged but still weirdly attractive—ugh, focus—but then came the next intrusive thought: Was this the world's most elaborate inside joke? Were you being gaslit with lore?

For a moment, you felt like that woman in the math meme, blinking at floating equations.

"The Huntrix?" You repeated, like you were trying to unlock a hidden language.

"Mira was ruthless." Abby muttered, rolling his shoulders like a soldier recounting the battlefield.

Wait. Mira?

. . .

Is this their new way of messing with you? Based on the fancomic they caught you reading last night? Seriously?

Well, two can play that game.

You gasped. Loudly. "WAIT. YOU FOUGHT MINA?! THAT'S SO COOL." This is what they get for not being honest.

Romance looked like he'd just been hit with emotional whiplash.

"She almost took my arm off!" Abby snapped, gesturing to the aforementioned limb. He was also, suspiciously, flexing. Priorities.

"She stole my favorite jacket." Baby growled, like it personally wounded his soul. (ironic)

You bit back a laugh and opened your webtoon comic, casually flipping through the pages.

"You mean," You playfully start. "the one with pink hair, dual scythes, low-key murdery but looks hot while doing it?"

"Yeah— why?" Romance asked, squinting warily.

You stared for one long second and came to a conclusion with yourself: they were absolutely screwing with you. Wouldn't be the first time.

You beamed—and you swore you saw his expression shift, just a little. You almost broke character. "I LOVE HER."

Silence. Deafening.

Mystery let out a single bark—sharp, betrayed. Baby's face was scrunched up beside him.

Jinu looked personally offended, his eye twitching. "You… stan the person trying to kill us?"

You looked at him, unbothered. "First of all, she's not trying to kill me."

Romance groaned and buried his face into a couch pillow. Abby gave you the kind of stare people give when their ice cream falls face-down in the parking lot.

"Second," You said, dead serious. "have you seen her character design? It's iconic. That color palette? Flawless. Her backstory? Deep. The drama? Delicious. The trauma? Real. And the hair—"

You sighed dreamily, like a poet in love with a deadly muse.

"She's everything I wish I could draw." You whispered like you were in a theater and had a spotlight on you.

Abby stood, done. "You're sleeping outside."

You replied back instantly, "No I'm not."

"Yes you are." 

"Don't touch my blanket."

And then, as the silence crept back in, you stared at them.

"…Okay, but seriously." You leaned forward, dead serious. "Have you guys been doing drugs?"

The way they all froze made you hum.

Baby's stared at you. Abby gave you another look of betrayal. Jinu's eyebrow twitched like a lie detector.

Romance just laid down on the floor like this conversation was a personal attack. Mystery turned away, ashamed.

Their expressions said everything. Subtitles not needed.

You stared at their collective performance. You could feel the bullshit. It radiated. It glowed.

Something just wasn't adding up, and you didn't like that. Not one bit. You weren't just messing with them. You were worried. You were confused, and no one was being honest with you.

They were acting like extras from a spy movie, and no one was giving you the full plot.

And for some reason, your brain went back to those glowing eyes.

What if that wasn't supernatural? What if it was some government tech?!

You narrowed your eyes. Were they secret agents? There's so many possibilities! And that thought alone was enough to give you an headache but more excitement. Life can be full of surprises, after all.

You didn't say it out loud. But you knew they felt it—your suspicion, the tension.

You could tell because Baby and Mystery shared a look, Romance looked away, and Abby leaned towards Jinu then whispered, "She's onto us."

Which meant two things.

One: They were definitely hiding something from you.

Two: They were going to annoy you on purpose now to make you forget about it.

The 'recovering patients' were lounging around the living room like a bunch of overdramatic war survivors. 

Who knows where they got those injuries from. A bar fight? A rooftop duel at midnight? A tragic run-in with a very territorial goose?

Whatever it was, they weren't talking, and you weren't about to star in a soap opera interrogation scene. You let it go. For now.

Romance had claimed the other side of the couch with his dramatic sprawl, hand over his forehead like a widow mourning her third husband. 

Abby had kicked his feet up on the table with the grace of a man who just got punched, then called it a 'war trophy.' Jinu was twirling a bandage around his finger like he was proud of it. 

Mystery had the audacity to use your fuzzy blanket and curl up near your feet. You definitely heard him say something about your scent.

And Baby was pretending to wince every time he turned his neck too far to the left, only to look you dead in the eye to check if you noticed.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchpad balanced on your knees, doing your best to focus now—after all the chaos of checking their life-threatening scratches and whipping something up for them to eat before they dramatically withered away.

You had just started to enjoy the silence—

"Ow."

You didn't look up. "No."

"Ow." Jinu repeated, somehow louder and more tragic this time.

Your brows knit. "No."

"My hand hurts… Would you mind feeding me?"

You turned your head just slightly. Jinu was pouting. Genuinely pouting.

"I'll feed you my fist."

"That is not how you treat your patient." He said solemnly, voice suddenly raspy. "You're supposed to hold my hand and whisper that I'm so brave."

Before you could blink, he added—dramatically wiping at his cheek with the back of his hand, as if shedding a tear, "Do they not teach bedside manners at art school?"

You blinked. Then slowly squinted at him, expression blank. Unamused. Maybe even disappointed in the medical system. "Do you want a sticker?"

He looks at you, lips curled up into a smirk. "Depends. Do I get to choose the design?"

Your eyes rolled, slow and theatrical, but the smile that followed softened the gesture. Quiet, indulgent. The kind that said you're lucky you're cute without needing a single word.

Romance, as always, took the opportunity to reclaim attention. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think our pretty artist has fallen for us."

You didn't look up, not bothering to verbally react.

"I mean," He continued, fingers grazing through his hair in the most obviously staged casual way possible. "who could resist the charm? The tension? The mysterious aura of tragic men with excellent jawlines?"

"Mysterious?" You echoed flatly. "You threw a rock at a squirrel this morning because you were scared it was following you."

Romance blinked. "It was following me."

"It was chewing."

"Exactly."

You stretched your neck and tilted your head lazily. "Besides. If I was falling, I'd pick the one who hasn't traumatized wildlife."

That shut him up. Romance laid and stared at the ceiling, thinking what kind of lines will positively work on you. Really bruising his ego, you know?

Mystery, silent as ever, had somehow nuzzled against your arm while you were distracted. You flinched slightly when his forehead bumped your shoulder.

He tilted his head, lips curled in a subtle pout, hair still veiling his eyes—like he was daring you to ignore him. Pretending to be pitiful again. Like a stray dog that knew exactly how to act tame to get picked.

You sighed and patted his head, slow and cautious. He leaned in closer, pleased that it turned out the way he wanted.

"That's what I thought." Jinu whispered like a narrator in a nature documentary. "The mysterious wolf-dog hybrid wins again."

Mystery flipped him off without looking. Baby watched in amusement.

Romance stared then went into a deep thought as if he's calculating hard math. "...Maybe I should copy him."

Abby, not to be outdone, cleared his throat loudly. Then louder. Then even louder.

You sighed again. "Yes?"

He wiggled his arm with a single, lonely bandaid on it.

"It stings." He said, voice way too soft and hopeful for a guy who could probably lift a refrigerator if you asked nicely.

You looked at him, absolutely done for this day. You missed when you were at peace earlier. Now, it's nothing but peace of shit. "…It's a papercut."

"But a very deep papercut." His eyes shifted to the side as if thinking of a very reasonable excuse. "The paper was emotional."

"Abby." 

"I need a kiss to recover." -> Shameless.

You tossed a pillow at him. "Go to sleep."

He caught it dramatically and hugged it. "You heard her, boys. She's worried about us."

And just like that, the amusing night continued on.

Romance had taken it upon himself to dramatically limp into the kitchen, despite having absolutely nothing wrong with his leg, and lean on the fridge like he was in the middle of a war flashback.

"My blood sugar's low." He murmured, eyes fluttering shut. "Can't survive like this. I need… something sweet. Preferably delivered by someone soft and caring."

You didn't even pause while slicing apples. "Eat the apple. Choke if you have to."

He left after you shoved a piece of apple on his mouth. He bragged to the others you hand-fed him.

You felt their presence behind you, scheming. But before they could say their words, you turned and smiled sweetly as you held a very sharp knife. They slowly backed away.

"That's what I thought." You cackled evilly, just as Baby appeared behind you.

"Wash the dishes if you wanna spend time with me."

He raised a brow, laughing in that dry, mocking way of his. Their confidence must've grown on you. "What makes you think I'll do something like that?"

Still, Baby stood at the sink, twirling the fork like it was a cigarette and he was pondering mortality.

"These hands were made for delicate things." He muttered, eyeing the soap suds like they'd personally offended him.

You didn't even glance up as you wiped the plates. "Like making heart fingers? Yeah, you needed the upgrade." You felt him give a stink eye, not that it bothered you. "You dried one spoon."

He hummed, taking a step forward away from the sink. "Then I've done my part."

You finally looked up. He was smiling at you smugly before turning his back.

You catch the back of his collar, wow. He really does remind you of a cat. A very evil one. "Get back here."

He huffed. "Unless I get a kiss for this chore? No."

You blinked at him, slow and unimpressed. Lately, everyone’s been asking for kisses—even Jinu.

Baby smirked like he'd just checkmated you. "Is what I thou—"

You took his hand and rolled his sleeve down to cover it again. He blinked. Then blinked harder as you pressed your lips lightly to the fabric over his wrist.

"There. Now get back and finish washing."

Baby froze. The Windows loading icon was practically spinning above his head. "That—That doesn't count." He grumbled, glaring.

You stared at the plate you just wiped dry. "Well, you only said a kiss." You turned your head slightly, wearing the sly little smile he usually wore after annoying you.

Baby didn't respond right away. He just stood there, glaring at the plate like it was somehow responsible for his emotional damage.

Then, with a sharp inhale through his nose, he turned back to the sink, rolled his sleeve back up and resumed washing dishes—slow, deliberate, passive-aggressive strokes like he was plotting the soap's downfall.

You might've won this round, and worse, he knew it.

His brows furrowed deeper, jaw ticking as he scrubbed harder than necessary at a spoon that wasn't even that dirty. He refused to look your way again, mostly because his face had gone pink and the blush was climbing traitorously down his neck.

Not that it meant anything. No. He was just... overheated from the hot water.

Totally.

"I'm injured. You should be taking care of me not making me do the stupid dishes." He muttered under his breath, glaring at the suds like they'd mocked him.

You hummed, barely hiding the grin tugging at your lips. "Oh? I didn't know you wanted to be babied."

The kitchen was warm with steam and triumph.

Baby stood hunched at the sink, sleeves rolled up, pink in the face—not from embarrassment but fury. He scrubbed the dishes with the violent grace of someone imagining they were Jinu's face.

You, on the other hand, were calmly drying a plate. The satisfaction in your eyes? Unholy.

That's when Jinu appeared—no door to open, just his quiet, smug entrance as if summoned by the sound of attention slipping away from him.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, gaze flicking between the two of you. First Baby, then you, then back. His brows twitched faintly.

"…Well," He said, voice dripping casual amusement, "if I knew domestic servitude was the way to your heart, I would've worn an apron days ago."

You didn't glance at him. "Too bad. Pink suits Baby more."

Baby gave a soft huff through his nose—pretending to be unimpressed, but the slow, smug curl of his lips betrayed him. He was eating it up.

Jinu sauntered forward, deliberately slow, deliberately cool, and plucked a clean fork off the drying rack. He turned it in his hand like it was something precious. Like he was.

"Tell me," He purred, "do you reward all your little helpers this generously? Or is this one just your favorite today?"

You turned and met his gaze with faux innocence. "What are you hoping for? A sticker? A gold star?"

He clicked his tongue and grinned. "Nah. Something shinier."

From the sink, Baby snarled under his breath. "He's gonna throw a tantrum in three minutes, tops."

Jinu didn't even look at him. His eyes stayed on you, head tilted. "Only if my feelings continue to be cruelly neglected."

You tossed him a dish towel. "Then dry. Make yourself useful."

Jinu caught it one-handed, pouting slightly. "You wound me."

But he moved closer. Close enough to bump your shoulder as he took the next plate from your hands.

"I'm helping." Jinu said sweetly, then proceeded to wipe the same spoon for the fourth time—gently, like it was fragile porcelain. Eyes still locked on you. Not the spoon. Not the towel. You.

You didn't even blink. "That's the same one."

"It's got emotional residue." He said with a straight face. "I'm cleansing it."

Baby slammed another plate onto the rack. "You're stalling."

Jinu gasped. "I'm perfecting."

"You're hovering." You added, nudging him aside to dry another plate.

He floated back into place like a boomerang. "It's called quality control. Someone has to supervise Baby before he melts the dishes with that anger."

"I welcome it." Baby smiled, that mocking look flickering in his eyes. "One less thing for you to fondle."

"Oh, come on." Jinu leaned over the sink like he was inspecting a crime scene. "You call that rinsing? I've seen rainstorms with better work ethic."

"Wanna test that theory?"

"I might. If you promise to sob afterward."

You stepped between them with a sharp clatter of cutlery. "Children. Play nice."

Jinu sulked into the dish towel. "Only if I get a sticker."

"No." Does he really want a sticker? Or is this just him playing you, again.

"Gold star?"

"No."

He narrowed his eyes. "Hug?"

"…Next joke, and you're on mop duty."

He paused. Then picked up another spoon. Started wiping it with slow, reverent circles. "This one's seen things." He murmured. "This one knows pain."

You reached for the mop bucket behind you.

"I'm done! He's clean!" Jinu held up the spoon like Simba.

Baby flung soap bubbles at him.

The three of you emerged from the kitchen—You snickering at the person beside you; Baby, sleeves still damp and jaw tight; and Jinu trailing smugly behind like he hadn't spent the last ten minutes polishing a spoon while monologuing about its tragic past life.

The living room was far from calm.

Romance was sprawled dramatically across the couch, head thrown back like he was awaiting a tragic death.

Abby sat shirtless on the other side of the couch, good thing it was L shaped, icing a cut so small it was barely visible unless you squinted.

Mystery leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unreadable behind all those hair.

They all looked up as You entered. And then Baby, who still hadn't let go of the soap-based betrayal, opened his mouth and dropped the bomb with all the grace of a ticking grenade.

He points at you, lips curled up into a smirk. "She kissed me."

Silence.

Like someone pressed pause on the whole damn simulation.

"WHAT." Abby thundered, already halfway to his feet.

You glared daggers at Baby, hoping to burn a hole on his stupid face.

"No way—where? When? How long? Was there tongue?" Romance snapped upright like he'd been struck by lightning. He squinted accusingly at you. "Aren't I your favorite?! Shouldn't it be me first to get your kiss?!"

Mystery turned to Romance, a clear frown on his lips. "I'm her number one favorite." Then he looked at you, tilting his head with a sickeningly sweet voice that didn't match the dangerous glint in his eyes. "Aren't I."

You stared at them blankly, wishing for this night to end quickly. "It was—"

"Where?" Jinu interjected, eyes locked on Baby like he’d uncovered a conspiracy. "When?! I was right there—did I black out??"

Baby, cool as ever, tilted his head. "My wrist. Very classy. Very intimate."

He didn't bother himself to answer any more of their questions. Just let the chaos cook itself. This is what happens when you outsmart him. He hopes you have a hard time.

He'll step in when he thinks they've got enough of your attention.

You blinked once. Then again. Slowly, deliberately, you turned to Baby—face unreadable, gaze steady. Without a word, you reached up and pinched his cheek. Hard.

The boys stared, all frown and pouts visible. They want you to see them upset.

Even Baby looked momentarily stunned. He blinked at you, eyes twitching slightly, the corner of his mouth pulling into something dangerous. That was not part of his calculated move. Not the cheek.

No one pinches his cheek.

Fingers still on his face, you addressed the others. "I kissed the fabric of his sleeve so he'd wash the dishes. Sit down and shut up."

Baby glanced down at your hand still pinching him. In smooth retaliation, he caught your wrist and tugged you closer.

Your noses nearly brushed. His voice dropped to a slow, soft drawl. "That's not a kiss either, Sunshine. You wanna try again?"

Before you could clap back with a dry remark or knee him, Abby lifted you. Literally swept you up by your armpits like you were a feather. Nothing new actually.

"Alright." Abby announced flatly, arms wrapping around your waist like a human bear trap. "You've had your fun. She's mine now."

"Abby—!" You wriggled as you frowned.

"I'm injured. I need cuddles. It's basic triage."

You poked his cheek and snarled. "Your injuries aren't serious, you overgrown fridge—"

"Shhh." He whispered, one arm, firm and tightening around your waist while the other on your back, like a clingy boyfriend with zero boundaries. "It's cuddle o'clock."

Your face hit his chest—Ohh. You could get used to this and ignore whatever's happening. You muttered into the fabric, "Very nice."

Abby brightened instantly, smug rising like a tide. Perfect. Just when he was planning to ease you both onto the couch and solidify his position without minding the burning glares, Mystery swooped in like a shadow and snatched you away.

"I'm injured too." He said, arms sliding possessively around you from behind. His chin rested on your head, and his golden eyes glared straight at Abby.

Golden eyes locked with Abby's.

Abby's smile flattened. "Greedy dog."

Mystery smirked without shame. "She lets me be."

Abby scoffed. "You're abusing the favorite child privilege. You've glued yourself to her since Wednesday and won't let go."

"She didn't stop me did she?" Mystery shot back.

You could practically hear the claws scratching the floorboards as they squared off.

Abby tilted his head, lips curling into a slow, devilish smile. "Please. She holds me like a sin she knows she'll commit again."

He didn't even look at you—just stared past Mystery like he was already celebrating the win.

"You're just background noise, mister."

Mystery didn't even blink. He smiled—slow, languid, lethal. "Then repent." His voice dropped to a velvet drawl. "But don't expect her to stop sinning."

His gaze flicked to you—pointed, certain. If Abby was the sin… He was the indulgence you never could give up. And he knew it.

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It throbbed.

Abby's grin faltered just slightly. Mystery tilted his head, golden gaze unwavering, like a warning etched in sunlight.

You could hear the electricity crackle between them. Glaring so hard, the air felt like it might combust—if not from tension, then from sheer ego.

You slapped a hand over your mouth—not from shock, but to muffle the unholy giggle bubbling up. Your eyes sparkled. This was the first time you'd heard Mystery speak so much.

Oh no.

You were having fun.

This wasn't just petty. This was theatrical. Divine. Like watching a high-budget, slow-burn romance where the enemies were too hot for their own good.

A live-action shoujo anime. No, better. You were the main character.

Reverse harem arc: unlocked.

Somewhere behind the chaos, the other three froze mid-complaint, glancing between each other like: Were you analyzing this as an artist or were you actually enjoying this?

God help you.

You were doomed.

But what a way to go.

Romance was first to recover, of course, gliding over with that unbearably perfect smile. Too perfect. Suspiciously perfect.

"All I got was a single slice of apple earlier." He said, full offense in his tone. "You shoved it in my mouth."

You stared at him, deadpan, Mystery still hugging you from behind like a sentient weighted blanket, Abby gripping your wrist like he was claiming a prize.

"You nearly bit my fingers."

"But you looked at me when you did it."

"I was aiming for your throat."

Romance gasped—genuinely gasped. Then lowered his voice with full dramatics. "So soft. So kind."

That did it.

The ridiculousness pierced straight through your filter like a spear of divine retribution. This wasn't just dumb. This was operatic.

You buried your face in your hand (Abby was still holding the other one) with a groan. You were awake now.

Romance took your hand, bringing it to his lips like the absolute menace he is. "I'd like my kiss now."

"On the hand, huh?" Your smile was sweet, too sweet. The kind that made Romance stare with those foolishly hopeful eyes.. "Romantic."

"I do have a brand to uphold." He said with that signature wink, oozing confidence like it cost nothing.

But your smile turned sharp, laced with something wicked—the kind a villainess might wear right before ruining someone's career. "Then you'd better work harder, Valentine."

Romance staggered back like you'd stabbed him straight through the heart. "Ah! Cruel."

But not for long. He popped back up with another one of those devastating grins that made fangirls scream and artists weep.

"I like 'Rome' much better, princess." The words rolled off his tongue with practiced ease—lazy and flirtatious, the way only someone unbearably pretty could pull off.

The vibe was there. The seduction. The kind that usually worked.

Just… not on you. Never on you. You'd been a tough opponent since day one. Immune. Unmoved. Was his charm really defective around you?

At this rate, he might really have to adopt Mystery's personality. He'd even let you put a collar on him if that's what it took.

Or better yet—limited-edition art supplies. That trick worked once. Who’s to say it wouldn't again?

Desperate times.

You tilted your head slightly, the weight of his words rolling off you like mist off marble. His efforts, though impressive in their flair, had no real chance of landing. Not tonight. Not ever, if you had anything to say about it.

"Oh?" Your tone was languid, amused, dangerously indulgent. "Then I guess Mystery's right."

There was a flicker in his eyes. Brief, cautious. "…About what?"

Your gaze didn't soften. If anything, it sharpened—like the edge of a blade being drawn, slow and deliberate.

"You really do only fall for the mean ones."

You caught the exact moment of his smile twitch. Somewhere behind you, Mystery let out a low, smug snort. Abby cracked up with all the subtlety of a grenade.

Romance pressed a hand to his chest in a melodramatic display of betrayal, like the ceiling might open up and cast divine judgment. "Et tu, princess?"

But then, just as quickly, he straightened—composed, chin lifted, eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

"Well," He said, smiling like the blade didn't sting, "it's not my fault cruelty wears you so well."

His voice dropped half an octave, smooth and decadent as sin. He took your hand again and brought it to his lips, slow and deliberate, flashing that signature smirk—equal parts charm and threat.

"I'd fall again just to see you look at me like that."

You returned his smile—the same smirk you'd given Baby in the kitchen. The kind that promised nothing good.

"I told you," You said softly. "I was aiming for your throat."

There wasn't a single ounce of mercy in your voice. Just cool detachment layered over a touch of theatrical cruelty, the kind that kept him spinning in circles and asking for more.

This had been fun. But it was time to end it.

"Alright, you big babies." You paused for a second. "Head to your rooms and give me my deserved peace."

With a single swift motion, you slipped free from both Mystery and Abby's grips. It was effortless, almost fluid—like you'd been humoring them all along.

You swore you heard them whine like a bunch of wet puppies behind you. Whether it was out of protest or pathetic affection, you didn't care.

Your fingers moved instinctively, rubbing at your wrist where they'd been holding you. The pressure had left no marks, but their warmth lingered. So did the ghost of their touch.

You kept your expression steady, carefully neutral. But it was hard not to replay the scene in your head—how they'd all fought over you like a pack of dogs.

"If I sweep this entire room, will you give me a kiss?" Romance tried again, ever the optimist. The moment your gaze snapped to him, he deflated instantly. Balloon. Popped.

Thanks to him, both Abby and Mystery knew better than to also try again.

Baby, lounging like a smug little devil on the armrest, tilted his head with a grin sharp enough to slice ego. "Don't waste your breath. I'm her favorite. Like it or not."

Your glare could've curdled milk.

He made a lazy motion of zipping his lips, but that cocky smile? Still stuck to his face like a cursed sticker.

Rolling your eyes, you plucked your sketchbook from beside Jinu—who had gone suspiciously quiet amidst all the chaos.

"Ow." He muttered, rubbing his hand where yours barely even brushed.

Right. Of course. He wasn't above the drama. You really should've known better.

"Ow." He groaned this time before holding up his hand dramatically. "There it is again. The pain."

"You dried two plates and a spoon." You said flatly. He's basically doing the same thing he did earlier.

"I overextended. He replied, wincing as he waggled his fingers. "It hurts so much."

"You bragged about having perfect wrist strength earlier."

"That was the pride before the fall."

"Jinu." You said, turning to him fully. "I literally watched you duel Baby in the kitchen with dish soap. Quit faking your injury." It was aimed at them all.

Jinu pursed his lips. "I deserve sympathy."

"You deserve chores."

"I deserve love."

You flashed a smile. "I deserve peace."

With that, you gave them a gracious nod, like royalty tolerating the annoying, but unfortunately very attractive officials for far too long.

"Goodnight, children." You said, voice velvet and final.

Then you turned on your heel—graceful, unbothered, the embodiment of a woman clocking out from emotional labor and into freelance burnout.

You had commissions to finish, money to make, and frankly, self-satisfaction ranked higher than babying grown men with too many feelings and not enough shame.

The door shut behind you with poetic finality. For three seconds, silence reigned.

Then Abby huffed and squared his shoulders like he was about to charge into battle. He marched to your door.

"[Y/n]?" He called, tone soft, carefully pitiful. "I think I have a fever…"

"My hand still hurts." Jinu chimed in from beside him, popping into frame like a jumpscare. He cradled his wrist with the dramatics of a martyr. "Can't hold anything. Not even a single spoon."

Romance appeared a heartbeat later, predictably. "My cut burns." He sighed, clutching his chest like he was seconds from ascending. "I think I need kisses to cool it down."

Across the room, Mystery and Baby remained where they were, watching the chaos unfold like it was theater made just for them. Three men squabbling like baby birds, pecking for scraps of attention—hardly dignified.

Mystery didn't speak, not when it wasn't worth it. Instead, he turned, took the blanket you left on the couch, and padded toward his room.

Halfway down the hall, he paused. He could just teleport into your room. Quick, clean, unnoticed. But he scratched the thought as fast as it came.

You didn't know yet. Right.

Besides, it seemed like you wanted to be alone tonight. His smile faltered for a short second then it quickly fixed.

He'll leave you alone. He was considerate like that. You'd praise him for it tomorrow, wouldn't you?

You liked him best, after all.

Baby lingered behind, arms loosely crossed as he watched the others bicker over their so-called injuries.

He scoffed quietly. Pathetic. He wasn't like them.

Obviously.

Then again… he glanced at his arm, the one you treated earlier. The scratch was shallow, barely even broke skin. It didn't hurt, not really. Nothing worth mentioning. But it was there. A small thing.

Courtesy of Huntrix—maybe the only thing those fools had ever done right.

The way you leaned in without hesitation, fingers brushing skin, eyes sharp with concern that you tried not to show too much. There was something about the way you touched them, without flinching, without fear, that made even the pettiest wound feel worth keeping.

He looked at the mark again, then at his phone. Thought about it. Not seriously. Just in passing.

Still, he rolled up his sleeve, shifted the angle, snapped a photo where the scratch looked just a little more dramatic than it was. The lighting hit right. Just enough to draw worry. Not enough to make you suspicious.

His thumb hovered over the message box.

He wasn't 'desperate.' He didn't need to 'fight' for your attention like the others. But he did want it. Not split between the others. Not shared. Just yours, all on him.

If this got you to come check on him—then good. If not, he knew where just to find you.

—

From the other side of the room, you gripped your pen like it was the last thread of your sanity.

Even with your volume maxed out, their voices still managed to break through—shouting, arguing, one-upping each other over bruises and bandaids like a bunch of children on a playground with superiority complexes.

Then, your phone buzzed. You glanced down, expecting some promo email or a commission inquiry—anything, really. Instead, you saw it. A photo.

From Baby.

Your brow ticked up. The angle was perfect, lighting too calculated. His arm looked worse in the photo than it actually had been the last few hours. You knew. You treated it yourself.

"GO TO FUCKING SLEEP!!"

There was a beat of silence. Then quiet shuffling, half-hearted muttering, a door closing too softly to be innocent.

You sighed, a quiet one. You tried to bury it under a scoff, but a smile gave you away anyway.

—

The next morning, you woke up to the soothing hum of the AC, face half-smushed into your pillow and blanket tangled like it fought you in your sleep, and won.

You reached for your phone with the grace of a Victorian ghost, blinking blearily at the screen. 10:19 AM.

Perfect. Time to go back to sleep.

At least, that was the plan… until you saw your group chat absolutely combusting. A flurry of missed calls from Minji. Your username popping up like it was trending for the wrong reasons.

Still half-asleep, you stared at the screen, trying to process.

‼️HUNTR/X fansign. 🔥Today. 🤩This afternoon. 🩷💜🩵

You opened your calendar, praying it was just a weird dream.

It wasn't. There it was. Marked. In your handwriting. With sparkles.

You slapped your forehead so hard you saw stars. How did you forget this? The one event you'd sworn to never miss—even if you were half-dead, broke, or abducted by aliens. Sure, the announcement came just yesterday, but still. No excuse.

You shot up like a horror movie jump scare, thumbs flying across your screen as you panic-texted the group. The girls replied instantly—equally dramatic, deeply unserious, and already plotting outfits like this was a red carpet event.

You couldn't help grinning. God, they were ridiculous

Speaking of them, you really should make that group chat before they all virtually ambush you again. It was getting annoying having to reply to each of them individually when they were literally always together anyway. With or without you.

So you did. Gave it a silly name. Something stupid on purpose. With that done, you realized you were hungry. And thirsty. And—

Wait.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

You sat up fully, rubbing your face, half-bracing for one of them to burst in to immediately demand attention, including to be used as an inspiration for one of your characters because apparently you needed it. Dramatic. Clingy. Loud.

But nothing. Sometimes, silence in this apartment scares you.

You padded out to the kitchen and spotted a note stuck to the fridge, written in a mix of uppercase, lowercase, and suspiciously inconsistent spelling. A group effort, clearly.

It read:

Be back later don’t miss us too much (we know you will) we’ll bring gifts. maybe. unless we forget. – 🐛

You stared. Then stared harder. Jinu's handwriting for sure, but the doodle of a caterpillar wearing sunglasses? Unmistakably Abby's.

Respectfully, the caterpillar was vibing way too hard to criticize.

You stuck the note back and gave it a little salute. Idol stuff, probably. You glanced at the time again—10:22 AM. Plenty of time to get ready.

And maybe drink three cups of coffee.

You had a fansign to prepare for.

—

A little over an hour later, you gave your reflection one last look.

Lips glossy, eyes sharp, cheeks brushed with a color that said "I woke up like this, but better." You had your Huntrix shirt tucked into a cute bottom, one that matched just right—not too try-hard, but just enough to get a double-take.

The finishing touch? A necklace Minji gave you along with her clothes. She called it "lucky." You just thought it looked expensive.

You met up with her outside the station, where she stood with her usual iced drink and two others beside her—Sooah, who had already taken thirty-seven photos of her outfit from different angles.

And Dabin, who was vibrating with unholy energy like she had snorted sugar instead of eating breakfast.

"Okay but seriously." Sooah said as the four of you headed toward the venue, "What if Mystery actually signs my forehead?"

"Be honest." Minji deadpanned. "You'd never wash it."

"I'd tattoo over it." Dabin nodded solemnly, like she'd rehearsed the idea.

You laughed, already bracing for chaos. "Please don't let this become a medical emergency."

It took two hours to get in. Two full hours of shuffling in a human snake of overstimulated teenagers, snacking on someone's emergency crackers, and arguing over who'd faint first if Abby winked at them (Dabin lost by preemptively collapsing when someone mentioned his name).

The fansign hadn't even started yet, but the air was high on anticipation and overpriced perfume. Banners waved. Staff paced. Photocards were clutched like sacred relics.

And then—

They entered. Well. Waddled in.

Five mysterious blobs in full caterpillar sleeping bags shuffled across the stage like cryptids migrating toward a light source. Rumi stood there, blinking like she, too, had not been briefed on this particular genre of unhinged.

You and your friends paused mid-banter.

You stared, a little amused. "Be honest. If I tripped them right now, would I go to jail or heaven?"

Minji choked on her drink. "Why is that your first thought?"

Sooah, without missing a beat, held her hand out for a high five. "Heaven. No doubt."

You slapped her palm. The unholy alliance was forged instantly.

Dabin stared at you both like you'd grown extra heads. "You guys need supervision."

And then—

The caterpillars shed their skin.

One by one, the sleeping bags dropped with dramatic flair. Out stepped the Saja Boys in all their smug, synchronized, smug glory, striking poses like they'd just crawled out of a Gucci cocoon and evolved into problems.

"It's the Saja Boys!!" Someone shrieked.

The crowd detonated. Screams went off like confetti cannons. Phones flew into the air like offerings to the fandom gods.

Your friends were losing structural integrity—Minji nearly dropped her drink, Sooah slapped herself just to be sure it was real, and Dabin was muttering, "I'm not ready, I'm not ready," like a warning.

You blinked, stared, tilted your head.

"You gotta be shitting me."

[writtencrone]

"Your husband knows about me, intimately."

Yandere! Dilf x bttm male reader

You had always assumed your sugar mommy was either single or had a very free relationship with her husband. You learn this isn't the case after you meet a man at a bar, and find that he knows more about you than you'd like.

Anal sex, anal fingering, rough sex, you break the bed on this one, stalking, cum tribute, possessive behaviour, cheating, infedility, mentions of m/f sex but never fully described because I'm lazy!

“Your husband knows about us,” you say.

You're sitting across from her in her tea room, and she's just served you some rare yellow tea (‘you look so pale, darling’). Your relationship with Claudia was not vague, it was defined and signed. You'd be her companion in moments like these, as usual after you've fucked and reached mutal bliss for however long or little Claudia wants. In return you were allowed a fixed stipend that covered all your living costs and then some.

You had been a host before, that's how you met this elegant and beautiful woman, but Claudia always liked to possess things. So she approached you with this contract. The idea of being a thing was less threatening when you could also afford other nice things.

“Yes, I suppose he does,” Claudia says, lounging in her afterglow. She wore only a silken robe, and you your boxers

“He's not… upset?” You ask, feeling a bead of sweat roll down your spine.

Claudia rolls her eyes. “Just drink your tea, darling. Charles is only upset when business is bad.”

Ofcourse, before this, you had met Charles – not knowing he was the Charles. Now you found yourself metaphorically wedged between these two wealthy sycophants.

About a week ago…

Yandere! Dilf who… You meet at a bar one night with your friends. You peel off from the group to sit and talk with the handsome older man sat in a booth by himself. He's hard to talk to at first, withdrawn. Eventually, you coax him to open up, buying him a drink and leaning in closely – it reminds you of your days working as a host. The satisfaction of earning a regular customer.

Yandere! Dilf who… Tell you his wife is cheating on him, and you sympathise with him. Nevermind the fact your sugar mommy is a married woman, because that's different . You assume your sugar mommy (lady, as she prefers it) has some sort of agreement with her husband, and never questioned it further. You brought him another drink, nodded and put your hand on his as he vented about years of an unsatisfactory marriage.

Yandere! Dilf who… When you place your hand on his thigh, leaning in closely. You know he's hard, You ask if he wants revenge, your lips ghosting over his. He says he just wants you.

Yandere! Dilf who… Drives you to his penthouse with a hand on your thigh, you lean across the space, talking, slightly tipsy. When you get home you both fumble in the dark, you ask for light but he says no – not until you're in the bedroom. You pout and ask him why he doesn't want to see you, he silences you a kiss and half your clothes are off by the time the back of your knees hit the bed.

Yandere! Dilf who… guides to your knees with his big hands, calloused yet surprisingly soft. You undo his belt and zipper, and he makes a joke about how every silver fox has a silver tail when you oggle at the silver streaked in his pubic hair. You had to turn your head into his thigh as you stifled a slight laugh, not because it's funny but because it is so bad. He instructs you to stand, and puts down a pillow for you to kneel on. It was a mercy, because you were there a while.

Yandere! Dilf who… moans and groans, rocking his hips into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks and suck, pulling yourself off his dick to run your tongue down his entire length and swipe across his balls. Before immediately putting it back in your mouth and taking it to the hilt, his pubic hairs were ticklish against your face as you deep throated him. He moaned, his hands tangling in your hair. You started to choke around him, the fluttering of your throat so euphoric he released down your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, spots danced across your vision - death by dick?

Yandere! Dilf who…pulls you off leisurely, admiring how the mix of semen and spit connect your lips to his departing tip. He holds you there, head tilted back as you gulp for air.

“I hope your appetite isn't ruined,” he says, and oh how he stares down at you. You feel dissected.

“I'm just getting started.”

Yandere!Dilf who… fingers you for a horrible amount of time. He works you open leisurely, cooing about how good you'll look on his cock whilst a finger curls against your prostrate. You whine, and by the end of it you're taking three fingers with ease.

“That was quicker than I thought,” his gravelly voice remarks, hitching one of your legs over his shoulder. He presses a kiss to the ankle, and you actually blush. “I suppose you have experience in this as well, I almost forgot.”

Before you can ask ‘hey what do you mean by that. Your dick was ticking my lungs areoli just a minute ago—’ followed quickly by ‘wait aren't areola my nipples?’ he buries himself in you in a brutal snap of his snap.

Your mouth is agape in a silent scream, drifting off into a whine as you bury your head into the pillows, your legs were kicking uselessly as your body was catching up the sensation of fullness.

Yandere! Dilf who… fucks you tenderly then brutally, holding you close then pinning you down, reducing you to a creature halfway to grief out of how much it was, and halfway to total bliss out of how good it was.

The lewd sounds of skin against skin overpowered your cries, your wanton moans.

Yandere! Dilf who… is an attentive lover, which makes him all the more crueler when he knows you're reaching out to hold him, to find some leverage as he plowed you into the mattress, and he denies you with a tsk. Your knees are by your shoulders and your feet somewhere higher as he finds leverage in this position where you can't cover yourself – can't flee.

You whimper and fist at the sheets, the pillows tossed to the ground after you tried to hide in them. You were drooling, weeping, flushed red and your eyes rolled back into your head as you came with a shout. He lifts your hips higher, thrusts deeper, and beneath you the creaking bed cracks once and for all. You yelp as a sudden dip forms…

You guys broke the bed.

When he finishes you feel his warmth pool in your gut like a match, you let out a whine when he pulls out – half hard.

“We're not done just yet.”

Yandere! Dilf who… is good at after care. He cleans you up, inspects the bites he left on you and confirms none of them broke skin (“A shame.”), carries you limp in his arms to the washroom. He lathers you, holds you. He doesn't demand more, and when you lay down on his bed you look at him, a little nervous, and ask.

“Do you want me to stay?”

He tilts his head to the side.

“What ever made you think I'd want you to leave?”

You let yourself be gathered into his arms, you breathe in his expensive body wash and fall asleep like that. Sandalwood and citrus notes on your mind.

Yandere! Dilf who… doesn't wake up first. You slip out of his arms and drape a robe around yourself, stumbling out of the room quietly whilst picking up your clothes. Your lower back is aching, but it's lost in all the hickeys that crown your collarbone. You'd almost think him a vampire for how much he'd latch onto you.

Yandere! Dilf who… left the room to his study unlocked, and you stumble in whilst getting dressed. His laptop is sat open and you tentatively press the space bar, only for it to light up and go immediately to his desktop (he didn't set a password?).

What catches your eye is an email notification with your name in the subject. Your full name.

‘On the matter regarding L/n, F/n.’

Your hands shake as you click on it, settling at the edge of the plush seat. What you find is a resignation from a private investigator, citing that the requests had gotten too unethical to continue.

You find an email thread 79 emails long. It starts with an image of you and Claudia after having sex, your hair wild from where he ran his hands through it. You're smiling at something she said - you remember this day.

Then it's your name, your social security number, your address, your parents address, the addresses of the schools you attended. Your stomach drops as you scroll and watch as Charles - now you know that he's that Charles - curated an intricate portrait of your life. Of the bars you frequented.

Then it's pictures, so many pictures. The final request was to put cameras in various rooms of your house, including your shower, before the PI resigned.

You scramble through his desks, trying to find something. A pen, a phone, something.

You find a photo of yourself, taken candidly whilst you were on the beach. Its sticky and the paper is crinkled - it's a cum tribute. You gag, rolling your chair away from the desk only to bump into…

Yandere! Dilf who… wraps his arms around you, locking you in that chair.

“I never quite figured out how to set a password,” he sighs, his breath is minty. Your mouth is dry. “Though, I suppose I didn't expect company so soon.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek and you felt his teeth.

“You're Claudia's husband,” you remark, dryly.

“And you're her boyfriend. Very liberal of her to allow you to see other partners, probably the only liberal thing about her.”

He shrugs, and pulls away.

“ I should go home,” You say around the lump in your throat.

“Of course,” he purrs, sauntering away. “I did hope you'd stay for brunch, but I suppose your appetite has been ruined.”

He smiles, studying you. Alight with horror and sat in his seat wearing basically nothing.

