#<- small adjustments to layout and wording

[ceyanabbiolo]

PHOTOGRAPH // M.S [10]

Summary: Daphne Denoire, a 21-year-old, returns to Boston after 3 years—but working for her brother’s best friend, Matthew Sturniolo, wasn’t part of the plan. He’s a 26-year-old multimillionaire. She’s the girl he was never supposed to feel this way about. With secrets between them and boundaries set, how far will they go for a love they never saw coming?

Warnings: kissing. slight angst.

wc: 5404

Chapter 10: Lilies Aren't Supposed to be Heavy

The lights were already on set when I arrived, the usual controlled chaos of a fashion shoot humming in the air—stylists brushing out fabrics, assistants checking gear, producers on their phones. I gave a polite nod to a few familiar faces as I walked in, camera bag slung across my shoulder and nerves buzzing beneath my skin.

This was my job. I could do this. I had to do this.

I spotted Matt almost immediately—how could I not? He stood near the backdrop in the clothes he was wearing, mid-conversation with the stylist, composed as ever. There was a drink in his hand, probably water, and his jaw was tight like it always was when he was trying to focus. 

He hadn’t seen me yet. Good.

I’d spent the past three days feeling like absolute shit. I knew better than to expect anything from him. Noah was right—no matter how kind Matt seemed, he was still a player. He doesn’t commit.

I just hated that I cried over it, like we’d broken up after five years together or something.

Not that he’d ever know. He’d never see how much it actually hurt.

I kept my head down and made my way to the photography setup. No stalling, no small talk—I loaded the camera, checked my lighting notes, and double-checked the memory card. I focused on the details like they’d keep me from remembering the night before. His voice. His hand reached for mine. 

“Daphne.”

His voice came from behind me. My spine stiffened automatically.

I turned, slow and steady. “Matt.”

He looked at me like he wanted to say a thousand things, but couldn’t say even one. I didn’t give him a chance to.

“I have the layout for the first series of shots,” I said, holding out the clipboard to him like a shield. “We’ll start studio, then go outside.”

He nodded, eyes scanning my face instead of the paper. “You look tired.”

I didn’t answer. I just turned away.

The shoot began, and I did what I always did—directed, adjusted, captured. I told him where to look, how to angle, and where to move. I praised the shots when they were right. I didn’t make eye contact if I could help it.

He was trying, though. I saw it in the way he lingered too long after each frame, like he wanted to say something. Like he thought this would be the moment I softened again, but I didn’t. 

Not this time.

An hour passed. Then another.

“Break in ten,” someone called out.

Matt walked toward me before I could escape.

“Daphne, wait.”

I exhaled through my nose and kept my voice neutral. “You need something for the next set?”

“No. I need to talk.”

“We're working.”

“I know.” His voice dropped lower. “But I miss you.”

My chest ached, but I didn’t let it show. Not yet. Not here. I could feel him behind me again.

“No,” I said quietly without turning, already knowing what he was about to say.

There was a long pause. Then his voice, quieter this time, was more resigned. “Alright.”

He let it go.

I didn’t watch him walk away, though a part of me wanted to. Instead, I reached for my camera again and threw myself back into work. I reviewed test shots, adjusted lighting with the team, and positioned the reflector for the next setup. The set buzzed around me, but my mind was sharp, zeroed in on the technical details—the aperture, the shadows, the framing.

Still, the atmosphere had shifted. The space between Matt and me felt tight. Unspoken words floated there, heavy and raw.

He stood in front of the backdrop again, a different jacket now, collar slightly turned up from changing. His hair was just a little off. Messier than usual. I knew the stylist had already walked off, probably assuming he’d keep it neat on his own.

I hesitated—then walked toward him, silently. He didn’t say anything as I stopped in front of him.

Gently, I lifted my hand and brushed a piece of hair back into place. Smoothed it down near his temple with quiet precision. His eyes didn’t leave my face. He didn’t flinch or lean in, just stood there like he didn’t want to breathe wrong.

I turned before he could speak and walked back to my camera.

Trying to stay professional, but my heart was pounding like I’d just kissed him.

The last shot had been taken, the lighting crew was already wheeling equipment off set, and the wardrobe team was gathering the scattered designer pieces that Matt had cycled through. I stayed behind, quietly organizing my things—carefully wrapping up cords, slipping memory cards into my case, and wiping down my lenses like muscle memory.

I could still feel his presence behind me. He hadn’t said much after that moment, after I fixed his hair.

Good. That’s how I needed it to be.

Still, I felt watched. Not in an uncomfortable way, just… in that way where you knew someone was waiting for you to say something you weren’t going to say.

I zipped up my gear bag and hoisted it over my shoulder, trying to keep my face blank, steady. The way I always did when I had to push my emotions down and leave them behind for the sake of getting through something.

I walked down the long hallway of the studio, the fluorescent lights humming faintly above me. My boots echoed against the floor, faster than usual. I just wanted to get out. Get fresh air. Clear my head.

The hallway outside the studio was quiet—just the faint hum of lights and the echo of my own footsteps bouncing off the concrete floors. My fingers gripped the strap of my camera bag a little tighter. I just needed to get out, breathe, and reset.

But then—A hand closed around my arm.

It wasn’t rough, but it was sudden, firm enough to stop me. My breath caught, and before I could even think, my body reacted.

I flinched. Hard. My shoulder yanked back as I spun around defensively, a choked gasp rising in my throat.

“Woah—sweetheart. Hey. It’s me. It’s just me.”

Matt.

His eyes were wide, shocked, hands already half-raised in surrender, like he realized too late what that moment had just done to me. I was frozen, my chest rising and falling too fast, my back pressed against the cool wall of the hallway.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly, carefully. “I—I just wanted to talk. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

I swallowed, blinking away the fog of panic as I tried to slow my breathing. My skin was prickling, my nerves on edge.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper. “That was just…don’t do that, please. Ever.”

His face dropped. “Fuck. Okay. I’m sorry. I won’t.”

He stepped back immediately, giving me space. Real space. His face looked stricken, like he’d just seen something he hadn’t expected—and I realized he probably had.

I tightened my grip on my bag, not trusting myself to say more. My body was still buzzing with leftover fear. I hadn’t been startled like that in a long time. Not since—

No. Not now. 

“I just…” he started again, quieter, like he was afraid I’d vanish if he spoke too loud. “I didn’t want to leave things like this.”

I exhaled sharply, hugging my arms around myself. “It’s fine, Matt. Honestly… it was stupid. All of it. The kiss… whatever it was. It never should’ve happened.”

His brows knit together as he stepped forward, but I didn’t stop.

“It was unprofessional,” I added, my voice more strained now. “And I shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place. I don’t expect anything from you, Matt. I swear, I don’t.”

“Daphne…” he murmured, his voice suddenly gentler.

But I kept going, as if I stopped now, I’d fall apart. “I get it. It didn’t mean anything. You don’t owe me an explanation, or feelings, or… whatever. We’re not anything. We never were.”

“That’s not true.”

I finally looked at him, and his jaw was tight now, frustration creeping in.

“That’s not true,” he repeated, stepping closer. “You think it didn’t mean anything to me?”

I stayed silent.

“You think I kissed you like that for fun? Like you were just someone I found in a bar?”

“I don’t know what to think, Matt,” I said quietly. “You showed up and started being all flirty with me when…when you were just with someone else.”

He paused. “I didn’t plan that—”

“But it still happened,” I cut in. “And then you came here and looked at me like nothing had changed.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, pacing once in the small space between us.

“You think I don’t think about it? About you?” he said, more to himself now. “About how I messed it up?”

I blinked. My heart thudded. 

He turned to face me again. “I don’t want to go back to pretending like we’re just coworkers.” 

"That’s the problem, Matt. I work for you…We agreed, and now everything’s messy. I just— I think it’s best if we stop talking. Or at least stop seeing each other outside of work.”

Matt’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue right away. He looked at me like he wanted to say something—anything—but couldn’t figure out where to start.