“I'll see you around.”

You stumble out of the apartment, your clothes the wrong way around.

[hazyserenityx]

Playing With His Aftermath

Title: Playing With His Aftermath (18+ MDNI)

Synopsis: (Lads x Reader) Lads playing with their cum after taking you.

Featuring: Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus and Caleb

Warning: 18+ MDNI,  smut, cumplay, facial, anal play, breeding, breast play. All with consent, respect, and gentle care.

WC: 600 words per LI

It’s been a few hours since Xavier first pinned you against the mattress, your legs and pussy begging for air after he relentlessly fucks you senseless. You can’t remember how many times you’ve cum, how many times you’ve screamed his name, how many times he pushed into your most sensitive spot. 

He lays beside you, chest rising and falling heavily, an arm draped across his forehead, sweat glistening. Your bodies were flushed, his abs flexing with every breath, and his cock twitched, still sensitive from his last release.

You turned to him, pressing a soft kiss to his hip. “You good?”

A low, breathless chuckle escaped him. “You’ve got me seeing stars, sweetheart.”

You grinned, letting your fingers trail lightly down his abdomen. “Then close your eyes,” you murmured. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

He opened one eye, smirking faintly. “Oh yeah? Thought you’d worn yourself out.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you slid down the bed, lips brushing over his inner thigh. His breath caught as you took him into your mouth, warm and slow. You could feel how overstimulated he was, every twitch of his hips, every quiet groan that slipped past his lips.

“Y/N…” he warned, voice husky and low. “I just came—”

But he didn’t stop you. He tilted his head back, one arm flung across the pillows, and let you work.

You bobbed gently, letting your tongue tease the head of his cock, swirling slowly, loving the way he tensed under you. He was so sensitive now, every drag of your mouth making him tremble. You looked up at him, eyes wide, letting him see the devotion in your gaze.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice ragged. “You’re too good at this.”

He shifted suddenly, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up before flipping the both of you—so fast it made you gasp. You were on your back now, but he didn’t lay you flat. Instead, he moved above you—kneeling—straddling your chest, his cock glistening as he looked down at you.

“You want it?” he asked, voice dark and velvet-smooth.

You nodded, lips parted, breath shallow. “Yes… please.”

He didn’t hesitate. One hand wrapped at the base of his shaft while the other found your cheek. He stroked himself slowly, eyes fixed on your mouth, your skin, your desperation. His voice dropped another octave.

“Look at you. So fucking pretty like this. Taking care of me after all that.”

You watched, mesmerized, as he stroked harder—until his muscles flexed, and his breath hitched. You know he’s getting close so you open your dirty little mouth to take his cum like a good girl. His warmth splattered across your cheek and lips, his release painting your skin as his eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through his body.

You moaned softly at the feeling, heart pounding.

He opened his eyes, gaze dark and tender, thumb spreading his cum across your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispered.

Your thighs clenched.

Then, his voice dipped, commanding and sweet all at once:

“Again.”

Rafayel was so immersed with his work that he didn’t realize you had come over, until you walked past him completely naked, and that was how it all started. Hours of two bodies colliding with one another, mixed with sweat and unforgiving pleasure. You lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had. Intense orgasms only he can give you. The slight curve of his cock hitting that perfect spot.

He had bent you over the edge of the bed, one large hand splayed across your lower back, the other gripping your hip so tightly you could still feel the imprint of his fingers. You could still feel the way he called your name as he came—hot, heavy—spilling across your back in thick ropes, gasping like he’d been holding himself back for hours.

“Don’t move,” he murmured.

He leaves you momentarily —face turned to the side, chest heaving against the sheets—while he stepped away into the adjoining room. When he returned, his voice was low and rich, curling through the air like smoke.

You lifted your head just enough to glance back. “What are you doing?”

There was a quiet sound—the soft bristle of something brushing against glass.

Then, in his hand, you saw it: a small, slender paintbrush.

Your breath hitched.

Rafayel’s eyes roamed your naked body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every mark he’d left on you. And there were plenty—faint bruises blooming on your hips, scratches along your thighs, flushed skin along your spine.

“You,” he said softly, “are a fucking masterpiece cutie.”

The brush dipped toward your lower back—right where his release still glistened on your skin—and then dragged upward, slow and deliberate.

You shivered. “Rafayel…”

“Shhh. I’m working.”

The bristles slid over your spine in smooth strokes, circling your shoulder blade, then dragging down the curve of your waist, his cum now an artpiece on your back. He painted in silence, one hand pressed between your shoulder blades to keep you still, the other dragging the brush across your back like you were silk.

“Every inch of you belongs to me,” he muttered. “I could cover you in this—layer by layer—and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

You whimpered, your body tightening with each pass. Then came the pause.

He frowned, pulling back slightly. The brush hovered, but the movement stalled.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, breathless.

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “I ran out.”

You swallowed hard. “You—what?”

His voice now a dark, and silent whisper,. “I’m not done. But if I want more to paint with…”

You felt the paintbrush slide down your back, between your cheeks, down your pussy to your clit, making little circles with the cum-soaked brush, his hand sliding between your thighs.

“…I’ll have to make more.”

You gasped as he pressed his hard cock against you once more from behind —already hard, already desperate—and in one swift thrust, he was inside you. The paintbrush is still moving in rhythmic circles around your swollen clit, “Rafayel—!”

He groaned into your neck. “Don’t move. Let me finish what I started.”

And he does—using your body not just as a canvas, but as his altar, his obsession, his art. Over and over again.

Your legs were draped over Zayne’s shoulders, heels digging slightly into his back as he moved inside you with slow, powerful strokes. His grip on your hips had softened from before—no longer desperate, but reverent, almost tender. You felt every inch of him, the way his body trembled from holding back. 

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes searching.

“You okay?” he whispered, breathing warm against your lips.

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Zayne… please. I want all of you.”

His lips parted like the sound of your voice undid him. And he let go.

A deep moan slipped from his throat as he pushed in hard one final time before pulling his cock out. His whole body tensed, and you gasped at the sensation of his release—hot and thick—spurting across your stomach as he strokes himself in front of you, his cheeks flushed a perfect shade of pink.. Long ropes of cum land from your stomach to just below your breasts, making you shiver from the contrast of warmth against your flushed skin.

Zayne held still for a breath, panting, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His heart beat against yours in heavy thuds. But he didn’t move away.

Watching the way his cum dripped down your body—his gaze full of something deeper than lust. Adoration. Awe.

Then, without a word, he knelt back between your thighs. His hand cupped one of your breasts gently, thumb brushing the underside.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You flushed, but didn’t look away. “What are you thinking?”

“That I could stare at you like this forever.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss just above your navel—right where his release still clung to your skin. “And that I want to make you feel good again.”

You parted your lips to ask what he meant—until he reached for your breasts again, lifting them delicately, pressing them together with the softest touch.

His cock, still slick, slipped between them—his movements now slow, careful, like you were fragile and sacred.

“I just want to feel you,” he whispered. “One more time.”

You gasped as he thrust gently between your breasts, the warm mess of his earlier climax acting as a glide. His eyes never left yours, not even when his hips stuttered again, a softer sound of pleasure escaping him.

When he came again—this time smaller, less frantic—it pooled right at your collarbone. Zayne let out a shaky breath and leaned over you, resting his forehead against yours again.

You could feel his weight, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was comforting.

He stayed like that for a moment, catching his breath.

Then he slowly pulled back, gaze sweeping over the mess on your chest, and his jaw flexed—not in frustration, but something closer to guilt.

“Let me clean you up,” he said gently, already reaching for a warm towel from the nightstand. “You’ve been through enough tonight. You shouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

You smiled up at him, dazed and glowing. “I don’t mind.”

“I do,” he said softly, wiping you down with quiet care. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

His touch was tender, lingering just long enough to soothe without overwhelming. When he was done, he pulled the blanket up, tucking it around you with one arm before sliding into bed beside you.

You curled into him without hesitation.

Zayne wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you like you were his home.

And in the hush of the room, with the smell of sweat and skin still lingering in the air, he kissed your temple and whispered:

“Thank you for trusting me.”

The room was quiet now—except for the soft sound of your breathing and the way Sylus’s chest pressed into your back, still rising and falling with the aftershocks of what he’d just given you… multiple times.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you tonight. Slow. Rough. Deep. Worshipful. Each stroke calculated to hit your most pleasurable spot, in a rhythm that he knows can make you shiver. He loved the way your pussy wrapped around his cock and loved the way you call out his name each time you’re about to squirt.

You two were spooning this time as he took you, his favorite position. He knew it made you feel surrounded. Owned. Loved, even in his most possessive moments.

This time, he hadn’t even repositioned you—he pulled out just before his release, and reached for your thigh, and came across the top of your hips while you were still limp and breathless in his arms.

When he came—hot and deep from your hips rolled down across your backside—you felt every pulse of it, every thick rope dripping down your ass and slipping into the cleft between your cheeks. You shivered, body clenching softly in response.

Sylus didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

One of his hands trailed slowly down your side, over the curve of your hip, before slipping between your thighs. His cum was already sliding downward with gravity, and his fingers followed—coating your skin, slow and intentional.

“You feel that?” he murmured behind your ear, voice rough and low. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”

You whimpered, melting into him. You can only respond with an obedient nod.

His hand moved behind you, spreading your ass cheeks slightly before pressing the slick pad of one finger right atop your asshole, where your body was most vulnerable. He paused—silent, listening to your breath.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said softly, brushing his lips along the curve of your shoulder.

You nodded once. “I want it.”

That was all he needed.

His finger eased into your tight ass, slow and gentle, the slide made easier by the mess he’d just left there. You moaned, the unfamiliar stretch making your walls tighten instinctively—and Sylus groaned in return, the tension in his arm wrapping around you increasing.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he rasped.

You felt him getting hard again behind you—already pressing against your thigh, thick and throbbing, as his finger continued to gently work inside you.

Then, without removing his hand, he lifted your leg once more and slid into your soaked pussy from behind, burying himself in one long, fluid thrust.

You gasped, back arching into his chest.

“Sylus—!”

He stilled, savoring the feeling—your slick heat gripping him so perfectly, your body trembling from the double sensation of being filled in two places at once. His finger now angled towards the wall between your ass and pussy, creating an intense sensation that only Sylus is able to give you.

He kissed your neck before he wrapped one of his hands around it. As he begins to move, slow and deep, every motion deliberate.

“I want you to remember this,” he whispered against your skin. “How full you feel. How wrecked you are. How much I love being inside you… all of you.”

His thrusts stayed steady, one hand gripping your thigh, the other still inside you, working you open with reverent care.

And when you came—shaking and gasping into the sheets—he followed seconds later, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, arms wrapped around you as you two enjoyed this world made for only the two of you.

Your body trembled as you sank down onto Caleb once more, thighs aching, knees pressed into the soft sheets. His hands were on your waist, grounding you—but it was his gravity evol that kept you there. A delicious pull, like the invisible weight of him was anchored deep inside you.

His hard throbbing cock was so far in, so deep, so unrelenting.

You gasped, screamed out his name, hips stuttering, but couldn’t lift yourself.

“Stay,” he murmured, voice low and thick, his fingers digging gently into your hips. “Don’t fight it. Just take it.”

And you did.

You let the gravity hold you still, your body flush against his, his cock buried so deep it made your toes curl. Every time you tried to rise, your muscles tensed—but the air around you pulled you back down, as though the very space between your bodies refused to let you go.

“Look at you,” Caleb whispered. “Just sitting there. Full of me. Taking it all in like my good girl”

Your walls fluttered around him, sensitive and overstimulated. He wasn’t even moving—but it didn’t matter. He had control. Of your pace, your rhythm, your breath, your everything. You mind goes blank, the pleasure taking over you like he’s cast a spell on you.

He groaned as his hands slid up your back, down again, gripping the flesh of your ass as you rocked once—twice—and he pulsed hard inside you.

And then he came, his hot cum flowing inside you, shooting up into the deepest walls of your pussy, the heat permeating your senses. You loved the feeling of his cum filling you up. 

He didn’t pull out.

He stayed sheathed, twitching inside you as his hips gave one final roll. You could feel it—the warmth spreading, pooling between your thighs, slowly seeping out as his cock began to soften a little.

But you didn’t move. It feels so good to feel his cum flowing down, coating every part of your pussy.

You sat on him, body slack with pleasure, his softening length still nestled inside you as he exhaled against your neck.

Then his hand drifted down.

He slipped a finger between your thighs, gathering his cum that had escaped, and dragged it upward in slow, sensual strokes—pressing into your clit with practiced ease.

You gasped, body jolting. “Caleb—!”

He shushed you with a kiss, his hand still lazily working circles as his other hand gathered more of the mess between your legs.

“I want to see you covered in me,” he said, voice lower than before. “I want to mark every inch of you.”

His voice demanding now, “Be a good girl, play with yourself with my cum. Let me watch you. I want your cum to mix with mine” 

He dragged his hand up your stomach, smearing the warm slickness along your skin in long, slow swipes. His other hand slid up to your breast, thumb brushing your nipple as he spread the remnants across your chest, possessive but soft. Two fingers finally make his way to your lips, where you obediently open up as he slides them across your tongue.

"You're mine," he whispered.

Then he groaned against your collarbone. You can feel yourself getting close as his hot cum creates an added sensation to your swollen clit.

His cock, still inside you, twitched.

You felt him grow again, hardening with every slow beat of his heart.

“Caleb, please, I want more, I'm so close. Please, I need you again.” you whispered, dazed.

He smiled against your skin.

“Did you think I was done?”

In one smooth shift, he rolled his hips up into you, gravity curling around your spine once again, keeping you exactly where he wanted you—helpless to the slow build starting again. His hand clasped and binds your two hands behind your back. You submit, giving him full control of your body, your moans, and your orgasms.

This time, you knew he would take you even deeper, it was going to be even messier, and he wasn’t going to stop until every inch of you is covered with him.

[digitialwonderland]

Doe hybrid!reader x predator hybrid!TF 141 x herbivore hybrid!KorTac

Part 5

Previous

When the sun rose the next morning, it glittered past the bright greenery and it shimmer through the window in the lounge. Pure gold flitted over the mess of bodies, all curled up in a massive nest of blanket and pillows.

Your eyes fluttered open, you were sandwiched between Horangi and König. Their warmth surrounded you, so close together that you didn’t know where you ended and where they began. You stirred, sucking in a deep breath as you slowly stretched your legs out. “Mmmm, good morning.” Horangi’s chest rumbled beneath you, his voice still rough with sleep. One of his hands came up, gently sinking into your hair and rubbing along your scalp.

I soft, content sigh escaped you, morphing into a purr before it fully cleared your lungs. “Good morning.” You lifted your head, looking around lazily. “Everyone else is fast asleep.”

He chuckled softly, smiling to himself as he glanced around. “Yeah, they sleep like rocks.” His eyes went down to you, scanning over your messy hair and how the golden, morning light fell down over the curves in your features. Crinkles formed at the corners as his grin stretched even wider. “You are so beautiful.”

Warmth filled you, wrapping your heart in contentment. As gently as you could without waking König, you leaned up, closing the distance and pressing a kiss to Horangi’s lips. It was soft, slow, without any hasty passion but full of gentle gratitude. When his tongue gently beckoned your lips apart, your own joined his in a dance. His free hand skated down your back, landing on your hip while he gently pulled away from the kiss. You were both left panting, your foreheads resting against each other. Then, a soft rumble of approval came from beside you. “Isn’t that a pretty sight to wake up to.” König leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to your temple first before pressing another to Horangi’s. “Good morning”.

Those two words were echoed quietly between the three of you, quickly joined by the sound of the others waking up.

Aksel and Nikto both started to stir, and you could hear Hutch and Fender getting up behind König. “Why does it have to be morning?” Aksel grumbled as his own form of greeting. The soft chuckles of the group followed, along with the comedic cracking of joints as they all start to sit up.

“I need to get dressed and get back to my room.” You mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Need to freshen up before this mornings meeting.”

“What do you mean?” Horangi chided, his voice high and playful. “You don’t want to go onto the front lines smelling like us?” When you looked back at him, there was a large, pouty smile over his lips.

“As much as I would love to,” you remarked, shooting him a disapproving smirk. “That’s not good work x life balance.”

He rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue as you got up and quietly padding over to your pile of clothes. They were rumpled, but that didn’t matter that much. The second you were back into your room you could change into something fresher. You tugged the clothes on, quickly gathering your things. “We’ll see you later, sweetheart.” Nikto called from where he sat in the nest. The others hummed in agreement, each one casting you a similar phrase.

“Bye,” you whispered again, waving one last time before stepping out of the lounge.

The rest of the house was quiet, bathed in the peace of morning. When you walked down the hall, back to your room, your mind drifted to all that had happened. The bliss, the contentment, the utter exhaustion. A small smile crawled over your lips as the sensations fluttered back through your mind. When you stepped up to your door, you still had their voices floating in your mind. But when you opened it, all your thoughts fell silent.

Simon was sitting on your bed, his features neutral, but his ears drooped and his tail laid limply behind him. He wasn’t wearing his mask, which was something rare, even for you. His elbows were on his knees, making him look even more hunched and tensed.

“Simon…” you murmured, your mind instantly in a scramble to explain your appearance, your scent. You closed the door quickly behind you, feeling your panic settle in. “Simon I-“

“Don’t. I can smell them on you.” He didn’t look up, didn’t even glance your way. “I know you didn’t sleep here, I’ve been waiting for a while.” He sat in silence for a moment while you hung in the torturous tension. “Please don’t leave us for them.”

Once again, it felt like your mind came to a shuttering halt. The gears stopped turning, the cogs stopped shifting. “What?”

He looked up at you, and that’s when you finally saw that his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Something that he would only ever allow you to see. “I-I know that we weren’t kind when we first met you-“ he stood, letting his shaking hands curl into fists. “We didn’t give you a chance to indulge in your instincts. We kept you on the outside for a while, but if you were unhappy, you could have just told us. We know how important instincts are, if there was something we needed to fix, we would have done it without question.” He started to step forward, not a single tear fell, he wouldn’t let them. But it was in his voice, in his gaze. “I know we never really gave your heats a chance, but if you were to ask, I swear any one of us would have helped….”

“Simon,” you gasped, eyes going wide as you were slowly backed against your door. “Where is this coming from?”

“We all see how you light up around the KorTac guys. They make you happy.”

“I thought you hated KorTac.”

“I don’t hate them, they terrify me,” he croaked, and as he did it felt like all the puzzle pieces were falling into place. That’s why they had been anxiously buzzing around you. That’s why they were desperate to fulfill your needs. Somehow, it had slipped through the cracks of your mind how watching you interact with the herd would make them feel outside of basic territoriality. He reached up, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “Please don’t leave us.” His voice dropped to a weak, trembling whisper. “Please, sweetheart, don’t leave us.” Then barely even breath afterwards, “I’ve never been able to do more.”

Every word felt like it was tumbling over you in waves. Every moment from the past week flashed over your mind. When you first greeted KorTac, when you fought to do so. When Gaz caught you sitting with them in the lounge, how Gaz had desperately hoarded you in his nest. And now this. When one of the strongest men you knew was begging you not to go. “S-Simon, you want to be more?” That’s all you managed to stammer out. “With me?”

As you looked up at him, you could see those pretty eyes shifting with thought. His thumb moved in an idle swirl, almost like he was smoothing the question over your skin. Then, he dipped his head, brushing his nose briefly against yours. There was a tantalizing moment of anticipation, when his breath trembled and mixed with your own. Then, he closed the distance, pressing his lips down on your own. It was slow at first, exploratory and tender. But when you gave his tongue entrance it was like a switch had flipped. His hands gripped your face desperately as he pressed his mouth to yours, as if he expected you to disappear mid-kiss. His teeth met yours, and his tongue owned your own. His body pressed into yours, only fueling the fire as he wrapped an arm around your waist and hoisted you up.

Your world spun for a moment, but then you were being laid back in your bed. He pulled away, looking down at you with an expression that still held the pain he had been so sure would occur. “Si,” you breathed, still feeling your lips buzz. “I was never going to leave the task force for KorTac. Never in a million years would I ever dream of it.”

“But your instincts-“

“Our team has always satisfied every other.” The words were firm on your tongue, and steady with assurance. “With our team, I have always felt protected. I have always felt seen. I’ve always had a leader to look up to and a place that was carved out just for me.” You reached up, grabbing his hand in your own. “No, I haven’t gone through a good heat in a while. And there are just some things that only herbivores can understand. For that, I am grateful for KorTac. But you’re not my herd. You’re my pack. We keep each other safe, we fight for one another, and more often than not, you guys have been there for me to lean on.” Your lower lip started to tremble, but you wouldn’t let your next words be disrupted. “Never, would I be able to go without you, Price, Johnny, or Gaz. After all of this, there is one thing I know. I need both, my pack, and my herd.”

There was a long pause, where he took his time to process those words. Then, he silently leaned down, dipping his head under your jaw. You remained frozen for a moment, but then, for the first time, you felt his lips on your scent gland. A sharp, trembling gasp escaped you as his suckled on the spot. He groaned softly against your skin, sliding a hand to the small of your back as you arched into him. “Never do I want you to go without,” he murmured against your skin, sealing it with a kiss before going to the other side. “You are my pack, I want you to be happy. I want you to feel content. If having KorTac as an addition to this motley crew will do it, then I am satisfied with your joy.” He mouthed at the other side of your neck, leaving matching marks on either side.

“That’s just that,” you murmured, letting your eyes flutter shut as warmth and satisfaction rolled through you. “After this mission, we’ll have to go our separate ways again.” Sadness filled your voice, you could try to hide it, but there was no point.

Simon lifted his head, looking down at you with a contemplative expression. He didn’t say anything, but you could see him tossing the issue around in his mind. Then, you watched as he stashed it away and slipped it into his mental list of priorities. “I won’t try and pull anything,” he murmured, even as he leaned down and peppered kisses over your cheeks. “But I would like to help you dress before we go to the morning debrief.”

You chewed on the question for a moment, but your hesitation didn’t last long, after all, you had a lot of bonding to catch up on. “I’m okay with that.”

He nodded, then, his hands slowly started to work their way over your body. He worked your clothes off with the utmost care, gently setting them aside while he took the time to massage his fingers into your skin. The act was tender, worshipful even. His lips fell in the lightest kisses over your stomach, shoulders, thighs. When he had you bare, lying on your bed, he waited for a second. True to his word, he didn’t try anything, but he lingered. His lips pressed slightly firmer kisses to your thighs. Then, with the same amount of tender care, he helped you into new clothes. Cleaning you up and slipping you into your uniform.

“We need to talk to the others,” you murmured, your voice breathless and wistful. “If they feel the same way you do then they aren’t going to be able to concentrate on today’s mission.”

He hummed in agreement and gently pulled you up on your feet. “They should all still be in their rooms.”

The conclusion brought something else to mind. Your brows pinched and your eyes darted back up to his. “Wait, how long have you been in my room?”

He froze in place for a moment, his jaw tensing and ticking as he tried to lock the truthful answer down. “A few hours,” he answered finally, “I couldn’t sleep, I thought you would be here”.

“Oh Simon…”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged, but when you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, he sank into you like he had been on the verge of collapse the whole time.

As you had said, both of you went from room to room, gathering up the team. Soap, who was still asleep, wasn’t very happy about the prospect. But got up anyway and trailed after you. Gaz was getting ready for the day, so he was less trouble. And Price wasn’t in his room at all, but in the conference room, getting ready for the mission break down.

“I have something that I need to clarify,” you announced, dragging the three men behind you as you all approached Price.

He looked up from his papers, a small smile dancing over his lips. For a moment, you questioned if he had been anticipating something like this the whole time. “Alright, love. You have the floor.”

So you reiterated it all. How you had thought their troubles with the situation were only limited to a hatred of the other team. How you would never leave them. And how each group fit into your life. Your pack was your protectors, they kept you safe. But your herd were your caretakers. They were your sword and your shield, and you needed them both. But more importantly, you needed them both to be okay and not want to go at each other’s throats.

Gaz had you wrapped up in his arms, swaying with you gently as he purred against your back. “I’m glad you’ve come forward about this, sweetheart.” Price hummed, still sitting at the head of the table. “Unfortunately, this team is filled with a bunch of quiet and stubborn types. I wish it hadn’t gotten to this point.”

Johnny chuckled a little, coming up beside you and taking your hand in his. “Ai, yer pack is filled with a bunch of the broodin types, bonnie.” He leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before moving to find a seat at the table.

“Do you think that KorTac will even be willing to share with us?” Gaz asked, his voice soft in your ear.

“I think that you all will end up liking each other a lot more than you expect.”

Everyone took to settling around the room, taking seats on one side of the table while you all waited to the hour to strike. “Sweetheart,” Price hummed, looking up from his paperwork. “Come sit with me.” He reached down, giving his thigh a small pat.

You walked over, but there was a bit of hesitation in your step. Your stomach flipped with anticipation and anxiety. “Are you sure? I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”

He shook his head, smiling warmly up at you. “There is nothing wrong with me wanting to hold you after so long.” He wrapped his arm around you, guiding you to his lap and helping you curl up against him. “Plus, helps prove a point.”

“What point?” You asked, nuzzling into him with a content little chirp.

“That we are standing by you.”

With heavy footfall, each member of KorTac filed into the conference room. You straightened, meeting each of their eyes as they approached their chairs. Some of them looked confused, some of them looked worried. But most of them looked as if they were reassuring themselves that you must know what you’re doing.

And when their eyes met the 141’s? There seemed to almost be a process. The looks started out as glares, but when they realized that the glares weren’t reciprocated each one took on a nature of its own. Going back to the same spectrum you had seen when they first walked in the room.

“I have something that I want to talk to everyone about.” You prompted, comforted by the weight of Price’s hands on your hips.

For the third time, you repeated your statement. Sword and shield, both were necessary, and both were wanted. But you couldn’t have them clanking together every time you went into battle. The more you talked, the more the tension in the room started to ease. As you had anticipated, the KorTac members were a lot more open to friendship than the 141 dared to hope. Already, you could see a sort of kinship between Simon and Nikto. Gaz and Horangi were close in age, so you could imagine that they would soon become friends. Johnny now starred unabashedly at König, his excitable curiosity already alight in his eyes. While Fender, Aksel and Hutch all look at you and Price with silent approval.

“The only thing I have to add,” Price tacked on, giving your thigh a small squeeze of approval. “Is that I want this settled before the operation tonight. Train together, talk to each other, hell play trivia. I don’t care, just make sure that the group bonding is good and we can work as a team tonight.” He pressed a light kiss to your shoulder while everyone nodded in agreement. “Go ahead and take a sweet, lovie. It’s time to discuss the not so warm and fuzzy stuff.”

The meeting went well, more than well, it went great. Conversation flowed more freely between the groups. Finally it felt like everything was falling into place. Afterwards, the teams melted together and traveled to the gym.

This time, you had nearly double the guys asking if you wanted a spot, or a snack, or more water in your already full cup. But you didn’t have the heart to stop them. It was just nice to finally have everyone getting along. Price, Simon, Gaz and Johnny had all relaxed into a pattern of affection. Lingering touches, small hugs and gentle kisses. KorTac did the same, even though theirs were a little heated when thoughts of last night passed through their minds.

By the time the sun was starting to settle over the horizon, and you were all gearing up for the mission you had come here to complete in the first place, there was a peace that was settling over each member. A harmony that had finally found its tune, one that you would be able to live in, even if it was just for a little while longer.

There you go, lovelies, all is well, all is happy….for now 😈

[azzishands]

My brother's girlfriend - Chapter six

Paige x Azzi

WC: 5.5k

Warnings: mature content (18+)

A/N: Sorry, I lied, Josh won't be killed off 🫣 (Also, sorry for a shorter chapter, but the next one is longer!)

Masterlist

----

The apartment was filled with flowers and scented candles. It smelled like a pollen explosion and a fresh bathroom all at the same time. 

“Seriously, another one?” Paige muttered to herself as she spotted a new bouquet at the table. 

Josh and Azzi had taken it to another level. They had been acting like lovesick puppies for the last couple of days, and it irritated Paige more than anything. They would always rub their noses together, and Josh would always have his arm around her waist, and she would always laugh at his stupid jokes. 

But every time Josh wasn’t looking, Paige would catch Azzi’s eyes on her. She would see the mischievous glints in them, plotting something. And then every time they would end up alone in the same room, Azzi would do something unhinged for the few minutes they were alone. 

It almost felt like she was being punished by Azzi for not admitting that she liked her. 

Paige felt like she was being tortured - or better yet, edged. 

And part of her loved it. She craved it. 

Those short moments Azzi would unashamedly tease her were the moments that did her day. It was also those moments that made her more confused than ever. 

She obviously had feelings for Azzi, but she still didn’t want Azzi to know. The hopelessness in it all was still very much present. Her feelings didn’t matter because of the circumstances. 

But then Azzi would do something that made her feel a flicker of hope. A flicker of optimism. A second of a vision where they actually could be together. And Paige’s whole body would always get consumed by inexplicable warmth and comfort, it almost ached. 

She knew that their newfound dynamic was toxic. It was pure lust in the shadows, and love in the stolen glances behind her brother’s back. But she told herself that it was better than before at least, as long as they didn’t cross the line again. 

Azzi had stayed at their apartment for some days now, and had successfully managed to sleep in the same bed as Josh without having sex with him. She always told him a simple no, and Josh always respected it, he never questioned it, and for that, Azzi was grateful. 

She didn’t want to have sex with anyone but Paige, after all. 

At this point, she just stayed with Josh out of comfortability. And the fact that Paige had demanded her to fix things with Josh and the immense guilt she felt towards him. It was enough reasons to postpone any serious decisions she had to make.

Teasing Paige felt like control in a very chaotic environment. Seeing her bite her lip out of restraint or how her nails would dig in her skin every time Azzi’s pajama t-shirt would ride up and show a little too much skin made her feel powerful. Because if Paige didn’t want to give Azzi any validation, Azzi was gonna take it from her instead. 

Because if Azzi couldn’t have Paige, she would do everything she could to have her at least a little just for a few seconds. She would make sure that the universe’s creator would regret ever making their fates wrong. She would take it into her own hands to create justice in her own world. 

And teasing Paige felt like justice. Like redemption, in her own wicked way. 

“Hey, those are mine,” Azzi walked into the kitchen in only her T-shirt and underwear, trying to stop Paige from throwing out a bouquet. 

“They’re taking over the kitchen,” Paige said without even looking at her and opened the trashcan. 

Azzi grabbed Paige’s wrist with one hand, and the bouquet with the other. 

“Don’t do that,” Azzi scolded her calmly, not wanting to wake up Josh who was still sleeping in their bedroom. 

Paige turned her head to Azzi and realized how close they were.

“Take them into your room then,” Paige said and took a step back. 

“Fine,” Azzi muttered and carefully opened their bedroom door to leave the flowers there, and then silently returned to the kitchen. 

“Here,” Paige said and gave her a cup of coffee. They sat down together by the kitchen table and drank their coffee in silence. 

Paige enjoyed the silence. Moments like these always made her daydream just for a second about what their lives would be like if this were their own apartment, and they lived together as a couple. 

Just her and Azzi, sitting across from each other, sipping their morning coffee in peace. 

It stirred in her heart how much she wanted it. 

What she didn’t know was that Azzi was daydreaming about the exact same thing. 

Just her and Paige, alone in the apartment, like they were the only people in the whole world, just existing in each other’s peace. 

Paige was staring out the window. Her face always looked so soft in the morning. Especially when she wore those purple glasses and had her hair up in a low bun. Azzi studied her face with admiration. She was so pretty. To wake up next to that face must feel like waking up in heaven, she thought to herself. 

“You’re staring,” Paige said and turned her head to Azzi. 

“You have coffee around your mouth,” Azzi lied and looked away. 

“I’m sure I have,” Paige just smirked. 

Azzi just rolled her eyes. 

“Idiot,” she mumbled. 

“Don’t say that when you know I like it,” Paige casually leaned back on her chair with her hands behind her head, her eyes daring Azzi to react. 

But Azzi kept a neutral face, and let her eyes bore into Paige’s blue ones. 

That was a challenge. 

Paige was teasing her right back for all the times Azzi had teased her. But Azzi was not gonna fold. 

“Quiet all of a sudden? That’s new. You usually have so much to say,” Paige continued with a grin. “Like the other day when you told me I have pretty hands, right in front of Josh.”

“And what about it?” Azzi questioned coolly. 

“Just unlike you to be quiet, is all,” Paige shrugged. 

“Well, you haven’t seen all sides of me yet,” Azzi said back. “You have a lot of angles left to see me from.”

Paige snorted, entertained. 

“Likewise,” Paige drawled. 

“Oh believe me, I’ve seen enough of your sides,” Azzi scoffed. 

“But not from every angle,” Paige shot back. 

“I’ve seen enough,” Azzi simply stated again. 

“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite?” 

“My favorite angle?” Azzi huffed. “An acute angle.”

“Ha ha, real funny,” Paige said dryly. 

“You’re welcome,” Azzi smiled. 

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“Didn’t need to.”

“I don’t get you,” Paige scoffed. 

“So stop talking to me then.”

“Stop entertaining me,” Paige challenged back. 

“Stop being annoying,” Azzi said and looked at her phone. 

“Stop looking at me like you’re trying not to jump my bones.”

Azzi snapped her eyes at Paige with a glare. 

“Those glasses are clearly not working if that’s what you’re seeing,” Azzi deadpanned. 

“Don’t you think I know what your face looks like when you’re… desperate for it?” Paige raised her eyebrows slowly. 

Azzi swallowed, but didn’t express any emotions. 

“You’re right,” Azzi said calmly. “I’m definitely desperate to get fucked. I should probably go wake up Josh.” 

“Wha-” 

Azzi stood up and walked towards their bedroom door, but didn’t get far before Paige was right behind her, grabbing her wrist. 

“Don’t fucking say that,” Paige snarled and pushed her against the wall. Her hand was against Azzi’s chest, holding her back against the wall.

“You started it,” Azzi said back with wild eyes. 

“What are you, five?” Paige scoffed. 

“Why can’t I go have sex with my boyfriend, Paige?” Azzi shoved her away, but Paige just pushed her right back against the wall, hands on her shoulders. 

“Huh?” Azzi pushed the question. “Why, Paige?”

“I don’t want you to,” Paige said sternly. 

“Because?”

Paige’s eyes flicked with anger and hurt. 

“Is it because you have feelings for me, or is it because you have feelings for me?” Azzi asked rhetorically. 

“Let it go,” Paige sneered. “That shit doesn’t fucking matter.”

“It matters to me,” Azzi pressed. 

Paige let go of Azzi and took a step back. 

“That’s not my problem,” she gave Azzi one last look before walking into her bedroom, slamming the door shut. 

Azzi let go of a breath she didn’t know she had held in and stared at Paige’s bedroom door. 

Why was it so hard for the older one to just tell her how she felt? Azzi knew that Paige had some sort of feelings for her, but she wanted to know if it was just possessive, sexual feelings or actual love feelings. 

Azzi went back to the kitchen table and sat down with a sigh. 

Suddenly, Paige’s door opened up again, and she walked determinedly back to the table as well and sat herself down across from Azzi and looked at her with eyes full of emotions. 

“We have to stop this,” Paige said firmly. 

“Stop what?” Azzi asked, confused. 

“These mindgames,” Paige exclaimed frustratedly. “All this back and forth and fighting and teasing and… I’m so fucking confused, and I shouldn’t have to be, because you’re with Josh.”

“Maybe it’s not my fault you feel confused, Paige,” Azzi argued. “Maybe that’s just how you feel.”

“I wouldn’t be confused if you just stopped looking at me like that,” Paige shot back. 

“So you’re putting this on me?” Azzi asked in disbelief. 

“You were the one who told me you have feelings for me, and you keep on fucking teasing me,” Paige said. “We can’t keep doing this, Azzi. We have to pretend everything is normal between us. For real. For Josh.”

“Fine,” Azzi spat out. 

“From now on, we will be nice to each other. No more teasing, and no more fighting. Just two friends,” Paige suggested. 

Azzi looked at her hesitantly. 

“Azzi, please, be my friend,” Paige asked in an unusually soft tone and extended her hand. 

“Alright,” Azzi sighed and shook it, her hand buzzing from touching Paige. 

Paige smiled brightly at her, and Azzi felt the corner of her lips tugging into one as well. 

For the first time in a while, her body felt lighter and the aching in her heart seemed to attenuate. 

Seeing Paige smile like that gave the illusion that everything would be fine. And being Paige’s friend was better than nothing. She even looked forward to it, to some extent. 

“Yay,” Paige said and Azzi’s heart melted at the cuteness. “Okay, friend. I’m gonna go out for a run now, you wanna join me?”

Azzi chuckled. “Why not,” she shrugged with a smile. 

Maybe this was for the best for everyone involved, after all.

----

Being friends with Paige was not for the weak. Or at least not for the people who already had feelings for her. 

The moment Azzi and Paige stopped being so angry and frustrated with each other, their relationship turned into something softer. 

Azzi felt like she was getting to know Paige all over again, but with better prerequisites. They didn’t snap at each other anymore, they didn’t tease each other into frenzy like before, and when they caught the other one staring, they simply just smiled and let it happen. 

Walls were starting to fall, and hurt feelings were almost starting to heal, and honesty was starting to become their foundation. 

It got to a point where Paige could even occasionally enjoy being around Josh and Azzi together. 

“Paige, we’re gonna go to the minigolf course and play, you wanna come?” Josh asked her one weekend morning. 

“Sure thing,” Paige said and got dressed to follow. 

Once they were on the minigolf course, Azzi immediately hit a hole in one.

“What the fuck!” Paige exclaimed with wide eyes and a big grin. “You’re a fucking pro?”

“What can I say, I’m a natural,” Azzi twirled happily.

“She really is,” Josh hummed and smiled. 

Next up was Paige. The first thing she did was hit the ball way too hard, it bounced off of an obstacle and flew away into a nearby pond. 

“Shit,” Paige cussed and ran after the ball. Josh and Azzi just laughed. 

“Come on, Paige,” Josh said, rooting for his sister. 

“I’m just too strong, that’s why,” Paige said as she returned with the ball and put it on the tee-off area carefully. 

She looked at the hole ahead of her and aimed, swung the putter back gently and then loosely brought it forward to hit the ball. 

It rolled six feet until it stopped, not even reaching the first obstacle. 

“Oh my God,” Paige groaned. “I’m either too strong or too weak, come on.”

Azzi snickered behind her. 

Paige moved to the ball and hit it for the third time, not being able to get it into the hole. 

“Stroke number four,” Josh remarked, and Paige just gave him a small glare. 

This time, the ball fell into the hole. 

“Four is not bad,” Azzi commented and grinned at Paige who sulked. “Not bad at all.”

“You’re just saying that because you got one,” Paige said and crossed her arms with a big pout on her lips.

“Aw, don’t be a sore loser already,” Azzi cooed and put her arm around Paige while Josh was getting ready for his first stroke. 

Paige felt her cheeks heat up by the proximity and didn’t say anything back. 

“You’re cute when you pout,” Azzi whispered to her and poked her cheek, before skipping away to the next hole. 

Paige just bashfully smiled to herself and followed after Azzi like a lovesick puppy.

For a woman who had very good hand-eye coordination, minigolf was not one of the things Paige was very good at. When it was Paige’s turn, you had to watch out for the ball, because it could end up flying anywhere. 

And during one of the holes, the ball actually hit Azzi. 

“Oh my God!” Azzi ducked, but got hit right on her shoulder. 

“Bro, you gotta be careful,” Josh exclaimed. 

“Shit, I’m sorry Azzi,” Paige blurted out in panic and ran after the ball. Azzi just looked at her and laughed.

“You have a putter in your hand, not a driver,” Josh remarked. 

Paige bent down and picked up the ball that had done the damage and walked back to the group. She let her hand touch Azzi’s shoulder where the ball had hit her, and looked at her with an apologetic face.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t that bad,” Azzi dismissed reassuringly with a smile. 

“I’m gonna try and not do that again, but I can’t promise,” Paige awkwardly said and placed the ball on the tee-off once more. 

“Maybe I’ll stand behind you instead,” Azzi chuckled and moved.

“That’s no guarantee either,” Josh joked and earned a glare from his sister. 

This stroke, Paige used a lot less strength. She carefully hit the ball with the club and watched it go smoothly along the ground. 

She let out a breath of relief that she didn’t hurt anyone, and happily continued the hole. 

Azzi watched her with a stupid smile on her face. 

The friend thing was way better than before, but it was also more dangerous. Because now, Azzi found herself growing stronger feelings than she thought was possible. She craved parts of Paige she hadn’t even thought of before, parts she had never touched before. She wanted to be with Paige all the time, wanted to hear her thoughts and opinions on world news, she wanted to touch every inch of her skin, and she wanted to talk to her about what she thought happened after death.

The more Azzi got to know this platonic part of Paige, the more she longed to know. 

In all honesty, Azzi wanted to break up with Josh, but she just didn’t know how. And if she looked inside herself, the only reason she was staying now was to be close to Paige every day. 

Yeah, she knew it was fucked up. But she told herself that it was the least fucked up thing she had done so far.

-----

The newfound peace between the two women only lasted for so long. 

The switch happened in one breath one evening when Josh was at work, and Azzi lounged on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through her phone. 

Paige exited her bedroom and casually slipped:

“I’m sleeping at Sam’s tonight,” and crossed the living room to grab her jacket and leave.  

Azzi snapped her head towards her, reacting before she even got the chance to think it all through. 

“You what?” she asked, already feeling triggered. 

“I’m going to Sam’s,” Paige repeated and looked at Azzi with an unreadable expression. 

Azzi huffed, trying to keep her breathing controlled while a storm of emotions were starting to whirlwind inside of her. 

“Thought you were done with that,” Azzi spat out irritatedly. 

“She’s my friend,” Paige said back, equally as irritated. 

“She’s your fuckbuddy,” Azzi snarled. 

“So?” Paige challenged right back. 

“You’re seriously going over there to fuck her?” Azzi stood up from the couch, feeling her cheeks starting to heat up from anger. But most of all from hurt and jealousy. 

“That’s none of your concern,” Paige said.

“You’re unbelievable,” Azzi snarled and went to the kitchen. Paige followed her immediately. 

“What’s your problem?” she called out.

“You didn’t want me to fuck Josh, why can’t I want you to not fuck Sam?” Azzi turned around angrily. 

“Because we agreed to be friends and not do that complicated shit anymore,” Paige argued. 

“So you’re telling me you’ve been able to just shut it off?” Azzi questioned. “You mean to tell me you’re suddenly fine with me sleeping with Josh?”

Paige swallowed nervously. “Yes.”

It didn’t sound convincing at all, and she knew that.

“I don’t get why you can’t just let yourself feel whatever you feel for me,” Azzi said frustratedly. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“Because it doesn’t fucking matter, Azzi!” Paige yelled. “You’re with Josh, for God’s sake!”

“Because I have no reason to leave him if you don’t even want me!” Azzi yelled back. 

Paige’s eyes went wide and she couldn’t help but scoff at Azzi’s words. But Azzi saw the flicker of softness in her blue eyes, and she took the chance to approach the blonde. 

“Give me a reason to leave him, Paige,” she said with a soft voice and walked towards her, making Paige slowly back up into the counter behind her. 

“That’s not how it works,” Paige shook her head in distress, her pupils dilating as Azzi was caging her in, her hands braced on either side of the counter, trapping Paige.

Azzi pressed her body against her and let her nose softly bump into Paige’s. 

“Tell me how you feel,” Azzi rasped. 

A rush of heat flooded Paige’s face and her breath hitched at Azzi’s proximity. Her perfume infiltrated her nostrils, making it hard to not want to close the distance to her skin. 

“Tell me,” Azzi urged her once again. 

“I don’t- I-”

Azzi suddenly kneeled down right in front of her and rested her hands behind Paige’s legs. 

“You want this?” Azzi asked and let her hands roam to the front of Paige’s thighs. 

Paige’s eyes fluttered closed and her head tilted backwards at the sensation. Having Azzi on her knees in front of her was enough for Paige to lose track of what was important in that moment. All that mattered was Azzi and those big brown fucking eyes, looking at her from below. 

Azzi’s fingers traveled up to the hem of Paige’s pants and slowly unbuttoned them. When the last button was undone, Azzi slowly dragged them down, revealing Paige’s boxers beneath. 

“Hm, tell me to stop,” Azzi whispered and started to tug on the boxers as well. 

Paige just breathed heavily and looked down on her. 

“Tell me to stop, Paige,” she repeated almost daringly, as she slowly tugged the boxers down.

Paige held onto the counter behind her so hard her knuckles turned white. And the moment her boxers fell to the ground, and her glistening pussy was bared to Azzi, she couldn’t do anything but whimper helplessly. 

Azzi grabbed the back of Paige’s thighs and let her nose touch her hipbone. Her hands traveled up to Paige’s butt, massaging her muscles while softly starting to kiss her pelvis. 

Paige’s hips bucked forward uncontrollably. 

“Paige,” Azzi’s lips brushed against her pubic bone now. “I need you to tell me with your words, if you want this or not.”

Paige groaned. How was she expected to talk with Azzi’s mouth so close to her center when she could barely even think? And how could Azzi even ask that question? How could Paige not want this?

“I want this,” Paige exhaled. 

“Do you want me?” Azzi questioned, and Paige just looked down at her with a big frown. 

“I already told you,” Paige exhaled. 

“Say it again,” Azzi said, and gave a lick with her tongue over Paige’s thigh. 

Paige moaned in anticipation. 

“I want you,” Paige whispered out and immediately got rewarded with Azzi’s flat tongue swiping through her folds. Her whole body twitched and her hands flew to Azzi’s head, trying to steady herself. 

“How much do you want me?” Azzi asked, and gave her another swipe of the tongue. 

Paige gasped and grabbed Azzi’s hair harshly, moving her head back to her pussy.

“So much,” Paige groaned. 

“Mhm,” Azzi hummed and enclosed her lips around Paige’s clit and sucked hard. Paige rocked her hips and grinded herself against Azzi’s face.

Azzi let her tongue move down to Paige’s hole and gently slid it in as deep as she could. 

“Fuck!” Paige threw her head back in pleasure. 

Azzi slid her tongue in and out, her nose bumping into Paige’s clit every time. Paige’s big hands pushed her back in every time she slid out again and moaned loudly. 

Azzi loved the view she had. Paige’s eyes shut in bliss and her whole face being completely flushed, biting her bottom lip so hard.

“I’m gonna come,” Paige panted as Azzi kept on tonguefucking her. 

And in that moment, Azzi tore her face away from Paige’s pussy and got out of the grip Paige’s hands had on her head. 

“You’re not allowed to come until you tell me how you feel,” Azzi said threateningly and looked up at her like a siren. 

“Are you kidding me?” Paige groaned frustratedly. 

“Tell me, Paige,” Azzi said, and started to give Paige kitten licks on her clit. 

“Oh God,” Paige moaned and her hand flew once again to the back of Azzi’s head. 

“Tell me,” Azzi repeated and stopped for a moment. 

“Fuck, you’re impossible!” Paige exclaimed and pushed her back in. But Azzi just put her hands on Paige’s thighs and pushed herself away again. 

“Nah-uh,” Azzi shook her head. “Be a good girl and tell me.”

Paige let out a short humorless laugh. “Be a good girl and make me come,” Paige shot back. 

Azzi leaned back in and plunged her strong tongue back into Paige’s hole without warning. Paige gasped and immediately starting to fuck herself against Azzi’s tongue and face. 

But this time, Azzi slowed down. She was penetrating her slowly but hard, making her feel closer and closer to her high, but still not enough to push her over the edge. 

“Azzi, please,” Paige begged desperately. 

“You know what to do,” Azzi said and kept her slow tempo. 

“Fuck, fine!” Paige spat out. “I want you! I’ve wanted you for weeks now and it’s killing me to see you with Josh every fucking day. I want to be the one who gets to hold you, I want to be the one who protects you and I want to be the one you spend every fucking day with. I like you so fucking much, and it breaks my heart that you’re not mine.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered closed and she removed her tongue from Paige for a moment. 

“There, you happy now?” Paige looked down at Azzi with a wrecked face. “You wanna know if I have feelings for you, as if my whole being isn’t consumed by you every single second of every single day. You’re all I fucking breathe.”

Azzi stood up face to face with the blonde, her eyes rapidly flicking between the ocean eyes who held storms in them. 

“You’re infuriating,” Azzi just said before she crashed her lips on Paige’s. 

Paige gasped as Azzi suddenly slid her finger inside her, pumping steadily. 

“I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard,” Azzi mumbled and slid in another one, curling them just right to hit the spongy part of Paige’s walls. 

“Azzi!” Paige whined loudly and was clinging onto Azzi’s upper body. Her arms flung around Azzi’s back, her chin resting on her shoulder and her fingers desperately gripping the fabric of Azzi’s shirt, holding on for dear life. 

“Does that feel good baby?” Azzi whispered in her ear, slamming her fingers in and out. 

“Mhm,” Paige could only moan. 

“You gonna come for me?” Azzi kissed Paige’s neck tenderly. 

Paige threw her head back with her mouth hanging open, silently moaning. Azzi pushed her body against the counter and let the finger who weren’t busy fucking Paige, gently wrap around her throat. 

“So so pretty,” Azzi said and put her forehead against Paige’s. 

“Right there,” Paige gasped, and Azzi did the same motion with her fingers over and over, until she felt Paige tightening around her fingers, her legs starting to tremble. 

Azzi wrapped her free arm around Paige, holding her up while her body was convulsing from her high. She slowed down her fingers as she felt Paige’s walls clench slower, and finally removed them completely. 

“Hey,” Azzi eventually said softly, and Paige fluttered her eyes open, still dazed. 

“Hey you,” Paige said out of breath. 

“Are you alright?” Azzi asked, and without much thinking, moved her Paige-coated fingers to her mouth, licking them off out of instinct. 

Paige’s eyes turned dark again. 

“You can’t ask me that when you’re doing that,” Paige mumbled and stared at her fingers. 

“Oh,” Azzi realized what she was doing and stopped, before hesitantly holding them up to Paige’s mouth. “You wanna taste?”

Azzi pressed her fingers to Paige’s lips, and Paige compliantly opened up. 

“This must be my new favorite taste,” Azzi said and couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way Paige was tasting herself on her fingers. She was sucking on them, letting her tongue swirl around them, all while holding Azzi’s gaze. 

“I’ve had better. I’ve had you,” Paige smirked as she had devoured every single drop of herself on Azzi’s fingers. 

“Charming,” Azzi smiled and leaned in to relax her body against the blonde one’s. Paige welcomed her with open arms and held her tightly. She felt Azzi’s breath on her neck and closed her eyes. Finally having her in her arms again. Something undeniable was starting to bubble up inside her.

But despite the sweet aftermath of her own orgasm, Paige still felt the ache in her lower stomach. 

“Azzi,” she mumbled into the dark curls. 

“Yeah?” the younger one said without moving, just enjoying the peaceful moment. 

But before she knew it, Paige flipped Azzi around and pushed her against the counter, pressing her front to Azzi’s back, letting her hand land on Azzi’s throat.

“Bend over,” Paige commanded and shoved Azzi’s upper body down on the marble top. Azzi caught herself with her hands against the cold marble with a gasp. 

“Your turn to tell me how you feel,” Paige slapped her butt which made Azzi jolt with a loud moan. “Or better yet, scream it.”

Paige reached around Azzi’s hips and didn’t even bother taking off her boxers, she just let her hand glide down beneath them and her underwear and found the wetness immediately. Paige leaned her forward, letting her bodyweight rest on top of Azzi, making her mouth sit perfectly close to Azzi’s ear. 

“How does that feel, baby?” Paige asked huskily in her ear, as she slid her finger inside without any further ado. 

“Feels good,” Azzi moaned with shut eyes. 

Paige used her whole body and rocked herself against Azzi at the same rhythm as her fingers were working in and out of her. 

Azzi’s breath was fogging up the marble, and Paige tugged on her hair, pulling her head backwards. 

“Tell me, Azzi,” Paige purred in her ear. “How does it feel when I pull on your hair?”

“So fucking good,” Azzi’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she just let her mouth hang open while her body was being pounded from behind. 

“Mhm,” Paige hummed, pleased with the answer. 

Azzi’s breathing was starting to become erratic. She bit her lip, but the constant moaning was escaping her lips nonetheless. She looked wrecked. 

“Paige!” she screamed when the blonde one let go of her hair and reached down her underwear with her now free hand to rub her clit. 

“I know, baby,” Paige brushed her lips against her ear. “Just take it.”

It didn’t take long for Azzi to feel her lower abdomen start to tighten up. 

“I’m close,” she exhaled out of breath. 

“Come on my fingers, babygirl.”

But without any warning, the locks on the front door began to jiggle, and Paige and Azzi scrambled up from the counter.

Paige hastily pulled up her pants and Azzi wiped away the drool on the corner of her mouth. 

“Hello,” Josh greeted without looking up from his phone the moment he walked in. 

Azzi could feel her pussy clench around nothing, as Josh had come home the second Azzi was climaxing. And Paige was standing with her hands behind her back, trying to hide her fingers that were covered in Azzi. 

“Hi,” Azzi said too quickly, and looked at Paige in panic. Paige just gulped and looked at Azzi with guilt all over her face. 

Josh stopped in his tracks on the way to his bedroom and looked up at the two women. 

“What’s going on?” Josh frowned, as the two just stood there awkwardly, as if they were waiting on him to catch on. 

“Nothing,” Azzi shrugged.

“Are you okay babe?” he approached his girlfriend and let the back of his hand feel the temperature of her forehead. “You’re all hot, you might have a fever.”

Her face was flushed red, her lips swollen and her hair all messy. And Paige looked exactly the same.

“You look kinda flushed too, Paige,” Josh commented and looked at Paige up and down, seeing the way her pants were kind of twisted. 

“It’s just hot in here,” Paige dismissed with an awkward chuckle. “Let me turn down the temperature.”

“Oh, okay,” Josh said and looked back at his girlfriend. 

“How was work?” Azzi asked, her hands trembling from the adrenaline. 

“It was okay,” Josh smiled and leaned in to kiss her. 

Azzi hastily turned her head so his lips landed on her cheek. 

Paige was behind Josh, putting her hand on her mouth in disbelief at what she was seeing. 

“What was that?” Josh laughed. 

“I don’t want you to get you sick,” Azzi blurted out and took a step back. The truth was, her lips still tasted like Paige. 

“It’s fine babe,” Josh smiled and leaned in again. 

Azzi literally ducked and jumped away from him. 

“No seriously, um, I think I might be contagious,” she rambled. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

She swiftly disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the two siblings alone in the kitchen. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” she breathed out in front of the mirror, washing her hands and mouth, splashing ice cold water in her face. 

Before she could gather herself, someone knocked on the door. 

“Azzi, it’s me,” Paige said with a low voice. “Josh is in his bedroom.”

Azzi carefully opened the door and let Paige in. Paige closed the door and let her back rest against it, sighing deeply before looking at Azzi, who was leaning on the sink. 

They just shared a moment of silence with desperate eyes on each other. 

They were fucked up horrible people, and they both knew it. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” Paige murmured with a broken voice.

“I know,” Azzi whimpered, and felt the tears welling up out of guilt. She didn’t even try to hold it in this time, she just let them fall freely down her cheeks the moment they wanted to. 

“Baby,” Paige walked across the room and embraced her. Azzi didn’t need to say anything for Paige to understand what she was feeling, because Paige felt it too. 

They didn’t dare to spend too much time in the bathroom together, so Paige let go of the younger one and washed her hands to then exit the bathroom discreetly. 

Azzi wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. 

The only positive thing after all this mess was that she knew how Paige felt now, which made the next step obvious for Azzi. 

She had to break up with Josh.

[lilirae00]

Unravel, Then Mend - Part 2 of 2

Summary: Paige didn’t mean to let it get this bad. Azzi’s the only one who sees it happening, and she refuses to let her go under. This is Part 2, you can read Part 1 here. 

Word Count: 14.6k

Warnings: Prescription pain pill misuse, addiction themes, mental health struggles, chronic injury, some throwing up/gagging references later in this part.

—

Azzi was half-asleep when she heard the soft clack of the cabinet door. The sound broke the silence of the apartment, small but clear. She froze, her heart pounding so hard it hurt, straining to listen. 

Another rustle.  

A scrape against the counter.  

A metallic rattle that set every nerve in her body on edge.  

She threw the covers back and climbed out of bed before her mind caught up. Her movements were clumsy and quick, her hands rubbing at her face to wipe away the last remnants of sleep as she crossed the room in three rapid strides.  

The floor felt cold under her feet. Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob.  

When she cracked it open, the low yellow glow from the stove light cut through the darkness and spilled into the hallway, casting long shadows across the kitchen.  

Paige was there.  

She stood hunched over the counter, barefoot and looking small in a faded practice tee. One hand braced her against the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping her upright. The other clutched the orange bottle, her grip so tight that her knuckles turned white. 

Her whole body trembled. It was subtle but clear. She hadn’t heard the door.  

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat.  

“Paige.”  

Her voice broke on the name, soft and shaky, barely more than a whisper—but it was enough.  

Paige flinched as if she’d been burned. The bottle slipped from her hand and clattered against the counter, the pills inside rattling in a quick burst that made Azzi jump. Paige scrambled to catch it, her fingers fumbling and desperate. She gripped it tightly once it was in her hands again, her shoulders curling protectively over it, but she still wouldn’t turn around. She wouldn’t meet Azzi’s eyes.  

“Don’t,” she finally said, her voice low and raw. “Azzi, don’t start. Please.”  

But Azzi had already started crying. She didn't even realize it until a tear hit her chest. She stepped further into the kitchen, the hardwood cool under her feet, her body moving on instinct even though her heart was screaming.  

“You’re shaking,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s the middle of the night. Just look at you.”  

Paige turned slowly.  

Azzi almost buckled.  

Her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in red, so tired they looked hollow. Her lips were slightly parted, as if it hurt to breathe. Sweat clung to her brow, slicking the loose strands of hair on her forehead. Her entire body appeared tense, as if she was holding herself up with sheer will.  

Azzi didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t hurt her further. She took another step forward, each breath getting harder to control. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, barely getting the words out. “Not tonight. Not like this.”  

For a moment, Paige didn’t answer. She just stood there with her hand hovering near the pill bottle, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.  

Then something in her cracked.  

“You don’t get it!” she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp, too loud in the quiet kitchen. “You think I want this? You think I like feeling like this? I’m in pain, Azzi! Every second I'm awake, it hurts. My whole body feels like it's falling apart.”  

She stepped back from the counter, her frustration boiling over now that it had finally found a way out. “I can’t just lie there and breathe through it. I’ve tried! I’ve iced, I’ve stretched, I’ve done everything they told me to do. And it still hurts. And I’m tired. I’m so tired.”  

Her voice cracked at the end, jagged and breathless. She scrubbed a hand over her face as if she could erase what had just come out of her.  

Azzi flinched with every word, but she didn’t back away.  

Her eyes were glassy, lashes thick with tears, her arms crossed tightly as if she were holding herself together by sheer force. She blinked once, then again, before her voice came, small but filled with something fierce.  

“You’re not helping yourself,” she said, her tone breaking. “You’re just numbing it. You’re not fixing anything. You’re hurting. I know that. But this…this is going to ruin you.”  

She stepped closer, her chest trembling.  

“And I can’t,” her voice faltered. “I can’t just stand here and watch you disappear piece by piece while pretending everything’s okay.”  

Paige opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, like she had one last defensive thing to say, but the words didn’t come. They got stuck behind the lump rising in her throat.  

Azzi’s voice dropped, almost buckling under the weight of it.  

“I don’t want to lose you.”  

And that was it.  

Paige finally looked at her. Really looked. And something shifted.  

Azzi was crying, not trying to hide it, not even attempting to be brave. Her face was blotchy, her hands shaking, her shoulders caved inward as if she didn’t know how much more of this she could take.  

And Paige felt it hit.  

The love. The guilt. The clarity.  

It washed over her so hard it knocked the breath out of her.  

Because for the first time that day, the fog lifted just enough for her to see what she was doing—not just to herself, but to Azzi. Not just the pain, but the impact. Not just the pills, but the wreckage.  

She looked down at the bottle in her hand.  

And for the first time, she didn’t want it.  

She wanted Azzi.  

Her hand opened slowly. She placed the bottle on the counter as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Her fingers lingered on the plastic before pulling back.  

She turned again, and there was something raw in her expression. Her voice came out quiet, almost too controlled.  

“Hey,” she said. “I’m here. I’ll come lie down with you. It’s fine.”  

Azzi shook her head. Just once. Her breath was trembling. “It’s not.”  

Paige’s throat bobbed. Her face twitched, close to breaking. But she forced a small, brittle smile onto her lips anyway.  

“Yeah,” she whispered. “It is.”  

And then she did what she always did when she had no answers left—she opened her arms.  

Azzi didn’t resist. She crossed the last few steps and fell into her chest, burying her face there as if it was the only safe place left in the world.  

Paige wrapped her arms around her tightly, holding her close as if she couldn’t bear to let go. Her body shook with the effort, but she pressed her lips to Azzi’s hair and whispered into it like a promise.  

“I’m here,” she said. “I’ve got you.”  

They moved back to the bedroom together slowly, Paige keeping one arm wrapped around Azzi’s waist, the other clasping her hand so tightly her knuckles ached.  

The bed was still warm. Paige climbed in first and pulled Azzi down with her, her breath shaky but steadying the longer she held on.  

Azzi cried quietly into the fabric of Paige’s shirt. Paige didn’t say anything for a long time. She just kissed her temple and kept whispering over and over, “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m fine.”  

But the words felt empty in her mouth.  

Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure if they were true.  

—

Hours later, the shaking began before she opened her eyes. 

It started out subtle. A tremble in her fingers. A thrum beneath her skin, as if her bones were vibrating. But it quickly intensified, rising up her spine and wrapping around her gut in tight, nauseating coils. 

Paige blinked in the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting to the blur of shadows around her. Her whole body was damp with sweat, her shirt stuck cold and wet to her back. The air in the room felt too still and too close. Her heart raced against her ribs, not knowing how to calm down. 

Her knee throbbed, deep and sharp, every pulse of pain shooting down her leg like a warning flare. 

But it wasn’t just the pain. 

Her skin itched. Her jaw ached from clenching too tightly. Her stomach twisted as if she hadn’t eaten in days, but the thought of food made her feel sick. She swallowed hard, her throat dry and tight, as if she had been crying in her sleep without realizing it. 

She knew what this was. It had been a whole day since she’d taken anything. 

Her body felt like it was falling apart. Too wired and too weak all at once. This kind of exhaustion didn’t come from training, a game, or even travel. It came from needing something she didn’t want to need anymore. 

Her fingers twitched at her side, curling against the sheets before flexing open again. She could feel it in the kitchen. The bottle. Hidden behind the bowl, as if that could keep it out of sight, as if that meant it wasn’t calling her anymore. 

She could picture it clearly. The weight of it in her hand. The sound it made when it clicked open. The immediate, easy relief. 

She almost got up. 

Her legs tensed, muscles ready to move. 

Almost. 

But then Azzi shifted behind her. 

Not much. Just a soft inhale, followed by the slow exhale of sleep. Her arm instinctively tightened around Paige’s waist, her hand resting flat against her stomach like an anchor. 

Paige froze. 

Azzi’s breath was warm against the back of her neck, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that calmed something wild inside Paige just enough to make her pause. Just enough to make her stay still. 

Her jaw clenched again, this time against the sob that tried to rise up her throat. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, but that didn’t stop the tears. 

They came hot and fast, sliding silently across the bridge of her nose and into the pillow, soaking the fabric before she could wipe them away. She bit her bottom lip to hold back a sound, holding her breath as if silence could keep Azzi from waking. As if staying still could help it pass. 

She hated this. 

The need. The shame. The fact that even after the bottle was put away and after the promises she made in Azzi’s arms, her body still wanted what she was trying to quit. 

God. 

Maybe she was right. 

She didn’t move. 

Paige just lay there in the dark, muscles locked tight, shaking as quietly as she could, and held onto Azzi like a lifeline.

—

Paige woke with a dry mouth, skin cold, as if the sweat dried in patches she forgot how to feel. Her body was tangled in an awkward position around Azzi. One leg bent too much and one locked in a straight line. 

Her knee—God her knee—throbbed with a deep ache that settled into her bones, as though it foraged home. She blinked against a dim morning light coming through the blinds, struggling to keep still. Not yet. If she held still enough, maybe the pain would settle in. The tightness in her chest would pass. 

She readjusted slightly, just to relieve some pressure on her knee, but the movement was enough. She felt it immediately—Azzi's hand at her waist tightening, not reflexively but with purpose. Awake. 

Paige froze. Sure, she kept her eyes closed like a coward, playing a part of a motionless sleeping woman. Maybe if she stayed quiet, Azzi would let her lay there, maybe she wouldn't say anything at all. 

But then Azzi spoke. The sound came softly low and gentle. Unmistakable. 

"Hey."

Paige opened her eyes hesitantly, limbs stiff with dread before she had even looked. Azzi was already watching her, red-rimmed eyes with lashes sticking together from dried tears. There was no blame in her gaze, but there was no softness either. Just calm clarity. Steady. Open.

"Morning," Paige rasped. The sound of her voice cracked, brittle.

Azzi didn't say it back. She breathed out very slowly; a breath with a lot of weight.

"Paige," she said softly, "we need to talk about last night."

Those words hit Paige like a stone on her chest. She flinched, and began to turn to move, but the arm Azzi had placed around her waist held her steady, not jerkily, but with firmness.

"Az," she muttered, so quietly Azzi could barely hear her. "Don't."

"I have to," Azzi said, not unkindly, but with a tone that was steady, which made lying impossible. "I love you too much not to."

Paige tightened her eyes, jaw set. Her whole body was taut under the weight. She didn't want to do this. Not here. Not now. Not even with the sun barely up and her heart still raw with everything she had not let herself feel.

Azzi's hand glided with gentle hips across her back, fingers spread wide, thumb making tiny circular motions against Paige's spine, too tender. Too much.

"Paige. Please talk to me."

Paige laughed, but it cracked, devoid of conviction. She swallowed hard, and her voice was low and rough. 

"Talk about what, Az? That I can barely hold it together? That my knee feels like someone is drilling through it? That I am popping pills like Skittles just to get through the day?"

Azzi didn't flinch. She didn't answer immediately either. She breathed in the words hesitated; like she had already known the words, waiting until Paige had put them into the air.

"Yes," she said finally. "All of it."

Paige inhaled sharply, then exhaled. A whisper followed.

"I don't want to stop." She said it like a confession, hating that she wanted to. "That's the worst part. I don't want to. It makes everything quiet. I can take it, I can breathe. I can play. I can sleep. It shuts everything off, even the noise inside me."

Azzi squeezed Paige against her as she shook. The two were as tight as she could hold them. She pushed her nose into Paige's shoulder as though she could disappear between them.

"You're not alone in this," she whispered.

Paige released a breath close to a sob. "I didn't sleep last night. Not really. My body ached, but it was more than that. I felt like I was falling apart from the inside out. Like my skin would rip if I move the wrong way. I thought about getting up, all night. I almost did."

Azzi let go just enough to see her, and her voice faltered as emotion caught up with her. "But you didn't."

Paige's eyes shimmered. She nodded, barely above a whisper.

"Only because you were holding me."

At that moment, Azzi's whole face crumbled. She let out a soft sob, one hand caressing Paige's face like she couldn't believe it was still there to touch.

"I'm always going to hold you," she said fiercely. "Even if you push me away. Even if you don't know how to let me. I'm always going to be here."

Paige's lip trembled, and her face twisted under the weight of those words. Her voice lowered again, thin and afraid.

"What if I can't do it?" she asked. "What if I'm not enough without it? What if they realize I'm way worse than I'm letting on, and they bench me? What if- what if I never get to be myself again?"

Azzi was cupping both of her cheeks now, tears slipping down her own face that she didn't wipe or hide.

"Then they bench you," she said, full of everything she had not said last night. "Then you rest. Then you heal. And then we work on it. You don't have to be everything right now. You just have to be here. With me."

Paige shook underneath Azzi, but she finally let the tears pour out of her faltering, blushing cheeks. They washed out quickly, unchecked, like she'd been holding back for days.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

Azzi nodded, her forehead pressed into Paige's.

"I know," she whispered back to her. "Me too."

Paige took a breath, stuttered, and when she let it out, there was a little less in her. Enough to say the next word steady.

"Okay."

Azzi's breath caught. She searched Paige's face, and held her there.

"Okay?" she asked, barely believing.

Paige nodded again, her tears still dripping down her cheeks, but a little curve was starting at the edge of her lips.

"Okay."

They stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, the sunlight pouring stronger through the window, washing the room in quiet gold. Nothing had been solved. Nothing was guaranteed. But they were here.

And for now, that was enough.

—

They remained there for a long time after the sun began to shine on them, neither one of them saying anything. Paige had her arms locked tightly around Azzi’s middle, her head buried as far into Azzi’s chest as she could, as if she was trying to hide. 

Azzi was tracing slow, meaningless lines on the shoulder blades of Paige’s back, her own eyes gritty from the tears that had dried there. 

They had talked about it, they had said all the things that couldn’t be un-said. But, that didn’t mean it was easy now. The silence between them wasn’t angry, it was just tired. It was wary. It was raw. 

Paige’s breath was warm and deep against Azzi’s shirt. Azzi could feel all the tremors of her body, like it felt like Paige was holding herself so tense it hurt.

After a while, Azzi sighed again, letting her fingers slip lightly to Paige’s hair and stroked it lightly. “Come on,” she said, husky with the remembered sleep and crying. “Let’s get up.”

Paige groaned lowly in her throat. She didn’t move at first. Then, she shifted just enough to nuzzle closer, mumbling something that Azzi couldn’t catch.

Azzi pressed a kiss to the top of Paige’s head. “You need to move baby, your knee’s going to lock-up if you stay like that.”

This caused a slight, pained huff of reluctant agreement Paige. She slowly untangled herself, wincing as she moved her leg. Azzi kept a hand on her lower back to help guide her up right once Paige found her balance.

After that, there was nothing further between the two of them as they shuffled out of the bedroom. Paige was limping locked in a stiff shuffle down the short hallway, her arm draped around Azzi’s shoulders for support and cautiously shifting her weight on to her good leg. Paige's waist felt solid in Azzi's grip. She held on for a moment, steady and patient.

The only sound in the kitchen was the low murmur of the refrigerator. Paige looked at the countertop where she left the pill bottle last night. It stared back at her like a third person. 

Haunting. 

Azzi released Paige once she had settled leaning against the counter. She brushed a knuckle lightly against Paige's cheek. "Go shower," she said gently. "You'll feel better. I'll make breakfast."

For a second, Paige looked like she might argue—her lips parted, her eyes darted to Azzi's with warm defiance—but then all the fight seemed to drain from her. She nodded, slow and heavy. 

"Yeah. Okay."

Azzi wanted to say, At least it wasn't a year, or you didn't have to go to the hospital, or it could have been worse. 

Azzi breathed as Paige walked away. For a moment there was an ache in her chest that was so deep, she could hardly breath. She glanced over to the pill bottle still on the counter, grabbing it fiercely and shoving it back into the cabinet. 

She allowed her fingers to trail over the counter as she turned to the fridge, pulling out the eggs, butter, and bread. She moved automatically, cracking eggs and whisking them with ease.

She heard the shower turn on in the distance, imagining Paige standing in the wall of water, head bent forward against the tile, allowing the water to wash over her face.

Azzi blinked against the stinging in her eyes and set the whisk down.

She's here, she reminded herself. She's here. That's what matters.

She inhaled deeply and turned back to the stove.

Azzi was plating out the scrambled eggs on two ceramic plates when she heard the water cut off. She paused a beat, allowing the silence to rush in, listening for the creak of the bathroom door. She forced herself to keep going, setting out the toast, pouring two glasses of orange juice.

When Paige eventually dragged herself back in, she looked freshly scrubbed but not any less tired. Her hair looked damp, curling slightly at the ends, darkening the Wings t-shirt that clung to her collarbone. 

She hesitated in the doorway, eyes flicking once, fast and guilty, oward the countertop where the pills were not long ago. 

Azzi pretended not to see.

"Sit," she said gently, gesturing toward the stools.

Paige complied with the same exhausted demeanour she'd worn all morning, easing into the stool, propping her elbows on the countertop. Her eyes lingered on the plate of eggs too long, like she wasn't too sure what to do with it. 

Azzi stood across from her, folding her arms on the counter, leaning in slightly.

They were quiet at first, very gently using their forks, scraping against ceramic. Paige poked at her food more than she actually ate with it. Azzi couldn't help but see every slight wince, the way her hand moved unconsciously toward her knee and then jerked back as if it betrayed her, every time. 

She hated it.

Finally, she lay her own fork down quietly.

"Talk to me," she said softly. “Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

From the moment those words floated out of Azzi’s mouth, Paige stiffened. Her fork, food halfway to her mouth, froze and clattered gently onto the plate. She set it down with trembling fingers, jaw working as she swallowed nothing.

“I don’t... want to,” she mumbled.

Azzi’s heart cracked but her voice remained steady.

“I know. But you need to.”

Paige’s eyes shot to hers, red-rimmed and glassy and filled with something so raw it made Azzi’s stomach twist.

Paige looked away.

“It’s like…” she exhaled shakily. “It’s like there’s this constant noise. The pain, yeah, but also just... everything. The pressure. The schedule. My fucking knee is screaming every time I move and I can’t turn it off.”

Azzi didn’t move. She didn’t interrupt.

Paige’s fingers drummed restlessly on the counter, nails clicking.

“But then I take one, and it's... quiet. Just for a little while. I don't feel like I'm coming apart.” Her voice was wavering. “It's the only thing that makes it stop.”

Azzi's throat closed.

Paige laughed but it was a sharp, wet sound. “And it's so fucking easy. Just one and I'm okay. Not perfect. But... better. And I haven't felt better in so long."

She dragged her fingers through her wet, tangled hair, pulling so hard Azzi winced for her.

"I haven't felt this good since before I tore my ACL," Paige whispered, voice cracking completely. "And I don't want to go back. I'm scared of going back to the pain. To always being... less."

Azzi blinked, hot tears pooling in her eyes despite herself.

Paige glanced at her, finally, the glimmer of shame radiant in her eyes.

"I can't believe I let it go for three weeks like this," she mumbled. "I coulda stomped it. I shoulda told you sooner."

Azzi reached across the counter and grabbed her hand so quickly she almost bumped the glass of orange juice.

"Don't you dare," she said, voice low and fierce. "Don't you dare take blame for this. There isn't an ounce of blame in this. None. You've been playing through pain that would have sidelined anyone else. You're going back to square one and you're trying so fucking hard. I know you are."

Paige sniffed hard, allowing one tear to travel down her cheek.

Azzi squeezed her hand until her knuckles turned white.

"I'm not mad at you," she whispered. "I'm scared for you. That's different."

Paige drew a ragged breath, shaking her head. Blinked furiously, materializing a glaze.

"Can we... sit on the couch?" she managed, voice cracking.

Azzi nodded before she spoke. She let go of Paige’s hand only long enough to help her off the stool, wrapping an arm around her waist. The air came gusty from both their mouths as Paige sagged against Azzi’s hip if not for Azzi holding her up, breath hitching as they limped the few steps to the couch.

When Paige collapsed on the couch, Azzi did not ask for permission. She lifted Paige’s legs, settled them across her lap.

Paige's head fell back, eyes squeezed shut, face crinkled.

After a minute she whispered, barely above a breath whisper, "Is it okay if I take some Advil?"

Azzi's chest burned. But she forced herself to nod.

"Yeah. Sit tight."

She walked back to the kitchen and opened the cabinet door. Her eyes darted instinctively to the orange bottle still tucked inside, cap secure, very still. She shook her hand away from it and grabbed the Advil.

She brought back two pills and a glass of water, carefully pressing it into Paige’s eager palm.

"I know it’s not the same," she said softly. “But it will still help."

Paige swallowed the pills dry and followed them with the water. She didn't look up.

Azzi didn't rush her.

Finally, Paige slumped lower, letting her legs go slack across Azzi's lap. 

Azzi rested her hands on Paige's knee, fingers stiff but soft, and started to knead slow, methodical circles into her tight, scarred muscle. 

Paige shuddered, letting out a small, involuntary moan, and went boneless a second later, tension melting away even if the pain remained. 

"What do I do now?" Paige finally asked, voice dull but inquisitive. 

Azzi kept kneading. 

"You need to talk to the trainer," she said, calm and steady. "You need to ask for alternatives."

Paige cracked one eye open, looking skeptical. "Like what?"

Azzi met her gaze without flinching.

"Cryotherapy. Injections. PT. My mom sent me a bunch of stuff she did back in the day. It's not a perfect fix, but it is safer."

Paige didn’t argue, she just let her head fall back and blinked at the ceiling. 

Azzi gulped. "And you're going to have to ask for less minutes," she added softly. "I know that's like pulling teeth for you. But in order to have a long career...you've got to think about your short-term health."

She sensed the hesitation pulse through Paige before she even saw it. A quirk at the shoulder. The smallest breath of resistance in the way her thigh flexed beneath Azzi's touch. Her mouth pulled to one side as if she wanted to argue, to resist it. But she didn't hold on for long. 

Her tension slipped from her slowly and barely perceptibly, like a leak that she didn't know how to stop. Her breath came slower and deeper, and it wasn’t entirely steady. Her eyes were only half open now. Not as a dismissive thing, but an exhaustion finally beginning to win out. The burden of the last twenty-four hours had caught up with her all at once, weighing down her limbs and making each blink heavy as the last. 

Azzi continued to massage, slow and methodical, with firm pressure. Her hand was more reassuring now than therapy. She watched Paige continue to melt into her like butter, legs slack, arms at her sides, face turned slightly into the pillow.

"You still with me?" Azzi asked softly, voice tender but with concern softening the edges. 

Paige didn't open her eyes right away. She simply made a low hum in the throat. Almost inaudible, but enough to let Azzi know she was still there—floating, but anchored. 

Still here. Still listening. Still choosing to stay.

A tear slid down her temple, disappearing into her hairline. 

"I'm so angry at myself," she whispered. "And I'm so angry that I disappointed you."

Azzi felt her own eyes prickle. 

"You didn't," she said fiercely. "You scared me. But you didn't disappoint me. I am so fucking proud of you. For telling me. For trying." 

Paige sobbed once, then clamped her mouth shut, shaking her head. 

Azzi leaned over until her forehead was resting against Paige's knee, tears dripping down onto the skin she was still massaging. 

"I was supposed to fly out tonight but..." she whispered. 

Paige blinked at her, wide-eyed and panicked. "Azzi, no. You can't stay. You'll get in trouble." 

Azzi raised her head and met her gaze dead-on. 

"I'm not going to leave you like this. I'll tell Geno that I'm sick...I don't care. I'm not leaving." 

Paige made a broken sound and covered her eyes with her arm.

They sat there for a long time, the hush of the apartment only broken by Paige's quiet hitching breath. 

Azzi continued to work her thumbs gently into the stiff lines of muscle. Every time Paige shuddered with another wave of tears, Azzi just pressed a little more firmly, grounding her. 

Before long, and after many more bucketloads of tears, Paige was able to wipe her eyes, lower the arm that was covering her face, and blink blearily at the ceiling. 

Her eyes were swollen, lashes matted together from crying, and with an audible swallow of air, her breath was catching but slowly became level again. 

Azzi said nothing to her, but simply rested her palms on Paige's knee, thumbs lightly sweeping back-and-forth like a tide rolling in or receding. 

Paige sounded nasally and had to sniff it back a few times. But when she finally spoke, her voice was raw, but clear.

“Azzi.”

Azzi looked up instantly, ready for anything.

Paige’s lip trembled with emotion as she finally bit it down, her eyes glazed and unfocused, but she didn’t look away. She held Azzi’s gaze, staying steady even though her throat constricted as it tried to push the words through everything that was stuck inside her. 

“I love you.” 

Paige said it like it cost her something—not because it wasn’t true, but because it was the most terrifying kind of truth; it exposed her, fully and raw and shaking and seen; it tied her to something she could not afford to lose. 