“Daphne,” he said finally, his voice quiet, almost careful. “You really want to pretend like none of it happened?”

I hesitated, but forced a nod. “Yeah. I think it’s best.”

His eyes flickered with something—disappointment maybe, or regret. “Even if I don’t want to?”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “You don’t get to say that now, Matt. Not after everything. You made your choice. And I’m just… cleaning up the pieces.”

He stepped closer, but I took a small step back.

“I’m not mad at you,” I added, softer now. “I just can’t do this. It’s too confusing. For me.”

He didn’t respond right away, just stood there, his hands clenched at his sides like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I just… either way, we’d never work,” I said quietly, forcing the words out before I could take them back.

Matt’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

I looked at him, heart pounding. “Because we’re too different, Matt. You know that.”

A pause.

“You think we wouldn’t work just because I’m known?” he asked, almost like the thought offended him. “Because people know who I am?”

I hesitated. “It’s not just that. It’s your lifestyle, your world—it’s loud. You’re everywhere, and I’ve always kind of been… nowhere. You’d never want someone like me long term.”

His jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t speak right away.

“And I’m not blaming you,” I continued, softer this time. “You’re used to a different kind of life. A different kind of girl.”

He stepped forward slightly, eyes locked on mine. “You really don’t think I’d want someone like you?”

I swallowed, unsure how to answer—because deep down, I wanted to believe he could. But everything in me was trying to protect my heart.

“I mean… you’re way more experienced than me,” I admitted, feeling the weight of my own words. “You’ve been through so much—relationships, everything. I haven’t, and that… it scares me sometimes. Not just that, but I’ve got a lot going on.”

Matt’s eyes softened, but a flicker of confusion crossed his face. “What do you mean, a lot going on?”

I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “It’s not like something crazy, but…It’s hard to explain.”

He nodded slowly, clearly wanting to understand but careful not to push too hard.

Then, I quickly shifted the conversation, trying to protect myself from opening up too much. “Besides, you’re Noah’s best friend. He’s my brother. He’d hate the idea of us together.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Noah would care that much?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Matt…you know him.  He’s annoyingly protective. Maybe too protective sometimes, but he’s always been the one looking out for me…so I respect him.”

Matt sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “So, I’m the bad guy if I want to be with you?”

I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s not that. It’s just complicated. Noah’s protective, and honestly, I don’t want to cause drama between you two. It’s already messy enough.” 

Matt shook his head, a calm but firm edge to his voice. “I don’t care about all that, Daphne. Noah’s my best friend, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to just walk away because he disapproves. I want you. That’s the truth.”

My heart skipped a beat, fluttering wildly, yet I kept a small part of myself guarded, careful not to get swept away too fast. I’d liked Matt for so long before — back when I was just a kid crushing from afar, when none of this was possible. But now? Hearing him say those words to me, openly, made my mind spin.

He was really standing here, saying he wanted me? Me?

The old feelings bubbled up, warmth mixing with caution. I fought to steady myself, to not get lost in what might never have been before but now felt so close.

Matt stepped closer, his hand lifting slowly to cup my face, the warmth of his palm sending a gentle heat through my skin. His thumb traced a soft, reassuring circle on my cheek as his eyes locked onto mine—steady, serious, and full of something I hadn’t dared hope for before: sincerity.

“I’m sorry, Daphne,” he said quietly, voice low but unwavering. “I never want you to feel like you’re just some complication... or like I’m just playing around. I’m not interested in anyone else. Not the way I feel about you.”

His words felt heavy and real, like they pressed into the space between us and settled there. My heart fluttered in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. I’d liked him for so long, but this was something different. The vulnerability in his eyes was new, and I found myself holding my breath, caught between disbelief and a cautious hope.

Part of me wanted to believe him completely, to reach out and close the small distance between us. But the other part—guarded and wary—reminded me of the walls I’d built up over the years, the ones he’d started to chip away at.

I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “You mean that?”

Matt nodded, brushing his thumb once more along my cheek before letting his hand fall away reluctantly. “I do. You’re the only one I want right now, and I’ll prove that.”

For a moment, everything else faded—the noise, the doubts, the past. It was just him and me standing there, raw and real.

Matt leaned in slowly, giving me a moment to meet him halfway. His lips brushed gently against mine—a soft, chaste kiss that sent a flutter through my chest without overwhelming me. It was careful, respectful, and full of unspoken promises.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes with that same earnestness. “I should get you home,” he said quietly. “Don’t want you out too late.”

I nodded, still a little breathless. “Okay.”

He offered me his hand, and I took it, feeling the steady warmth as we walked toward the door together.

I just hoped I wasn’t forgiving too fast.

MATTHEW

A week had flown by, and now we were back in LA. I had to be here again—two full weeks of meetings, shoots, business proposals, and people to see. Business never really stopped.

Daphne sat beside me in the car, her eyes fixed out the window, watching the city blur past. The late afternoon sun cast a soft glow over her face, and I couldn’t help but steal glances her way.

She didn’t say much, but I could tell her mind was racing, probably the same as mine. Two weeks here felt long, but with her by my side—even if just for the ride—it felt a little less lonely.

The past week felt...normal again. We went on late-night drives, took the bike out just because the weather was nice, grabbed food from our favorite spots, held hands, kissed, hung out for hours at my place, and even attempted cooking again.

We pulled up outside a sleek, modern building downtown. Daphne looked over at me, confusion flickering in her eyes.

“Is this the hotel?” she asked.

I shook my head with a small smile. “No, this is my LA apartment.”

She blinked, clearly surprised. “Am I staying here?”

“Yeah,” I said, unlocking the door. “I didn’t want you living in a hotel for two weeks. Everyone else on the trip has their places, so I figured you’d be more comfortable here.”

She hesitated, still unsure, but I could see the relief start to settle in.

“I even set up a nice room for you,” I added, stepping inside.

Her lips twitched into a tentative smile as she followed me in. “Well…thanks, Matt.”

We stepped into the elevator, the silence between us not uncomfortable, just quiet. The kind of quiet that settled when both people were tired but content. When we reached the penthouse, I unlocked the door and let her step in first.

Daphne’s eyes immediately wandered, taking in the soft lighting, the open floor plan, and the polished details of the space. “Wow,” she breathed. “I like it.”

I smirked, leaning against the door as I shut it behind us. “Boston or LA?”

She turned to me, confused. “What?”

“Which apartment of mine do you think is nicer?”

Her head tilted slightly as she thought. “Hmm… lowkey, the Boston one.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Really? Why?”

She gave a small shrug and walked further inside, setting her bag down. “It just feels more… homey. Lived-in, you know? This place is gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but Boston feels like you actually spend time there. Like it has warmth.”

I glanced around at the LA apartment, suddenly noticing how clean and perfect it looked. Sleek but cold. “That’s fair,” I said. “I guess Boston does have more…me.”

She turned back to me with a small smile. “Exactly.”

“Come on, I’ll show you your room,” I said, nodding for her to follow me down the short hallway off the main living space.

She trailed behind, her footsteps soft against the hardwood. I opened the last door on the right and stepped aside so she could go in first.

It was the nicest guest room I had—spacious, with soft lighting, neutral tones, and a huge window overlooking the city. I had someone come in earlier this week to set it up, just for her. Fresh sheets, new candles on the nightstand, and even stocked the bathroom with products I remembered she used. I didn’t want her to feel like she was staying in some temporary space—I wanted it to feel like hers. 

“This is…nice,” she said softly, walking in slowly. Her fingers brushed the edge of the bed, the duvet still perfectly folded. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

I leaned against the doorway, watching her take it in. “I wanted you to be comfortable. Two weeks in a hotel isn’t exactly ideal.”

She turned around to look at me, her brows still slightly pinched like she couldn’t quite believe it. “Matt…this is really thoughtful.”

I shrugged, trying not to overthink the warmth that bloomed in my chest at her reaction. “It’s just a room, Daphne.”

But it wasn’t. Not really.

She smiled gently. “Still…thank you.”

I nodded, meeting her eyes. “Make yourself at home.”