Azzi’s breath burst from her in a quiet, unsteady rush, like her whole body had been waiting for that moment to exhale. Then the weight of it settled on her; everything she had been carrying here, in silence. She blinked hard, the tears blurring her vision for all of the right reasons this time. 

“I love you too,” she whispered. The words lodged in her throat. “So much.” 

She reached up and cupped the side of Paige’s face with both hands, drifting her thumbs along damp cheeks, rooting them both in the truth of it. 

Paige didn’t say anything else, just leaned into Azzi’s touch, finally allowing herself to give in, to be held. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing steadied beneath Azzi’s palms, like the words had taken everything out of her and she could rest now. 

Azzi leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her voice barely audible. 

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” she murmured. “Just be here.” 

And Paige was.

—

The next day, the trainers' room was filled with the faint buzzing of fluorescent lights and the shuffle of sneakers in the hallway. Paige was sitting on the edge of the exam table, stiff, the thin paper resting on it crinkled with every distracted move she made. 

She had her knee wrapped, and elevated slightly, but her foot rested against the metal base and seemed to have a mind of its own as it bounced back and forth rapidly. For each time she bounced her foot, it sent a flicker of pain across her face, but she just kept going.

Azzi was sitting next to her in a hard plastic chair, one ankle crossed over the other, elbows tucked into her knees. She hadn't reached for Paige yet. She just observed. She had a quiet steadiness to her that seemed to imply she could wait forever. The silence between them wasn’t heavy, just full of all of the things unspoken. 

Paige rubbed her sweaty palms against the hem of her practice shorts. She wore one of the team shirts that was really big, the sleeves rolled up so high onto her arms that it was almost as if she was trying to show how tough she was. Her hair was scraped back into a tight bun, no frills, no nonsense, just control. But Azzi saw right through it. She always did.

Azzi leaned forward, barely above a whisper, "Breathe." 

Paige's eyes shot to Azzi, a little wild, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "I am." 

Azzi didn’t blink. She didn’t push. She waited until Paige's chest finally rose with a real breath, shaky and slow, and her eyes dropped to the floor.

The door clicked open and the team trainer walked in. He nodded politely to them both as he pulled the rolling stool closer to him.

"Morning," he said softly. "I understand you wanted to talk."

Paige swallowed. Her jaw clam locked, but the words didn't come.

Azzi finally moved, her hand reaching out slowly to sit lightly on top of Paige's. Two fingers. Not forcing, just offering. Paige didn't flinch. Didn't pull away.

Jason sat down, and set the clipboard on his lap. He was comfortable, his tone even. "Paige, do you want to tell me what's been going on?"

She blinked hard, trying to speak, and her throat was working. Twice her mouth opened without sound. Then finally, something broke free.

"I’ve been taking the pain meds," she spoke softly, cracking at the edges.

Jason didn't react. Just gave a nod once, his eyes calm.

"More than I should have," she added quickly, as if it was important to say it all in one breath. "I know. I know."

Azzi's fingers tightened slightly.

Jason's pen moved to the page, but his tone never changed. "How much more?"

Paige grimaced, breath catching. "I don’t know. Just... when it hurts. Which is all the time."

She laughed once, bitter and thin.

Jason waited a beat. "How long has it been like that?"

Paige didn’t answer immediately. As Azzi watched, she could see the tears welling before Paige blinked them away.

"About three weeks," she whispered.

Jason leaned back slightly, not in disbelief, simply taking it in. "Okay," he said. "I appreciate you being honest with me— that's the hardest part. I'll go get Dr. Ramirez and we can talk about next steps."

Paige did nothing more than nod, her head bowed. It was almost as if she curled in on herself, trying to take up as little space as possible.

Azzi leaned in until their foreheads touched, breath ghosting each other's skin. "I'm proud of you," she whispered, barely able to spit the words out.

Paige did not reply but allowed herself to lean in, just a little.

After a few minutes, the door swung open and Dr. Ramirez came in. He was older than Jason and had a calmness that seemed to settle the entire room. He nodded once at Azzi before finding the stool across from Paige.

"Thanks for waiting," he said. His voice was warm, measured.

Paige didn't raise her eyes.

He waited until the room was still before he spoke again. "Jason gave me a brief run down, but I want to hear from you."

Paige's eyes flicked up then went back down. Her voice was raspy. "It started after the last scan. They gave me the prescription, saying use sparingly. I did, at first. But it just... it didn't stop hurting." 

"And it was just easier to take something than to keep pretending I was okay."

Tears streamed down her face. She didn’t wipe them away.

Azzi said nothing, still holding her hand, still grounding her.

"I didn’t count," Paige continued. Her voice cracked. "I wasn’t trying to...I just wanted it to stop."

Dr. Ramirez nodded slowly. "Yes. Thank you for being honest about this, that’s never easy to do. What you described is not uncommon, especially among high-level athletes. It’s not a failure on your part. It’s how the medication works."

Paige blinked but fast like she was trying to not cry. Azzi felt her pull away a bit.

"Oxycodone isn’t meant for long-term use," Ramirez continued. "If you’ve started taking it some amount beyond what was prescribed, your body starts to expect it. And your mind links it to more than just physical pain. Relief. Pressure. Stress."

Paige clenched her jaw. "So what? I'm broken now?"

Dr. Ramirez shook his head. "No. The concern isn't that you are 'addicted' right now,” he clarified. “It’s that those patterns can become really entrenched quickly. We're going to take you off the medication and try non-opioid treatments. We'll help you recover physically and mentally."

Paige scoffed softly, but there wasn't any real fight left in it. "And then I'm supposed to ask for less minutes too?"

"Yes," Dr. Ramirez said clearly without hesitation. "If they're building the team around you, then it's worth protecting you as well. You deserve it."

Azzi turned towards her finally and spoke softly but urgently. "Please, Paige. Just let them help. Let someone help."

Paige's eyes thinned as she looked into Azzi's. The hesitation was clear as day, shaking just under the surface.

And then it cracked.

"Okay," she almost whispered.

Azzi let out a breath she didn't realize she had been clenching in her chest all night.

Dr. Ramirez nodded. "We'll talk to the team psychiatrist. Set up a new PT plan. You're not alone in this."

Paige nodded slowly, her fingers curling around Azzi's like a life jacket.

Azzi leaned in until their foreheads pressed together again. Tears were now sliding down her own cheeks too.

Dr. Ramirez stepped out quietly and closed the door behind him, leaving them in the soft silence that followed.

"You did it," she said softly. "You told the truth. That's everything."

Paige didn't say anything. She just folded into her, and Azzi wrapped her up as the last of her walls came down.

—

That night, Paige wobbled into the apartment after a brief recovery practice, her skin slick with sweat and her shirt glued to her back. The light drills had not lasted long, but the moment she stopped moving, it all began to ache again. Not just her knee, but her entire body felt stiff, twitchy, wrong. 

Azzi was waiting on the couch with a heating pad and her laptop open, but she looked up the instant Paige stepped through the door. 

Paige didn't speak. She didn't need to speak. Her skin was pale and clammy. Her hands shook as she dropped her gym bag in the corner. She didn't make it three steps before she was rushing to the bathroom. 

Azzi was off the couch in an instant. The sounds coming from behind the door made her stomach twist. Gagging. Retching. A gut-deep sickness that sounded like it was trying to claw its way out from Paige's chest. 

Azzi stood frozen for a second, hand pressed against the doorframe. And then she moved. Opened the door, dropped to her knees beside her. 

Paige was folded over the toilet, one arm flopped across the seat, the other arm gripping her stomach, her forehead glistening with sweat. Her lips were pale. 

Azzi wordlessly grabbed a towel, ran it under cold water, wrung it out, then pressed it, softly, to the back of Paige's neck. "Breathe," she whispered, crouched behind her. "I've got you. Just breathe." 

Paige gagged again, but nothing came up. She sagged forwards, her breath shallow and quick.

"It won't stop," she gasped. "It won't fucking stop."

Azzi's fingers pressed the towel lightly against her temple, then rubbed slow circles into her back muscles.

"It will. It will. Just stay with me."

They stayed like that for almost fifteen minutes, Paige shaking, Azzi keeping her together with quiet reminders and affirmations.

When Paige sat upright again, she let Azzi guide her into the living room. She fell onto the couch, head tilted back against the cushion, groaning.

Her eyes blinked shut, but she wasn't asleep.

"Azzi."

Azzi looked away from placing a glass of water on the table.

"Yeah?"

Paige opened her eyes slowly. They were red-rimmed, glossed over, but steady; her voice was low.

"You need to get rid of the pills."

Azzi froze.

"All of them," she said. "I can't have them here. I know where they are. I can feel them, even now. It's too easy."

Azzi took a step closer. She knelt down so they were at eye level, her hands placed on Paige's knees.

"Okay," she said, her voice steady. "We'll get rid of the pills. Right now."

Paige's mouth trembled, a painful catch in her breath. She nodded, once, twice, desperate.

"I want to see it," she whispered. "I want to see them gone. So I can try to... to fucking breathe again."

Azzi swallowed hard, her chest shaking with the promise she forced past the lump in her throat.

"Okay," she said thickly. "Okay. We'll do it together."

Paige shifted awkwardly, trying to sit up. Azzi helped her, bracing her weight and easing her legs off her lap. When Paige finally stood, she wobbled a little. Azzi's arm wrapped around her waist immediately, steady as steel.

They walked together to the kitchen. Paige's steps were small and unsteady, favoring her good leg, but she didn't whine. She just leaned on Azzi, breath ragged but determined.

"It's okay," she murmured. "I've got you."

Paige didn't answer, just stared at the cabinet like she wanted it to open on its own.

Slowly, Azzi reached up and opened it. The orange bottle sat there like a dare. She grabbed it gingerly, turned it in her hand before looking at Paige.

Paige's eyes were locked on it. Her fingers were digging so deep into Azzi's side she was sure she'd see bruises bloom.

Azzi unscrewed the cap slowly. She locked eyes with Paige one last time for permission.

Paige nodded again, this time more emphatically, even as tears poured down her cheeks.

Azzi tipped the bottle over the sink. The pills rattled out in a loose avalanche, loud and final in the stillness of the apartment.

No words escaped from Paige's broken, guttural sound.

Azzi turned on the garbage disposal. The grinding roar filled the kitchen, ugly and beautiful. Paige flinched at the sound but didn't look away. She looked until the last echo faded away and the sink was silent.

When Azzi turned off the switch, Paige let out a sob that shook both of them. She slumped into Azzi, arms wrapping around her waist so tight it hurt.

"I'm gonna get better," Paige whispered, voice muffled and cracked against Azzi's shoulder. "For you."

Azzi's tears fell into Paige's hair. She pressed kiss after kiss to her temple, her voice wrecked. 

"For you," she whispered back fiercely. "For us."

Paige's fingers dug into her back.

"I'm so fucking scared," Paige confessed, voice shaking with every word. 

Azzi cupped the back of her head and held her like she might fall apart. 

"Me too," she breathed. "But we're gonna do it anyway. Together."

Paige nodded against her, crying harder.

They stood there until neither of them had the strength to hold the other up anymore.

—

They were huddled in the tiny, overly air-conditioned waiting room just off the hall of the training offices. The cold of the linoleum seeped into their shoes, and every dip in the silence was filled by the hum of the vending machine, as if it were trying to take their mind off what they were about to do.

Paige sat rigidly like her body wasn't actually her own, folding in on itself with limbs stiff in an awkward curled up fashion. The arms across her chest were so tightly crossed it almost seemed painful and her shoulders hung disengaged and rounded as if she was trying to fold into herself and disappear entirely. 

Her knee, newly wrapped and resting crookedly on her other foot, shook vibrantly with the nervous energy, twisting the muscle painfully as it cringed with every tremor. But she didn't stop. 

Azzi sat next to her and the only movement in her body was the taper of her foot to the floor at a slow and elongated pace. Her hands rested lightly between her knees but her attention never wavered from Paige. She took in every hard line of her jaw, the flinch below her eye, the rigid tension that hadn't left her shoulders since they stepped out of the car this morning. 

Paige finally shifted with a quick exhale and began to speak with a raspy, clipped tone "I feel like a fucking circus act.” 

The words were sharp and bitter and only just loud enough to breach the space between them, but they cut the silence like a knife. "Talk to the trainer. Talk to the team doctor. And now what, we’re just gonna sit around and talk about my feelings too?"

Azzi didn't flinch at the tone of voice. She gave it space, like she would give a live wire space. Then she leaned in, resting her elbows on her thighs, and said evenly, "Yep. That's exactly what we are going to do."

Paige turned to her with a glare, sharp and bright, with something darker underneath. Was it fear? Anger? Resentment that had nowhere else to go?

Azzi didn't look away.

"You know why?" she said, keeping her voice low and purposeful. "Because that's how you get better."

Paige's lips twisted as her jaw clenched, as if she was trying to stop a rush of words that wanted to tear out of her. Her eyes burned, but she wouldn't blink.

Azzi leaned in a little closer, softer now, drawing Paige into her, "You're not a sideshow, P. You're not a failure to fix. You're a person in pain. A person trying to survive something that's really fucking hard. And you deserve help."

Paige's breath caught. She turned her face away again as if she couldn't take the weight of Azzi's honesty. She dropped her chin and stopped her foot. Finally.

Azzi felt the silence stretch, and then leaned across the small gap between their chairs. She moved her hand closer to Paige's, softly, as it brushed against hers, cautious and patient. She didn't force it, just offered it.

But Paige took it. She sloooooowly uncurled one hand, and let their fingers weave. Her grasp tightened. Desperate.

"I hate this," she whispered, barely audible.

Azzi could hear the crack in her voice, but she nodded, "I know. But I love you more than I dislike this. So we're going to go ahead and do it anyway."

Paige released a sound that could have started out as a laugh but fell into something lesser, smaller, and more broken. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Azzi squeezed her hand again.

"Look at me, baby," she said gently.

Paige did, slowly. Bloodshot eyes locked on hers.

"This is the hard part," Azzi said. "But this is also the brave part. You're already doing it."

The office door opened. "Paige? They're ready for you."

Paige almost jumped. The grip on Azzi's hand tightened like she might bolt.

Azzi stood immediately, pulling her up with her. "I'm going with you."

Paige didn't argue. She didn't say anything. She simply nodded one time and wiped at her face with the back of her arm, as if she could rub the fear away.

The office was warmer than the exam room from yesterday. Soft light spilled in through a small window, and a couch lined one wall across from chairs angled slightly towards each other, so it felt like a conversation and not an interrogation. A leafy plant maintained a stubbornly vertical posture in the corner.

Dr. Song stood when they entered. Her expression was calm and composed, but not cold. She was dressed in simple slacks, a Wings polo, and wire-frame glasses that made her look more like a professor than a psychologist. “Hi Paige, I’m Dr. Song,” she said gently. “I appreciate you coming in today.” 

Her eyes darted briefly to Azzi, not judging, just wondering. "And you are...?" 

Azzi stood up a little straighter, holding Paige's hand even tighter. 

"Azzi," she said, voice strong, "her—I'm here for her." 

Again, Paige's voice rang out before Dr. Song could respond. Low and raw, she said, "She's staying. I need her here." 

Dr. Song made a little nod, and the tiniest of softening in her eyes appeared. "Okay," she said simply, "of course, whatever you need."

“Are you comfortable either on the couch or in the chair?” Dr. Song said. 

“Don’t care,” Paige muttered and used Azzi to guide her to the couch. Although she was stiff, she did follow along. 

Azzi stayed close, youth and eagerly, sitting so close their knees touched, and put her hand gently on Paige's thigh. Paige didn’t shake her off, but her shoulders didn't relax either. 

Dr. Song sat about diagonally across from them and balanced the clipboard on her knee. 

“I know you’ve already been through too much interrogating,” she said, “so we’ll get through this as simply as we can. I’m not going to be digging. I’m here because I care about your health, physical and emotional. Right now they are in pain. Both of them.” 

Paige's jaw shook. She swiped again at her face incidentally. "No shit." 

Dr. Song didn't flinch. “What I would like to have happen today is to hear from you, a piece of it. Whatever piece you can provide today.” 

Paige hesitated. She made fists. Azzi felt her trembling underneath her hand. 

Azzi leaned in further, steady, but gentle. “Say something, P.” 

Paige's eyes were wide and wet. She glanced to Azzi for just the slimmest moment, then let her eyes drop. 

“Um. I'm ... tired," she rasped. 

Dr. Song gave a small nod. 

Paige exhaled, and it was a long, shaky exhale. 

"My knee hurts, all the time. It wasn't only about practice. It was getting out of bed. It was going to the fridge, it was brushing my teeth. And I kept going, because I was supposed to be the one. I was the future. So, I kept going. Even when it got bad." 

Her voice cracked just before 'bad.' 

Azzi's fingers dug deeper into her leg. 

"The pills helped," Paige breathed. "Not just with the knee. With everything…the noise…all the pressure. I didn't want to feel anything. And it worked." 

Dr. Song did nothing. She waited. 

Paige sniffed, and felt angry with herself for crying. "I don't know when I lost track. I didn't count. I just didn't...stop." 

Dr. Song moved her body in a little tighter, her voice calm and precise. 

"What you are describing is normal. You found relief. Your body responded. That's not failure. That's physiology." 

Paige looked away, closed her jaw tighter. 

"We are not here to shame you," Dr. Song added. "We are here to build you a path forward. Pain management, emotional support, and, yes, modifications to your workload. That is not a weakness. That is treatment." 

Paige turned her face into Azzi's shoulder, again, and Azzi enveloped her shoulder with her arm. 

Dr. Song stood up and put down her clipboard after a moment of pause. "This will be a regular appointment for you and I, and we will tackle this together. You will not do this alone." 

Paige didn’t say anything. But she nodded. Just once.

And for now, that was enough.

—

Paige heard the knock loud and clear, before Azzi even reached the door. It was soft, not insistent, but it still made her whole body tense up. She was curled up at the far end of the couch, blanket pulled over her legs, a heating pad strapped to her knee, and still a steady dull ache underneath her eyes from her morning therapy session.

She sat up straighter, more alert now, and felt her heart rate begin rising. "Who is that?" she asked, her tone sharp.

Azzi didn't reply immediately. She was standing at the door, fingers clenched around the handle, and her shoulders were still background tense.

Paige felt her stomach drop. She recognized that look. "Az," she said more firmly this time. "Who is at the door?"

Azzi exhaled slowly. "It's my mom," she said quietly, without turning around.

Paige's breath caught in her throat. "You told her to come here?" Her voice raised incredulously.

Azzi turned then, but she didn't look guilty. She felt steady. She was calm in the same way that Paige found irritating sometimes. "She was already coming to see me," Azzi said carefully. "I just... told her where I would be."

Paige stood up too quickly, and the blanket tangled around her legs. Her knee twinged in protest, but she hardly noticed. "Why the hell would you do that? Do you think I want her to see me like this?"

Azzi flinched but didn't back away. "She's not coming to see you 'like' anything, Paige. “She’s here because she cares.”

“I didn’t ask her to care!” Paige shot back, her voice cracking on the last word, landing in the room like a breaking glass. “I didn’t ask for any of this.” 

Azzi’s expression softened but her voice remained firm. “You didn’t have to, she cares anyway. That’s kind of what people do when they care about someone.” 

Paige turned away, clenching her jaw, breath shuddering out of her. “This is exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know,” she muttered. “Now it’s some big... intervention. I’m some cautionary tale your mom has to fix.” 

“That’s not what this is,” Azzi said quietly. “She’s not coming to judge you.” 

“Then why is she even here?” Paige spun back toward her, her chest rising and falling too fast. Her hands were shaking again and it made her feel angrier. “Is this some family healing circle I didn’t agree to?” 

Azzi tightened her jaw for a moment, like she was holding back a dozen responses. Then she dropped her arms to her sides and stepped away from the door. 

“She’s here because I told her what’s going on,” she said. “Because I needed someone too. And she’s my mom, Paige. She asks questions when I sound scared. And I have sounded really fucking scared this week.” 

Paige flinched. The heat left her face as the guilt settled in her ribs like a weight. She looked down, blinking quickly. "I didn't ask you to help with all of this," she said, the low timbre of her voice raw.

"No," Azzi agreed. "You didn't. You didn't ask me to stay, or to call my mom, or to lie next to you while you cried in your sleep. I did. Because I love you. And you are not a burden."

Paige turned her head, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve, but her voice shook when she spoke. "You shouldn't have to do any of this. You shouldn't have to explain me to other people."

Azzi stepped closer, her voice softening, and reached across the couch, touching Paige's wrist lightly with her fingertips. "I'm not explaining you," she said. "I'm inviting people into your life who already care about you. And you're practically her second daughter, I couldn't stop her from coming."

Paige gave a hollow, biting laugh. "Yeah, well she didn't sign up for a second daughter with a pill problem."

Azzi's fingers gently tightened around her wrist. "No, but she signed up for someone she considers family. And she's been through some of this herself, Paige. She's not here to fix you. She's here to sit on the couch with you and eat too many snacks and probably brew tea that tastes like tree bark and tell you stories about when I was a hot mess in high school."

Paige looked away, her chin quivering. "I don't want her to think of me like this."

"I know," Azzi said softly. "But it may be healing. To show people who you are when it's not perfect. To let them love you anyway." 

There was a long silence. Paige shook her shoulders once, and at her sides her hands were balled into fists. She didn't answer, just sat again heavily on the couch, pulling the blanket to cover her lap too.

Azzi left her alone. She didn't push. She just stayed close, quiet and still. 

After a few minutes, Paige let out a breath that came slow and uneven. Her voice, just above a whisper, asked, "You really think she doesn't see me as broken?" 

Azzi sat beside her, close, but not looming. "I know she doesn't," she said. "And even if she does... so what? You're not broken. You're in pain. You're fighting. And you need to accept the fact that my family shows up. Loud, messy, overbearing, sure, but they show up."

She reached over and brushed Paige's hair behind her ear. "And you are mine Paige. So they are also yours."

Paige didn't answer right away. She just studied Azzi, really studied her, and some part of her opened just a little deeper, somewhere behind her eyes.

Finally, she let out a slow nod, small and tired, "Okay."

Azzi gently leaned her forehead to Paige's. "You don't have to carry this alone anymore. Not ever again."

Outside the door, they heard another light knock. Paige inhaled slowly. Her hands still trembled. But she didn't pull away. Not this time. 

Azzi stood and crossed the room. When she opened the door, her mom stepped in with a warm, worried smile and a grocery bag full of tea, cookies, and kindness.

And Paige, for the first time in days, didn’t flinch. She didn’t run.

Katie stepped into the apartment with a soft grunt, bags of groceries hanging on each arm. Before she got settled, she took a quick look around the room and absorbed everything—in the corner sat the still-wrinkled blankets across the couch, the neat pile of laundry having somehow survived undressed…and the flat tiredness lingering in circles of air like the fading steam, post long day.

Once she finally set her bags down, settled herself with a breath, and opened her arms.

Azzi stepped forward instinctively, already reaching for her, but Katie sidestepped her daughter with practiced ease and went straight to Paige.

Paige froze.

Katie didn’t say a word. She just wrapped her arms around her child and pulled her into the mother of all mother hugs…one that felt solid and sure and was without question, or condition. 

Her chin found Paige's shoulder, one hand splayed wide across her back, the other cradling the back of her head.

Despite Paige’s best efforts to hold herself together, she couldn't. She couldn't not let the lump in her throat rise. The warmth of their hug, unshaken and without conditions, opened something within. Slowly her arms lifted and fisted into Katie's sides as though she wasn't totally sure she was allowed to.

When Katie pulled back, her eyes had a little mist too, but her smile didn't drop. She placed both hands on Paige's cheeks, her thumbs brushed away the tears that had rolled down her face. "There you are," she whispered, her voice low and full of understanding. 

"Good thing I came, you look like you could eat more." 

Paige let out a watery laugh, using her sleeve to wipe her nose. "Only if you say you're making my favorite."

Katie raised her eyebrow and turned toward the kitchen. "What do you think I brought the good mozzarella for?" 

Paige's eyes followed her, and sure enough, the crinkling bags contained pasta noodles, a jar of marinara, fresh herbs, breading, and three perfectly trimmed chicken breasts. She smiled for the first time all day, real and wrinkled.

Azzi stepped next to her and wrapped her arm around Paige's waist with her palm resting gently on the curve of her side. Without thinking Paige leaned into the touch, her head tipping slightly toward Azzi's shoulder.

Katie glanced from the fridge over to them and paused stacking ingredients. "So how's everything going?" she asked. Not casually, but carefully. She wasn't asking to fill the air, she was asking because she knew the answer would be heavy.

Paige drew her shoulders up with a slow breath. She walked over to the bar stool and collapsed into it like her body had just remembered gravity. Azzi followed her and sat next to her.

Paige had been staring at the countertops for a beat, and then she reached up to run her fingers through her hair. Her fingers were shaking just a little, and when she looked sideways at Azzi, her eyes were tired and searching, asking if she could help her carry the words without saying them out loud.

Azzi answered with no hesitation. “She met with the doctor and the psychiatrist,” she said quietly. “They put together a good plan. For treatments, pain management, and support. All of it.”

Katie nodded and slotted a bag of spinach into the fridge. “Good,” she said quietly and dropped her eyes to the floor. “That's good.”

The quiet stretched out again, soft and tentative.

Then, Paige released a shaky breath and dropped her head to the countertop, cheek pressed to the counter. Her eyes slipped closed, her fight falling from her shoulders.

Azzi reached over, her hand sliding slowly up and down Paige's back. “You can go lay down in the bedroom, if you need to,” she said gently, her fingers finding warmth behind the jersey fabric of Paige's shirt.

Paige turned her head just enough to glance up at her, eyes red and glassy, lids heavy. Azzi could see it…the exhaustion layered into her bones, aching the joints, a twitch in her jaw like a fight with herself just to stay up.

“I don't want to be rude,” Paige mumbled, voice thick with sleep and something else too tender to name.

Katie's laugh still came easy from the kitchen. “Honey,” she began, turning to look at her with a hand on her hip, “this is your apartment. You can do anything you need to do. Go lay down while I make dinner.”

Paige hesitated, looking back at Azzi like she needed permission still. Azzi gave it the only way she knew how. She slid off the stool and offered her hand. Paige took it easily and without hesitation.

Azzi followed her slowly to the bedroom, taking careful, quiet steps. Once she was inside, she helped her under the blankets, situated the heating pad, organized the extra pillow under her knee without being asked. Paige blinked up at her, too tired to speak, but her hand found Azzi's and gave it a grateful squeeze.

Azzi bent to kiss her forehead, then her lips, soft and long lasting. “I'll be right out there,” she whispered to her.

Paige's eyes closed with a nod.

Azzi watched her lay there for a moment longer before turning and slipping back into the kitchen where Katie was chopping garlic with her well-trained hands.

“She’s sleeping,” Azzi said quietly, walking up beside her.

Katie didn’t look up from her chopping. “Good. Let her sleep. We have dinner to make.”

—

The apartment had the aroma of garlic and simmering marinara when Paige stirred. She blinked slowly, the remnants of sleep still lingering while she listened to murmurs from the kitchen. A drawer closing quietly. The light clatter of dishes. 

And then she heard it. Azzi's laugh. Bright and unassuming. It sliced through the air like sun breaking through a bedroom curtain, and conveyed a smile across Paige's face. 

She stretched out with caution, where her body was still sluggish, but was now lighter than previously. Even her knee ached, but it was not the same sharpness as before. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and moved painstakingly slow, barefoot down the long hallway.

She paused at the doorframe of the kitchen for a second, just watching. Azzi was sitting on a stool at the counter, her chin resting on her hand, beaming at whatever her mom had just said. Katie stood at the stove, wooden spoon poised while shaking her head in disbelief of whatever tale Azzi had been telling. 

Paige rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat quietly. 

Azzi turned immediately. "Hey," she smiled. "You’re up."

"Didn't want to miss dinner," Paige said with a scratchy voice, but a playful one, too. She moved closer to them, her fingers tracing along the back of Azzi's stool as she passed. "Anything I can do to help?"

Katie turned and gave Paige a once over, head cocked to the side. "You ever made garlic bread?"

Paige raised her eyebrows. “I mean... I’ve definitely eaten it,” she said.

“Good enough.” Katie threw her a dish towel, like it was a baton. "You’re on bread duty."

Paige smiled, the corner of her mouth tugging upward in a way that made Azzi's stomach somersault. It was the first time she'd looked like herself all week.

She moved to the counter and started to arrange the slices on the baking tray. She was humming to herself, some lazy, unrecognizable tune, and she didn't notice when one of the edges of the bread began to darken inside the oven.

“Uh, Paige?” Katie yelled from the stove, her eyes narrowed toward the oven. “You might want to check that.”

Paige flung the door open and let out a squeal of heat. “Shit…okay, okay, I got it!”

She pulled the pan out of the oven with the towel and set it down with exaggerated caution. The bread wasn't ruined, but the edges were definitely flirting with burnt.

Azzi smiled, her arms crossed. “You had one job.”

Paige turned her head, lifting her arms pretentiously. “Oh come on. It's not even crispy-crispy.”

Azzi cocked her head. “We're calling that golden brown?”

“Lightly toasted with personality,” Paige proclaimed.

Katie shot them both a look, then turned back to the stove, trying and failing not to smile.

Paige moved around the kitchen with unexpected grace only wincing once when she reached for a stack of plates at a weird angle. Azzi watched her carefully from the barstool. There was a levity within her once again, her body was finding its rhythm again, it was like the past week was finally evaporating.

When Azzi gave her another tease, something about needing gloves for the fire next time, Paige didn’t just laugh, but came directly for her, arms out, grinning, with glisten in her eyes. 

"You think you could’ve done better?" she said as she wrapped her arms around Azzi's shoulders and squeezed hard, while poking and prodding her like she used to when they were younger. 

Azzi squealed, giggling as she twisted the best she could to get out of Paige's grip. "Paige! Let me go!"

Their laughter filled the kitchen rising and overlapping until Katie had to turn around from the fridge and warned them in a sharp but amused tone, "Okay, okay. That's enough, or one of you is going to break a hip or a plate."

Azzi smiled and stood back. Paige stood too. And still breathless. 

"Azzi, get the plates," Katie added and turned back to the fridge.

But Paige turned right away, pointing a finger at Azzi with a stern face. "Sit."

Azzi raised her eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I said…sit your ass down!" Paige said, laughing harder. "I got it."

Katie raised her eyebrow and handed the last bowl of salad to Paige without anything else to say. Azzi didn’t argue, just leaned back in the stool while a smile spread on her face watching Paige handle all the dishes.

She flinched a little when she set the pasta down on the table, but made no comment. She just straightened and grabbed the bread, giving Azzi a light nudge on the shoulder as she walked past.

They sat at the table together with Paige and Azzi sat next to each other, and Katie across from them. The food smelled amazing and even the slightly-too-burnt garlic bread got passed around like it was too valuable to tarnish the flavor. 

The conversation came easier than she expected. Paige asked about Jon and Jose, about the kids team that Katie was coaching, and listened with interest as Katie launched into the stories of missed layups and overly dramatic fifth-graders.  

Azzi mostly listened, resting her hand on Paige's thigh under the table. But she caught herself staring. A moment too long, watching Paige's profile as she was laughing, truly laughing, her head tipping back just slightly. The knot that had been sitting in Azzi's chest for a few days loosened just a little more. 

She leaned in, shoulder brushing Paige's. "I missed you," she said quietly. 

Paige flicked her eyes over. "I've been here." 

Azzi shook her head. "Not really," she whispered. "But you are now." 

Paige didn't say anything. She shot Azzi a look of her own before nodding, her gaze dropping just a second before finding itself again.

Katie sipped her water, then glanced toward them. "So... what's next?" 

Paige scratched the back of her head and slumped back in her chair, hand rubbed over her face. "I've got a follow-up tomorrow with the trainer. We're going to give some new therapies a try. See how my knee holds up." 

Katie nodded slowly, her napkin neatly folded in her lap. "And the playing time?" 

Paige hesitated. "They want to cap it. 15 minutes max for a couple of weeks. Just until we get a handle on the pain." 

Azzi didn't say anything, and just reached under the table, gently nudging Paige's hand away from her knee so she could rest her own hand there instead. She started rubbing slowly, thumb grazing the side of her joint, grounding her without words. 

Paige let out a breath and gave her a small, grateful smile.

The rest of the meal was quiet, but wrapped in warmth. They passed the bread around. Told stories. Paige even helped clean up, rinsing dishes with Katie while Azzi cleaned off the table.

Eventually, the kitchen quieted again, and the garlic scent faded into the background. 

Katie lingered a bit longer, finishing the last of the dish washing and wrapping up her leftovers with a type of gentle efficiency that told Azzi she wasn't ready to go, but she had to. 

When she finally dried her hands and grabbed her purse, she bent low to kiss Azzi on her head and then brought Paige into a warm, lingering hug that said more than words could say. "I will come by tomorrow," she whispered softly, stroked her hair one last time, and slipped out the door. 

And then it was just the two of them. 

—

The bedroom was dark, and quiet; soft lamplight stretching shadows across the wall. Paige moved deliberately, settling herself on the mattress with a slow exhale. Her knee was wrapped again, and propped on a pillow Azzi had fluffed and adjusted three times before she was satisfied with the height. 

Azzi moved around the room, her actions smooth and familiar. She tossed Paige one of her oversized UConn shirts before pulling on her own, then padded to the bed and crawled in beside her. 

The blankets shifted and settled around them, while Azzi tucked herself in tight, head sharing a pillow, her right arm resting lightly over Paige's stomach. The bare skin of Paige's leg allowed Azzi's fingers to find a slow rhythm, tracing soft lines that unfurled something steadily inside her chest.

Neither of them said anything for a while. The silence was not tense, but full. Weighted with the silence that follows a day that has stretched too thin and too long with emotion.

Paige's eyes were open, unfocused, staring at a fixed point on the ceiling. Her body felt heavy in that post-adrenaline way. It was bone weary, too exhausted for meaningful thoughts, but not quiet enough for sleep. 

Azzi leaned closer and kissed her temple softly. "You're doing good," she whispered, her tone careful but definite.

Paige blinked slowly. Her throat felt tight and raw, like her feelings were still smoldering beneath the surface somewhere. She kept her eyes oriented toward the ceiling, her jaw clenched as far together as it would go.

"I'm really angry at myself," she said at last. The words slid out thin and hoarse like they had been lodged behind her teeth for too long.

Azzi's fingers hesitated for a second, but then continued, slow and deliberate.

"I know," she whispered. "But I'm still proud of you."

Paige exhaled shakily, her breath rattling in her chest. She didn't cry, exactly. But her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

"Why?" she asked, her voice hardly above a whisper. "When I’ve messed everything up?"

Azzi rearranged herself, edging a little closer until their foreheads were almost touching.

"Because you stayed," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Even when it was ugly. Even when you didn't want to. You stayed."

Paige's hand moved to Azzi slowly, her fingers clutching at the fabric of Azzi's shirt at the shoulder. Not tightly. Just enough to latch on.

Azzi wrapped both arms around Paige now, careful not to nudge her knee. Paige's shoulder became the resting place for one of Azzi's hands while the other slowly moved in steadying circles up and down her back, surrendering into their stillness. 

Paige didn't say anything, and she didn't need to. Her body softened one inch at a time under Azzi's touch, the tension of her muscles unclenching like the tide receding. Paige's face was hidden in the hollow of Azzi's neck, her breath warm against her skin, uneven but slowly soothing. 

Azzi closed her eyes as she let herself feel it—the way Paige's heartbeat started to sync with her own, the rise and fall of her chest, the feeling of Paige's fingers unclenching from Azzi's shirt and coming to rest.

This wasn't the type of closeness they had before. Not the flirty touches that came with winning streaks, or the heated touches that took place between games in hotel rooms. This was a different closeness. A quieter one….a heavier one. It was the kind that was made as a result of holding on. 

Azzi shifted a fraction of an inch to kiss the crown of Paige's head, her lips remaining there for a long breath. "I've got you," Azzi whispered. 

Paige let out a long low exhale that sounded as if it came from her depths, like an ember had finally settled. Her arm tensed harder across Azzi's waist, not from desperation, but more from something steady, something real. This was the first time she allowed herself to be held and not try to hold everything else together, too. 

Minutes passed like that. Long, quiet, stillness. 

And then, so quietly and softly it might as well have been a dream, Paige whispered, "Don't let go."

Azzi's breath caught in her throat. She didn’t answer with words, she just gave Paige another kiss—softly, and full of reverence—and held on tighter. Like it meant I won’t. And I never will.

—

The morning sun filtered in through the blinds in thin strips of gold, creating gentle shadows that crossed the hardwood floor and found their way to the small kitchen table. The smell of burned garlic bread from the night before lingered in the air. It was tempered by the sharper and fresh smell of the hot coffee beside her. 

Azzi sat at the table, both hands wrapped around her mug, arms folded still inside the oversized shirt she had slept in, the sleeves spilling over her wrists. She blew softly over the surface of her coffee, not because it was too hot but because the stillness had started to hum and stretch the thick silence, waiting. 

Paige sat across from her, slowly letting one leg extend, gingerly now beneath the table, the ice pack already cooling the swelling in her knee. Her hair fell loose in tangles over her shoulders. She hadn’t brushed it, but it looked soft and unstuffy. Her face was bare in the morning light and her bright blue eyes locked on Azzi as if she could not look away. 

Azzi noticed it, she did. She felt the pressure of it from the moment she had stepped into the kitchen. But she let Paige simply sit there, letting her have the silence.

Eventually, she cleared her throat. "You're staring," she said softly, still looking into her cup and not directly at Paige. 

Paige didn't even blink. "Yeah," she replied, unapologetically. 

Azzi's mouth turned slightly but she leaned back in her chair, feeling her legs extend beneath the table, and the warmth of the coffee on her palms rather than her chest. 

"Real subtle," she said.

That made Paige laugh softly, hoarsely, and briefly, but it was authentic. It cracked through the surface of quiet, and somehow it also cracked the lid off Azzi's chest and made her feel as if she could breathe again. 

But it didn't last. Paige shifted in her seat, fidgeting with the worn edge of the cloth on the table, picking at it with an urgency predictable to anyone watching her.

"I know you're leaving soon," she started, then seemed to pause. She was no longer speaking with anxiousness, she was softer now. "So I will just say it." 

Azzi said nothing. She simply looked at her, with eyes that pressed and pulled nothing. She just waited. 

Paige released a long breath, like she had been holding it for days. She let her shoulders sag, not realizing how heavy those words were. "I don't even know how to thank you for this,” she said simply, quietly and raw.

Azzi's eyebrows bunched together. "You don't have to…"

"I do," Paige asserted, a tremor in her voice like a bottled earthquake. "You missed practice…training. You...you’re in your final year, Az. You shouldn’t have to come all the way down here and sit with me while I—" she choked, swallowing hard, her eyes unbearably wet now.  "While I fell apart." 

Azzi's breath caught in her throat, still she kept her tone unnecessarily light, like she could evade the gravity of the moment. "Please. Geno would have booked the flight himself if he knew." 

Paige laughed once, a wobbly, startled hiccup that echoed in Azzi's heart. Her shoulders shook for a second, and then she was wiping the tears from her eyes with her wrist, trying to bite back the smile she couldn’t help but form.

Azzi smiled too, even though it hurt.

"I'm pretty sure he just wants to yell at you in person," she added. "Probably thinks this is all your fault anyway."

Paige laughed again, quieter, then looked down in her lap, her lips pressed together in something that wasn't quite a smile, but close enough. "You didn't have to come," she whispered. "But you did."

Azzi reached across the little table, slow and sure, and held out her hand. Paige didn't hesitate—she slid her fingers into Azzi's, and the moment their skin met, Azzi felt the crackle of something that had always been there. It was something so normal, so stubborn and so unshakably theirs.

"You don't have to thank me," Azzi said, her voice steady, even though the emotion tightened her throat. "You're mine. This is what we do."

Paige squeezed her hand hard, like she was hanging onto something more than just balance.

"Yeah," she breathed. "It is."

The quiet that followed was no longer heavy. It was full.

And then Paige sniffed, and let out a shaky laugh, her grin trembling at the edges. "Oh god," she muttered, her voice still thick. "You flew all the way down here for a visit and didn't even get laid. I'm the worst girlfriend ever."

Azzi blinked. Then laughed, full and surprised, her head tipped slightly backward. "You're such an idiot," she said fondly, her eyes bright now, for a different reason.

Paige just shrugged it off, wiping at her eyes again with the back of her wrist, her grin felt crooked and worn.

"I'm just saying," she mumbled. "Not my best hosting performance."

Azzi snorted and squeezed her fingers. "Shut up," she said, her voice quiet but sure. "I didn't come here for that."

Paige didn't push back. She just looked at her…really looked at her, and in that moment, Azzi felt something shift. Like all the weight Paige had been carrying on her shoulders finally eased back an inch. Like maybe, just maybe, she believed it.

Her flight was in three hours. But Azzi didn't care. Not while Paige was looking at her like that, and not while their hands were joined across the table in the morning light, streaked across their skin.

They didn't say anything else for a long time.

They didn't need to.

—

The apartment was quieter than it had been all week. It wasn’t exactly peaceful, just empty. Paige stood in the entry way after unlocking the door, keys dangling from her fingers, too exhausted to let them drop. When she did finally toss them on the counter with a hollow thud, they were strangely loud in the desolate space.

She didn’t turn on any lights, just walked through the sunlit kitchen like a ghost, and fell onto the couch without taking off her shoes. The silence was heavy and thickened around her. 

Her knee was perched on a throw pillow, the ice pack she had retrieved from the freezer clamped tightly. The ache underneath had become familiar. The sharpness was gone, and it was replaced with a dull throb that had carved out a niche in her day. More or less something to build around.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but somewhere between the weight of the blanket and the hum of the fridge, her body gave in. Just for a minute. The kind of sleep that didn’t go deep, just enough to fog the edges.

Her phone buzzed beside her, rattling lightly against the cushion. Slowly, she turned her head, and read the message glowing on her screen.

Azzi: Landed. Don’t fall asleep on me. FaceTime in 5.

And suddenly, her entire chest softened.The knots between her ribs loosened just enough to let out a breath. She picked her phone up with one hand and typed back.

Paige: wouldn't dream of it.

She set it back down and leaned her head on the cushion, eyes falling closed---not to sleep, but just to pause. Just to let herself feel the way her body buzzed, ached and pulsed without fighting it. The stiffness in her leg. The tightness in her throat. The steady hum of her heart---not racing, just there.

And maybe most importantly, she didn't think about the cabinet. Didn't picture the bottle that used to sit inside it. Didn't feel that hunger curl low in her gut.

She just waited.

When the FaceTime tone chirped, she answered without any hesitation.

Azzi's face lit up the screen, a bit blurry from Storrs Internet, but still so unmistakably her. Hair pulled back in a loose bun, eyes alert and tired and full of something Paige could feel even distantly.

Paige tried to smirk, but it came out a little crooked.

"Hey baby."

Azzi smiled like she always did when she saw her, like the whole world just clicked back into place. "Hey. You icing?"

Without even answering, Paige flipped the camera and showed her the wrap on her knee.

Azzi made a pleased sound. "Good. Trainer's gonna give you a gold star. Maybe even a sticker chart too."

Paige let out a short, dry laugh. "Don’t be an asshole."

Azzi smiled. It was soft and stupid and perfect.

They just kind of hung out like that for almost an hour. Talking about nothing and everything all at once. Azzi told her about how Caroline had rearranged the apartment while she was gone and about how KK wouldn’t stop calling her asking a million questions about if Paige was alright.  

She filled in the gaps Paige didn’t even know she was missing with her casual and full of life voice. Paige listened and asked questions. She teased even. She laughed more than she had in days. 

And Azzi just watched her. Like really watched her. The way her eyes lit up when she rolled them. The way she somehow leaned into the camera, like there was a small part of her that was trying to shorten the distance between them. 

She looked alive again. Not all the way, but close enough. 

When the conversation started to wind down, the tone of Azzi's changed. It was a little heavier. More serious.  "You're seeing the psychiatrist tomorrow?" 

Paige nodded, the lump back in her throat. "Yeah, I am." 

Azzi stayed silent for a beat. Just looked at her with all the fierce pride that Paige could never carry herself. 

"That's my girl," she said softly. 

"Shut up," Paige said, rolling her eyes and blinking rapidly. 

“I love you," Azzi said, voice lower.

Paige didn't hesitate this time. "Love you more." 

A pause. Then Azzi's voice again, soft and careful. “You gonna be okay?"

Tears sprang to Paige's eyes faster than she could blink them away. Her voice came raw and certain. "Yeah," she said. "I really think I am.”

When the call ended, the apartment slid back into stillness once more. It felt empty, but not in a bad way.

Paige let the phone rest on her chest, the screen blinking off slowly. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes burning the weight of everything washing over her again. But this time, she didn't fight it. 

She could still see Azzi's face. The look she'd had that night in the kitchen, when Paige had dropped the pills.. The pain of her voice when she'd said “I don’t want to lose you.” The way she hadn’t run, or flinched. Not even when she'd tried to push her out.

Azzi had come to Dallas to hold her together. Not because she had to. But because she loved her enough to just stand there in the fire. To stay.

Paige covered her mouth with one hand, but a sob still slipped out. She curled in, fingers twisting into the blanket Azzi had slept under all week. The one that still smelled faintly of her shampoo.

She let herself cry. Not because she was ashamed. But because she wasn’t numb anymore. Because everything hurt and healed at once.

When it passed, she slowly limped to the bathroom to splash cool water on her face and to force herself to look in the mirror. She looked tired. She looked like a human. But for the first time in a long time, she didn't look lost.

Her hair was a complete mess. Eyes puffy. Shoulders dropped but not collapsed. Bruised, but not broken.

When she returned to the living room, she walked past the kitchen cabinet…the one Azzi had emptied, the one that used to call her like gravity. She didn't even look at it.

She flicked the light out, limped back to the couch, and pulled the blanket around her like armor.

She lay in the dark, her phone a warm weight on her chest. Breathing steady. Eyes wet. But alive.

And when her eyes finally closed, the last thing she whispered to the quiet was a promise.

"I'm still here."

And she meant it.

[cinnamonlouu]

For the Views

Elias x Reader

You agreed to this. One video. That was the deal.

But you didn’t realize how easily Elias would break you for the camera.

⸻

His bedroom is darker than you expect. Lit mostly by the soft glow of a ring light, already on and aimed at the bed like it’s waiting. The camera’s mounted on a tripod, red standby light blinking.

Elias in black joggers, no shirt, rings on two fingers. His tattoos crawling up one side of his ribs and over his collarbone.

He’s sprawled at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, but he looks up when you walk in. That grin stretches across his face, the one that’s made a million followers click subscribe without hesitation.

“You’re late, sweetheart,” he says, tapping the screen and standing up in one smooth, slow motion. “Almost thought you was scared.”

“I’m not,” you reply, voice steady. You close the door behind you.

It feels ridiculous. You’ve never done this before. Never collabed. Never even filmed your own stuff just selfies, because body is TEA.

But Elias? He’s one of the top creators in the industry. He’s known for being rough. And real mean.

“You nervous?” he asks, coming up to you slowly, hands sliding into your waistband. “Or just wet already?”

You don’t answer. His fingers dip inside your shorts anyway. Just knuckles at first. Then he hums.

You flinch when he laughs.

“Look at that. Not even rolling yet and you’re soaked. You sure you’re not doing this for you, and not your views?”

When the camera starts rolling, he’s already got you naked from the waist down.

You’re straddling his lap on the edge of the bed, your top pushed up to bare your tits, and his hand gripping your hair hard at the root pulling your head back so your mouth opens instinctively.

“Look at that,” he mutters to the camera, using his other hand to slap your cheek hard enough to sting. You flinch again, breath catching.

“She like it,” Elias says directly to the lens. “Pretending she don’t, Want me to treat her like the filthy little nobody she is.”

Your face heats at the words, not from shame, but from how right it feels.

He shoves two fingers in your mouth.

“Suck.”

You do.

“Good girl, Now get on all fours. Ass to the camera.”

You move, and he help pushing you forward by your throat, making you arch.

You hear the low, heavy sound of a bottle uncapping. Lube. Then fingers between your legs, spreading you, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that make you groan into the mattress.

“Already dripping,” he says, mostly to himself. “Gon fuck you like you mine.”

You can feel the way he’s staring at you.

You gasp when he spanks you, hard, the sound echoing through the room.

“Say thank you.”

You hesitate.

Another slap. Harder.

“Thank you,” you gasp, biting your lip.

“What for?” he says leaning over you, voice in your ear now.

“F–for the spanking.”

“Say it right.”

“Thank you for spanking me, Elias,” you whisper.

He groans, grabbing your hair again and yanking you up so your back arches harder.

“There she is.”

The camera’s still rolling. The red light is still watching. You’re still on your knees, thighs spread, back arched, ass up just how he told you.

“Tell them how bad you want it,” Elias says, voice deeper now. He’s right behind you, cock pressed between your folds, not inside yet just letting you feel him. Thick. Heavy. Intimidating.

You don’t answer fast enough.

SLAP.

You jolt forward with the impact to your ass, heat blooming across your skin. A hand in your hair yanks you back up.

“I said, tell them.”

“I—I want it,” you pant.

“Not good enough.”

“I want you ,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Better.” He gives you a small, cruel smile.

Then he pushes in.

Not slow. Not gentle. One brutal, deliberate thrust that forces the air out of your lungs and makes your knees buckle beneath you.

You let out a choked moan as he fills you, stretching you open without warning.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Elias groans, holding your hips in place like he owns you. “pussy’s never been used right.”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in again harder.

You whimper. He grabs your hips tighter and sets a rhythm that makes your breath come in ragged gasps.

“God damn,” he hisses. “This is what you needed, huh? You didn’t want a collab. You wanted to be used.”

You can’t answer. He’s pounding into you like you owe him something, like it’s personal. And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been. You’d watched his videos, memorized the way he handled people, the way he said things. You’d pictured this exact moment for months.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the real thing.

The slap when he reaches forward and strikes your face is sudden, sharp, and hot, more shocking than painful. Your pussy clenches around him and he feels it.

“Oh? You liked that?” he laughs. “filthy slut.”

He does it again. This time your moan is unmistakable.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your face up to the camera.

“Look at her,” he says to the viewers. “She drooling. Getting fucked stupid.”

Your face is flushed, eyes glassy. You’re drooling. Your mascara’s probably halfway down your cheeks.

He lets go of your hair, grabs your throat instead.

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice ruined.

“Say it right.”

“Thank you for fucking me,” you choke out. “Please don’t stop.”

He growls and pushes you down, flattening you to the mattress. His hips slam into you harder now, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

“Fucking made for this,” he mutters, breath hot on your neck. “You hear how wet you are? This pussy’s eating me alive.”

You can hear it the slick, obscene sounds of skin on skin, your juices leaking down your thighs, pooling under you.

One of his hands snakes under you to rub your clit, fast and dirty, with no care for rhythm just enough to make you twitch.

“I wanna hear you cum,” he growls in your ear. “Loud.”

You try to hold back, but it’s no use. The pressure explodes behind your eyes, and you cum hard, legs shaking, hands clawing the sheets, screaming his name.

“That’s right,” Elias groans, rutting into you faster. “Cum all over me, let everybody see.”

You whimper through it, overstimulated and gasping.

Then you feel his pace change sloppy, harder, rougher.

“Where do you want it, baby?” he growls, dragging your head back by your hair again.

You’re too far gone to answer.

He slaps your face. “Answer me.”

“Inside!” you cry. “Please—inside, want all of it”

He snarls and thrusts deep one last time hips jerking, cock pulsing, spilling inside you.

You feel it — thick, hot, filling you. He doesn’t pull out. Just stays there, chest pressed to your back, both of you panting.

You collapse against the mattress, chest heaving, eyes blurred with sweat and tears. Your thighs are sticky, soaked in slick and cum, and your pussy’s still twitching around nothing.

Elias finally pulls out with a sharp groan, and you feel the slow, hot drip of his release trailing down between your legs.

“You hear that?” he mutters.

He spreads you open for the lens with both hands fingers digging into your ass, thumbs parting your folds to show the mess he made of you. You don’t even try to move. Your mind is fuzzy.

He gives your ass a hard smack — not to hurt, just to make it bounce for the camera.

“She let me cum in her on the first shoot,” he says casually, like he’s reading off a script. “Bet she does it for all her collabs. Huh, baby?”

You don’t respond.

Another slap. “Huh?”

“N–no,” you breathe. “Just you.”

“Damn right.”

You feel the mattress shift as he stands. His voice comes from behind the camera now — focused, calm, like he hasn’t just fucked your brains out.

“Gonna give her a little break” Elias tells his viewers. “Round two’s coming.”

You barely register the click of the camera pausing. The ring light dims just slightly.

You roll onto your back, still trembling. He’s already pouring water into a bottle and kneeling beside you, tilting it to your lips.

“Drink.”

You do. Cold water floods your throat. Your body’s grateful before your brain even catches up.

“You okay?”

You nod.

“Good.” He leans in closer, drops his voice. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

⸻

When the camera turns back on, you’re on your knees again — this time facing it.

Elias stands behind you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your chin.

He tilts your face to the lens.

“Open your mouth.”

You do. His spit lands heavy on your tongue.

“Swallow.”

You obey.

“Fuck. You are made for this,” he growls.

Then he’s in your mouth.

You gag as he pushes his cock past your lips, It’s messy, fast, brutal and he loves it.

Tears spill from your eyes as he thrusts into your throat, using your mouth like he owns it. He holds your hair tight, hips rolling.

You can barely breathe, but the way he groans and the way he praises youmakes you clench around nothing.

“Bet you dreamed about this,” Elias growls.

You moan around him. He pulls out, lets you gasp for air, and then slaps your face again open-palmed, loud, just enough to sting.

“Say it.”

“I dreamed about it,” you whimper.

He grabs your face with one hand and makes you look up at him.

“You’re gonna let me ruin you,” he says.

You nod, dizzy, aching, soaked.

“Good girl.”

He pushes you back on the bed again, spreads your legs, and spits directly on your pussy before slapping it, sharp and loud. You cry out, and he does it again.

Then he’s inside you again, one deep thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

he points the camera down. “They’re gonna see this pussy stretch for me”

You’re delirious from it now, from the way he moves inside you, how his cock hits every place that makes your legs shake and your throat go dry. Elias has your ankles hooked over his shoulders, and he’s fucking you like you’re nothing but a hole to fill.

“Look at this messy little cunt,” he growls to the camera, voice wrecked. “Slut’s creaming on me. Can’t even hold it in.”

Your body jerks as he thrusts in deep again repeatedly, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing against the walls, filthy and rhythmic. You feel ruined. Hot and open and overwhelmed.

And it’s all on film.

He lowers one of your legs, folds you in tighter, and spits directly on your tits, then slaps them until they bounce. You cry out. He grins.

“Oh, you like that? Like getting slapped around?”

You nod frantically, brain completely gone.

“Use your words, slut.”

“Yes! I love it, Elias I love it—”

That makes him groan, rough and deep. He fucks you harder, chasing it now. You can feel the slick slide of him inside you, the raw heat building again. He knows your body’s close — he’s made you this way.

“You gonna cum for me again?” he pants. “All stretched out and full of me already, and you’re still begging for more?”

You nod wildly, hands gripping the sheets, mouth open in a silent cry as he rubs your clit with that perfect, brutal rhythm.

“Cum for me”

Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm hits, blinding and hot. Your legs shake, your thighs twitch, and you scream his name like it’s the only word you know. You clamp down around him, and he curses loudly.

“Fuck” Elias groans.

He pulls out suddenly, and before you can catch your breath, he’s manhandling you over flipping you onto your stomach like you weigh nothing.

“You think we’re done?” he mutters against your ear. “You think I’m satisfied just because you came again?”

You barely have time to brace yourself before he’s inside you again from behind pounding into you even deeper, hand gripping your throat from behind.

“Tell them how good my dick is.”

“S–so good,” you choke out.

“You gonna cry for me?”

You’re already tearing up again, makeup smeared down your cheeks, drool on the pillow.

He yanks your head back. “I asked you a question?”

“Yes,” you sob.

His rhythm falters for half a second and then he slaps your ass again, harder than before.

“Then give me one more,” he growls. “Cry and cum on this dick one more time, baby.”

You scream into the mattress, overwhelmed and overstimulated, as your body tips over again — your third orgasm crashing into you like a goddamn wave, wrecking your thoughts, leaving you nothing but sensation and sound.

Elias lets out a filthy groan as your pussy clenches around him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you again. You want that? You want my cum leaking down your thighs for the outro?”

“Yes please, Elias—”

He buries himself deep with a snarl, hips locked against your ass, cock throbbing as he cums for the second time, thick and hot inside you, filling you again.

You’re shaking beneath him. Boneless. Completely, thoroughly used.

You barely register the soft click of the camera powering down.

Elias stays still for a moment, his cock still deep inside you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Then he slowly pulls out. You moan weakly as you feel him slide free, followed by the unmistakable warmth of his cum dripping from your swollen pussy.

He grabs the camera and brings it closer. He kneels behind you, spreading your thighs open again for the lens, using two fingers to show how deep he filled you. You twitch when he presses against your entrance.

He angles the camera down, making sure the final shot is burned into the SD card, your hole still clenching, hiscum oozing out slowly onto the sheets.

You can barely move. Your body’s spent, your voice gone, your mind hazy and floating somewhere between exhaustion and bliss. And you’re still wet. Still aching. Still wide open for him.

He leans forward, presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“You good?” he murmurs.

You nod, too dazed to speak. He smirks and flips the camera around to selfie mode. Holding you up by your front and licking the drool from your lips taking the nastiest thumbnail ever.

Tag list: @aretasreads @starcrossedxwriter @livynicole @appreciatefics @desire4ella @tonichildsdaughterduh @chrisevansmentee @queenofklonnie22 @christinabae @ellemelaninbeauty @plan3tch1ld @nanamiismine @nearsightedbaddie @jiminsthickthighs

[dreamescapeswriting]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑾𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅 ~ 𝑩𝑪

⤜WORD COUNT: 17.8K

⤜ PAIRING: Chan x Fem!Reader

⤜ GENRE: fake dating, grumpy x sunshine, destination wedding romance, emotional hurt/comfort, slow burn, found family, fluff with a splash of angst, fade to black (mentions of weight gain, bullying from family about weight) fast paced, almost insta love I want to say,

⤜ TROPES: fake dating, one bed, ex-hockey player, protective male lead, grumpy x sunshine, mutual pining, he falls first, standing up to toxic family, strangers to lovers, secret softie, small town charm, leads on to more fics for each member

DISCLAIMER: I’m dyslexic so sometimes writing words can come out a bit different. Example: Sometimes I’d write Box instead of books, or confuse myself by thinking too far into the sentence “The whole time you’d known her you’d never known her to touch a drop of TEA. (meaning coffee) she usually stuck to tea”. (If that makes sense oh my gosh)

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - August 2025

⤜MASTERLIST

The morning sun was spilling through the living room windows of your house, making it warm under your bare feet. You were sitting in the bay window seat reading through the local gossip column of your small town - Citrus Cove - and the gossip was popping off this morning. The owner of the local bakery - Mrs Jones - had spotted a moving fan coming into the town, and the dinner owner had commented, mentioning the guy moving in was incredible to look at. You smirked to yourself as you shook your head, reading through the comments.

Citrus Cove was a small town with a population of maybe 800 people, which meant that everyone knew everyone, and of course, gossip was a must in a small place such as this one. It had been the same when you’d first moved here; everyone knew who you were before you’d even finished unpacking your boxes, but you wouldn’t change a thing about it. 

You loved the small coastal town in the middle of nowhere. It had almost everything you could need, sure, the nearest mall was almost an hour's drive, but at least you weren’t surrounded by millions of people. Besides, who didn’t want to live somewhere where the main street was filled with small businesses and cafes? It was the heart of Citrus Cove. Then you had the local coffee shop where everyone hung out. The daily squeeze. Which was run by the cutest elderly lady - Mrs Dalloway - who had given you your first job in the town until you worked in the local inn. 

The place was lovely, but there wasn’t too much to do besides the pier where everybody seemed to hang out, and the library/Rec center, where there was also a nursery where you tried to help out as much as possible. The joys of small-town life meant everyone was willing to help one another. 

“Oh my god,” You giggled to yourself as you saw the old football coach mentioning the guy moving in was handsome as well. It seemed that whoever the mystery guy was, he already had a lot of the elder generation wrapped around his fingers. You sipped your coffee and looked up and out of the window when you saw it:

A white van pulled into the house next door. The For Sale sign had come down last week, but no one knew who had bought the place — and in Citrus Cove, that was basically a national emergency. Which now explained the gossip in the town's group.

You squinted out the window, trying to get a peek at the guy everyone was chatting about.

A guy jumped down from the driver's seat. Tall. Broad shoulders. He was wearing a baseball cap turned backwards. He moved stiffly as he picked up the boxes, and you could almost swear that there was a slight limp as he moved.

New neighbor alert.

And you were wearing pajama pants with a hole in the knee.

You hesitated for like a full thirty seconds, then grabbed your hoodie and headed outside anyway. It was the neighbourly thing to do to offer to help, right? You wanted to help him, and it had nothing to do with wanting to know more about him…Though curiosity always won in this town, and you were going to be neighbours with him.

“Hey!” you called, jogging up the drive as he wrestled with a lamp sticking out of a box. “Need a hand?”

Chan looked up — and you blinked. No wonder the guy had won the hearts of people in town. He was breathtaking. But even then, that didn’t feel like the right way to describe him; truly, the man looked like something ripped from a magazine.

Dimples. Brown eyes that looked like the shade of a perfect hot chocolate at the start of autumn. Then his smile?! It was the kind of smile that probably ruined a few hearts over the years. Chan grinned as he looked at you, his eyes lingering on the PJs you were wearing that had a few holes in them, and the cartoon characters were slightly faded. 

“Nice pajamas.” He chuckled softly, and you detected an Australian accent, your heart skipped a beat, a little before you felt the self-consciousness creeping in. Here he was looking like he just came out of a magazine, and you had just gotten up.

You tugged the sleeves of your hoodie a little and could feel your cheeks beginning to heat up. He’s not like them. You tried to convince yourself. You’d grown up with a family that made it known to you that you were being judged heavily by them, and sometimes it still played on your mind when someone would playfully tease you.

“Thanks. I call this look ‘just woke up and emotionally unprepared for social interaction.’” You laugh softly and do a small spin for him so he can get a good look at you, and Chan laughs wholeheartedly. He’d barely spoken to you, and he already felt at ease…And you weren’t screaming in his face, asking for a photo or autograph, so that was always a plus.

“I like it,” he said easily, shifting the box into one arm. There was a chance you had no idea who he was, which was a relief to him. When his manager had suggested this small town to get away from everything, part of him worried people would know him, but everyone he’d seen that morning was the wiser.

“Very bold.” He teases, and you roll your eyes, but you can’t stop your smile. It seemed as though he was going to be a nice neighbour to have at least. And he didn’t seem like the guy who lived there before. He’d been a huge hoarder. After he’d left Citrus Cove, you’d helped Alan, the real estate agent, get the home ready for pics, and there were thousands of board games everywhere as well as plastic spoons. 

“I’m Y/N. I live next door.” You tell him with another smile, picking up one of his boxes and following him inside as you both put them down. Chan turned to look at you and nodded,

“Chan,” he offered, then paused. There was a chance that if he gave you his last name, you might Google him…but would it look weird if he didn’t give it to you?  “Like... just Chan. No last name right now. Still unpacking that part of my identity.” You laughed a little and nodded.

“Mysterious. I like it, Just Chan.” You laugh, and he chuckles shyly, going back out to the van with you.

The two of you continued to bring in the boxes from the van and into the house, you following his every order on where he wanted things put. You’d also popped out to get changed and grabbed you both some coffee and had insisted on paying for it all since he was new in town.

“When you’re unpacked, we should check out Mrs Jones’s cafe. I swear to god, she puts crack in the cinnamon rolls.” You tell him as you sit on the kitchen counter, sipping on your coffee, as Chan chuckled,

“Yeah? Is it close?” Chan wasn’t exactly used to small towns. The last place he’d lived was a city, and everything was pretty far from where he lived in his apartment.

“Five-minute walk, and then next to her place, there's a diner, which by the way, has the best breakfast burrito, and you’ll totally be getting one of those at some point this week.”

“Is that an excuse for you to get one and just give me one too?” He smirks, nudging you with his foot a little, and you whine at him,

“I usually get one on Wednesday mornings on my way to work,” You corrected him, and he smirked at you. Usually, Chan didn’t want to be around people too much, but there was something about you that made him feel at ease, and he wanted to get to know you more.

“Where do you work?” he quizzes as he jumps up onto the counter opposite you and drinks from the to-go cup you’d gotten. Damn, the coffee was amazing. He didn't even want to imagine the baked goods Mrs Jones was selling.

“There’s an inn just outside of town, the Clementine Inn.” You mentioned, and Chan nodded. It was where he was supposed to stay originally when he was coming into town, but he’d managed to get the house earlier than he’d expected.

“Oh! Yeah, I was meant to stay there, but my real estate agent got the paperwork finished early.” You smiled a little and nodded. You couldn’t remember speaking to anyone with an Aussie accent over the phone, so you could only assume it was your friend who had booked him in.

“You probably spoke with me on the phone then, that or-”

“It was a girl who sounded like she’d had a little too much sugar that morning?” He offered, and you giggled a little and nodded, it sounded like your best friend, alright.

“That would be our other neighbour. She’s away on holiday, so you don’t have to worry about her for now.” You tease and shake your head at him.

“Do you know everyone in town then?” He arched his brow. 

“Almost, but it’s nice. Last winter, the hardware store owner came out and fixed my window and lock because my front door was shit.” You shake your head. You’d been so glad to Fred since you didn’t have to freeze your ass off all winter.

“Seems like a nice town then,” He kept talking, but your phone buzzing inside your pocket drew your attention away for a second, and you pulled it out, checking it over, but you wished you hadn’t. As soon as you saw your sister's contact information on the screen, your stomach bottomed out.

Sister 🐍: Just a reminder about the wedding next week. I assume you’re still coming? You'd better have booked that room — we don’t have space otherwise.

Sister 🐍: Also, please don’t wear anything weird. This is my big moment. Try not to make it about you for once x

Right, as if you could forget about it. The wedding. Her wedding…To your ex.

Your sister had taken a lot from you over the years: clothes, friends, your confidence. But this? This had been the final nail in the humiliation coffin for you. You and Daniel had been together for almost six months when you finally took him home to meet your family. You knew you weren’t able to avoid them forever, and you’d been wise to do it until then. 

But as soon as you’d introduced him to your sister, you knew your mistake, instantly. She spent the whole night batting her lashes at him, flipping her hair, and giggling at everything he said, and your parents went along with it. 

“Yn? You okay?” Chan asked as he tilted his head, bringing you back into the room. You hesitated a little and shook your head, putting your phone down onto the counter.

“My sister is getting married…to my ex, and she expects me to show up to the wedding and smile about it,” You sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose, and instantly Chan feels rage. She’s taken someone from you? Not only that, but someone had left you for her? What kind of shit eating human did that kind of balls?

“Are you fucking kidding?”

“Trust me, I wish.” You groan a little and shake your head. Whenever people found out about this, they had the same reaction. Every single person thought you were joking and then they'd either side with your sister, if they knew her, or call her a raging bitch, which you agreed with.

“Was it someone from here?” He questioned, ready to fight the guy if he ever came across him around the town.

“God no, it was before I moved to Citrus Cove. It was the reason I moved here; here, no one knew me. I know that probably sounds silly.” You grumbled and shook your head. Chan bit back the urge to tell you he understood more than you would think.

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“My whole life, my sister has just been awful to me…I never knew why. I figured when we were younger, she’d grow out of it, but she never did. She took my clothes, friends…Toys…Every boyfriend I’d had in high school.” You shook your head a little, and Chan’s heart softened even more for you. He’d never imagined growing up with someone like that; his family had always been close, and he and his siblings got along.

“I was always referred to as the plain Jane…I wasn’t anything special, I wasn’t ugly, but I wasn’t pretty either compared to her. My family likes to remind me every now and again I’ll never be like Delilah.” You sigh and stop, realising you were now trauma dumping on someone you’d met less than three hours ago,

“Keep going,” he urges, poking your leg with his foot.

“Delilah is big on social media…Like huge. When I took Daniel home to meet my family, she set her eyes on him, and that was it. Not even a day after we got home, he ended things with me, and she posted him all over her feed, and they’ve been together since.”

“What a piece of fucking shit,” He growls out. He could hardly believe what he was hearing from you,

“First, you’re fucking stunning, even in your faded pajamas and just woken up to right now, with sweat covering your head and tired from lugging my boxes around,” He rambled a little, and your heart began to pick up speed. He thought you were pretty? God, you were fighting butterflies right now.

“T-Thanks, Chan. I’m honestly dreading it, the wedding is in Spain, and I keep trying to tell myself I can avoid them, but I know them. They’ll organise meals together and make snide comments about how I’m clearly not over Daniel.” You sigh, pushing your head in your hands. Chan bit down on his lip. 

For some reason, he had the overwhelming urge to help you. He knew exactly how,

“Do you need a fake boyfriend?” He questioned. You finally pulled your hands away from your face and blinked at him, afraid you’d heard him wrong.

“Huh?” Chan shrugged casually. It happens in books and movies all of the time, right? What was the issue with doing it in real life? It would help you out, and he would get to go to Spain for a while…Plus, he was really enjoying his time with you. 

“It’s a classic. Works in movies all the time. I’m new here, and have nothing to do. You need moral support. Boom. Win-win.” He made it sound as if this was something he would do on a regular basis, and you laughed a little but stared at him.

“You want to fly to Spain with me to pretend we’re dating?” You gestured between the two of you, and he grinned at you.

“Sure. I’ve got a passport. And I look great in wedding photos,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you. You had no doubt in your mind that he looked good in all the photos that there ever were of him. 

Your mouth opened. Closed. It opened again. You weren’t entirely sure if he was just pulling your leg or was giving you a real proposition for you to consider…and part of you hoped it was real.

“…are you serious?” You ask him slowly, unsure if this is some kind of joke.

“Deadly,” Chan said as he took your empty coffee cup and put it into the bin, moving around the kitchen as he unpacked some of the plates and bowls, putting them into various cupboards, all the while you watched him.

“Let me get this straight,” you said slowly, handing him a mug and then another. 

“You’re willing to fly across the world with a girl you just met, pretend to be in love with me, survive my toxic family, and eat hotel food for four days?” You looked up at him, and he grinned down at you with a shrug of his shoulders.

“You forgot ‘look great in photos.’” You gave him a look, one that said you didn’t believe him or you were unsure of it. 

“You’re either very nice or a little unhinged,” Chan smirked at you and shook his head.

“Can’t I be both?” You shook your head at him, completely flustered by his offer. This was insane, right?

“I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You didn’t. I offered.” You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Chan seemed calm…Almost too calm, as if he’d done things ten times more intense than faking a relationship before.

“…What did you used to do before moving here?” you asked casually. He’d not mentioned what he’d done before coming to Citrus Cove; there was something about him that seemed like he wasn’t your normal townie. Chan glanced away for a second, just a flicker as he made himself seem busy:

“A little bit of travel. Some sports stuff. Mostly just... noise.” He shrugged, trying to keep it as vague as possible. For the first time in years, he wasn't a famous hockey player (Well, ex-hockey player), he was just Chan, next door neighbour to the incredibly cute girl he wanted to get to know.

“Noise?” You arched your brow this time, following him as he moved to put some more kitchenware away

“Yeah. Big crowds. Cameras. It got loud,” he grumbled a little. Everything had gotten too much toward the end. A giant accident on the ice left him unable to skate. He’d snapped two bones in his ankle and nearly lost two of his fingers. The constant paparazzi following him everywhere, never any privacy. This was his one shot at being normal, and he could see that with you. 

“You were famous?” Chan chuckled under his breath, not meeting your eyes and shaking his head. 

“Not really. Just... known.” He lied a little, playing it down as though it wasn’t a big deal. He used to be, not anymore, but you didn’t need to know everything. There was something about the way he deflected that made your curiosity spark.

Before you could press further, your phone lit up again, and you sighed.

Sister 🐍: Did you book your plus one? Or are you still coming alone?

Your chest tightened as you stared at the screen. You knew she wanted you to be alone. So she could stand at the altar, beside your ex, and know she had won again. You’d be the pathetic sister in the corner. The forgotten one.

Your jaw clenched. You thought about Chan again and then nodded your head. This would be the one thing you could do to get back at all of them. To show you that you didn’t give a shit about Daniel because you truly didn’t. 

The second he’d gone after your sister, you’d lost all feelings for the man, and sure, it had hurt, but you weren’t going to stay hurt about it when there was nothing you could do to change the outcome. That and you knew that being hurt would only give your sister more fuel against you.

“…Okay,” you said suddenly. “Let’s do it.” Chan looked over at you, his heart picking up ever so slightly. 

“Yeah?” He smirks, and you nod. 

“You’ll have to meet my family. They’re... a lot.” You warned him, but Chan didn’t seem to waver. In fact, he seemed more sure that he could do this than before.

“I can handle it.” He promises you as you bite your lip a little. Your family was the worst. You knew everyone said that, but they truly were.

“They’ll probably judge your entire life.” You warn him, hoping you weren’t somehow talking him out of this, but Chan simply shrugged it off again with his shoulders.

“I’m used to critics.” You blinked at that. Now you were more focused on seeing what it was he did in his life to make him used to critics and noise. You narrowed your eyes a little and moved closer to him as if you could see it written on his skin,

“Okay, see, now you sound like a retired popstar.” Chan chuckled and looked at you, smirking as you got closer and narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Promise I’m not.” You hum a little at his answer and fold your arms over your chest. 

“Were you on The Bachelor?” He laughed out loud. If he had, it would have made national news. No. Chan had never been one to date - at least in the public eye. 

“God, no. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.” He still didn’t elaborate further, and you were about to open your mouth and ask him more about it, but he cut you off by holding out his hand,

“Deal?” You looked at his outstretched palm. His hand was callused and strong, but there was a scar on one knuckle—like it had been split open once. You swallow a little. It wasn’t like your family would ever know you were faking a relationship. It would be a few days in Spain together, and you could figure things out.

“Deal.” You said before shaking his hand. 

“Good, now help me unpack the kitchen, and we can go and grab some food at that diner, I’m starving.” He smirks at you with a wink, and you begin to work on helping him with the rest of his gear.

 

Two days had passed since then, and now the two of you were standing inside the tiny regional airport with your suitcases beside you. The two of you had spent the last two days trying to get to know one another and learn as much as you could so that you could appear real in front of your parents. 

You stood in leggings and a baggy shirt while Chan was wearing a plain black hoodie, jeans, and a pair of sunglasses tucked into his hoodie collar; he looked casual yet effortlessly sexy. It is completely unfair given the amount of stress sweat that was pouring out of you.

“This is a terrible idea,” you whisper as you both make your way toward security, and Chan smirks a little. You’d tried to back out of this four times in the last two days, but he wasn’t about to let you do that. There was no way he was going to let you show up to your bitchy sister alone, not when he wanted to help you.

“You need to relax,” He chuckles, “It’s a nice break in Spain. We’ll see your sister, and I’ll drag you sightseeing so you can use that as an excuse.” He tells you happily

“But-”

“You already told her you had a plus one, it’s too late to back out now. We’ve committed to the bit.” He tells you as he wraps an arm around your shoulder and drags you into his side, you groan a little. Your stomach was already twisting in knots at the thought of lying. You didn’t feel guilty, but you were worried that they were going to find out the truth.

“I’m going to throw up.” You mumbled, rubbing your stomach. Chan quickly lets you go and points over his shoulder as he says,

“If you do, aim away from the nice old lady behind us.” You glared at him, nudging him with your shoulder as he winked down at you and chuckled.

“Everything’s going to be fine, sunshine.” He sounded so sure of himself, you had no reason not to believe him, and you nodded a little. Trying to calm yourself down as you made it into security.

Surprisingly, security had gone really smoothly; you thought for sure that you were going to get stopped since you looked so suspicious. You were super nervous, travelling with a man too attractive for his own good, and you even flinched when the TSA agent asked how long the two of you had been together.

Chan didn’t, though; he’d leaned his arm on the counter and smiled casually, 

“Six months. We met in this cute coffee shop after she spilled tea all over me.”

“And then you made a dumb joke about oat milk not belonging in tea,” you added without thinking. The two of them had come up with the lie about where you met the day before, deciding you needed something easy to remember for your family to believe you.

Now the two of you were just leaving the shop with some drinks while you were waiting to board, you’d grabbed snacks and drinks since you were pretty hungry and had at least two hours before the plane left. Now you were trying to come up with a plan about the hotel room since you didn’t think he would want to share a bed with you.

“When we get there, I’ll ask if we can get a cot for the room. I drool in my sleep, so I don’t want to subject you to that.” You felt embarrassed mentioning this to him, but he needed to know in case it somehow came up from your sister. Which, knowing her, she would bring up just to make you feel tiny. 

“I’ll say you snore or something so badly it keeps me up.” You shrug a little, and Chan chuckles. You were right about the snoring, which was funny to him. 

“It’s fine. I do snore.” You turned to him, horrified. “Do you?” You watched him closely, and he nodded his head at you.

“Yeah, my old team-roommates, used to tell me I would keep them up sometimes whenever I got some sleep. I suck at it, got insomnia.” He chuckles a little and takes a sip of his drink. You were about to question him about the slip-up of words when you heard someone gasp in front of you,

“Oh my word! You look just like that hockey boy my grandson used to watch! What was his name?! Chris?! Or… Ch—” Chan coughed loudly, his orange juice spitting back into the bottle, and you rubbed his back softly, trying to stop him from choking.

“I get that a lot,” he lies quickly, he didn’t need you finding out in the middle of a crowded airport who he really was. Chan laughed a little and wrapped his arm around you, leading you toward the seating area. 

“Come on, sunshine.” He whispers, and you blink at him.

“That was weird. Do you actually look like someone famous?” You squinted at him, trying to figure out if you thought he looked like someone, and he shrugged a little, scratching the back of his neck.

“Apparently.” He laughs, but it wasn’t his usual carefree laughter he gave you. This one felt forced and tighter somehow,

“You gonna tell me who?” He popped the cap off his juice bottle and shook his head. 

“Nope. Figure it out alone.” He winks at you, and you pout your bottom lip at him.

“Rude.”

“Wouldn’t want to ruin the mystery,” he said with a smirk, nudging your shoulder as you both made your way to the seats and dropped down beside each other. Chan silently hoped no one else came up to him while he was with you. Not that he was ashamed to be seen with you, but he liked being Chan with you, instead of famous hockey player Chris Bhang. 

The whole flight, Chan had been unbearably calm. Every time you told him something you were worrying about, he gave you an explanation for it. 

What if they bring up our first date? What if they ask about your siblings? What if they figure it out? Every question you threw at him, he had an answer for. And you’d done your best not to stare at him the whole flight. He’d been sitting there, his head leaned back and his eyemask over his eyes. You’d watched him closely, noting the small scar by his temple, the way his fingers flexed even in his sleep…Like his body wasn’t used to being so still all the time.

But now you were here, and after a tense bus ride, you’d decided you wanted to go home already. You were covered in a thin layer of sweat, your hair out of place, and yet Chan looked as though he’d woken up with a team of stylists around him.

“It’s not fair, how do you always look so good?” you grumble as you get out of the bus and grab your bags. Chan bent down and picked up your carry-on before wheeling both suitcases behind him and shaking his head with a smile on his lips.

“You think I look good, sunshine?” He wriggles his eyebrows at you, and you roll your eyes at him. He knew you thought he looked good, god, sometimes you wondered how you could even speak around him. He was that good-looking. This was never going to work. You’d told yourself a million times. He was too good-looking, your sister was never going to believe Chan would want you, of all people.

As if reading your mind, Chan took your hand in his quickly and stopped you from moving. You turned to look at him, about to spew out more what-ifs, but he was quick to stop you.