We sat on the balcony, plates balanced on our laps—takeout from one of my favorite Thai spots. The air was warm, a breeze tugging gently at Daphne’s hair as the low hum of traffic echoed in the distance.

A movie played quietly from my laptop, propped up on the small outdoor table between us. She had pulled a throw blanket over her legs and was nursing a bottle of water, eyes flickering between the screen and the view beyond the railing.

I leaned back in my chair, stretching a little, glancing sideways at her.

“So…this week’s gonna be busy,” I said, my voice cutting through the calm.

She turned toward me slightly, her plate still in hand. “Yeah…I saw your schedule.”

I watched her for a moment, her face lit softly by the glow of the laptop screen. She looked content, at ease in a way I didn’t always get to see. Her shoulders were relaxed, eyes drifting between the skyline and the quiet movie playing.

“You like the job so far?” I asked, tone casual, but the question wasn’t.

She turned her head slowly, meeting my eyes with a soft smile. “I do,” she said, nodding. “I actually feel… useful.”

That word stuck with me—useful. Not “fun,” not “cool,” not even “exciting.” Useful.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees, watching her carefully. “You didn’t feel that before?”

She looked down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket on her lap. “This feels like I’m part of something. Like people actually care about what I have to say.”

My chest tightened a little. I didn’t like that it surprised her to be valued.

“I care what you have to say,” I said, voice low.

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine again. Something passed between us—unspoken, but full. Her lips parted slightly, like she was going to say something back, but then she just smiled and looked away.

I let the moment breathe.

“You’re not just useful, Daphne,” I added. “You’re… important. To the team.”

She gave a soft, quiet laugh, almost like she didn’t know how to accept the compliment.

“I mean it,” I said. “Just look how quickly everyone on set started just going with your opinions..”

That made her glance over again. This time, she didn’t look away. Her cheeks were faintly flushed.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said honestly. “Not just in LA. Just… here.”

She gave me the kind of look that made the noise of the city below fade away. Then she whispered, “Me too.”

leaned back in the chair, stretching my legs out as I glanced at her again, still curled up under the blanket, hair tousled from the breeze. Something about how natural she looked here made the apartment feel warmer.

“You should explore the city a bit,” I said after a pause.

She looked over, surprised. “By myself?”

I nodded. “Yeah. When I’m out handling meetings or shoots, don’t feel like you have to just stay inside all day. LA’s big… you’ll like parts of it, I think.”

She tilted her head. “You sure?”

“Of course,” I said. “There’s a car here you can use, or I can get you a driver if that makes you more comfortable.”

“I’m okay with the car,” she said slowly, as if still unsure.

I gave her a small smile. “Think of it like a little working vacation. You do the shoots, but the rest of the time… go out. Take your camera. ” 

She nodded slowly, her eyes tracing the skyline in the distance before flicking back to me. “Have you talked to Noah?”

I paused for a second, then nodded. “Just messages here and there. He’s been busy again as soon as he got back. Said he had a couple of case submissions and work stacked up.”

She hummed, almost to herself. “He’ll probably be back for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning forward, resting my arms on the railing. “I figured. He always makes it home for Christmas. No matter what.”

She nodded again, a small smile on her lips. “It’s his favorite holiday.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, “Tell me about it, I know.” 

I looked over at her again.

The soft city glow bounced off her face, catching in her eyes — those deep brown eyes that always looked like they were holding a thousand quiet thoughts behind them. Her lashes curled just right, long and natural, and her gaze kept flicking between the sky and the buildings like she was taking in every detail.

I didn’t even realize I was staring until she turned toward me, her brows pulling together just slightly.

“What?” she asked, a little self-conscious.

I leaned back slightly, lips twitching at the corners. “You have really pretty eyes.”

Her face softened with surprise. “What?”

I nodded. “Like… doll eyes. Big, kind of glassy. Intense, but soft.”

A shy smile tugged at her lips, and she looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. “Thanks.”

I didn’t add anything else. I didn’t need to. 

I reached out, gently brushing my fingers against her arm—just a small touch, absentminded almost, like I’d done a dozen times before. However, the second my skin met hers, she flinched. A slight body jolt.

My hand froze.

“Whoa,” I said softly, pulling back. “You’re jumpy.”

She looked at me quickly, eyes wide like she hadn’t meant to react that strongly. “Sorry,” she muttered. 

I studied her face. The way she tried to smooth it over, swallow whatever just surfaced. She was holding something back.

“Sweetheart,” I said gently, “do I scare you?”

She shook her head quickly, almost too quickly. “No, it’s just—I wasn’t expecting it. It caught me off guard.”

I frowned slightly. “You’ve been flinching whenever I touch you.”

She looked away for a moment, then mumbled, “I guess I just… drift off sometimes.”

I didn’t believe that. Not fully. But I also knew not to press. Not yet. Whatever it was, she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and pushing her would only make her shut down more.

I exhaled slowly. “Okay,” I said gently. “But you should know—I would never hurt you. Not ever.”

Finally, she met my eyes again. This time, she reached out and took my hand, their fingers intertwining with mine.

“I know,” she whispered.

I didn’t push any further.

Still, the way she reacted sometimes was becoming harder and harder to overlook.

I exhaled slowly. “Okay,” I said gently. “But you should know—I would never hurt you. Not ever.”

Finally, she met my eyes again. This time, she reached out and took my hand, their fingers intertwining with mine.

“I know,” she whispered.

I didn’t push any further.

Still, the way she reacted sometimes was becoming harder and harder to overlook.

I squeezed her hand lightly, hoping to give her some quiet reassurance. The night air around us was cool, but something about the stillness between us felt heavy, like there was more she wanted to say but couldn’t quite find the words for.

Daphne was still holding my hand, her thumb brushing lightly across mine. I glanced at her, and something about the way she looked back—soft, open, trusting—made my heart clench.

I shifted a little closer. “Can I kiss you?”

She didn’t answer with words—just nodded, barely, and I moved in slowly, giving her every second to change her mind.

Our lips met softly, tentative at first. I felt her exhale against me, like she’d been holding her breath. I didn’t push. I let her come to me.

And she did.

Her hands moved to the back of my neck, fingers curling in my hair as she deepened the kiss. I could feel her relax into it, melting slowly, like she was letting herself feel safe.

I kept one hand resting on her cheek, the other on her waist. Nothing rushed. Nothing demanding. Just her, and me, and the quiet night around us.

Her breathing hitched when we pulled back, our foreheads still resting together.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice low.

She nodded, lips barely parted. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

I kissed her again.

This time, a little longer. A little deeper.

Her hands slid up my chest, resting over my heart like she was steadying herself. I kept my palm gently cradling the back of her neck, my thumb brushing just beneath her ear. I felt her body lean into mine, her trust in every movement—soft, unspoken, and real.

She smelled like lilies. Subtle and clean, the scent clung to her like a second skin, and for a moment, it was all I could breathe in. It was intoxicating.

My other hand moved slowly—to her back, then up to her shoulder, trailing along the curve of her arm. I wasn’t rushing, just mapping out the feeling of her through careful, thoughtful touch. I could feel the slight tremble in her chest and pulled her in just a bit more, wanting her to know she was safe. 

Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t pull away.

I broke the kiss for a moment, just long enough to whisper, “You’re okay.”

She nodded, and I kissed her again—slower this time.

Everything about her—her warmth, her softness, the quiet way she held onto me—made it impossible to think about anything else.

This wasn’t just physical.

It never was. Not with her. I wasn’t going to let myself forget that.

My fingers brushed the hem of her shirt, then slid down, gently finding the soft waistband of her pajama pants. I wasn’t thinking—just lost in the moment, lost in her.

However, the second I tugged on it, just slightly, she pulled back.

Not harshly. Not with fear, but with a suddenness that spoke volumes.

She smiled quickly, like she was trying to cover the shift in her energy, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I-I should probably get some sleep,” she said lightly, not meeting my eyes. “We have a long week.”

I studied her for a second.

The hesitation was there—quiet, unspoken, but real. Though she didn’t say it out loud, I knew I’d crossed some invisible line, however gently. 