“We’re going to have fun. We’re going to tan by the pool and you’re going to look breathtaking by my side, okay?” he asked rhetorically before cupping your face in his hand and running his thumb over your bottom lip, feeling how sore it was from you biting it the whole plane ride. 

“We’ll go to our room, we’ll get you some chapstick, and we’ll take it one thing at a time, okay sunshine?” He asks again, and you nod your head, feeling better with him by your side, and the two of you begin making your way into the hotel.

The hotel was a luxury villa resort that practically screamed, Look at me, I’m better than you. Because, of course, your sister was going to pick something like this for her wedding. The walls were whitewashed, palm trees swaying over a marble entrance, and a staff that looked like they’d all stepped out of an influencer’s reel. It screamed everything your sister loved about herself while you felt yourself shrinking back. You took your suitcase, and Chan laced your fingers together as you began walking into the glittering lobby. You could feel your stomach flipping out as you held hands. 

You weren’t supposed to be nervous. It was fake. So why did it feel like you were starting something real with him?

At the check-in desk, the concierge smiled politely at the two of you as he looked up from the computer screen. “Ah, Miss Y/L/N. Welcome. You're here for the Delgado wedding, yes?” Delgado. She’d already started using his last name from the moment they started dating, so it shouldn’t have surprised you that she was using it now, but she did.

Chan squeezed your hand softly, bringing you back to reality, and you nodded, forcing your best not-dying-in-spite-of-it smile. 

“That’s me.” You giggle, trying your best to appear as though you really wanted to be there.

“And this is…?” The concierge asks, looking up at Chan. For a moment, Chan thought he’d been found out, but there wasn’t a look of realisation on the concierge’s face.

“My boyfriend,” you said quickly, before the word could catch in your throat. “Chan.” Chan smiled easily, reaching over to rest a hand on your lower back like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed your spine, and you almost forgot how to breathe.

“Room 409,” the concierge confirmed. “It’s a deluxe suite, king bed, ocean view.” He smiles sweetly at you, giving you both your own key and snapping his fingers at the bell boy to come and take your bags, but your head was caught on what he’d said.

“Sorry, did you say king bed?” He nodded politely. You’d called on the bus to ask for a double room or for a cot to be delivered since your ‘boyfriend’ snored, but it was clear now that wasn’t going to work. 

“I asked if we could get a cot, if you heard this man snore, you’d understand,” you laughed anxiously, and Chan rubbed your lower back,

“Yes, I know, but, unfortunately, due to the wedding booking being out of most of our capacity, there were no rooms left with two beds or adjacent doubles...And the cots are all used. The bride is having her bridesmaids sleep in her suite…Would you like extra pillows?” 

Pillows are not the issue, sir. You wanted to bite out at him, but you knew that he wasn’t the issue here. The universe was clearly trying to force you to embarrass yourself in front of Chan and make a bad impression.

“One bed’s fine.” Chan quickly told him, and you looked up at him.

“Is it?” You whispered to him, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by sharing a bed with you when the two of you had only just met one another, but he just leaned down, lips brushing your ear,

“Unless you’d rather cuddle with your stuffed animal, I know you packed,” he smirks, and you push his stomach softly and shake your head.

The room was, of course, beautiful. You hadn’t expected anything less from a place like this one, but it felt too romantic for your liking. 

Cream walls, soft gold accents, and breezy curtains framing the balcony doors. The ocean stretched out just beyond the glass like a postcard. You wanted to appreciate it. Really, you did. But your attention was firmly fixed on the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. Chan had put your bags in the wardrobe and stood at the foot of it with his hands on his hips, staring at the bed.

“Well,” you said slowly, clearing your throat a little as you stared at the bed. You suddenly felt so awkward around him, and Chan hated that. He needed you to feel relaxed around him for this to work, and you had been up until now. 

“That’s a big bed.” You finished, but Chan threw himself onto it with zero shame and snuggled into the pillows with a soft sigh, his whole body relaxing against the memory foam mattress. 

“Big enough for boundaries. I don’t bite unless asked.” He says suggestively, and you roll your eyes, picking up one of the decorative pillows and hitting him softly with it.

“Not funny.” He shrugged, arms behind his head as he snuggled into the covers. 

“Could be worse. Could’ve been bunk beds.” He sits up a little, and you stare at him.  

“You say that like you’ve done this before.” Your gaze landed back on Chan, and you noticed that his smile faltered for half a second, barely noticeable, but you’d caught it. Slowly, you lower yourself onto the bed, sitting close to him. It was big enough that the two of you would be right up close to one another.

“Let’s just say I’ve survived worse sleeping arrangements,” he said, tone a little lighter now. “We’ll survive this one,” he assures you. 

“Fine, but we need ground rules.” Chan sat up straight and crossed his legs, sitting across from you as he nodded, letting you continue on.

“No spooning. No accidental boob grazes. No sleep-talking confessions of love.”

“Noted.” He held up three fingers and then held his other hand on his chest as he looked into your eyes. 

“I solemnly swear not to fall in love with you in my sleep.” He smirks a little. Mostly because he could already feel himself catching feelings, and it was easier to play it off than to admit that out loud right now. You gave him a dry look; you needed him to take this seriously. 

“I’m serious, Chan…No accidental grabbing, unless someone is around…” Chan could hear the desperation in his voice, and he nodded his head, rubbing his hand on your knee.

“I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour unless we’re around your family and you need me to pretend.” You relax a little, and Chan moves his hands to your shoulders, shaking you a little.

“Now, unpack. We’ll steam our outfits, make sure we look like we’re models, yeah?” He watches you closely for any sign of uncertainty, but you nod and get up from the bed, making your way to the wardrobe to start unpacking. 

“Get up, though, we might be boyfriend-girlfriend for the weekend, but I’m not touching your underwear.” You giggle, making Chan smirk. Your giggle made his whole chest feel light whenever he heard it, and he just knew the promise he made about not falling in love…was going to be the best promise he would ever break.

“I say we go down to the beach for a walk, we could get some ice cream, and then watch the sunset,” Chan states as he stands on the small balcony of your room. You watch him closely. He seemed so relaxed here. Dressed in some shorts and a nice smart shirt, he looked like he belonged here…but that was just who he seemed to be. He seems to fit in anywhere.

Back home, it was like he’d lived there his whole life. He got along well with every shop owner. Even Mrs Jones had taken a liking to him and made sure to set aside cinnamon rolls for you both the last two times you’d been in.

“Sure, I promised Mrs Jones we’d get her a couple of magnets as well, so maybe we can find a gift shop.” You suggested. Walking out onto the balcony to join him, you leant on the wall and looked out at the beach. If it wasn’t for the wedding happening, this would have been the perfect moment.

“I checked out the one downstairs, and I’m not paying $15 for one magnet.” You giggle a little and shake your head. The afternoon breeze was so nice on your skin right now, it felt perfect…Too perfect.

Your phone buzzed, and just like that, your entire mood soured. 

Sister 🐍: We’re by the pool. Everyone’s here. Don’t take too long, babe. It’s cocktail hour.

You swallowed hard as you read the messages, reality hitting you that you were actually going to have to see and speak to your family now and not just hide out with Chan the whole time.

“I’m gonna have to face them, aren’t I?” you muttered. Chan straightened as he watched you.

“You’re not alone this time, though.” He reassured you by making you meet his eyes. You’d done nothing but warn him for the last two days what he was going up against, but now he was actually going to face them,

“You don’t even know what you’re walking into.” You mumble, and he just smiles at you, as if nothing could ever bother him.

“Then I’ll walk in first. Go put on that stunning dress and we’ll head down.” He pats your back softly, and you sigh, moving back into the hotel room to change. 

You stood in the lobby in your simple blue satin dress because your sister never sent you the group color code, on purpose, but you weren’t so sure. The fabric hugged you perfectly, skimming over your curves, but it didn’t cling to you too tightly. Chan’s heart was racing as he took in your appearance. He’d barely taken his eyes off you since you came out of the bathroom dressed like this. 

There was a subtle slit up one side of your dress, and it made the dress sway with every step. You’d told him it was boring and plain, but something about you in that dress made you look… glowing. Chan thought you looked like a secret no one else had ever been lucky enough to know, and one he was going to keep close to him forever.

“You okay?” he asked gently, stepping up beside you. The lobby was empty besides a couple of workers who were all staring in your direction, wondering why you were just standing there when everyone else involved with the wedding was outside.

You didn’t look at Chan, you couldn’t bring yourself to. You felt seconds away from throwing up or passing out, neither of which you wanted to do in front of Chan.

“I don’t think I’ve ever dreaded seeing my own family more.” As much as he wanted to push you to go out there and show your family who you were, he wasn't going to push you into something you really didn’t want to do. He shifted a little and pulled you to the side in front of the reception desk. 

“Do you want to go back upstairs? Skip the whole thing?” You exhaled a breath you hadn’t even realised that you were holding. You knew hiding was only going to fuel your sister's story about you “still being in love with Daniel”. The last thing you wanted was to make her feel like she's right.

“She’ll tell people I’m still in love with him.” You grumbled, and Chan watched you. He could tell by the look in your eyes that you weren’t, but part of him still needed to ask…he had to be sure that there was no chance you would ever go back to him.

“You’re not, right?”

“No way in hell,” You scoff, and he smirks, seeing the smile on your face. That was all he needed to make sure that you were okay and back to your smiling self.

“Anyway, I can’t not go…that would make her too happy. She thrives on my disappearing or being miserable…We need to go out there and be the best damn couple we can be.” You told him, and he smirked, nodding his head.

“We’re doing this together. You���re not alone in dealing with them now, you’ve got me, sunshine.” He tells you as he takes your hand in his, falling too easily into the boyfriend role with you.

“I mean it, whatever they throw at you tonight—I’ll be there. Right beside you. They don’t get to talk to you like you’re nothing.” Your throat tightened hearing him sound so sure of this. He promised you that he wasn’t going to leave you, no matter what.

“You don’t even know me,” You whisper a little, the self-consciousness creeping in, and Chan smiles weakly. He hated seeing you so broken down like this. He wanted the bright and sunshine girl he’d gotten to know over the last few days he’d spent with you.

“I don’t need to. I’ve seen the way you try so hard for people who don’t try for you. That tells me everything.” You blinked rapidly, trying not to let your eyes fill with tears, and you quickly looked away from him.

“You’re too nice.” He bumped his shoulder into yours before squeezing your hand tightly

“Or maybe you’re just not used to being treated right.” Silence followed as you looked up at him, and he just grinned down at you.

“Come on,” he said finally, nudging you toward the door. “Let’s go let your sister know she’s not the only one who can turn heads.”

The pool was surrounded by fairy lights that were making beautiful reflections on the water. No one was in the pool, which was to be expected. It was shut off for your sister, and she’d never get her hair wet or risk someone else getting it wet by jumping in the pool.  Every single person was dressed in some form of rose gold dress, and the men looked smart and casual. Once again, you were wearing the wrong colour. 

You were the smudge on a flawless portrait, the forgotten sister who everyone invited out of pity. And somehow, Chan looked like he belonged here. Casual, golden, confident. He fit in with all of them, and you stuck out like a sore thumb. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned around, ready to leave and change, but your hip hit the table, and it caused people to look up.

“Yn-” Chan tries to speak, but he’s quickly cut off by someone else.

“Y/N, there you are,” came the too-sweet voice of your sister, gliding over in a silk wrap dress, her makeup perfect and eyes sharper than diamonds. Nothing short of perfect as she made her way over to you.

“We were wondering when you’d show.”

“If she’d show,” You heard one of the bridesmaids snicker to the others. You opened your mouth to respond, but she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking at Chan, automatically assuming he wasn’t with you. 

“Oh,” she said, voice lighting up. “You’re not from around here, are you?” She flipped some of her hair over her shoulder and made her way over, holding her hand out for him to take, but Chan just smiled politely at her.

“The pool is closed for a wedding event, but you’re more than welcome to join us! The more the merrier.” She giggles too happily, and your stomach dips. Of course, she didn’t think that Chan was here with you. Chan was a born-again Greek God, and you were…you. 

“I’m Delilah. Bride. Sister of the chaos tornado over here.” She thrust her chin in your direction as if she were too good to even say your name, and you winced. She had no idea you and Chan were here together and hadn’t even introduced you to him.

“Nice to meet you.” He said through gritted teeth. He already hated her with a burning passion, and he wanted to take you back home, not just to the hotel room but back to Citrus Cove, where the two of you could ignore your family forever.

You opened your mouth to tell her that you were there together, but she shot you a look, one you knew all too well that meant, “Shut up. I’m talking.” Delilah’s eyes sparkled with something vicious. 

“So… are you staying here too? On holiday?” She quizzed, walking over to him a little too close for your liking, and for Chan, it seemed. He’d taken a step back and moved toward you again. Before he could correct her and tell her what he was really there for, she barreled on.

“If Y/N’s annoying you, I deeply apologize. She’s always been a bit much. You know, clingy. Intense. Scared of being alone.” She laughed like it was a charming anecdote. You weren’t scared of being alone at all. Your whole life, you’d been alone, your parents only favoured her, and you’d spent most of your life like that.

“We used to call her little limpet when we were kids—she just latched on to anyone who gave her attention.” She laughed wildly while your heart plummeted into your stomach. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, and you stared down at the pool so you wouldn’t cry in front of her. That was what she was aiming for.

Chan’s jaw clenched tightly as he noticed the look of hurt on your face, and all he wanted was to push your sister in the pool, but he knew he couldn’t. Delilah, still smiling and unable to read the room, stepped closer to him. 

“Don’t worry, though, you’re not the first guy she’s followed around. It’s kind of her thing. God, remember when she cried for three days because some guy in college told her she was plain?” She laughed again, all teeth. All of the bridesmaids, who had once been your friends too, laughed along with her loudly.

“We thought she’d never get over herself.” Delilah continued as she shook her head. The girls moved toward you and Chan while he stayed silent, counting to ten over and over again in his mind to keep himself calm.

“She cut all of her hair short and got that piercing.” Katie, one of your old best friends, laughed obnoxiously loud, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole and never let you out again. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for this, but nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared you for a full attack.

“That got super infected! God, she was so gross.” Delilah squealed before everyone laughed. 

You wanted to sink into the pool fully clothed. Or maybe into the earth. You wondered if anyone would notice you making a run for it, but by now, there were multiple people staring in your direction, and there was no way out. 

“C-Chan’s my date.” You said, finally finding your voice as Chan looked down at you, his hand finding yours and giving it a squeeze. Delilah blinked. Laughed…Actually laughed, but it died out when she realised you were being serious. 

“Wait…What?” She scoffs a little as she looks you up and down before looking back at Chan. You knew you didn’t match. She knew you didn’t match. But Chan spoke up, quiet but firm. 

“She’s not following me. I’m here because I want to be. I’m her boyfriend.” He states sternly this time, and this time it shuts her up…Just long enough for her to reload.

“I mean, sure,” she said, recovering from being shut down so quickly. There was no way your sister was going to give up, not when her friends were around her. 

“If that’s what we’re calling it. Just don’t let her guilt you into anything. Y/N’s a master at playing the victim.” She giggles. You stared down at the cobblestones, all the while Chan's grip on your lower back tightened by a small fraction. It was a subtle sign you weren’t going through this alone.

Slowly, you turned to look up at him. The way his fingers twitched against your back made it seem like he wanted to do something, say something back at her, but he remained silent. You’d asked him to, back in the room, you’d asked him that no matter what he heard, he wouldn’t say anything back…That your sister wasn’t worth it.

Delilah patted you on the arm like you were a sad puppy; you could see the smirk on her lips. 

“Don’t take it personally, sweetie. You know I love you. We’re just so different, you and I. Always have been.” She walked away before you could reply, her hair bouncing, voice already lifted for someone else more important.

You swallowed hard, forcing your breath steady.

“…She’s right,” you said quietly, not looking at Chan. You stare down at the floor, you hated how weak she always made you feel. No matter what you did, you were never good enough in her or your parents ' eyes. 

“We’ve always been different.” Chan didn’t reply right away; he was too busy counting to 20 in his head, trying to keep himself calm. All he wanted to do was rip into your sister for the shit she’d just said, but he needed to play nice, make a good impression before making them realise what they were missing out on without you. 

“She’s a raging bitch.” He grumbles harshly, and your head flies up to look at him. Chan was still looking at the crowd of people, his face looked as though it was made of stone, and his eyes were hard.

You managed a weak smile. At least someone here finally agreed with you about your sister.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I didn’t say it for you. It’s true. What kind of bitch says that to her own sister?” He grumbles, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he leads you in the direction of the bar. It was going to take a lot of Soju or whiskey to get him through this night without taking your sister down. 

You, however, glanced over your shoulder in the direction of your sister and her friends. All of them were staring in your direction, pointing and laughing, you already knew you were the centre of their jokes. Chan ordered drinks, but your mind was already preoccupied by a voice in your head reminding you that your sister was right, you were different.

Luckily for the rest of the night, you’d managed to avoid taking Chan to your parents, the two of you sat together on some sun loungers, and you told him stories about everyone in the pool area, since he needed to know their names anyway.

The morning sun filtered weakly through the sheer curtains of the bridal suite. You sat stiffly on a plush chair and watched as people fluttered around the room. You’d been woken up at 6 that morning with a reminder that you were supposed to be a bridesmaid for your sister. Maybe it was her way of torturing you, sending you up there to watch her marry your ex. 

You weren’t exactly bothered seeing it, as a matter of fact, you wanted them to be together and hoped they ended up happy, since she was going through so much trouble with you because of it. 

Delilah and her bridesmaids buzzed around the room happily, giggling with one another, and the air felt so thick you could barely breathe. All you wanted was to go back to the room and order room service with Chan, who, when you left, had been asleep on the bed. 

One of Deliah’s bridesmaids—a tall, sharp-faced woman named Camilla—approached you with a clipboard in her hand. She looked up from it for a moment,

“So,” Camilla said, her eyes flicking over you like you were a project she didn’t want to waste time on, you could see the disgusted look on her face as she saw you sitting in the bridesmaid dress. 

“How are you feeling about the dress?” You swallowed, unsure. The green dress was considerably tight to your body, which was odd. A few months ago, when your sister had asked for measurements, you’d made sure to get them done properly and sent them over to her.

“It’s-”

“Tight.” Camilla finished for you, biting down on her tongue as she looked you up and down and back at her chart, clearly reading through whatever was on it. This time, Delilah chimed in from behind, lips curved in a sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes - clearly fake. 

“Oh, you’re doing great, sweetie. It’s just… maybe we could find you a bigger dress? The last fitting was a few weeks ago, and you never showed up.” She shrugs her head, looking at the dress that was clearly too tight for you. It showed off everything you hated about yourself. 

You looked down at your body, suddenly self-conscious. You’d noticed the way your jeans felt tighter lately, maybe you’d gained weight? Delilah was smirking to herself, seeing you come undone.

“Is it… the weight?” you asked hesitantly.

“It’s a surprise Chan is with you, he’s got a major gym body and you’ve got…fridge.” She giggles, and the other girls all join in with her. Camilla laughed so hard she accidentally showed the measurements for each girl, and yours was wrong. 

“Maybe I could get a bigger size-”

“They’re custom-made. There was no way I was going to let my girls have dresses from a store.” Delilah snaps harshly. 

“You’ll just have to sit in the back and not be in the wedding,” She shrugs, and you look back at the dress. It was just two sizes too small; clearly, she’d done this on purpose. But if she didn’t want you in the wedding to torture you, why would she do all of this? Was it just to show she had power all over again? 

“That’s for the best. We do have a lot of cameras here filming Deliah and the wedding.” Camilla states, causing you to frown. There hadn’t been a single camera in the room during the fitting.

“Oh. I already told them not to capture YN anyway.” Delilah shrugged as she looked down at her nails. You really were here just to be the butt of her jokes and the one that they could kick around like it meant nothing. You wanted to speak, to say you were fine, that you didn’t care about the dress or the cameras, but the words caught in your throat.

“It’s settled, we’ll just have Ani replace her. She’ll fit in the dress no problem.” Delilah snapped her fingers, and you were practically shown out of the chair, and Camilla stared at you.

“Take it off. We need to make sure you don't stretch the material too thin.” Camilla grumbles, and you nod, heading toward the small bathroom to get changed.

“W-Where do you want me to stand at the wedding?” You questioned, your eyes flicking to your sister, who couldn’t seem less bothered if she tried.

“The back. Make sure your ‘date’ is front row though, we can pull views in through him.” Delilah says, but the way she’d called Chan your ‘date’ didn’t sit right with you. It was like she didn’t believe the lie you were selling.

When you got back to the hotel room that morning, you’d barely spoken to Chan, which didn’t sit right with him. He’d even ordered you some lunch, but you gave him some excuse about not being hungry, so he ate it instead. 

Now the two of you were sitting at a dining table alone, you’d been pushed to the side because there “wasn’t enough room” on the main table. The table was dressed with white linens, candles in tall holders, and laughter echoed around the room. The small voice in your head is telling you that everyone was laughing at you. 

There was a salad in front of you, but your appetite had vanished; it had vanished since earlier that day. 

“You okay?” Chan asked, leaning down to whisper into your ear but making it look like he was pressing a warm kiss to your head. You nodded stiffly, Chan didn’t believe you for a second.

“She’s barely touched her plate,” your mother said rather loudly to Delilah, who looked up and shrugged her shoulders.

“She’s feeling a little rounder these days, she’s probably trying to lose some weight,” Delilah said with a cruel smile, loud enough for you to hear, unfortunately, Chan had heard too, and his jaw tensed tightly. 

Your ex-boyfriend, Daniel, smirked, glass in hand. “Yeah, Y/N, you putting on weight or something? Didn’t think Spain would be good for your diet.” The room chuckled, but the joke was a dagger that twisted deep inside your chest.

“Did you ever end up finding something that fits for tomorrow?” Your cousin asked from across the room, and Chan’s frown deepened.

“What does she mean? I thought you were going to be a bridesmaid?” He brushes his hand over yours, and you look down at the table. You hadn’t even had the chance to tell Chan you’d been kicked off that duty,

“She's too fat for the dress. So we gave the spot to someone else.” Delilah said so matter-of-factly, you wanted to throw up right there and then. 

“They took my measurements and ignored them…I don’t think she wanted me to be a bridesmaid…Just wanted me here for humiliation." You whispered, finally finding your voice. Chan, however, went deathly quiet. He was seconds away from ripping into someone for what was being said.

“That dress she’s wearing now doesn’t even go with the theme.” Someone grumbles, 

“She’s always been…unique,” Delilah said. But the word almost sounded like a slur. You didn’t look up; you were used to it. Used to the way they all laughed and belittled you. You just wanted to blend back into the background like you always had.

“Chan must be a saint to deal with someone so difficult.”

“Especially when she’s fat and ugly,” Daniel commented, and that was it. Chan’s fork hit the table with force, and he stood up abruptly. 

“Enough!” He said, his voice cold and harsh as he stared around the room. People turned to look at him as everything fell silent. Chan’s eyes locked on Daniel’s face as he stared down at him. 

“You want to talk about weight? How about talking about your character instead?” Daniel’s smirk faltered a little; none of them were used to someone sticking up to them, and it showed.

Chan continued, voice rising just enough to fill the room, he made a point to stare at your sister, parents, and ex-boyfriend as he addressed them.

“Y/N is here, standing strong while you waste your breath throwing insults. Maybe if you spent less time tearing people down, you’d realize what you lost.” You felt tears prick your eyes, but Chan shook his head.

“Every single one of you should be ashamed! You sit here in your perfect little outfits and pretend that you’re better than her? You tear her apart for existing differently than you…because she doesn’t need to scream to be heard?” He looks down at you, his chest heaving a little,

“Because she doesn’t want to play your twisted little mind games. Yn is the kindest, strongest, most patient person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He snaps, your breath caught in your throat, hearing him say this out loud. Did he mean it? Was he just playing a role? 

“And you?” Chan turned to look at your sister,

“You’re marrying her ex, mimicking her smile, stealing her memories like they’re things you earned. You think you’re the center of the universe, newsflash…you’re not. You’re no one. People will forget you once they see you for what you truly are.” Your sister looked as if she was seconds away from vomiting, and your mother was gasping for air. 

Chan looked back at you, your eyes were filled with tears, but you quickly blinked them away. This was the first time in years you’d ever felt seen. Someone actually defended you.

Chan sat back down, softer now, and reached for your hand under the table. You squeezed it softly, letting him know that you were okay. The rest of the room was deathly silent; all that could be heard were the sounds of glasses and mumbled chatter.

“T-Thank you,” You whisper to him, breaking the silence. Chan squeezed your hand back,

“You’re amazing, okay? I won’t take any bullshit about it.” He winked at you, and you felt your heart picking up in speed while your cheeks felt heated.

Later that night, you found yourself on the balcony outside of your room again, the cool Spanish air brushing your skin and teasing away some of the heat that the day had left behind. Sighing a little, you sank down onto a wrought-iron chair, staring out at the distant lights of the town. You’d been rethinking dinner all night.

After Chan’s outburst, not a single comment was made about you or in your direction. Your sister had refused to say anything and went back to filming on her phone like nothing had happened. 

Chan stepped outside onto the balcony, but didn’t sit beside you. Instead, he leaned against the railing, shoulders squared but relaxed. For a moment, neither of you spoke; you silently listened to the waves crashing against the sand and the distant chatter of other people inside the resort. In your little room, your own bubble, it was perfect.

“You didn’t deserve any of that tonight,” Chan said, finally breaking the silence and glancing over at you. He needed you to know that none of what was being said was true, or that you deserved to hear any of it. You swallowed thickly and shifted against the seat.

“I’m used to it.”

“No,” he said, turning to meet your eyes. His whole body moves to face you,

“No, you shouldn’t be. And that’s what makes me… I don’t know. It makes me want to—” He stopped himself, the words catching somewhere in his throat. He’d promised you not to catch feelings, but something about being here with you…and even back home was making it damn near impossible not to. 

Everything new he learnt about you, he found he adored. Taking in a deep breath, he tried to clear his head before speaking. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair and sinking down into the chair opposite yours. 

“That sounded stupid.” He finished, and you nudged him with your foot, forcing him to look you in the eyes. 

“What were you going to say, Channie?” Chan hesitated; the nickname sounded like heaven coming from your lips, and he desperately wanted to hear you calling him it over and over again, so he shook his head. He didn’t want to risk any of this,

“Nothing important.” He lied. But the way he looked at you, like you were suddenly the only thing that mattered, said everything he wouldn’t say. Your chest was starting to hurt as you watched him,

“Hey. You just defended me in a room of almost 100 people…You can tell me.” You teased, and Chan gave an almost shy smile to you and sighed, looking up at the night sky.

“Maybe I’m breaking one of the rules…M-Maybe I’m starting to care more than I should.” He admitted out loud. You felt your heart fluttering, warmth spreading through you all over as you looked back at him.

“You’re not alone,” you said softly, letting him know that his feelings weren’t just one-sided. Chan felt his heart skip a beat. God, it had been years since he’d confessed a crush on someone; he felt like a middle schooler all over again. But he just nodded his head, his eyes fixed on the sky as a blush crept onto his cheeks.

A calm silence hung in the air, and you smiled, laying your head on your knees as you both enjoyed the silence together. Neither of you reaches for the thread of something more hanging between you…not yet, at least. 

“Tonight, I’m promising you a nice walk on the beach,” Chan told you as you sat together on the daybed, he’d pulled the canopy over so you were both in the shade.

“Sure, maybe I can finally get the magnets for everyone back home,” You relax a little, pulling sunglasses on over your eyes, snuggling into the pillows. Your sister had arranged for everyone to have a chill day by the pool today since the wedding was tomorrow. 

“Oh, don’t forget, Nancy wants us to get photos at the wedding. She said we’ll look good.” Chan smirks. In reality, Nancy hadn’t asked for anything, but Chan wanted a photo of the two of you so he could have it as his new lockscreen. You’d taken a few selfies, but he wanted to be different. He wanted a real photo of you both together.

“She’s cute, she’ll probably put it on the board in the cafe, you know.” You laugh a little. You open your mouth to speak again, but you can feel eyes on you. Slowly, you looked around the area to figure out who it was. Felicity - yours and Delilah’s cousin - was staring straight at you.

“Isn’t it adorable that Yn thinks she can wear a bikini?” She hisses, 

“Bless her heart, she’s trying so hard to fit in.” Felicity giggled, making Delilah smirk, her gaze flicking between you and Chan, who was now clenching his fists by his side. He’d had enough of your shitty family, and he thought last night would have been the end of it all.

“Can’t even keep their mouths shut,” He grits out, but you slowly reach out and hold his hand, squeezing it softly and smiling sweetly at him. You were trying to show him silently that it wasn’t bothering you.

“Oh, she’s definitely trying, honestly, it’s embarrassing.” Delilah giggles, flicking her hair over her shoulder and getting up. She was in a white bikini, showing off her perfectly toned body. She looked as though she would be on the arm of someone like Chan.

“Yn looks fucking hot today. Doesn’t she?” Chan asked loudly to one of the waiters, who began stuttering over his words. Your cheeks were heating up, and you whined at Chan, hiding into his neck as he chuckled to himself.

“Couples volleyball!” Delilah screamed out. 

“Let’s see how real these relationships are!” She giggles, and you look at Chan. You knew none of them were being subtle about it. Chan simply nodded at you and got up from the chair, following you to the pool. 

“I bet she’s paying him. She doesn’t deserve this level of hot,” Someone mumbles as you get into the water. Chan instantly wrapped his arms around you from behind and cuddled into you. 

“You ought to be careful, Chan. She used to write poems about my brother in school,” Lia giggles, making your whole body tense up. She knew you’d had a crush on her brother in high school; she’d pushed you toward him, claiming she wanted you as a sister in law.

“Let’s just play. Yeah?” he grumbles at your family, and they nod.

The teams ended up being uneven, so you’d all merged into a chaotic free-for-all of “who can keep the beach ball up longest,” but it quickly devolved into a war of egos before long. Mainly your ex’s. He kept smashing the ball toward Chan like he was trying to test his reflexes, daring him to mess up, either that or he was trying to smash the ball into his face.

But it never worked; Chan never missed a beat in hitting the ball back to your ex and your family, making it look like it was nothing to him. He moved like water; he was fluid, fast, and effortless. Every hit was precise, powerful, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Every movement made your heart race. Your ex was livid. And you were absolutely loving it.

“Not bad for a washed-up athlete,” Daniel muttered under his breath, chest heaving as he stared at Chan. You frown a little, watching the two of them.

“Not bad for a guy clinging to his high school glory days,” Chan murmured back, just loud enough for you and Delilah to hear him. Delilah smirks to herself before swimming over to him, draping an arm casually over the side of the pool next to his shoulder. Your stomach twisted watching her as she attempted to flirt with your ‘boyfriend’. You’d never been jealous before, but this had you raging. 

“You’re actually kinda good at this,” she said, voice high and girlish, feigning a laugh. “If you ever get tired of playing house with my sister, come find me, yeah?” You froze, hearing her. She was getting married…tomorrow…to your ex. Now she was attempting to get with another one?!

“She’s my girlfriend,” Chan said, gaze fixed straight ahead on you, he didn’t give a shit about your sister. 

“And you should really stop talking about her like she’s not standing right here.” Your sister pouted out her bottom lip and scoffed a little,

“Don’t be so fucking sensitive, it was a bloody joke,”

“That wasn’t funny,” Chan said with a blank expression. Tension rippled through the water, and no one moved for a minute. You were counting the seconds down in your head, waiting for your sister to snap or say something back…but it never came.

Someone splashed another person, easing the tension a little. You smiled weakly when someone threw the ball your way, trying to play along, and to get rid of the tension, you hit it. Your fingers were shaking, but you hit it, sending it flying into someone's mimosa on the side of the pool. A round of grumbles and curses from people followed,

“Maybe sit this one out, babe,” your sister called out, sickeningly sweet.

“You’ve never been sporty!”

“Remember when she tried out for cheer and broke someone's wrist trying to flip?” Felicity giggles, and people explode in laughter around her. You stepped back, pointing over your shoulder to the sunbed.

“I-I’m…I-I’m gonna take a break,” You said softly, backing your way toward the side of the pool. You were halfway to the steps when Chan wrapped his arm around your waist and held you close.

“You don’t have to pretend with her anymore. I know she's a lot, Chan, just come and hang out with us.” Your sister called out, but Chan didn’t even glance at her; he looked down at you and stared into your eyes.

“I’m right where I want to be.” He whispers, kissing your forehead and climbing out of the water. He turned back to you, offering you his hand to help you out of the pool. You took it, dripping wet, your cheeks heating up and not from the sun but from the attention he was giving you. 

“Shall we go back to our room and watch TV?” He suggests. Grabbing his towel and wrapping it around your shoulders. You looked up at him. He somehow looked even better now his hair was wet and dripping down his head, you could almost see the slight curls in his hair.

“Order room service and eat all our weight in pasta?” You raised an eyebrow, Chan’s heart picked up, and he nodded his head. It sounded like the perfect day to him, much better than sitting here with your family. 

“Run up, I’ll grab our stuff.” He nods to you, quickly kissing your lips before sending you on your way. The kiss was so quick and so easy that it felt as though it was only natural for him to do. His cheeks were turning red as you bit your lip, heading up to your room, glancing over your shoulder at him with a shy smile before finally disappearing.

Chan was about to grab his stuff when Daniel bumped into his shoulder, shoving him to the side,

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said to him.

“Girls like her always latch onto someone better to make themselves feel worthy. She’ll move on when the pity runs out.” It would have bothered Chan, but you had no idea who he was. So he was letting the words rush off him like water off a duck's back.

The sun was setting beneath the waves, leaving a golden look over everything it touched. The waves were crashing gently against the whore, and the sand was so nice and warm beneath your feet as you and Chan walked across it. Your hand was locked in his, your shoes were shoved inside one of the bags he was carrying. 

There had to be about four of them, all tiny little souvenir bags from your day together. The two of you had gone on a small tour of the town you were staying in and took lots of pictures while picking up a lot of gifts for everyone back home. 

The two of you had gotten a little competitive about who could get the tackiest magnet,

“I still think the dancing bull figurine was a bold choice,” You giggled, nudging his hips with yours. Chan grinned down at you, cocking his eyebrow.

“Please. You bought a magnet shaped like a lady with boobs that jiggle and say ‘squeeze me’ on them. You got me beat.” You laughed so hard you almost let out a small snort, making Chan smirk to himself. God, your laugh was so full and bright, it made his chest flutter whenever he heard it, and he’d heard it a lot today. 

It turned out that getting away from your family was the key to seeing you relax and finally let go. Chan pulled you closer to him as you walked, both of you enjoying the closeness you had with one another, without thinking about it too much.

“Oh! I also got Mrs Jones that rose tea she loves. And the twins at the inn, I got them mini flamenco dolls…They’ll love them,” Chan smiled down at you. He loved that you’d cared enough to try and get everyone back at home a gift.

“You always think of everyone else.” He states that as you stop walking, just looking out at the waves together, he bit his tongue. He wanted to open up to you a little without having to tell you about his life before you.

“I got something for the Coach, too,” He said slowly, trying to gauge your reaction. Your head slowly turned away from the waves to his eyes, and it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. You were barefaced, your hair natural, and you just looked like someone from his dreams.

“Are you trying to sweeten him up?” You tease, nudging him in the side, but Chan shrugged a little. You’d heard whispers of the high school back home wanting a new coach, and you knew Chan had a sporty side.

“He’s retiring, and I want to throw my name in for the job.”

“You are pretty sporty.” You shrug a little, thinking nothing more of it. The fact that you didn’t press him for more information made him relax. It was clear you wouldn’t care if he used to be famous.

“Y-Yeah…S-So I got him some keychains for the kids on the team and I got him a hat to replace his tattered one.” He smiles fondly before looking down at you, moving his free hand to cup your face in his hand, brushing his thumb over your lip.

“I got you something, too.” He whispers, Your eyes lit up.

“You did?” You gasp a little, only making Chan chuckle softly to himself. He had it in one of the bags, but he wasn’t going to show it until you were back in the hotel room together.

“Mhm. But you’re not allowed to see it until later.”

“Why not?” You scoff, 

“Because I said so.” He winked, tugging your hand so the two of you would start walking together again. 

“You’ll like it, I promise.” He chuckles softly. You pretended to pout, tugging lightly on his hand, but he didn’t let go. Neither of you even noticed that you hadn’t let go of one another all day. The space between you just didn’t exist anymore — your bodies moved in sync, like this was the most normal thing in the world…Like you were a couple…

And the scariest part of all of it? It didn’t feel like pretending anymore to you.

You glanced up at the hotel in the distance, its lights twinkling like stars just beginning to blink into the sky. You were getting hungry, and you had the wedding in the morning, so you already knew you were going to have to be up early to get ready. 

“I’ll head up and order room service. You still want that pasta?” You quizzed right as you got off the beach, sliding into your sandals. Chan nods as he stretches his back a little.

“Definitely,” he said. “Extra parmesan. And maybe something made of chocolate for dessert.”  He groaned, rubbing his stomach like he’d not eaten all day, but you’d been sneaking food while you were out.

“Got it. I’ll go and grab some extra towels from reception.” He squeezed your hand before letting go, gently. 

“Don’t be long, if that chocolate comes before you, I can’t promise it’ll be there,” You tease and rush off.

The hallway going up to the room was nearly deserted, the only light coming from the soft glow of sconces along the polished walls. Chan’s steps were echoing as he made his way up to your door. In his hand were the spare towels and a surprise he’d gotten for you. It wasn’t much, but it was a rose gold dress that nearly matched the theme of the wedding. As well as a bracelet he’d picked up for you. 

He knew you weren’t exactly upset about being kicked to the back of the room of the wedding, but he wanted you by his side, in a dress that made you feel and look like a million bucks…But you always looked that way to him. Even early in the morning when you’d just woken up and were having coffee together…

He’d thought you were stunning when you stood on his porch in pajamas that were faded with holes in them. Tonight, he was going to admit that to you; he didn’t care that you’d both promised not to fall for one another, he knew you were falling for him too.

Just as he reached the corner of your door, Daniel stepped out from the shadows with a mocking grin all over his face.

“What is it?” Chan grumbled, his voice laced with annoyance that your ex was even here right now.

“Just came to see the famous Ex-hockey ‘playboy’ who couldn’t even last his last season before some injury had him crying for the exit.” Daniel sneers, making Chan’s stomach twist. The injury wasn’t just “some” injury, it had nearly killed him, 

It had been an accident on the ice, resulting in him almost losing his fingers; he’d broken his knee and his ankle in two places. Then there was the skate that had gone into his temple; he was lucky to even be alive.

“I’d love to see you try and survive a skate to the face, dickface.” Chan said, his eyes meeting Daniel’s with a calmness behind them. 

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Daniel sneered, stepping closer, invading Chan’s space, but Chan didn’t flinch; he wouldn’t give the motherfucker the satisfaction.

“But let’s be honest — you’re nothing more than a charity case in this whole mess. Y/N’s using you, making herself feel better by dragging you into her mess so she doesn’t have to face me alone.” Chan stared at him, refusing to crack,

“Did she act like she didn’t know you?” Daniel tilts his head at him, and this time Chan had a reaction. His eye twitched just a little, but his face remained stoic. 

“You don’t know her,” Chan said quietly. Daniel laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed off the walls.

“She really pulled one over on you, huh? Sweet little Y/N. Always was quiet, always playing the victim.” He gave a mock pout and shook his head. 

“But she’s smarter than people give her credit for. She knows exactly what she was doing bringing you here.” Chan’s jaw tensed this time. There was no way you knew who he was…You seemed surprised whenever someone knew him. You were blind to everything about his old life…Right?

“She knows who you are. She has to. I used to watch your games all the time — she sat right there on the couch next to me. You don’t think she recognized you? Come on, man. She’s playing you.” That seed of doubt hit its mark and buried deep in Chan’s gut.

“She brought you here because you’re a shield. A distraction. Someone to take the heat off her for once.” His voice dropped lower, venom curling around every word. Chan felt his heart shattering at the thought of it all. You knew him…You’d played him…Were you going to sell the fucking story?

No…He couldn’t even bring himself to think that way about you. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Chan finally said, his voice shaking a little.

“Maybe I am just what she needed to take the pressure off. A washed-up loser she can parade around, but at least she wants me.” Chan grumbles at him, and Daniel just smirks at him. He was proud he’d planted doubt in his mind.

“Whatever, man. You’re going to be the butt of everyone's jokes. The vlog will go up and you’ll be a laughing stock…Again. All because you fell for that ugly bitches lies.” Daniel sniggers as he walks away.

Chan had no idea how long he’d been standing there after Daniel had left, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His words were still bouncing around in his head.

She knows who you are.

She’s using you.

You wanted to take the heat off her.

You’ll be a laughing stock.

He knew he shouldn’t have listened to him; he should have just gone straight to the hotel room to spend the night with you. He knew, deep down, that Daniel was cruel and petty, the kind of man who got off on cutting others down just to stand a little taller himself. But that didn’t stop the words from digging in deep.

He’d been too eager. Too willing to believe in the soft way you looked at him, the way you laughed at his terrible jokes, the way your hand fit so naturally in his. He let it all mean something when maybe it didn’t.

He swallowed thickly, jaw tense, and stared down at the small box in his hand. The surprise he’d picked up for you from a little beachside stall. A delicate charm bracelet, each charm shaped like something they’d seen that week. A seashell. A lemon. A tiny plane. One for each day they’d spent pretending.

Pretending.

His chest twisted.

He should’ve known better.

When he got back to the room, you were already on the bed, cross-legged, you were wrapped in the hotel rope, and looking up from your phone. Instantly, he freaked out inside his head,

Were you texting someone about him? Were you writing notes about him?

Your eyes lit up when you saw him. “Hey,” you said softly. “Took you a while, I nearly ate all of the food alone,” You said with a small, awkward laugh. Chan didn’t answer you, though; he set the box down on the desk and went into the bathroom without another word.

You stared at the closed door, your heart sinking. Something was wrong…he’d been fine until now. 

You shifted in the bed, turning over about to greet Chan like you had every morning lately, but the bed was cold. You sit up and look around the room, just as the bathroom door opens. Chan was dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt.

“Morning, you wanna eat?”

“Can’t. Got to go to the gym. See you at the reception.” He said, his voice low and clipped, before he walked out of the room. The door slamming shut behind him, leaving you stunned. 

You’d fallen asleep the night before, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom; had he stayed in there all night? Your fingers trembled a little as you got up and opened the box he’d left on the desk for you. Inside was a beautiful gown and bracelet. 

Your chest grew heavy as you stared down at them both. If he wanted you to wear these, why was he acting so cold toward you?

At the wedding ceremony, you felt like a ghost among the crowd. You’d attempted to move to the front of the wedding, but your sister blocked it from happening. Telling you she wanted you in the back of the room so you wouldn’t draw too much attention to yourself. 

You’d tried to get Chan’s attention during the vows, but he kept his head forward, avoiding you. As if looking at you might shatter him.

Every single time his eyes caught yours, he was quick to look away, and each time it made your heart shatter. 

Around you, the guests smiled and whispered, but you felt isolated, trapped in a moment that should have been joyful. What happened? The two of you had been working so well until the night before…

The reception was held in a grand hall decorated with twinkling lights and fragrant flowers. It was fucking loud too, you’d tried to catch Chan on the way out from the vows, but he’d slipped you in the huge crowds of people. 

Delilah flitted around like a queen bee, demanding attention and ensuring she remained the center of the room. You were trying to find Chan, but it was like he’d vanished into thin air. You slid a glass from a waiter and moved toward the terrace. You needed some air to clear your head on what you were meant to do now. 

Did he hate you? What had you even done?

And then you heard it. Two men were talking behind you, voices low but careless as they laughed together and shook their heads. You frown but move closer without being seen, wanting to know what was going on.

“Dude, you know who that is, right?” Caleb said to one of Daniel’s friends.

“Chan Bang. Yeah. Played pro hockey — until his knee blew out and he took a skate to the face,” Your breath caught in your throat. That explained the scar on his temple…not to mention the weird interactions that had been happening. No wonder he only gave you his first time. He was probably freaked out.

“Can’t believe he’s with her. No offense, but she’s punching.” The insult didn’t even sting as it came from Caleb's lips. 

“She’s not with him. Daniel told me the whole thing — she’s using him. Pretending. He said she probably just wanted someone famous so the attention wouldn’t all be on her sister for once.” You completely froze in place, the glass in your hand slipping to the floor and smashing. 

People stared in your direction, but you didn’t give a shit. Your blood was running cold. Daniel was lying…Telling people that you were using Chan?! That you knew who he was…Like, this was some kind of desperate stunt to make yourself look relevant.

Your whole body was heating with rage. Real, full-bodied rage, you’d never let yourself feel until right now. Like fate was twisting the knife, you heard Daniel speaking loudly and across the room.

“All that hype, just to end up a washed-up has-been with a limp. What’s next? Teaching hockey to toddlers in some middle-of-nowhere town?”  He laughed coldly, and everyone surrounding him joined in. Your whole body ached, and you kicked off your heels. 

“You really thought she liked you? Come on, mate. She knew exactly who you were. She just wanted someone shiny enough to draw attention.” Chan stood stiffly, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight. But he didn’t say anything. He never did when it came to himself.

“Enough.” The voice came out clear and harsh. Chan looked up to see you standing there. Dressed in the gown he’d gotten for you. Earlier, when he’d spotted you, he wanted to tell you how perfect you looked, but he’d stopped himself. He couldn’t tell you how pretty you were when he thought that you were using him.

“The little girl came to rescue the loser-” Champagne splashed over Daniel’s face and suit, cutting him off short. You stare at them all, your eyes burning with a rage Chan had never seen in you before.

“You can mock me all you want,” you said, eyes locked on Daniel.

“You’ve been doing it my whole life. My clothes. My weight. My hair. My friends. Even my relationships. But you don’t get to talk about him like that.” You hiss out. Daniel blinked, caught completely off guard. 

“He is more of a man than you will ever be. You’re fucking jealous he can make a living skating while you’re still living out your glory days from high school.” No one spoke a word. Champagne glasses were clattering as people listened. No one ever expected you to.

Chan’s eyes were on you; he couldn’t look away. You looked so hot right now.

“I didn’t know who he was,” you continued. It was the one lie you needed to clear up right now, but your voice was cracking with so much emotion.

“But I know who he is. I know how he makes me feel safe in a room full of people who’ve spent their entire lives making me feel small. I know he looks at me like I’m someone worth knowing. And I won’t let you take that away from me.” The silence after your words was louder than the music had been.

Daniel muttered something under his breath and stormed off. Chan hadn’t moved until you turned to him slowly, and your hands were trembling.

“I swear, I didn’t know Chan.” You whispered, your eyes pleading with him as you stepped in front of him, reaching for his hand but stopping, allowing him to connect with you if he did.

“But I do now, and it doesn’t bother me…I’m not letting you go without a fight…and I can fight, Chan.” You whisper. He stares at you for a long second, reaching for your hand. It was a small touch, but your whole world seemed to relax with that one touch.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, voice thick. “For seeing me. I’m sorry, I believed that asshole.” He sighs, leaning down and pressing his forehead to your own. You glance around and pull him toward the terrace, you didn’t want anyone to overhear this and report back about it. 

Once you were outside, you leant on the wall and looked up at him, 

“I was scared you knew who I really was,” he admitted. It wasn’t a good excuse; it was all he had to offer to you. 

“and that this was all just… fake for you…When I was falling harder than I ever expected to,” Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, it was the first time you’d seen him not look so confident in himself.

“Chan,” you whisper. He moved closer to you, taking your face in his hands and running his thumb under your eyes.

“This was supposed to be a favor…a fake thing, but it stopped being fake the minute you looked at me like I mattered.” You whisper to him, his breath hitching as you admit that to him.

“I never thought I’d see someone who sees past all of the shit in my life…The injury, the hockey shit, all of the mistakes I made…but you see me for who I am…Not the hockey star, just me.”

“Just Chan.” You whisper, remembering how he’d told you he was “just chan” in his kitchen. Chan chuckled softly, leaning his head on yours as you giggled a little.

“I don’t want this to be pretend anymore.” He whispered,

“I was coming back to the room to tell you that last night when Daniel cornered me.” He shudders at the memory, moving his hands from your face to your waist and drawing your body closer to his. 

“I don’t care about the past,” you reminded him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. 

“All I care about is us.” Chan’s lips curled into a genuine smile—warm, hopeful.

“Us,” he echoed, leaning down toward you but stopping midway to make sure that you wanted this as well. The kiss was unrushed, a little unsure at first. Just a peek on the lips…Then it moved into more.

A soft press of lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly and pulling you closer to him. Above you, fireworks exploded - no doubt your sisters work for her vlog. You deepened the kiss a little, sliding your tongue into his mouth as he resisted the urge to pick you up and take you right there and then. 

“W-We should go slow,” He whispers, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting heavily.

“We do have that big bed…” You whisper, your heart racing and Chan’s pants getting tighter,

“Afraid you wouldn’t keep up?” You tease, running your hand down his front toward the belt of his pants, and he grunts, bucking his hips a little.

“N-No…I wanted to be a gentleman,”

“Be one tomorrow…Fuck me tonight.” You whisper, biting his lip softly and smirking as you pull away to leave the terrace, Chan following behind you like a needy puppy.

The elevator doors slid shut behind you both. You were already rummaging around in your small clutch bag to find the room key, practically bouncing with excitement. Your heart was racing, Chan’s was pounding against his chest, and he was scared you’d be able to hear it somehow.

“F-fuck, where is it?!” You whine, more to yourself than to him, as you went through the bag, desperate to get into the room. There was no way you were going to miss this night.

“Relax, sunshine. It’s almost as though you’re excited,” He teases, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, pushing your need to the edge. You were seconds away from letting him take you right there in the hallway.

“I-I can’t find it,” you hiss. Chan’s hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and grinding his hardness against your ass so you could feel just how hard he was for you.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he murmured, voice low and husky against your skin. Your fingers finally grabbed the key, and you practically threw the door open.

The door had barely closed behind you both before Chan’s mouth was on yours, you threw your bag behind him, and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. There was no hesitation, no pretending, just pure raw and real heat between you. 

“I need you,” You whisper as you kiss down his neck, your hands working on undoing his tie as you then rip his shirt open, buttons flying across the room. Chan chuckled darkly, looking down at you, his hands moving to frame your face. He was holding you like he was something precious, something breakable.

He was kissing you like he’d been dying to, like he’d spent every second in silence today dreaming of this moment with you. Your fingers slid into his curls, tugging gently, and the low growl that left his throat made your knees wobble,

“I’ve wanted you since that first day in your pajamas…I was done for,” He whispered between the kisses, backing you slowly toward the bed. You giggled a little

“You called them cute.”

“I was trying not to lose my mind,” he muttered, lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your neck.

“I was imagining them on my bedroom floor…You have no idea what you do to me…” You gasp as his teeth graze against your skin, you slowly lie down onto the bed, and look up at him shyly.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, stepping back for just a beat to take you in. He was never going to get enough of you. You giggle a little, slowly pulling your dress off and dropping it by the bed, leaving you naked in front of him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispers. Heat grew all over your body, not just from what he was saying, but it was the way he was looking at you, he was looking at you like he meant every single word. That you were the only one for him. 

Chan stepped forward again, slower now, like he wanted to savor this moment with you, which he did. His hands slid along your hips, thumbs brushing your bare skin, and you leaned into him, kissed him again — deeper this time, needier.

“Tell me this is real,” you whispered, voice trembling as he hovered above you, his lips brushing yours. He cupped your cheek, eyes locked on yours. 

“This stopped being fake the minute I got to share a bed with you, sunshine.” You kiss him again, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him closer to you, ready to be intimate with him and seal the deal. 

As the bus pulled into the small station of Citrus Cove, you felt the warm, familiar breeze wrap around you like a welcome hug. God, it felt good to be out of the summer heat in Spain and off the bus. You needed to crack your back in at least seven places,

“Wanna crack my back?” you groan, twisting awkwardly as you stretch. “It’s driving me nuts.” Chan pulls a face like you just offered him a plate of raw sardines, and he takes a step back from you.

“Absolutely not. That sound is cursed.” You stare at him, scandalised. Surely, he’d heard much worse in his hockey days? 

“You’re a hockey player! You’ve definitely heard worse.” You scoff at him, and Chan smirks down at you.

“Yeah— my own bones, sunshine. Every snap sucked. I’m traumatised. You’re on your own.” He tells you, holding his hands up in defence while you pout dramatically. 

“We just got back, and already you’re abandoning me? I feel betrayed.” He rolls his eyes, tossing his cap into his bag as you both walk toward the exit of the bus station. 

“Says the girl about to run off and play Santa with all the gifts we picked up.” He smirks at you, and you stop walking and scoff playfully at him.

“Okay, rude. But then I’m coming right back for movie night. With snacks.”

“You staying over?” he asks casually, like it’s no big deal, but you catch the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You both couldn’t stay away from each other, god, there had been a moment on the plane, he thought he was going to have to sneak you into the toilets…but he was good and kept himself calm.

“I don’t think I can sleep without you anymore… you’ve ruined me. I’m a ruined woman, Chan.” You say dramatically, laying your hand over your forehead, but the action only made him smirk at you, completely smug and unbothered,

“In more ways than one.” He whispers in your ear suggestively, you gasp, swatting him with your neck pillow, his laughter echoing around you as you chase him out of the exit, but you freeze in place, seeing people from the town waiting for you. 

There were signs made with “Mr and Mrs Bhang” written on them, and Chan’s cheeks were turning bright red. 

Mrs Jones was practically squealing as she looked at you both, swatting Jamerson's hands as she whispered something to him about you both holding hands.

“We heard about Spain! What a wedding!” Mrs. Henderson, your friendly neighbor from down the lane, called out as you passed by her. Your cheeks were heating more and more.

“And the kiss… the kiss was all over TikTok yesterday!” added a teenage girl clutching her phone, cheeks flushed from excitement. You bit your lip to keep from smiling too widely. You knew your sister had been recording the wedding, but you thought the kiss was private.

“Did you know Chan was famous? Like, seriously?!” Mrs Jones asks, opening her car door for you and Chan to climb inside. You shook your head, still a little stunned by how quickly the news had spread. Chan, standing behind you, caught your flustered expression, and his eyes sparkled with quiet amusement.

“You’re officially mine now, princess.” He whispers, sealing the promise with a kiss.

Life in Citrus Cove settled back into its normal and easy rhythm. Chan threw himself into coaching the school’s hockey team, the kids adored him — even the stubborn ones found themselves working harder under his calm, steady guidance. You adored seeing him work every night, doing something he enjoyed. It gave him back something he thought he’d lost a long time ago.

You, meanwhile, returned to the inn like you’d never left. Your best friend had taken a couple of days off lately, and you wanted to catch up with her. On the days you had a night shift, Chan made sure to come and sit with you in the lobby, making himself useful by learning to fold napkins and even make beds. 

Your mornings were spent in bed, with breakfast together. You spent more time at his place than your own. You were working on getting out of your lease soon, too. Your evenings were filled with laughter and soft touches exchanged between you and Chan.

Finally, though, you’d tracked down your best friend and were forcing her to come and sit with you for a while. Mrs Jones had just bought over your coffee and cake order before leaving the two of you alone.

Your best friend let out a dramatic sigh, stirring her drink without taking a sip. She looked exhausted, with bags under her eyes, and even her clothes were messy. Your friend was someone who prided herself on her fashion; she did work in a fashion magazine after all. 

“The toddler next door is going to be the death of me. She’s got lungs like an airhorn — and no concept of sleep.” She sighs, running her hands over her face. You raised a brow, there was no one in town who had given birth lately, but you knew one of Chan’s ex-teammates had moved to Citrus Cove, 

“Isn’t that the new guy? Minho, right? He moved into the old Jenkins place?” You quizzed, sipping on your coffee as she nodded her head.

“Yeah,” she said, blowing on her coffee. Clearly, she needed it; the whole time you’d known her, she’d never touched a drop of coffee. She was usually strictly tea only. 

“Single dad. Quiet. Hot, in a brooding dad kind of way. But that kid’s got a scream that could shatter windows. I swear, kids gonna be a fucking opera singer,” You grinned at her. She was on “break” from the magazine for a while. “Break” being code for “creative block,” and she needed time off to get her mind back into the game.

“Didn’t you used to be a nanny before you moved here? Maybe you could offer to babysit. Give him — and yourself — a break…You’re on a break from the magazine...” She blinked, surprised. It had been nice when she used to be a nanny, and Minho did seem like he would need a little help. 

“You think I should?” You shrugged a little.

“This is Citrus Cove. People leave casseroles on porches for strangers. My kiss with Chan was trending. I’m pretty sure knocking on the door and offering help is normal. And hey, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know the brooding single dad either…” You smirk, wriggling your eyebrows at her. 

“Getting laid might help with the block, too.” You wink at her, she laughs, already pulling her phone out and nodding. 

Neither of you knew it yet, but this one small decision that was about to shift everything…

[cayleeuhithinknott]

━━ BIRTHDAY BLOOM ⋆˚꩜｡ matt sturniolo

⚠︎ smut , oral (m receiving) , clitoral stimulation , praise

⤷ mafiaboss!matt & innocent!florist!reader. part 1 of the party of 3 birthday special. i didn’t proofread this because i’m veryyy sleepy

you’re standing in the middle of matt’s bedroom like a total weirdo—hands behind your back, rocking a little on your heels, just waiting for him to walk in. the champagne bottle on the side table is already sweating through the label, and there’s a little bunch of red balloons tied to the bedpost, swaying slightly every time the AC kicks on.

you’re kind of nervous. it’s his birthday, and like…he’s matt. scary, cold, sharp-jawed matt. but you’ve been together for long enough now to know he’s not actually scary when it comes to you. you’re his petal. and for some reason, he lets his walls down for you in ways no one else ever gets to see. so you figured…why not do something soft for him?

when the door finally swings open, you straighten up so fast your knees crack a little.

he pauses in the doorway.

“…what is all this?” his voice is so flat but you know him, and there’s something warm under it, like he’s trying not to smile.

“surprise!” you say, a little too quickly, lifting your arms. “happy birthday, matt.”

he just blinks at you for a second. takes in the way you’re all dressed up even though it’s just you two—your favorite little sundress, hair done all pretty, lip gloss sparkling in the light from his window. he doesn’t say anything, just walks in slowly and shuts the door behind him.

his eyes never leave you.

“you did all this?” he asks, quieter this time.

you nod, suddenly shy. “mhm. figured you probably weren’t gonna let anyone throw you a party…so i brought the party to you.” you smile, and it’s so soft he actually lets his guard slip—just for a second.

“you’re unreal,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “you know that?”

you grin. “you’ve said that before.”

he walks over, slow and deliberate like always, like he’s sizing you up—but it’s not in a scary way. it’s more like he’s trying to figure out how he ended up with someone like you in the middle of all his chaos. his hands land on your waist, warm and solid. you look up at him, all sparkly-eyed and proud of yourself.

“champagne,” you say, pointing at the bottle. “and chocolate-covered strawberries in the fridge. and balloons. which i tied myself. almost passed out blowing them up.”

he actually laughs at that, low and quiet. “you’re insane.”

“just for you.”

he leans in and kisses your forehead so gently it makes your chest hurt a little. like he’s scared to break you.

“you always do the most for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “you’re too good, petal.”

“it’s your birthday,” you whisper. “you deserve it.”

he looks like he’s about to argue that—because of course he is, he’s matt—but you cut him off by taking his hand and leading him over to the edge of the bed.

“sit,” you say.

he obeys, eyebrow raised slightly, eyes following every move you make.

“i just…i want this to be about you,” you tell him softly. “you do everything for me. let me take care of you tonight, okay?”

you step between his knees, fingers ghosting over the collar of his shirt. he’s still watching you so closely, like he’s trying to memorize you. and even though you’re the one trying to take charge, he’s still the one making your heart beat faster just by existing.

you sink slowly to your knees in front of him, dress pooling around you on the floor.

his breath hitches.

“…petal,” he says quietly, voice suddenly strained. “what are you doing?”

you look up at him with the softest little smile. “giving you your real present.”

matt pulls off his shirt, leaning down to plant a kiss at the corner of your mouth—then another slower one against your lips, like he’s trying to guide you upward, silently coaxing you onto the bed with him.

but you press your hands gently to his thighs, shaking your head just once.

“mm-mm,” you murmur against his mouth. “this is about you.”

he freezes for a second—just a second—like the words throw him off.

“…petal,” he says, voice lower now, like a warning or…maybe a plea.

but you’re already smoothing your palms up his thighs again, eyes on his face the whole time. “let me,” you whisper. “please?”

his jaw clenches. like he’s fighting himself not to stop you. or maybe not to pull you onto the bed and flip the script entirely. but eventually, he leans back just slightly—hands resting beside him on the bedspread, knuckles white against the sheets—and lets out a slow breath through his nose.

“okay,” he says. barely audible. “okay.”

you glance down, fingers moving with care to undo his belt, then the button of his slacks. you try not to tremble, but he can see it—knows you’re nervous and still lets you have this moment.

his eyes don’t leave yours. not even when you tug his pants down just enough to reveal the waistband of his boxers, soft fabric stretched over him and already giving away just how worked up he is.

your breath catches, and your lashes flutter once, but you keep going—pushing the material down gently, careful like you’re unwrapping something precious. his cock is freed from the restrictive fabric, hard and leaking and needy.

matt breathes out a quiet curse. not from impatience—but from restraint.

you rest your hands lightly on his thighs again, looking up at him.

and the look on his face makes your heart ache.

he always looks like he’s holding the whole world up.

but here? like this?

he lets you have your way with him.

you sit up on your knees, not giving his throbbing cock the attention it needs just yet. you plant hot, open-mouthed kisses to his tummy, trailing them down to his abdomen, then to the spot just above his length. you drag your tongue in a stripe from the base of his cock and then back up to his stomach.

his stomach tightens under your mouth.

“you think that’s funny, huh?” he mutters, voice rough and dark, one hand fisting the sheets like he’s holding himself back.

you smile sweetly against his skin, mouthing just below his bellybutton.

“keep teasing me like that and i’ll fuck your throat instead,” he growls, eyes locked on yours like a warning, even though his jaw is clenched and his thighs are tense.

your lips ghost over him again, never quite where he wants them. you know exactly what you’re doing. and you know he’ll keep pushing you until you do what he needs.

his hand twitches beside him. “that mouth’s got five seconds to be somewhere useful, sweetheart.”

your lashes flutter as you glance up at him, pretending like you’re weighing your options, but the mischief in your eyes gives you away.

“cute, baby,” he huffs, nearly breathless. “now quit playing.”

but you kiss right next to his cock instead.

he lets out a sharp groan, hips twitching once. “petal. one more second of that and i swear, i’ll flip you over.”

you finally giggle softly and flatten your tongue over his tip, giving in at last, and his head tips back with a quiet curse.

“fuck—finally.”

your lips wrap around the head of his cock, sucking gently. your hands grip his bare thighs, careful not to dig your nails into him too hard. finally, you lower your head down onto his length, your mouth filling until his tip hits your throat, making you gag slightly.

“shit…petal, that feels unreal.” matt groans, one hand moving to grip your hair, the other clenched tight in the bedsheets. the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around him is almost enough to make him cum right on the spot.

you pull off of him, licking hot stripes from his balls to his sensitive tip, making him shudder. the corners of your lips start to pool with drool. matt loves it messy, anyway. you moan slightly, clearly craving his approval. although matt’s deep in pleasure, he notices this.

“taking me so well…you’re gonna ruin me, y’know that?” he mutters, eyes burning into you, a dazed expression painted on his face. you feel your cheeks heat up at the praise.

you take him into your mouth once more, starting to bob your head up and down, the sounds of gagging and choked moans filling the room, mingling with matt’s groans. you take about half of him until you can’t take any more, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit.

you start to quicken your pace, your lips stretched out by his thick length. you were at peace knowing he was enjoying by this. matt’s breathing becomes heavier, more labored. he’s really fighting the urge to fuck your mouth.

the repeated gagging causes tears to start dotting your lashes, and it doesn’t take long before they spill over, painting your cheeks. you feel yourself getting absolutely drenched, your pussy throbbing.

you pull off him with a quiet gasp, lips swollen, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. your hand wraps around the base of him instinctively, keeping him steady, and you glance up at him through your lashes.

“you okay?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “need a break?”

you nod just once, still breathless, and matt exhales slowly, jaw clenching like he’s fighting something off.

but then he caves.

“…fuck, baby. i know you wanted to do this for me,” he says lowly, his hand cradling the back of your head. “but i can’t help it. i need you.”

he leans your head down, guiding you gently. not rough, not impatient—just desperate. possessive. the kind of control that comes from trying to hold back all night.

and you let him.

because it’s his birthday.

because he’s always so good to you.

because he’s groaning like he’s never felt anything better.

and right now, you just want him satisfied.

matt pulls your hair into a pathetic excuse for a ponytail, his hips thrusting up, jamming his cock down your throat. “you’re just—i—fuck, you’re just so perfect, sweetheart.”

and yeah, it does hurt to an extent. but it hurts so good. so good. even better because you know this is an amazing birthday present.

the throbbing between your legs becomes more and more prominent, hard to ignore. your nails dig crescents into his pasty thighs, trying to ground yourself. drool seeps down your chin, some dripping down and wetting the neckline of your dress.

and there comes a point where you can’t control yourself anymore. with another garbled choking sound falling from your lips, you let one of your hands leave matt’s skin to trail down to your own body.

you bunch your dress up and slip your hand into your panties. the ones matt’s supposed to take off of you later tonight. the lacy ones that match your bra. matt’s favorite.

you circle your clit, your fingers gliding through your wetness with ease. you rub circles around the sensitive bud, and the way your teary eyes lightly roll back, followed by a choked moan doesn’t go unnoticed by matt.

“that turn you on, huh?” his voice dips darker. “me using your mouth like this…and you’re down there getting yourself off like a needy little thing. sweet girl.”

a garbled whine bubbles up from your throat. matt starts to feel his orgasm approaching, his hips rutting more frantically down your throat. tears mingle with drool on your chin.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck—gonna cum all down that pretty throat—” matt groans low in his throat, like he’s trying to warn you but can’t even think straight. and you’re just as close as he is, grinding your hips down onto your fingers.

and he’s true to his word. his thighs tense and shake, his balls drawing tight as he tips over the edge. a guttural groan leaves his lips as he spills into your throat, and you’re sure to swallow all of it.

“mine—mine—fuck—” he’s breathless, groaning the words as he finishes, voice full of something possessive. the sounds of his grunts go straight to your heat, and you speed up your fingers. waves of pleasure wash over you as you allow yourself to let go, your cum coating your panties.

“you like making yourself cum for me?” he pants. “you that fuckin’ gone, baby?”

you pull off of his cock and giggle, getting a feel of your sore throat. you lick your lips clean and wipe your chin of drool with the back of your hand as you blink up at him, dazed.

matt’s chest rises and falls heavy, his brows still furrowed like he’s trying to come down from whatever high you just gave him. his hand finds your jaw, tilting your face up gently. “you okay?” he murmurs, voice rasped, still laced with arousal.

you nod, eyes glossy and lips swollen. “mhm,” you hum softly, smiling through your hoarse voice. “happy birthday.”

he laughs under his breath. “you’re insane,” he says, leaning in to kiss you. it’s slow, deep, and full of messy affection. “you really just wanted to do that for me?”

you nod again, this time more bashfully. “you deserve it,” you whisper.

his gaze drops between your thighs. the obvious wet patch in your panties, the way your fingers had moved earlier. you’re still flushed, still needy, and he sees it. he sees all of it.

“get on the bed, sweetheart,” he says after a beat, voice lower now. not a request.

you hesitate only to smile and crawl up onto the mattress, the silk sheets cool under your thighs as you settle in the middle. he watches every movement, eyes dark, head tilted like he’s admiring something delicate he’s about to break.

“can i fuck you now, sweet girl?” he asks, even though his hands are already on your hips, dragging you toward him like it’s already decided.

you let out a breathy laugh, heart pounding.

“duh,” you say, biting your lip. “it’s your birthday.”

matt hums deep in his throat. his fingers hook into your waistband and drag your panties down achingly slow, his eyes never leaving yours. he lets them fall to the floor without care, then nudges your thighs open with both hands. greedy.

“then i’m not stopping,” he breathes, lowering his head between your legs, “until you can’t walk straight.”

your breath catches.

“till i make a mess of this pretty little body,” he mutters, mouth brushing the inside of your thigh, “and you’re dripping just from the sound of my voice.”

he kisses higher, slower. you twitch.

“till every time you swallow tomorrow,” he whispers against your skin, “you remember how you sounded choking on my cock.”

your eyes flutter, your back arches.

he glances up, lips curling. “best birthday ever,” he says, almost to himself.

and then he ruins you, just like he promised.

author’s note . . . omg i started new medicine and it makes me so sleepy. anyway sorry this is kinda bad i’m on the verge of sleep! i can’t believe they’re 22 tomorrow :(

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @snuffbut @strnilolover @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @oopsiedaisydeer @bluestriips @grace-sturnz @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @immisscellaneous @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwrites @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3 @camilaisangelicc @iconiccolo @beardedbernard @kenah-sturniolo @edwardscoldhands @spookysturnz @ariieeesworld

© cayleeuhithinknott

[zarnzarn]

They'll argue over it for millenium to come, but Hob always loudly maintains that there was quite literally no possible way for him to jump to the conclusion that a bit of an itch was a cosmically relevant first symptom.

It starts after a bar fight in Cornwall, to protect some kid from being jumped by a dozen burly men with sticks up their arses. Hob doesn't quite make it out of the fight without broken bones and a bit of a skull injury from the fire iron, but smiles through the blood at the youngster as he picks him- her?- up off the floor.

"Alright?" He asks, and the kid nods back hurriedly before scampering off. He winces at the crick in his broken neck as he wipes his face on his sleeve and stumbles out the door.

("HOB GADLING," his furious husband thunders at him at apocalyptic-level, atomic bomb volume that night, as soon as he lies down to bed.

He groans. "Yes, yes, I know. How do you even find out-"

"The sixteen year old is having wet dreams about you," Dream says savagely in punishment, grabbing Hob by the face to tilt him this way and that, ignoring his loud complaining disgust. "How many times do I have to tell you-"

"-Stop getting into bar fights," Hob intones dryly along with him, rolling his eyes. The argument lasts well into the night.)

But the next morning when he wakes up, the back of his neck is itching. He figures it's a rash of some kind and goes to work without bothering to check it out, grimacing now and then when he feels the discomfort as the scratchy sweater catches on it.

It continues the rest of the week, spreading to his arms and shins, but Hob Gadling is a man who has been personally skewered in the gut with a rusty lance, chained to a heavy metal ball and drowned in a muddy river and been the guinea pig of his husband's favourite Nightmare. It doesn't even register on his pain scale.

"I know you can do it, dear," He tells his student, clasping her by the hands. Her wrists have unhealed scars, still. "Just keep fighting. It doesn't matter what your grades are, as long as you love what you're learning, you hear me?"

She's famous for being stoic and disdainful whenever anyone tries to help her, but Grace Matty's eyes well up with tears as she nods, breathing hard. The she frowns, tilting her head. "Sorry, uh- did you get a new tattoo, Prof?"

It's such a weird subject change that Hob frowns also. "What?" He looks down to see intricate swirling patterns on his forearms. Great. Another possible curse slash adventure slash assassination attempt. "Oh, yeah, hah, got it last week."

She tilts her head, sniffing and wiping her nose with a sleeve. "Suits you."

"Thanks," Hob says, because they actually kind of do. The bright kind of golden, making his skin look rather nice when he tilts it in the sunlight. "But you can't deflect with me. So, let's talk about a study plan..."

Later, he pulls off his shirt to find the same swirling patterns across his shoulders and shins, beautiful swirls of flora and spirals that stretch down his body and actively grow more as he looks at them, the color of new wheat.

He sighs and goes to bed, yawning. There's time till it reaches his full body. He'll deal with it next week.

("Next week," Dream says scathingly, a couple thousand years later.

He rolls his eyes. "Acting like I don't know you deliberately ignored that fae assassin entering the castle because you wanted me to keep giving you head."

"It was a calculated risk-" )

He gets up the next day, groaning at the fever heat he can feel radiating from him, pushing his hands into his aching eyes. Still, there's the shop to run, so he pushes himself to his feet and keeps going.

Every person who comes in smiles at him, losing the tension in their shoulders as soon as he makes eye contact.

"I think I'm going to do it," one of them leans over the counter to whisper. "I think it's time I started following the damn dreams I've had since childhood."

Hob grins at the stranger, reaching out to squeeze their hand. Oh, but Dream would love to hear that. "Do it," He enthuses, more than used to being on the other side, talking random shite to people he didn't know in his immortal mania. "You'll succeed eventually!"

They grin, eyes crinkling, before departing.

It is a fast day, and a busy one. Everyone wants to chat- leaving Hob thrilled- about anything from their sick relatives to school grades to football matches to confessions. It is a good day, but it leaves him immensely drained, and he's practically falling over by the time it's time to close up.

He takes the longer route to let the brisk air help him, brushing his fingers against the barks of the scattered urban trees, imagining he can see their leaves unfurl wider and prouder as they survive another winter. "You'll make it," he tells the birds huddling together in the nest above, smiling.

What a lovely day. He looks out over the bridge-

"Don't jump," he says suddenly. His eyes feel hot. The man jerks, swirling around to face him. His eyes widen when he sees Hob. Can't be more than 18, barely an adult, and still has misery lining every inch of him.

Hob swallows. "Don't jump," He repeats. "Life is worth so much if you go look for it, kid."

The boy straightens, searching his face, eyes welling with tears. "There is, isn't there?"

"Yup," Hob says. His arms burn. "Come down."

Miraculously, the boy listens, trembling in the winter cold. Hob's heart melts, and he takes off his jacket to drape across the other, ignoring the protests and the feeble whispers that they couldn't afford to repay him.

"Don't need horseshit from you, little one," Hob says fondly. "There's money in the pockets, go grab something warm. And my card is in there, call if you ever need me; you have a place to stay?"

A nod. Fairre wishes for a bigger one, with central heating, but the one he has will be good for the night.

How did I know that? the thought whisps across his mind, then dissolves when he sneezes.

"Ah, hells, I must go home before this damn cold does me in," Hob jokes, patting the boy on the shoulder. "You run off too, and no more bridges for you, understand? Call me tomorrow."

"Thank you!" The boy shouts as Hob walks off. "What's your name?"

"Hob!" He shouts back before he can think it twice.

"Thank you, Hope!" He yells and-

Something in his stomach drops. He stops for a second as he turns the corner, and feels oddly like he's in freefall.

Time slows down, like he's moving through molasses. You are not terrible, I suppose, it sniffs disdainfully, before the world resumes again. The sky flickers, abruptly black as the void. Ah, the first counterpart, it whispers. Always told you our third was too impatient.

The sky turns blue again. No one else has so much as looked upwards.

Something is happening.

The tattoos, he remembers, and breaks into a run, cursing as he sprints the few blocks back to his home.

Food, he thinks, even though they're not his thoughts. Not at all. So many wish for food, hope for prey. From the deepest oceans to the highest peaks, what more can you want from the universe except food?

Shelter, also, although the living usually possess it already. But better shelters are always coveted.

A mate, children. The greatest achievement to strive to- to live on.

"Excuse me," He says, although maybe he says it in the wrong language as he sprints past the bewildered doorman, taking the stairs.

A good wind. A good monsoon. A good life.

"Dream," He says, panting, standing in the middle of his room.

A good winter. A good catch. A good field.

"DREAM!" Hob screams, holding his head in his hands as it starts splitting at the seams. He can't see anything. He can see too much. There is so much more out there- how stupid, to think that it was only Earth, only one universe? And each one comes with its own near-infinite entities, hopes and wishes and wants and-

"DREAM!" Hope roars, sobbing, and his husband crashes into him at full speed in four dimensions, catching the insides of him as they spill over through the cracks of the worlds, sand banking the liquid gold of hope's endless ocean.

(Water is a constant. Anywhere you go, water is a constant. Life always begins in the seas.)

"Hob," Dream gasps, a thousand hands and shadows pushing Hope back into a physical form, like trying to mold a running stream. Dream is scared. His husband is terrified and it is calling the others, and Hope cannot bear for anyone else being here at the moment.

"I want to go home," The last flickering flame of humanity within him sobs. He is scared, and he is everywhere and too big and too scattered, and he can remember every memory he has ever had with picture-perfect clarity, and he wants his ma, his pa, his three elder siblings and one brat of a niece, in their small and filthy cottage in an insignificant village in the middle of the forest. This hurts. "Dream, take me home."

"I cannot," His husband whispers, heartbroken. Hope sobs, even though he already knew this, because they were gone. Long gone. "But I can be your tether, if you open your eyes."

Hope trembles and considers resisting. Does not want to.

Hands cradle his face in fractals. Home fades away, humanity fades away at the touch, so dear and familiar, that his panic abruptly abates. The hurt lessens. "Hob Gadling," Morpheus says. "Open your eyes."

He takes a breath and does.

"Oh," Hope says, tears falling down. He always knew Dream was other, but to finally see him as he was meant to be seen, as all species simultaneously, as a whisper in the shadows and croon in a lullaby, in all dimensions, with all eyes- "You are so beautiful."

Dream shakes his head, horror and grief reflecting back in his eyes, darting through all the places Hob's soul is bleeding from, where Hope burst through. He looks like he is already mourning him.

Hob takes a breath and- pushes himself up, wincing. Stretches and feels the ends of the universe, and recoils back in horror, not ready to face it yet.

It is easy to ignore, really, with the beauty in front of him, crying and whimpering in fear for Hob.

Hope smiles. "So dour, love mine." He whispers, chuckling. Pushes herself up, against their husband, their stranger, their ever-running darling, their complement. Hopes and Dreams. "Beautiful love. Stop looking so sad and bothering Despair, you ninny, I'm still here."

Dream exhales and gives the impression of sitting back on their heels, as they make space for Hope in his metaphorical lap. Arms as strong as uranium bands wrap around all the unending facets of him, clinging on and shaking in fear. "I don't. I don't understand, what has happened-"

"In a minute," Hope whispers, feeling the answer- knowing the answer, knowing their darling concept of a partner also knows the answer and just needs...

They look beyond for a moment, and see the impression of Time. He doesn't finish the thought.

"Hob?" Dream asks, trembling. Hope moves back so they're looking at each other once more, heart clenching in adoration at the resplendent horror all around him, holding him together as he calms down, slotting into his place in the system.

"Still me," Hob whispers. She presses forward and wills them both into humanoid shapes, so he can kiss his wife. "I don't- I don't know why either. Or how. But- still me. Yeah?"

"Love," Dream rumbles, whispers, moans. She's still trembling.

"Easy," Hope whispers. Kisses him again. "Breathe. It's not a calamity. Just something new."

"It is-"

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'my fault', sweetheart, you're going to get slapped," Hob says in a stronger voice, as he shifts himself back into his usual form to glare. "Just- we'll figure it out. Everything's alright, yeah?"

Hope smiles at Dream. Tentatively, half in awe, its spouse smiles back, before it wavers away and Hob is yanked back into the shaking grip, in all universes at once.

Hob chuckles and closes his eyes. Sighs as they rock back and forth, feeling the mantle of a new era of adventure hover over their shoulders, ready to press down, and uses his function to hope fiercely that they'll make it through, until the fear no longer holds as heavy.

"So," It says finally. She grins, flips into a coy brown bird, a skittering shrimp, a playful whale, a swaying stamen, a displaying spider, a rumbling earthquake- flitting around her wife in well-worn paths of enticement, filled to bursting with the hope that the mate acquiesces, accepts. Steps out from under the influence of the rest of the family for a second, so he can push his startled husband backwards onto the mattress of their bed in the Dreaming.

Dream grunts as he hits the sheets, mouth falling open in shock as Hope climbs on top of him.

"I'm assuming we won't be free for ages and ages after this," He says, rolling its eyes. Then she grins, spreads themselves out into a marvellous display across all the space available to him, in which he exists, lapping against the shores of her lover. Preens seductively, watches the essence of the Dreaming flare up in excitement, snorting, bristling, stiffening, dancing, pressing back, trembling from holding themselves back. "Bet you'd fuck so much better at full power, hm?"