“Yeah,” I said softly, backing up a bit. “Of course.”

I didn’t want to make her feel like she owed me anything. Especially not her comfort.

She turned to fluff the pillows on the couch, her movements casual, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah… night, sweetheart.”

She gave a small wave before slipping away toward the guest room. The door clicked softly behind her.

I leaned my head back, and I was certain. 

She was holding something in. I could see it in her eyes, even when she smiled. No matter how normal she acted, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering her. 

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[a/n: I can't believe 10 chapters are already out? like helloo?? Anyway, the rocky road is starting *winks* like and reblog! mwah] –ceyana

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[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-five —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. menstruation. harm to a child. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Jagged rock burns into your palms. Slapping a hand up, you feel for the grassy ledge, barely visible in the darkness. You heft the backpack over it before managing to pull yourself up, landing on your stomach with a grunt through your teeth. The sneakers you scavenged from the closet are tight around your toes—better than Salome's thin shoes, but still far from pleasing as you stand and press on towards the road.

Moonlight guides you north. 

Not long until sunrise, judging by the sky.

Small white clouds puff around your mouth as the chilled air brushes the damp spot on your too-big jeans, the cuffs rolled and the waist cinched to keep them from slipping. You couldn't leave in the middle of the night, so you held a mug of water as a makeshift alarm. The moment sleep tried to steal you, the splash on your thigh ended it abruptly. 

You'd woken Blue up to tell her. At first, grey eyes scolded you in the dark. She looked away, ready to argue, before quietly reciting instead: the house they kept her in, the layout, any hiding places she may have seen.

"What about her?" you had asked. "Anything important to her. She probably saw antibiotics as a gift from God or something."

"Yeah. She would've," Blue muttered. "She liked to knit. And, um, talked about birds. Her husband owned the whole place, but he died. I don't know if any of that helps."

"It does. It's better than nothing." You gave her hand a squeeze. "Make sure he eats again. And check his back. You might need to drain it. You know how now, right? Nereida could—"

"I've got it." She slipped her hand away. "Just—don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Of course not."

Sneaking out had been easy—only because Nereida was on watch. You slipped out the back and wove through the tall grass, barely stirring the stalks. Price would've caught you for sure. But you made it across the creek with nothing more than the slow unrolling of your jeans to slow you down, the cuffs dragging in the water and soaking through. You rolled them back up, but a kilometer up the road, they've slouched back down, heavy and clinging to your legs.

Time is an enemy you've already lost a day to. With a sigh, you drop onto the hood of a rusted car, pull the knife from your waist, and hack at the fabric’s ends. A serrated blade would make this easier. The hems are jagged, but at least they won’t get in the way.

Ghost’s fever is bad, but the real threat is sepsis—the blood poisoning, organ failure, the things you haven’t told Blue. At best, he has a week. At worst, another day. The thought has you scrubbing a hand over your tired eyes before pushing off the car. You toss the cut scraps into the grass just as a disturbance prickles the back of your neck.

You whirl around, dropping the knife in favor of the pistol. 

"Just me."

"Jesus. Kyle. I was ready to shoot."

"Honorable of you to give me a quick one."

You huff, bend for the knife, and slip it back at your waist.

He closes the gap, rifle and backpack slung over his shoulders. 

"Why wouldn't you tell anyone?" His brows lower. "I went to feed him, and Blue said you’d gone back. Hell of a surprise."

You give him your back. "I've already wasted time. I knew what you'd say."

"And what exactly did you think I'd say?" A hand on your shoulders pries you back around.

Your eyes drift up to his, narrow, then veer to the side. "That it's a long shot."

"Yeah, it is." His hand drops. He brushes past you with a sigh, long and ragged, adjusting the rifle on his back. "Come on, then. You're not the only one who gives a shit about him."

There isn't anything to be said as you trudge beside him, no argument able to form. You know his company is invaluable. Gratitude is still hard to find, even when he prevents you from going the wrong way. "We turned here last time." Apparently you hadn't paid much mind. The road fills the gaps of silence, dawn breathing life into the buzz of cicadas. Long drags of air fill your lungs: sweet flowers only, until, something else. A waft of charred meat.

"You should eat."

Kyle extends a piece of squirrel. Despite the twinge in your stomach, you brush him off. "While they were starving you, we were getting stuffed. Fatten the mares, get a strong foal—all that."

His jaw ticks. "Ah."

"Damn good food, too."

"Lucky you."

"Lucky us."

Conversation shrinks to a brief exchange of what Blue said. He doesn't look convinced it'll help much. The stench doesn’t sour the air until the first sign for Fleurbaix rises at your right—like a breath in your face. Humidity clings to it, thick and unmoving, until there’s nothing else to breathe. In the sunlight, familiar stone walls and red-shingled rooftops repulse you, almost more than the sight of aimless Greys—some weaving between clotheslines, most trapped within the fenced pasture. The cows, however, have already fled through a broken gap, eager to escape uphill.

"They should've lost interest by now. The blood isn't fresh," you mutter.

"Humidity. Less evaporation, more smell." He nods the tip of his rifle. "Over there. That one has a wraparound porch like Blue said."

The view vanishes behind overgrown trees as you crest a hill, descending toward the commune. Kyle motions you forward, weaving through structures, keeping clear of the Greys. As long as they can’t scent you, they will stay distracted. You step over a few stray bodies, faces picked apart by crows that scatter at your approach. Clinging to a stone wall as you follow, a bony hand bursts forth from a window—Kyle knifes its skull before it can grab you.

Other than that, there aren't any close calls.

You reach the house that fits Blue's description.

The door is wide open.

Kyle sweeps in with the poised rifle.

You are greeted by an already ransacked interior. Tipped chairs, half-yanked cabinets, tossed couch cushions. A sick understanding settles at your fingertips, curling them around the gun. 

"They were here. The women. They knew she would've hidden them."

More signs that this is just a dead end; a waste of precious time.  

Kyle lowers the guns and presses forward into the hall. "That doesn't mean they found what they were looking for. Check the rooms."

Maman's house is as expected, even in disarray. Quiet and balmy. You kick open the first door. Polished wood, gold-embellished hinges, a closet stuffed with white gowns. A knitting bag catches your eye. You sift through it, tossing out balls of red yarn. Nothing.

More nothing under the bed. 

You tear the painting from the wall, only solid stone behind it.

A family photo thrashes to the floor beneath a swipe of your fist. You find Kyle in the other room, where a smaller bed is tucked beneath a window—the sight makes it hard to breathe for a moment. The blood stain on the sheets. Somehow you know whose it is. Your stomach rips at itself. You force yourself to look away before you lose it. 

"The floorboards. They didn't look under them. Help me."

He raps the butt of the rifle against the wood. A hollow echo near the doorway offers promise. A knife jammed between the planks pries them apart. When you sink to your knees, all that fills your hands are stashes of faded euros. No pills, no vials. 

You rip up the notes and let the shreds feather through the air, leaning back on your palms as a quiet hiss leaves your teeth. "Where did you put them you vile, ugly, goddamn hag."

"Maybe her son kept them," Kyle murmurs, threading a hand through his hair. "He had the guns."

"No." Your voice is firm. You stand and pace. "She would've wanted them close to her. Antibiotics—she was saving that for the women. The births."

You reach for your knife and stab the mattress, slicing it open. Springs and foam. Books maybe. You run back to the shelf in the hall and rip them one at a time, flipping them open to see if any were hollowed out. Even the Bible is just a book. 

What else?

What else?

"How much time are we willing to spend looking for them, Twix?" he asks lowly behind you. "Maybe we check somewhere else. A town."

"They'd have picked them clean years ago." You toss the Bible to the floor with a thud. "This was our best bet. We had them. We fucking had them."

"And now we don’t. We can’t keep tearing this place apart. We focus on keeping him stable—keep the wounds clean, use what we’ve got. He’s made it this far without them. We just need to buy him more time. There might be another stash in one of the other houses."

You lean against the wall, eyes fluttering shut briefly. A deep inhale. "There's just—something I'm missing."

"Twix—" He sighs, running a hand down his face. "Alright. Let's do another sweep. I'll check the floors in the living room."

Thoughts race. A frothy tide refusing to settle. You press your thumb to the scabbed cut on your wrist, the sting sharpening your mind. Back in the cell. Morning sun slanting through the window. Obsessively studying what’s around you. Replaying everything you learned about that woman. A dead woman. If you could’ve told the Greys to hold off, let her speak before they tore through her neck, you would have.

In the midst, a dove’s call breaks through—three notes, too close in your ear. You must be imagining it, but Alexandre’s voice stirs in your head: La tourterelle chante pour toi.

He said that when he heard the dove.

Why?

Birds.

She talked about birds.

You push off the wall and follow the sound to the room where they kept Blue. The coo draws you to the windowsill by the bed, where the glass is cracked just enough for the curtains to stir, the stench outside seeping in. Twin beady eyes snap to yours, a mechanical tilt of its neck. A collared dove, you think. Paul used to rise early to listen to them.

"Where are they?" you press lowly, accusing. "You know, don't you?"

The bird doesn’t answer, only flutters down from the sill.

Your fingers grip the edge of the window as you kneel on the ruined mattress. Below, the bird perches in the flower box—no flowers, just dried weeds and a nest of twigs.

"Tell me." It watches the whisper curl from your lips. "Tell me, or I’ll rip apart your home."

It flutters off. Your arm lunges after it, clawing at the nest in blind retaliation. Twigs snap. Dirt kicks up into your eyes. You blink hard to clear it. A strangled sound catches in your throat—half a curse, half a cry. Then, something strange beneath. Sharp rust that makes you freeze.

You sweep debris off the top of a—a lock box—loosely buried within the soil. A breath lodges in your throat as you claw at the dirt, dragging the rusted metal loose, launching backward on the bed with it clutched in both hands. It can't be real. You give the box a sharp shake. Something rattles inside, and your chest tightens.

"Kyle!"

Thunderous slaps of his boots echo down the hall. He rushes in, scanning you with a sweep of his gaze.

"No, I'm—this is locked." You tug at the bolted metal. "Can you open it?" 

He doesn't question it. Relief flickers across his face, quickly replaced by grim determination. He raises the rifle and slams the butt against the lock. A sharp clang echoes, metal chipping but holding. Exhaling through his nose, he adjusts his grip. You meet his eyes and nod—keep going.

He hammers at the lock, pausing only to yank at it, testing for weakness. You wipe dirt from your jeans, watching. Whatever she buried here—it mattered. It had to. A dove lands on the windowsill, but movement beyond it sends your pulse spiking above the sharp cut of metal.

Greys.

When did they—

"Shit, shit, shit." You lurch from the bed. 

He stops, yanking up the rifle to jut it toward the window, shooting a snarling one that clambers up on the porch. It flails back, revealing more alike behind it—many more—shambling out from wherever they'd been lingering. "Fuck—how!" He tucks the lock box under his armpit and grabs your wrist. "Come on."

The living room windows reveal just how many have begun to close in around the house. Faster ones are already at the front door, clawing at the wood. Kyle swears, yanking you toward the bathroom—higher ground, a window above the porcelain tub. He slams it open with the rifle, then hands instantly find your waist to lift you. You shed the backpack, pulling it through behind your feet to squeeze through blindly.

"Anything to climb?" he barks.

You look up. "A gutter!"

You grab it and tighten your core, hoisting yourself up as your sneakers scrape against the siding, the moans below growing louder as they round the corner of the porch. Your palms press into exposed rafters, the gutter serving as a shaky foothold, but the last push onto the roof eludes you.

A firm shove at your thighs sends you over. You scramble up, steadying yourself before glancing back.

Kyle is halfway up, rappelling fast—until a bony hand clamps around his ankle, yanking him downward. Disoriented from the rush, you slap for the gun at your waist, firing wildly—two bullets wasted before one lands, shattering the Grey's skull with a squeal.

He throws the lockbox. You catch it just as he hauls himself onto the shingles.

Your head reels as you watch Kyle drop to one knee and start picking them off. Four, maybe five drop with ease, but the rest move erratically—jolting, frantic. He slows, trying to track their unpredictable movements, each shot requiring more precision. If you had your bow, you could help. But the pistol? You don't trust yourself.

He grunts in frustration, adjusts his stance, then reloads as he circles the perimeter of the roof. That’s when you feel it—not a hunger pang, but a deep, familiar ache, piercing low in your gut. Then something wet. Warm. A slow gush down your leg. Your breath stutters as you glance down at the stain blooming red across your thigh.

"It's me," you say.

"What?"

"Fuck, it's me they smell. My period."

His gaze drops to your body, widening when he sees the evidence. You should feel exposed, but you don’t. The thought slams into your brain at the same time your hands move—unbuttoning, yanking at the fly. The moans below swell.

"We can use it. Look away."

His eyes snap back to yours, then dart away with a sharp exhale. "Christ."

You’re already shoving them down, tugging at the loose, borrowed underwear clinging to your hips. Gathering the fabric, you swipe at the blood slick on your thigh, pressing it deeper into the fabric. "It can buy us time—but not much."

You yank the jeans back up. You roll the underwear into a ball. Kyle looks over.

"There—throw it toward that house. The door’s open. If enough go inside, it might trap some. Then we run back to the hill."

Just as quickly as the plan is formed, you hurl back your arm and launch the decoy as hard as you can. It lands in front of the next house, far enough to release the breath caged in your lungs as heads snap toward it, bodies lurching away. Kyle slings the rifle over his shoulder, grips your waist, and helps you down—but the moment he lets go to steady himself, your foot slips on the gutter.

You land roughly on your side and lose hold of the lockbox. All of the breath leaves your body as you scramble to grab it. A strong hand beneath your armpit tugs you back up, and then you're sprinting. A quick glance back shows most are drawn away, but a few still trail you. Kyle snatches the handgun from your waist mid-stride and fires, dropping two before they get too close.

You duck beneath clotheslines, weave through wash bins still brimming with water. Trample roses. The pulse pounding in your neck drowns out everything but the next shot Kyle fires—enough to throw off your step. You don’t see the one lunging until it slams into you from the side.

You feel the jolt of the fall before you fully register the thing wrestling on top of you. Hair whips into your mouth, rancid breath spilling hot across your cheek. The strength is wrong—too fresh, too human. The hands grabbing at you are still strangely soft. A distinct bulge presses you down. Then a glob of dark-tinged saliva splats onto your eye, blinding you before you can make sense of it.

It's only a second of fight before a shot to the skull sends pulpy blood and brain onto your face. 

The weight is torn away as you scrub at your eyes. Part of you already knows before you look at the limp corpse. Time congeals. Blonde hair fans over the grass, framing a pale face with white eyes. The slip dress—the same one you pulled over her head.

Her swollen belly.

You go rigid. Kyle has to yank hard to get you upright.

"Come on!"

"They left her."

The words spill numbly from your lips.

When he shoots another Grey, your wooden, puppet legs move. You leave the body of her behind, adrenaline numbing you. After what is realistically only minutes but feels like hours, the thick trees envelop you once again, and when you finally steal a glance, you can't see them anymore. They've lost your scent for now. Enough for you to pause against a tree, swallowing air to catch your breath. 

You walk deeper into the vegetation until Kyle feels satisfied enough to stop and retrieve a canister of water from his backpack. He offers it to you. It takes a moment to steady it at your lips, then your throat allows some down. But your stomach spasms almost instantly, and you are wrenching it back up at the base of a tree, crumpling to your knees.

"Shit."

Hands collect your hair.

A few more dry heaves consume you, until you're breathing harshly through a hanging mouth.

"No… They didn’t—" A hard swallow. "They let her out. She was in the cell."

"What?" His voice brushes your neck, touch halting at your shoulders. Realization softens his tone. "You knew her—the pregnant one."