"Is this really the moment for a seduction?" Dream demands, even as his hands close on her hips, all eyes end-to-end black in lust. He understands. Now that the panic has abated, arousal is practically burning her alive.

"Yes, of course, now c'mon, quickly, before they get here," Hope kicks its husband lovingly, pressing their weight down harder. "Became Endless just for you, and you can't even give me an orgasm?"

Hob laughs as Dream's palm closes on his nape immediately, dragging him down. The reflection of himself in his husband's eyes is golden and bright, yet the love within shines twice as strong. And when they kiss, Hob can taste off the other's lips the hope that Dream can keep him forever.

[butyoudidthis4what]

You have me.

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x GN!Reader

5.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: hurt/comfort; lots of fluff; I checked many times to make sure this is gender neutral but if I missed something don’t hesitate to let me know; independent reader with a high pain tolerance who doesn’t want to be/isn't used to being taken care of; reader was in grad school at one point but no subject is specified; morphine; reader breaks their ankle while hiking (no super graphic description); reader gets an IV (no description); reader gets a little overwhelmed and emotional and cries at the end; no use of y/n or related.

Summary: Robby takes care of you when you injure yourself hiking.

AN: Written for this request sent in for the 1k celebration! The prompt was "I'm taking care of you now." I had another anon send in an ask that was about an injury and having to be mostly non-weight bearing and so I decided to combine the two! Based on two true stories so it's a little for myself and what I wish I had at the time. 😭 I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for reading!!

The gif will make sense, I just had to. 😂

“Are we trying to hide you from Robby?”

You smile at Kim through the pain and shake your head. “No point. He’s going to find out anyway and will just be more upset if he learns I’ve been here a while. Just don’t let him drag me into a trauma room over a sprained ankle ‘just in case’ please. I’d have gone to urgent care but I knew he’d have a conniption and just drag me back here for ‘better x-rays.’”

Kim laughs with you but glances at your ankle. “I think that’s gonna end up as more than a sprained ankle.”

“Nah,” you wave her off with the hand she’s not inserting an IV in, “I’ve sprained my ankles many times, I’m sure it’ll just be crutches, non-weight bearing for a day or two and out the door.” Kim throws you a look as she tapes down your IV. “I’m very torn because I trust your professional judgment and know you’ve already seen more of this than I will in my life,  but I was able to hike the remaining mile back out on it. And I wasn’t able to get ice on it right away or get it elevated. So it’s probably just extra swollen and bruising from that. Right?”

“I mean maybe,” she shrugs at you. “But will you make sure I’m in the room when you tell him you hiked a mile back out on it because I’d really like to see his face?” 

You share a laugh with her and nod. “You got it.” 

“Thanks,” Kim smiles at you. 

Robby looks at Dana with confusion and holds his hands up when she calls to him from the hub to let him know he’s needed in room 12. He’d been walking over to take a brief seat for the first time in several hours and check in on the board. He doesn’t question it though, just takes a deep breath to reset since the little break he thought he was getting has disappeared. 

He grabs a dose of hand sanitizer and starts rubbing it in before walking in and stepping around the curtain. “Hi, I’m Dr. Rob- what the fuck?” Panic shoots through him seeing you in a hospital bed in his ED. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s a sprained ankle Michael. I’m otherwise perfectly okay. Came down wrong off a tree root.” You give him the most reassuring smile you can muster. Your eyes track him as he gets closer and pulls the ice Kim had gotten you off your ankle. “I didn’t even try to hide from you. How are you?”

He winces when he’s able to fully see it. “That is not a sprained ankle Honey.”

“That’s what I said.” Kim nods at Robby. “Didn’t believe me.” 

“I didn’t not believe you, I just said I think the bruising and swelling might be worse because I had to hike the remaining mile back out on it.” You glance at Kim who’s grinning as she watches Robby take in that piece of information. 

Robby cycles through a myriad of emotions and expressions before pulling his eyes from your foot to your face. “Because you hiked a mile back out on it.” 

“Do you really think I was going to call for a fucking forest rescue, Michael?” you deadpan.

“Well no,” he huffs, “but you should have!”  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Did you at least let one of them drive you here?” You know he’s talking about the friends you went hiking with. His attention returns to your ankle and he starts to palpate it a little.

“Yes,” you wince at the pressure he puts on your ankle, even with as light as it is. “It’s my right leg and I didn’t drive there to begin with.”

“Good,” he mutters, putting the ice back on your ankle. “Obviously you need x-rays, I’ll get you as far up in line as I can.”

“Don’t do that,” you shake your head at him. “Don’t give me special treatment and move me ahead of a bunch of people who have been waiting longer who I’m not worse than.” 

“I’m not, this is a serious injury.” You start to argue, he knows you’re going to say you’re fine so he heads it off. “Don’t make me pull the M.D. card.” 

The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before you roll your eyes and look away. “Fine,” you sigh, deliberately overdramatic. “But may I also have something for the pain please, Doctor Robinavitch?” 

“Shit! Yes!” In his panic and examination that part totally slipped his mind. He shoots you a look of apology before looking to Kim. “5 of morphine, please.” 

“You got it.” Kim nods as she goes to step out and get it. 

Robby walks up to the head of the bed once Kim is out of the room. “Hi,” he murmurs with a little smile. He leans down and gives you a kiss, a lingering one to reassure himself you’re okay. “How is the rest of you? Seriously.” 

“Hi yourself, handsome.” You smile at him and steal another kiss. “I meant it, maybe a few scratches, but I’m okay. I promise.” You watch as his eyes drag over your body trying to convince himself. “You can get me naked and look me over tonight at home, okay?” You smirk at him, trying to get him to relax a little. 

“I mean I’d like to do it now, but okay.” Robby returns your smirk which makes you smile, happy to see at least some of worry come off his face. He pulls away from you and grabs the stool, wheels it over to you, sits on it and grabs your hand as Kim walks back in to administer the morphine.  

“Alright, might sting and taste weird.” Kim tells you as she flushes your IV, pushes the morphine and flushes it again.

“Thanks, Kim.” You smile at her. “You’re about to be my favorite person here.”

“Hey I ordered it!” Robby reminds you. 

“Not technically,” you smirk at him. You know he’s not going to be the physician of record.

Kim chuckles. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you. And can you send whichever other doctor you see next in, please?” Kim nods at Robby as he walks back out of the room and closes the door. Robby gives your hand a little squeeze. “I’m sorry I forgot pain meds and you had to actually fucking ask me for them.” Robby shakes his head at himself. “Should’ve been what I took care of first.” 

“It’s okay.” You squeeze his hand this time. “Don’t worry about it. I know you were a little panicked.”

Robby nods, gives you a melancholic smile. “I hate seeing you in a hospital bed.” 

You raise your eyebrows at him a little and let a little smirk pull onto your face. “Now we both know that’s not entirely true, don’t we, Dr. Robinavitch.”

He flushes hard as he lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head at you. Before he can say anything Jack walks in. 

“What’re you doing here?” The question falls out before you even realize. 

“What’re you doing here?” Jack asks back in the same tone, teasing you. 

“Well it’s obvious for me.” You gesture at your ankle. 

“Well it’s obvious for me too.” Jack gestures at his stethoscope and around the room to make the point he’s a doctor and it’s a hospital. He chuckles at the look you give him. “I’m pulling a mid.”

“Can you put in the five of morphine Kim gave and order an ankle series?” Robby asks him. 

Jack nods and logs into the computer, puts in the morphine and orders the x-rays. “What’d you do?” he asks. 

“Sprained my ankle coming down wrong off a tree root.” You shrug at him.

Jack clicks his tongue as he logs out. “Not ideal.” 

“Not particularly no,” you hum in agreement.

“Could be worse.” Jack smirks at you as he walks to the foot of your bed and starts to remove the ice to look for himself. 

“It’s not just a sprain,” Robby tells you pointedly. 

“Mm, yeah,” Jack grimaces a little, “I’d be surprised if there was nothing broken in there.” He puts the ice back.

Robby looks at Jack. “Didn’t believe me or Kim when we both said it wasn’t a sprained ankle.”

“That is not true. I didn’t not believe you.” You shake your head at Robby and then look at Jack. “I just said I think the bruising and swelling might be worse because I had to hike the remaining mile back out on it and so maybe it’s not as bad as you guys think.”

Jack raises his eyebrows and lets out a little laugh as he looks to Robby who’s shaking his head. “Pretty badass.”

“Thank you!” You give Jack a slightly hazy smile as the morphine hits while Robby renews his head shaking. 

“You’re welcome. Orders are in. If you need anything call, otherwise I’ll be back when the x-rays are in. Robby,” Jack lifts his head a little at him. “I’ll come get you if we need, stay here otherwise if you want.” 

“He better want,” you mumble. The physical exertion of the hike and the pain and the morphine are pulling you towards sleep. 

“Thank you, Jack.” Robby nods at him as they both chuckle at you. Jack walks out, dimming the lights as he does and leaving you and Robby alone. “You should sleep if you’re tired Honey,” Robby murmurs to you. 

“I’m okay,” you tell him unconvincingly. “Are you?”

“Yeah, just worried about you.” He brings your hand he’s still holding to his lips and gives it a kiss. 

“I’m fine and I’ll be fine. Always am.”

“You’d be just as worried as I am right now if our positions were switched.” Robby gives you a knowing smile. “And no. It’s not different.”

“I think it is but I’m too on morphine and tired to argue,” you hum softly. 

Robby laughs quietly. He leans up off the stool and gives you another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” you sigh happily as he sits back down next to you. “And you have to let me win because I’m injured.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you have it.” Robby clocks the way your eyes have yet to reopen from the kiss. “Why don’t you rest until they come for your x-rays, yeah?”

“Mm,” you’re trying to form an argument back but can’t find one, “okay.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed when Robby wakes you up to get your x-rays. Once you’re back and they’re ready you have to smile to yourself as you watch Robby and Jack read your x-rays together. 

“You fucked it up pretty good. Couple of different fractures, comminuted and avulsion.” Jack glances at you. “I’m honestly impressed you walked a mile on it.” 

Robby walks back over to your bed and sits in the chair he pulled up once you fell asleep earlier. “I am too.”

“Wow,” you draw the word out. “I’m surprised you aren’t more upset with me about it if anything.” 

“I was never upset I was worried and hate the thought of you in pain and having this fucked up of an ankle being forced to walk a mile on it.” He leans up and kisses your forehead before settling back in the chair. “And, I told you so. So did Kim and Jack.”

You roll your eyes at him. “That was rude.” 

“But true,” Jack quips. You shoot him a fake glare. “I want Ortho to come take a look. Might need surgery once the swelling goes down. They’ll probably want an MRI at some point but might want to wait for some of the initial swelling to go down.”

You groan. “Can’t you just cast it or whatever and let me go home and Ortho can review the film when they’re able. If they need me to come back then I will.”

Both Robby and Jack are shaking their heads. “They need to decide what kind of cast you’re going home in,” Robby tells you. 

You sigh and rub at your face. “Then can I cash in on doctor’s significant other privileges to get them down here and to me asap, please?”

“Yeah, I’ll call and see what I can do, okay?” Jack waits for you to nod at him. “I’ll be back with their estimate of how long they’ll be.”

“Thanks Jack,” you mumble as he leaves. 

“What’s up?” Robby raises his eyebrows at you. He knows there’s something going on. It’s unlike you to be this antsy.

You shrug. “I’m just tired and sweaty and feel gross and am in pain and want to go home and wash off and be in bed with you. And I’m hungry. So I’m just, I don’t know, eager to be home and restless in that almost kind of anxiety causing way.”

“I know what you mean, yeah. Let’s see how long Ortho will be and if they won’t be particularly quick I’ll order some food.” He glances at his watch. “You can have more meds here soon. I’ll make sure you get them as soon as you can.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. 

Jack lets you know a minute or two later Ortho will be about an hour because they’re in surgery, so Robby gets you your favorite from your favorite place with something for him and Jack too. You’re able to eat and Ortho comes to see you right as you finish. You’re told that you’ll need surgery in a week once the swelling has gone down, they’d like an MRI before surgery, and that you should be in a soft cast. Robby gets everything scheduled and then casts your ankle for you. You get one last booster of morphine through your IV, a pair of crutches, and a bottle of pain meds and then Robby’s finally wheeling you out of the Pitt. 

“I feel better already just being home.” You stand behind Robby as he opens the front door for you. You crutch straight into the master bathroom when you and Robby get home. Your plan is to get out of these clothes and wipe yourself off quickly and just get in bed. You put the toilet seat cover down and sit on top of it for a quick rest. “I’m gonna get out of the clothes and grab a cat bath while you shower your day off and then get in bed,” you tell Robby as he follows you into the bathroom.

“I can give you one.” He tilts his head at you. “Or I can wrap your cast and you can sit in the tub and I’ll shower you like that. Perks of a hand held shower head.”

You smile at him appreciatively. “I can wash myself. You should take a shower and relax, and that angle will hurt your back and I don’t want that.” 

He clicks his tongue at you and shakes his head when you bring up his back. “My back will be just fine. And washing you and having my hands all over your naked body is going to be quite relaxing, I promise.” 

You laugh at that and Robby feels a little surge of pride. He often does when he pulls that sound from you. “I can take care of myself though. I don’t want to add more stress than I already do to your life and become more of a burden.” 

Robby’s face furrows and he shrinks back a little in surprise, your words totally catching him on his back foot. “Woah, where is any of that coming from?”

“What do you mean?”

“You thinking you add stress to my life and are a burden.” His face falls a little, sadness coloring his brown eyes. “Do I make you feel like that?”

“No!” You’re quick to get out, almost jumping a little like you wanted to launch yourself at him but remembered your ankle. “No, not at all. I just… I feel like that. It’s kind of my default view of myself I guess, especially when I’m sick or injured. Or emotional.”

He believes you. That he doesn’t make you feel that way and it’s just an internalized thing you have. Robby walks over in front of you and kneels down in front of you, eyes on your ankle the entire time to make sure he doesn’t bump it. “Honey,” he takes his hands with yours and squeezes. “I can’t tell you how much that’s not true. You don’t add stress and you aren’t a burden. You’ve never been a burden and you’ll never become one.” 

“Never say never,” you try to joke. You’re unsurprised when it doesn’t land with him right now. “I mean I know I add stress. You’re telling me you’re not stressed right now about me and my foot? You told me you were worried.” 

“I’m going to say never because I know you won’t. I love you far too much for you to ever feel like a burden to me. Taking care of you and soothing you and helping to talk you down or just listening to you vent is always going to be something I cherish having the opportunity to do.” He lets go of your hands so that his can rub up and down your arms soothingly. “And yes, I was worried. I still am in a way and will always be in a sense. The same way you are about me, yeah? That isn’t the kind of stress you’re talking about. You’re not work or Gloria or that kind of stressor. You don’t think I’m a source of stress or a burden, do you?”

“No, but-”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head. “There is no but.”

You shrug at him, unsure of what to say.

“Hey. You’re the opposite of a stressor. You take away my stress. Just being around you makes me feel so much better. Knowing I have you and can come home and fall into you, that makes it all more bearable. You’re not a stressor or a burden to me. You’re… home. And safety. You’re my place where I can vent or even ignore the rest of the world because I know you’ve got me. I can just look at you and have the rest of the world fall away because at the end of the day I really only need you to survive.” He leans up and cranes his neck to give you a quick kiss to seal his words, try and get you to hear him and believe him because he knows how hard it can be, on a personal level and for you. “So how about you let me do this? I’m going to grab some supplies and then I’ll do your cast and we’ll get you in the shower and all clean and go from there.”

“Okay. Thank you,” you murmur. 

He gives you another kiss. “Anytime, Honey.” 

Robby is quick to gather what he needs for your cast and your favorite pair of pajamas to get you in after you’re dry. “Alright, let’s get this waterproof. Or as waterproof as possible.” He kneels in front of you again and takes a trash bag and carefully slides it up and over your cast before using the drawstrings to get it tight but not circulation altering tight. He takes the waterproof medical tape and wraps around the top of the bag, onto the actual bag and several times at the seam of the bag and your leg. “I think that’ll do it.” He looks up and smiles. “I’ll be careful where I spray.” He winks at you.

“Thank you,” you murmur. 

Robby nods at you. “Okay now let’s get you in.” You crutch yourself over to the tub and Robby helps you strip and get sitting down in it. “We’ll get a shower chair for you since you’re going to need it for a while.” 

“Don’t remind me,” you groan a small laugh. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Robby holds up his hands in an apology before taking his shirt off. 

Your eyes drag all over his chest and tummy and shoulder and arms. “All’s forgiven.”

He snorts a small laugh and rolls his eyes at you, but you see the touch of pink that hits his cheeks, chest and neck. “I’m rolling with that’s the reason I took it off and am taking these off,” he says as he takes his cargo pants off, leaving him in just his boxer briefs. You chuckle at him and shake your head even though you started it really.

Robby grabs the shower head and gets the shower going and to the temperature you like before moving it over you and getting your hair and torso wet. He takes his time showering you, eyes dragging over your skin as he soaps up your body just to reassure himself you’re really okay everywhere else like the two of you discussed in your hospital room. 

Once he’s finished he very carefully helps you out of the tub and dries you while you hold onto his shoulders for balance. You hold onto the sink as he does your hair how you ask. He gets you in a pajama shirt of yours and a pair of his boxer briefs that he takes painstaking care to get on you without hurting you and settles you in bed, helps you find a comfortable position and finds extra pillows and uses them to prop your ankle up. Robby grabs you drinks and some snacks from the kitchen just in case and makes sure you have the remote before he hops in and takes one of the quickest showers of his life so he can get back to you.

You frown at him when he walks into the bedroom with a towel tied at his hips what can only be five or so minutes later. You know he likes to take a hot soak after work to help his muscles. “You didn’t need to speed. I’m okay.” Your eyes roam him, appreciating the view.

“I know, but I wanted to be back with you.” He walks to the dresser and drops his towel as he puts a pair of pajama pants on. You greedily take in that view and Robby can feel your eyes on him, gives you a little smirk, eyebrows raising at you in amusement. Like he frequently does, he doesn’t bother with a shirt. Knows you like the view even if he doesn’t understand why. “Need anything?”

“A kiss.” 

He chuckles softly and climbs into bed next to you, scooting all the way over to you. “Anything for you, my Dear.” 

Your heart melts a little at the name. It’s not what he normally calls you, but he uses it every now and then and every time he does you melt. There’s something about the way he says it, the way the timbre of his voice wraps around the two words. It just sounds like love.

He leans in and kisses you, lets you take as many as you want and deepen each one. When you break apart he kisses your forehead before pulling away. 

Robby sighs as he settles into bed at your side. “You at least timed it nicely so that I have my string of offs starting. It’ll just be some time for surgery and recovery.”

“Absolutely no way in hell are you taking time off because I broke my ankle.” The look you give him is almost offended. “I’m not taking time off. I’ll go to work on Monday.”

Robby shakes his head. “You need to stay home for at least a couple of days and rest it and keep it elevated. Icing and resting is seriously important, you need the swelling down for surgery. Your job is not conducive to that. And I’m absolutely taking time off when you have surgery. You really think I’m going to leave you here alone to recover?”

“I’ll be fine. At work and after surgery. I get you have to take off the day of surgery because I need a ride, but after that, the next day, I’ll be okay alone.” You nod at him and give him a little smile to try and reassure him.

“No,” he draws the word out a little and gives you a slightly incredulous look. “You’ll have just had surgery and be on pain meds and to rest and not be crutching around on vicodin or oxy or whatever they give you and trying to get things for yourself.” 

“Yes, and I’ll be able to just fine,” you sigh. “I’ve done it before. On the day of surgery too.”

He blinks at you for a couple of seconds. “Excuse me, you did what?” The question isn’t mean or angry, it’s somewhere between disbelief and resignation and you have to fight back a little smile at it.

“When I was in grad school it was winter break and like all but one of my friends had gone home. I was able to get one to drive me there and then come back and pick me up after surgery and drop me off at home.” You shrug at him. “I was perfectly fine and that was a two story townhouse, so.”

“I… The… You should’ve…” Robby shakes his head to himself. “I’m just gonna let that go for tonight.”

“So I’ll be fine the day after. I’ve got it. I’m very good on crutches and have all sorts of tricks for carrying things around while on them,” you tell him before he can say anything else. You really don’t want him to have to take more time off than strictly necessary and to you that means just the day of. You’re not used to the idea of someone taking care of you when you’re hurt. Of someone wanting to take care of you when you’re hurt. Robby takes care of you all the time of course, but this is different to your mind and your brain can’t quite seem to wrap itself around it all. 

“Honey.” Robby lets out a long breath and gives you a soft smile, holding your gaze so you really hear him. “I know you can take care of yourself and navigate on the crutches, I don’t doubt it. But you don’t have to anymore. I’m here to take care of you. You’re not that grad student who’s alone and doesn’t really have anyone anymore, okay? You have me. I’m here. You don’t have to take care of yourself alone or get yourself through this alone anymore. I’m not going to let you.”

“I…” You trail off and swallow hard. You’re not sure what to say to that. You know you’re not alone and that you have him. But you’ve taken care of yourself while sick and injured for a good while now, since you left home. You’ve never been particularly sick around Robby and this is your first true injury so it’s hard to accept. You clear your throat. “Still.”

Robby shakes his head, keeping his small smile. He hates that you ever had to take care of yourself alone. “I’m taking care of you now,” he murmurs.

“Okay,” you whisper with a nod. “Thank you.” You look away from him and close your eyes trying to convince yourself it’ll hide the tears that must be obvious in them. 

But Robby saw them before you turned away, and he sees your trembling jaw now and a couple of tears slip out of your closed eyes down the sides of your face. His brows furrow in concern, corners of his lips pulling down and he moves back in a little closer to you and runs his hand up and down your arm. “Hey, why the tears, Honey?”

You sniffle and open your eyes, a cascade of tears slipping from them. “I’m just emotional.” You shrug at him. You’re not sure how to explain you’re just overwhelmed by his love and care and affection in a good way. “And because you’re so good to me even when I fight you on it and you’re better than I deserve and, and…”

“Because you’re exhausted and in pain and everything’s overwhelming?” Robby fills in for you. 

“Yeah.” Your voice cracks on the word and you break down into proper sobs, covering your face with your hands. “I’m sorry,” you choke out, “I’ll be fine, just give me a second.”

“Shh, don’t apologize, don’t apologize,” he tries to soothe you as he gets as close to you as he can, does his best to take as much of your upper body into his arms and against his chest and torso as possible. You settle your head against his chest and cling to him as best you can in this position. Robby holds you as you cry it all out, whispers that he loves you and he’s got you, runs his hands over you wherever they can reach. 

Your tears eventually cease, leaving you exhausted and stuffy nosed and with a pounding head in their wake. You keep resting on Robby as your breathing evens out from shuddery hiccupped breaths to something more normal.

“Okay,” Robby whispers once you’ve really settled. He adjusts you so that the two of you can look at each other, you up at him, him down at you. “I’m not better than you deserve. You deserve everything. You deserve to be taken care of the same way you take care of others.” He can read the look in your eyes, how appreciative of his words you are, how thankful you are for them and him, how you really can’t talk about it all anymore tonight, just too tired and overwhelmed at this point. “I got you.” He nods. 

“Thank you. For all of it.” You give him the best smile you can right now. 

“You’re welcome.” He glances over at the alarm clock. “You can have more pain meds now. And I know you’re not going to like it but I’m going to wake you up in the middle of the night at dosage time to keep on top of pain control, okay?”

You sigh and shake your head. “You don’t have to do that, Michael. You can just tell me and I can set an alarm. You need to sleep. I can just wake up and do it myself.”

“You could yeah,” he nods, “or I can wake up with you and make sure you get your meds and check on you in general and get you anything you might need. And then we’ll go back to sleep together.” 

“It’s not fair to ask you to do that. Or any of this.” You sound so sad, voice still raw from the tears. It makes his heart ache.

“You’re not asking. And there’s nothing unfair about it. You’d do the exact same for me and you know it, and no, it’s not different.” You shrug in response, chin trembling again a little. “Alright, Honey. We need to get you some sleep. I’m going to let you go for a second so I can grab your meds, okay?”

“Okay.” You sniffle and help him lay you back down, wipe at his chest with your pajama top where you got it wet by crying into him.

Robby’s quick to get the pill out of your prescription bottle and grab the water off his nightstand. You slip your pajama top off as he does, just want to feel his skin against yours as much as possible. He helps you lean up enough so you can take the pill without choking and then helps you lower back down. 

“This position comfortable for you?” His eyebrows raise at you a little in that adorable intently expectant way they do whenever he asks you a question like that.

“Yeah.” You pout just slightly, widen your eyes as you look up at him. “But can you try to find a comfortable position lying down for you that lets us cuddle?”

He nods, smiles at your little pout. Like you even had to ask him. “I can do more than try, I’ll find a position.”

“But it has to be comfortable so you’ll sleep.” 

“Yep.” Robby sets an alarm for the next time you can have meds and then moves closer to you and wiggles around until he finds a position comfortable for him that has the two of you cuddling. “This work for you? I promise it’s comfortable for me.” 

“Mhm. Thanks.” You’re already exhausted by the day and the meds and the crying, so Robby’s warmth and his closeness have you getting dragged under and to sleep fast. “Love you Mikey.” 

He laughs softly to himself at the nickname that seems to only ever really come out when you’re super sleepy like this. “I love you too, Honey.” 

I hope it was okay and you enjoyed! Thank you for reading! Your support and your interactions mean the world to me and give me so much motivation and I love hearing your thoughts and comments!! ♥️

I did in fact step off a tree root wrong while hiking once and have to hike the remaining mile back out. Unlike Reader, however, I was correct and nothing was broken, it was just all soft tissue damage, but the doctor looked at me like I was insane for hiking out on it. I also did have a friend drop me off from having surgery and was alone in a two story townhouse post anesthesia (don't try this at home) while in grad school.

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[shy-writer-999]

𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 (𝒾𝒾𝒾)

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: Prince Luffy has taken a liking to you. If you refuse to be on his crew, he has a different sort of proposal. Are you going to allow yourself to grow closer to him, or will something (or someone) get in the way? 3.2k words.

Part 3 of (?) - (read part 1 here) Pairing: Luffy x reader (she/her pronouns used) CW: SFW! (so far...)

✦ Chapter 3: The night erases all worries ✦

You returned to Prince Luffy’s quarters after a couple of nights. He was happy to see you, immediately treating you as cordially and kindly as he had before. He treated you like an old friend, like there wasn’t any class difference between the pair of you, and it was easy to let your differing statuses fade into the background.

It was a little troubling though, and a hard line to walk, because as much as he treated you like a friend, and as much as you felt like one, you couldn’t shake the glaring fact that he was a prince. It was a fact that was dangerous to forget, and you didn’t want to fly too close to the sun.

When you entered his chambers, he was waiting on the chaise for you, staring at the door. He cracked a grin and got up.

Prince Luffy had been thinking about you ever since he met you. There was something about you that he couldn’t get out of his mind. He was wondering about your personality, your reality, and what you needed. He was determined to get you on his crew someday and he had a nagging feeling that you were better at woodworking than you let out. Of course, he already had someone on the crew who specialized in that, but he figured the more the merrier. Franky could use some help.

He decided that utilizing your services was a good excuse to have you come over, eat dinner with him, and keep him company. That maybe you felt more at ease when you were able to do your job and chat after or during. Maybe you felt on edge (and would be more comfortable talking to him) when you followed the palace protocols, which he knew had been your survival mechanisms.

After coming to this conclusion, the prince wondered what sorts of services you were capable of doing. He didn’t want to risk any more massages, gods forbid that happened again. So, when you came to see him, he eagerly asked you what his options were. “I don’t feel like a massage today. What else do you do?”

“I can do facials, bathing rituals, hot stone treatments, scrubs, manicures, anything like that.”

He thought about it. “How about a facial?”

“Certainly. But I must insist that we do it in the bathing chamber, because there’s too much and clay water involved to risk getting it all over your bed. Is that alright?”

When he agreed, he led you to the huge bathing chamber. It was spectacular—everything was made of marble, there was a bathhouse-style tub in one corner, a shower in another area, a sauna, sinks, you name it. All of this for one person? One person who couldn’t care less about it.

You pulled out a wooden folding table that was tucked away in a corner and set it up. Gesturing to it, you encouraged the prince to lay down.

“Do I keep my clothes on?” He asked quizzically, and you stifled a laugh at how clueless he was before telling him to keep them on.

The facial was nice. You could see each of his dark, long eyelashes, every pore, the shape of his lips. He was pretty.

You moved his hair out of his forehead, wiped his face down, then mixed up a eucalyptus and clay mask, applying it delicately to his skin with a brush.

“That tickles,” he giggled, moving around a bit. His eyes were closed and he scrunched his nose up whenever you brought the brush close to the center of his face.

“Please stay still, prince, so I don’t get this everywhere.”

Pouting, he corrected you. “It’s just Luffy. No prince. You never say my name just as it is.”

“My apologies, Luffy,” you said, realizing that his name minus his status slipped out of your lips with far too much ease. “Now, would you please stop wiggling around?”

Hearing you say his name made him smile and your heart did a thumping thing.

The prince enjoyed the treatment. Your touch was gentle, the clay mask smelled good, and you smelled good too. He opened his eyes once and you were close enough he could have leaned up and—

When the treatment was over, Luffy marveled at his glowing skin in the mirror, thanked you, and then you ate dinner together. A routine was forming, one that you had no qualms against. It was nice to eat dinner with him. He was unassuming, non-threatening, compassionate, and kind.

During the meal you talked about what life was like growing up. You learned that childhood had been rough for him—Luffy didn’t have the attitude that there was anything particularly hard about it, but it sounded twisted and tragic at times. He was put in isolation frequently for misbehaving, for spouting what his father called nonsensical dreams. He fought with his brothers but loved them all the same. He wasn’t allowed to play with toys, wasn’t allowed to have friends other than other nobility (who were horrible company), wasn’t allowed to go anywhere by himself or be by himself much until he was older. He funneled all this frustration into the only thing they would allow him to do—strength and combat training for hours each day, until he got old enough and strong enough to set sailing. No one could stop him from taking to the seas and no one dared to.

As you listened to him talk about his childhood and his attitudes towards the unfreedom that came with being a prince, you started to understand why he was being so kind to you, and why he spent all his time out at sea. The context and sincerity made you trust him more.

All he wanted was to be free. You felt the same. You shared a similar dream. You wanted to be free from the stress of money and labor, and he wanted to be free of the ginormous expectations and suffocating responsibilities foisted upon him by nature of his birth. But for Prince Luffy, achieving his dreams didn’t sound like the most herculean task. Maybe his fate was to be free. But you knew that yours wasn’t. You were stuck. You couldn’t think too much about dreams because this was your life, for good.

When the conversation about your shared dreams and differing circumstances dwindled down, you were both quite touched at how much you seemed to have in common. Dreams and views on life. Understandings of how things should be. Freedom.

Now came the moment the prince had been planning for. “I have a question,” he began, “I know you won’t join my crew yet, but… will you join my waitstaff? So we can hang out more? You’d get paid a lot more too.”

You were caught off guard and flattered, but hesitation flooded your body, twinged in happiness at the gesture.

“I want to say yes, but I need to get permission from the head of my department before I agree to anything,” you said.

“I already did that. She said it’s okay with her if it’s okay with you.” He beamed and you felt your stomach flip.

“She did?”

You accepted his offer. He couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

“Your room is all set up,” Luffy said eagerly, “it’s the building next door. I made sure your pay would be tripled. And you get nice new robes too. I don’t want them to work you to the bone really so I told them to take it easy on you, you can just be the resident spa lady and that’s it. Does that all sound okay?”

You were speechless. The generosity was too good to be true. Triple pay. The words rang in your ears for a few seconds. Triple meant that you’d be able to send so much more back to your family. Think of the things they could do, you told yourself. Meat every night. New tools. New bedsheets. Tears started to well in your eyes.

After that, Luffy showed you to your new room. It was spacious with a plush bed. Such a stark difference from the old servant’s quarters. You’d miss some of your coworkers there, your friends, or, well, as close to friends as they could get. But it was worth it for all this.

Luffy was elated—one step closer to convincing you to go to sea with him. He hadn’t known you for long, but he knew that he wanted you on his crew, there was just something about you.

---

Your first couple of days on Luffy’s waitstaff team were uneventful. Luffy disappeared for a little while on palace business, dragged into meetings with his father and preparations for his eldest brother’s return from a long trip. The kingdom was going to throw a festival for Prince Ace, a welcome back party of sorts, since it had been over a year that he was last there. There was only a week until he was expected home.

You were quick to recognize that there had been no festivities for Luffy’s return, but it was not like he would have wanted them anyway.

The rest of the team told you that you didn’t have to help with preparations, since you were there expressly for spa services, but as you had nothing else to do you figured why not. It was easy to get sucked back into the monotonies of palace events, cleaning, etc., and it was a nice way to pass the time.

When Luffy finally summoned you, it had been four days. His presence was always in the back of your head—wondering about him, what he was doing, what he thought of you, why you got along so well, whether he was being sincere in asking you to join him at sea. The offer sounded crazy, considering the fact that he hadn’t known you long and you were just a commoner.

It was nice to see him again. He welcomed you all the same—with a big smile and a laugh. This time you gave him a manicure before you ate dinner. He had never had one before and was absorbed in the process for the first couple minutes, then got distracted and started chattering about other things.

“The doctor on my ship is named Chopper. He’s a reindeer. He’s the best doctor I know.”

You paused. “A reindeer?”

Luffy nodded vigorously. “He can fix anything. I wonder if he could do manicures, too. Do doctors do those?”

You let out a laugh. “Princ—Oh, sorry, Luffy, manicures aren’t something doctors do. They’re cosmetic. But if he’s so amazing, who knows.”

“Do you like giving manicures? Maybe you could teach him when you join my crew.”

He was talking about it like it was a given already. Would he fixate on this for a while and then forget about you? Fear of that is one of the reasons you were holding off on accepting his offer, as well as the fear of being disappointed, over-promised, and left for nothing.

“I do like giving manicures,” you started. “It’s basically just holding hands with a stranger for an hour and getting to make friendly conversation. It’s very repetitive and soothing to follow all the steps, too.”

“A stranger?” Luffy cocked his head. “But I’m not a stranger, right?”

A smile worked its way across your lips and you felt your heart threatening to flutter. Something about his unassuming way of making conversation, of insisting on your familiarity, and looking at you so plainly… it made your feel funny. That doesn’t bode well, you told yourself. You’re starting to like him like him, aren’t you?

“No, Luffy, you’re not a stranger.”

He was pleased with your response, as well as the results of the manicure, telling you that his hands had never looked so clean before. While he was chatting away, you pondered on what it would be like to really hold hands with the prince—his hands were nice. Big, strong, and manly. They’d feel good other places too…

“I said it’s dinner time,” Luffy broke you out of your distracted train of thought. “C’mon.”

The dinner table was set, the meal was enjoyable, and you found yourself feeling genuinely happy. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this happy. It was scary how happy you were.

Luffy was in the middle of a long-winded story about his right-hand man and best friend, Zoro. You learned that everyone on his crew was a member of the commonfolk— some came from countries that didn’t have a monarchy, some came from countries that Luffy had actually liberated from abusive and authoritarian governments.

You started to see that Luffy meant what he said he meant. He was a nobleman by birth but not by attitude. By attitude he was a something of an anarchist, a revolutionary, and a freedom fighter. Contrary to every other member of his family, his immediate friends and chosen family were as far from royalty as could be. He raised them up, fought for them, would die for them, loved them, and cared for them, and they did the same for him.

Maybe you could let yourself dream a little bit more about running away to join his crew. Running away to sail the seas with Luffy, no longer Prince Luffy, to you, but Luffy.

“He uses three swords, one in each hand and then one in his mouth. He bites the hilt and everything. I don’t know how his teeth handle it, and he’s so strong he can cut through—”

The huge wooden door on the other side of the room swung open with a bang. You couldn’t make out right away who was barging in, but you heard him before you saw him.

“LUFFY!”

He was tall with a dark, thick head of hair and sparkling eyes, wearing an all-black, high-collared military general’s uniform and tall black boots, with a sash and cape in the royal colors. There was a golden pin the right side of his chest—the royal crest. Your eyes grew wider.

“ACEEEE!” Luffy jumped up, running towards him, and the two brothers embraced, slapping each other on the back. You could immediately see the sibling dynamic jump out. “You’re back early?! I haven’t seen you in ages, how’ve you been? Have you still been getting your ass kicked?”

Prince Ace laughed and threw it right back in Luffy’s direction. “Yeah? Are you still not king of the pirates, little bro? What have you been up to, just gettin’ injured? Your crew had to drag your ass back home?”

“Pffft, you wish! last I heard they had to escort you out of the general’s meeting because you got your briefs in a twist—"

More bantering happened before the pair realized you were watching the reunion quietly, mere feet away.

Ace paused mid-sentence, spun on his heels, and sauntered over. “Who do we have here?”

Before you had the chance to get up and curtsy, he leaned down and pressed his face close to yours, like he was inspecting you. At this proximity, you could make out freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks. He had gorgeous, long eyelashes just like Luffy’s. His eyes were a deep, dark color; you would have thought they were black except for some residual rays of the sunset shining from the skylight above. His eyes were a rich chocolate, entrancing. It was hard to look away.

“You’re gorgeous,” he pronounced after a second. “The royal colors fit you beautifully. Luffy, I take it this is your fiancée? Have I missed out on yet another secret engagement? You dog!”

“No, she’s—" Luffy started, but Ace cut him off with a raucous laugh.

“I didn’t know you had it in you! C’mere.” He walked over, pulled Luffy’s head down forcefully, and started rubbing his hair with his knuckles.

They play fought for a moment until they were both out of breath before returning to the subject of you.

“So, where are you from?” Prince Ace approached and leaned down again, far too close to your face for comfort. His eyes did the same trailing around your face that Luffy’s had done the first time you met him. They landed on your lips for a second before flashing up to your eyes. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you around before. Which noble family are you from? You’re ravishing.”

“Excuse me, your highness, I’m not—” You tried to speak again but Luffy cut you off to deliver the news.

“She’s not my fiancée, she’s a member of my waitstaff and a friend.”

Prince Ace’s jaw dropped, maintaining how close he was to your face for a second, studying it one more time before straightening up.

“Waitstaff? What’s she doing eating dinner with you?”

“We’re friends,” Luffy arched an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t we eat together?”

Prince Ace exhaled and did a stiff bow in your direction. “Apologies for my impropriety, miss. I did think you were far too pretty for him,” he nudged his elbow in Luffy’s direction. “Not like this idiot could ever pull someone in the first place.”

You weren’t sure how to react. You were comfortable with Luffy at this point but… another prince?

The brothers didn’t waste a second before going back to fighting and catching up; you saw an opportunity to see yourself out and Luffy obliged.

---

When Prince Ace went back to his living quarters late that night, he started to pace.

There was something sick and twisted inside of him. It was tugging at his heart and whispering in his brain. He knew he shouldn’t indulge. He knew he couldn’t be trusted to indulge. But he notoriously lacked self-control when it came to these things.

One time couldn’t hurt, could it? He was just curious.

He wanted to get another glimpse of that woman from earlier.

So, she was a masseuse? Worked in the palace bathhouse before getting promoted (twice), ending up with Luffy, of all people? At first, he just assumed she was his brother’s fiancée because the colors she was wearing and how alluring she was. But afterwards, as he interrogated his own head of staff, Prince Ace learned that those robes were merely a new design for Luffy’s waitstaff and nothing more.

His mind wandered… a pretty woman like that, in private? Let alone one skilled in using her hands?

He hadn’t been touched in over a year. A massage or traditional bathing ritual would be nice. He deserved it.

Prince Ace stood still, ran his hands through his hair, and tried to control himself. But he lasted no more than thirty seconds before he hunted down a scroll and pen, and pinned the following note:

“Masseuse from Prince Luffy’s waitstaff requested at Prince Ace’s chambers tomorrow at dusk.”

Then he pinned another short message to have delivered to his brother:

“Need a massage. Borrowing that pretty servant for a night.”

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