You wipe your mouth and stand. His hands stay at your arms a beat too long, grip firm, like he’s waiting for something—an explanation you don’t give. You don’t meet his eyes. "We need to move."

Your stomach still aches, but you don't vomit again. You walk quickly out of the trees and to the road. 

The walk back is spent scanning more closely to see if you've drawn more with your smell. By the time you reach the cliff, midday swelters. Lightheadedness teeters your first attempt down. Kyle tosses the box and rifle to the bottom, then carries you on his back, your fingers interlocking to keep you secure like the backpack that hugs his chest. 

A stop at the creek allows a shaky handful of water to splash your face. Taking off your jeans to wash your blood-stained thighs feels too much of a task. Instead, you watch Kyle finally finish striking the lock, the metal giving way under his relentless grunts. 

"Do you want me to open it?" He glances at you.

A slow shake of your head. Your knees sink before it. Fingers hesitate at the latch. If this isn’t it—if it’s empty—you don’t know what comes next. What fills the space where the smallest sliver of hope has wedged itself in.

The scrape of rusted metal.

At first, all you see is cloth. A yellowed shade of white. A beat of nothing. Then, your hands move on their own accord, unwrapping the contents, brushing hard plastic. The faint rattle of capsules makes you inhale before you even read the first label: amoxicillin. You go still. Dig through for more. Four, five vials. Even more than what you had on you.

The run back to the house is a battle against your own legs.

The smell of blood hits first—thick, metallic. Not human. A quick glance confirms it, Price carving up a hefty cattle he must've found.

He's saying something, to Kyle maybe. You don’t pause.

The front door swings open.

Blue—

She slams into you, arms locking tight, breath knocked from your lungs.

"I saw you from the window."

"You shouldn’t be on your feet," you manage.

She looks down. At your hand. At the pills.

Her voice trembles. "You… you found it?"

You nod.

Up the stairs. Blue tugging at your sleeve. Kyle's steps audible behind you. The bedroom waits. Stale air. Ghost—he's lying on his stomach the way you left him, but a smother of something sticky glistens on his back. 

"Honey," Blue mumbles, wincing as she lowers on the bed. "Ari... he found a hive. I was just about to put clean bandages, too. It helps, right?"

"Not as much as this should help."

Kyle begins lifting him.

"He was up for a bit, but he was... talking weird," Blue whispers as you kneel at Ghost's side, fight the shake in your hand to unscrew the cap. "He asked if you were sleeping outside—like, out loud, to himself. Then he kept saying ‘sparks’ and ‘Washington.’ Do you know what that means?"

The words barely register anything but confusion and the fact that he is even worse. It's Kyle who answers under his breath. "No clue." His gets Ghost upright without disturbing his wounds, steadying a hand at the back of his skull. 

When your thumb presses at his bottom lip, the dry, cracked skin resists. As you try to pry it apart, his eyes flicker open—unfocused. Dilated pupils shift to yours.

"I need you to open," you whisper around the tightness in your throat. "It's amoxicillin. We've got it."

Overgrown hair clings to his forehead, thick and unruly. Sharp stubble scrapes your hand as you try again to open his mouth. Labored breaths hit your knuckles, unnervingly hot, along with a release of words he murmurs through his teeth. "There you are... again. 

Your teeth graze your cheek. "Here I am. Now open, please."

He does—barely. The chalky pill makes it to his tongue. The rest blurs.

Waking up on edge is nothing new.

At first, you keep your eyes shut—squeezing them until the backs turn red. Then, true consciousness jolts through your limbs, setting a heavy heartbeat between your ears. Light floods your vision. Soft cheeks. Pink lips, pursed. Brows knitted tight.

"You make the strangest faces in your sleep sometimes."

"I..."

"Water?"

"Please," you croak.

Pins and needles prickle your fingers as you lift your head. A mug presses to your blistered lips, gentle fingers stroking the greasy hair at your temple. The gulp of water almost makes you moan. You're ready to down the entire things until it's pulled away.

"You're gonna throw up again if you keep going."

You lick your lips. "What?"

"You've been passed out for two days," Blue explains. "Except for when we tried to get you to eat and drink, but that was a fucking struggle. Nereida says you overworked yourself. Not enough sleep and water can kill you, you know." Her brow arches. "I told you not to do anything stupid, but I guess you've been doing that."

Two days.

You inhale through lungs that feel primitive. 

"He—"

"Before you ask, yes. We've been giving him the meds. Morning and evening. His fever finally went down last night. He's been out since."

Your eyes finally drift to the other side of the bed. A steady rise and fall presses warmth into the sheets. You scramble up, reaching over—his cheek meets your palm, warm, but not alarmingly so. Normal, almost. A faint flush dusts his skin, the color creeping back in. His back is freshly bandaged, but his eyelids still bear the violet tinge of exhaustion.

"It's helping." The words press into your teeth. 

The rest of the day passes in gentle fragments. 

A bowl of fire-braised beef pressed into your hands. You eat without tasting, slow chewing through lush fat, while Price and Kyle pore over a more detailed almanac they found in the house. The food settles heavy, to the point of discomfort, but stays down. 

Later, you wade into the creek with Nereida. She was the one who changed you while you were out—scrubbing the dirt from your legs, tucking fresh towels and a new pair of underwear beneath you. You only realize she added rosemary when a sprig falls out as you undress.

You listen to her talk. You don’t tell her about Salome. No. You keep it to yourself. The water is warm. At first, you don’t feel it. But as it swallows your shins and carries away ribbons of dried blood, the gentle current soothes, taking the edge off the sun, which turns the rocks along the bank scorching hot. Birds call from the trees—you don’t know what kind. Worm-like minnows tickle your sore toes.

Back at the house, you sit on the porch to wring out your hair. You catch Ari carrying Blue through the garden, her head tucked against his shoulder, bandaged feet dangling over the arm that hooks under her knees. They whisper about something. His steps are slow, pausing by a beautiful patch of flowers that, apparently, smell rancid by the way she leans in and recoils, making a face. When you look away, Kyle is staring at you across the grass as he hangs strips of beef over a tree branch to dry. 

You should thank him. For not letting you do the stupid thing alone. But instead, you shift your gaze to the sun and watch its slow descent on your own, studying the way it casts an orange glow across the wild growth. It's the sudden assault of dark clouds that send everyone inside. A summer rain that bursts down without warning, without mercy. 

It hasn't relented by the time you fix a bowl of meat for Ghost. He has yet to ingest anything but bone broth and some plum juice according to Blue and Nereida. You chew off little pieces of the least fattiest parts into a bowl and give it to Blue. You go with her to feed him but stop short, keeping your distance. You simply watch from across the room as he manages to sit up on his own despite swaying, brushing away Price's helping arm, and chewing slowly with great effort. His eyes, focused and clear, flit upward to yours. You hold them for a moment, until the pull in your chest turns intolerable, and you look down at his bandaged shoulder instead. 

"Tastes good?" Blue murmurs, brushing the hair from his forehead.

He hums. 

"How do you feel?"

He swallows, then lifts a hand to her hair, thumbing at it. "Young again."

She places her hand over his, biting a smile. "You're so annoying."

She wipes at her eyes. 

Instead of easing, the rain intensifies as the night deepens. Distant thunder rolls closer, flashing into overhead lightning that only sharpens your edge. Blue spends the night with Ari in the living room, where Kyle helped them set up a small fort of blankets and pillows—a small distraction, but one she could use. It takes a nudge from you to push past her hesitation, to convince her it’s okay to leave Ghost’s side, just for a little while.

"It's good to have some space, if you need it."

That leaves you alone in the bedroom with him. He knocked out again after eating. You redo his bandages, relieved to find the wounds free of pus. New scabs have begun to form, fragile but promising.

But you can't lay down. You try—perch at the edge of the bed, press your palms into the mattress—then you're back on your feet.

The walls feel too close. The air too thick. His steady breathing should ground you, should ease something inside you, but it doesn’t. The storm is unyielding, pressing against the house, rattling the windows. It drives your nails into your palms, into the raw skin around them. A string ties itself around your ankles, pulling one foot in front of the other until you're in the hallway, hand blindly skimming the wall to guide you to the spiral staircase.

Upward.

The library. You don’t even realize you’ve come here until you freeze at the top of the stairs, staring at the wreckage left behind by your hands. Books lie scattered across the floor, pages severed and crumpled. A curtain rod rests askew, displaced in the quiet ruin.

When you finally move, it’s a mindless ordeal. The motions of putting the room back together—guided only by the stray flash of lightning—steal any thoughts before they can form. You kneel, gently stacking books against your chest, slotting them one by one back onto the oak shelves. Embellished spines offer familiar titles, even in French. A lot of Jane Austen.

"No Hemingway, huh?" you whisper, swiping a finger through the blanket of dust before bending for more books. You reach the last shelf, lips twitching. "I'm fixing you. Happy now?"

Of course, no answer. Only the faint slide of leather against the wood. 

He’s in the room before you notice.

The presence registers as a skim along the back of your neck.

But you don’t turn, hand freezing after you release Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, then dropping limp at your side. You know it’s him. You feel it in the shift of the air, the weight of it settling differently around you. More so in the slow, deliberate footfalls, each one measured, as if testing the ground. And if none of that gives him away, the warmth of his breath—heavy, uneven—spilling over your scalp does. It sinks into your skin when he reaches you, winds through your veins, curls your toes against the floor until they hurt.

You try to inhale, but the breath snags, fracturing in your throat. "You shouldn’t be up."

"I shouldn't."

His hand lifts, knuckles skimming the flannel draped over your frame before grazing your neck with a slow, unhurried sweep of his thumb. It trails down your arm, pausing at the last book in your grasp. He takes it from you—or maybe it slips from your weak grip. You can't tell.

With a deep breath, he reaches the shelf above you. The book doesn't fit at first, his hand unsteady, struggling to align it. A final rough shove of his knuckles forces it into place. He’s close. You knew he was, but now his scent wraps around you—mossy, salty, earth that you fall face-first into. His chest skims your spine. An elbow grazes your ear as he finishes.

And then he turns you.

His fingers curl around your shoulder, guiding you until you're facing him. Your feet slide to follow, reluctant and all too willing. Storm-filtered light catches on the sharp cut of his jaw, casting it in shadow. You brace yourself. An unformed breath fills your chest. You're unable to meet his eyes—though you feel them, tracing every inch of your face.

Wordless, he takes hold of your wrist. You don’t understand why until he cradles it in his rough palm, between your chests. His chapped lips lower to the tail-end of the healing cut, light enough not to stir pain.

His lips move.

But you don't.

It's as if every function of your brain is funneled into the nerves beneath each kiss he trails up your forearm. Soft, unwavering, yet each one lingering for a beat longer than the last. The next one lands at the crease in your elbow. A breath finally rushes out of your nose when he reaches the top of your shoulder, close enough to the pounding artery in your neck to invite heat over your cheeks. A strange heat. The same temperature of the moisture that begins to cloud your vision. 

You tremble. "Ghost, I—" 

You make a last-ditch effort to clutch the hem of his jeans before your knees can waver, his mouth finding your throat. He kisses the part of it that bobs. Then pulls away just enough to cup your face between his hands, forcing your gaze to his. What you are met with is twin, black eyes. They unnerve you. Like the ground beneath your feet, it feels like they might swallow you whole and spit you out. 

You can't breathe. The shaking is uncontrollable. Rapid blinks dispel the moisture in your eyes before you're gasping, pressing into him. "Please... please. Ghost, I—" you choke, "Please, I just—"

You sound scared, even to your own ears. Like you might get hurt if you he doesn't give you what you're asking for. But you don't know what you're asking for—don't understand why the soft kisses he places on your forehead and cheeks feel like too much and not enough at the same time. You clasp his wrist to pull his hands off your face, nails piercing into the skin there. He allows it—you hurting him—even when almost his entire upper half is swathed in bandages. 

"You're shaking," he murmurs.

"I'm fine." You exhale, but it’s uneven, shaky in its own right. "I just need—"

His thumb presses under your chin in attempt to still you.

A swallow forces down the lump in your throat. The ghost of an inhale. Then you lunge, kissing him. Not gentle or hesitant. But with a desperate growl, bursting forth from your mouth into his, your hand threading into his hair and holding tight onto his skull.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ cola ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ professor!cho sang-woo x student!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this story, lolita!

˚ ༘♡ “you do understand that you are at risk of failing my course?”

˚ ༘♡ his words were severe, piercing through the tense air that had settled in his office. you stared at him, your gaze unfocused, the potency of his question sinking into your chest like a stone. seated in the small, uncomfortable chair across from his grand, imposing desk, you crossed one leg over the other, attempting to appear composed. your white leather handbag rested neatly against the chair’s legs, pristine and pale as a dove’s feather.

˚ ༘♡ it had been over a month since the two of you reached an agreement, a fragile truce cloaked in professionalism. the night you’d spent together was supposed to be a foolish mistake, forgotten and buried in the haze of poor judgment. neither of you could have known then that he would become your professor. he had laid down the rules with uncompromising clarity, no favoritism, no special treatment, no room for the past to bleed into the present.

˚ ༘♡ but now, here you were, falling behind in his financial accounting course. the missed quiz sat akin to a scar on your grade, its damage too significant to ignore. his syllabus had warned that quizzes could not be retaken under any circumstances, and yet you’d convinced yourself, naively, that he might display some leniency.

˚ ༘♡ “i am extremely sorry, professor,” you began, your voice soft, trembling slightly as you forced yourself to meet his dark eyes. “if i could get an extension…”

˚ ༘♡ “you read and signed the syllabus.” his interruption was calm but firm, a knife cutting through your plea. “i made myself clear, i don’t offer extensions.” he adjusted his glasses, the subtle motion punctuating the finality of his statement. his expression didn’t change, disappointment etched into every line of his angular face. “you’ve been a good student up to this point. i’d suggest you figure out what’s so detrimental to your focus and take care of it, if you wish to pass.”

˚ ༘♡ you swallowed hard. “yes, professor,” you managed, your voice barely audible, laced with a strained somberness. his reputation preceded him, after all, a man known for his rigorous standards and his unwillingness to tolerate mediocrity. you knew this going in, yet it didn’t lessen the weight of your failure or the anxiety clawing at your mind.

˚ ༘♡ his expression softened ever so slightly, the harsh lines of his face easing just enough to reveal a touch of humanity beneath the austere exterior. he let out an exasperated, frustrated sigh, the sound slicing through the silence. it was as if he was mulling over the cost of displaying leniency. “while i don’t typically offer extensions,” he began, his voice measured, “if you have a viable and genuine reason for your recent poor performance, i might consider granting you the opportunity for an extra credit research assignment.”

˚ ༘♡ your pulse quickened at the unexpected offer. professor cho was notorious for his unyielding policies. there were whispered stories from upperclassmen, students who had been hospitalized, grappling with extenuating circumstances, only to be met with his stony refusal to accommodate. yet here he was, extending a tree branch.

˚ ༘♡ you swallowed, steadying your voice. “you may have noticed my absence last week,” you began cautiously. “my cousin was deathly ill. we thought…” you hesitated, feeling the anguish of the words threaten to pull you under. “we thought she might not make it. i flew out to be with her. since her father passed, it’s been difficult for her, and i needed to ensure she would be okay.”

˚ ༘♡ the words hung in the air between you, solemn and grave. his brow lowered, and for the first time, there was something distinctly human in his expression, sympathy. “i’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice low and uncharacteristically gentle. “that must have been difficult. it was good of you to be there for her.”

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, biting back the emotion threatening to surface. speaking about it felt like peeling open a wound, and you knew if you lingered on it too long, the sadness would overwhelm you again. instead, you returned to the topic of your grade. “about the extra credit opportunity?”

˚ ༘♡ he straightened his posture, nodding as if grounding himself back into his usual composure. “i’ll email you the details tonight,” he said. there was something different in his tone now, something softer, almost resigned. he was still the same cold, stern professor, but the edges seemed less sharp, his demeanor less impenetrable. “while i encourage you to work hard to improve your grade, don’t push yourself to the point of exhaustion. it’s not worth your health.”

˚ ༘♡ “thank you, professor cho,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. there was an implicit closeness in the exchange, an understanding neither of you seemed willing to fully acknowledge. it stayed like the light fragrance of a fading perfume, delicate and undeniable.

˚ ༘♡ you stood, gathering your bag and clutching it tightly. “i need to study for my literature class, but i’ll see you in class tomorrow,” you said softly. his eyes fixed on you for longer than expected, and then he nodded.

˚ ༘♡ as you left, offering a quiet farewell, you felt the faintest surge of something indescribable descend upon you, something that shifted in the space between professor and student, something that felt too intimate to name.

˚ ༘♡ two weeks had come and gone, and true to your word, you’d submitted the assignment, a meticulously detailed research paper on fiscal dealings across the globe. the effort had paid off. your grade was inclining upward, slowly but surely, and on the surface, everything seemed normal. but there were little things. professor cho remained as strict and unemotional as ever, but you started noticing the subtleties, a fleeting glance your way during a lecture, the brief, almost imperceptible hesitation when his hand brushed yours while returning a graded paper.

˚ ༘♡ you told yourself it was nothing, but you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered.

˚ ༘♡ professor cho was notorious for his exacting demeanor, but his reputation among female students extended beyond academics. it was no secret that many found him attractive, with his handsome features and reserved, enigmatic demeanor. you couldn’t pretend you weren’t one of them, he had caught your eye that night at the bar for a reason. you found yourself wondering, late at night when your thoughts strayed, if the feeling was mutual. after all, he had approached you. was it something about your appearance that had lured him in, something that loomed in his thoughts to this day?

˚ ༘♡ but such thoughts were dangerous, unspoken truths that stayed locked in your chest. they had to be.

˚ ༘♡ the winter garden was breathtaking, blanketed ina stunning layer of snow and shimmering frost. the air was crisp, and the sun burned low in the cerulean sky, casting pale light through the bare branches. you presided over your notebook on a weathered bench, furiously scribbling notes. the beauty of the scenery was lost on you, though, your fingers were stiff and red from the cold, your thin off-the-shoulder sweater and linen pants doing nothing to ward off the icy air.

˚ ༘♡ you shivered as you turned the page, and it wasn’t until you heard the crunch of footsteps on the frozen ground that you looked up.

˚ ༘♡ there he was, professor cho sang-woo, standing just a few feet away. he was wrapped in a dark wool coat, the kind of warmth you could only envy in your current state. the sight of him made your breathing quicken, not because of the cold, but because of that familiar, quiet intensity in his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ “good afternoon,” he greeted, his tone even but unmistakably aware of your predicament. his eyes flicked to your frostbitten nose and hands before meeting yours again. “isn’t it a bit cold to be studying outside?”

˚ ༘♡ you laughed lightly, trying to conceal your embarrassment. “good afternoon, professor cho,” you replied. “i didn’t check the temperature before leaving, and now i’m deeply regretting it.”

˚ ༘♡ he studied you for a moment longer, his expression indistinct. “you should be more mindful,” he murmured, the severity in his words softened by something unexpected, worry.

˚ ༘♡ before you could reply, he shrugged off his overcoat, stepping forward to drape it over your shoulders. the fabric was heavy and luxurious, and you went still under the weight of both the gesture and the coat.

˚ ༘♡ “you’ll catch a cold like this,” he said simply, his tone quieter now, bordering on gentle.

˚ ༘♡ the gesture was so unexpected, that you found yourself at a loss for words for a minute. “thank you,” you managed, your voice barely audible. his coat carried the faded scent of cedar and winter air, and it wrapped around you like a shield against the biting chill.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t say anything else, just nodded slightly, his hands slipping back into his pockets as he took a step back. there was an indication of something in his expression, apprehension, maybe even tenderness, but it was gone before you could be sure.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t stay out here too long,” he said, his voice earnest but laced with a near imperceptible softness.

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll leave once i finish this set of notes…” you replied, your words fading as you motioned toward your notebook, “and your coat…”

˚ ༘♡ he interrupted swiftly, “you can return it whenever it’s convenient. i’ll be in my office.” his gaze intent on you for a vanishing instance before he nodded, “i’ll see you another day.” with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you without a chance to say goodbye.

˚ ༘♡ later that evening, your friends noticed the coat neatly placed over your chair. its rich wool and vintage style drew immediate attention and flattering compliments with a sliver of buried envy.

˚ ༘♡ “where’d you get such a nice coat?” one of them asked, interest noticeable in her bright eyes.

˚ ༘♡ “it belonged to my grandmother,” you lied effortlessly, your fingers brushing over the fabric as though it held some sentimental value. “it was passed down to me.”

˚ ༘♡ another friend, a male peer a couple of years older than you who had taken professor cho’s business class and failed it with bitter resentment, narrowed his eyes. “doesn’t professor cho have a coat like that?”

˚ ༘♡ his remark was one you found unwelcome and unnerving, yet no one seemed to pay him any mind. the conversation shifted quickly, much to your relief, as another friend launched into a tirade about her recent breakup. the focus was off you, and you exhaled silently, grateful for the distraction, but sorrowful for your close friend, her tragedy might have saved you the risk of suspicion.

˚ ༘♡ the next morning, when the campus was still quiet, you made your way to his office. you’d waited until you were confident he wouldn’t be there, unwilling to face him directly. the coat, carefully folded, was left on personally corner of his desk. a small note, written in your neat handwriting, sat on top, that read, “thank you for your kindness. it meant a lot.”

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated for a short while, staring at the note as if it might reveal too much. shaking your head, you placed it down and stepped back. the idea of thanking him in person felt too vulnerable, too revealing. you didn’t want to seem like some hopelessly infatuated girl, clinging to a singular polite act.

˚ ༘♡ with one last glance, you left his office, closing the door gently behind you. the feeling of the coat’s absence left you oddly empty, as though something intangible had been exchanged and lost.

˚ ༘♡ classes carried on as they always did, predictable in their routine but ridden with an undercurrent of tension you couldn’t quite shake. professor cho remained his ordinary self, strict and distant, but there were still those instances. quick eye contact that went on longer than it should have, the almost indistinguishable way his presence seemed to stretch when he was near you, as though tethered by something unsaid. you tried to dismiss it, to focus on your coursework, but the effort felt futile. those small gestures, though subtle, clawed at the foundation of your concentration.

˚ ༘♡ after a grueling day filled with back-to-back classes, your body ached with exhaustion, and all you wanted was a some peace and quiet. but as you packed your things to leave, your male friend, the same one who had failed professor cho’s course, caught up with you in the corridor. his persistence was palpable as he asked if he could speak to you in private. you tried to make an excuse, desperate to avoid the interaction, but he was relentless, and eventually, you agreed with a sigh.

˚ ༘♡ the conversation quickly turned to something you had been dreading. he asked you out, his attitude bordering on arrogance, as though he had already assumed your answer would be yes. you weren’t naive, you’d known for months that he was interested. he was a close friend of your best friend’s ex-boyfriend and had made it no secret, pestering them both to set the two of you up.

˚ ༘♡ but you couldn’t stand him. his cocky demeanor scraped on your nerves, and his delinquent mindset made you wary. still, you tried to let him down gently, choosing your words carefully, hoping to soften the blow.

˚ ༘♡ it didn’t work. his reaction was immediate and venomous, his face twisting in anger. “you’re such a stuck-up bitch,” he spat, his voice loud enough to turn a few heads in the hallway. the insult stung more than you’d expected, the words cutting into your already frayed composure.

˚ ༘♡ you stood motionless for a lasting minute, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, but the day’s troubles was too much. without another word, you turned and stepped away, the sound of his muttered curses chasing after you. the hallway blurred around you as the first tears fell, hot and unwelcome.

˚ ༘♡ by the time you stepped outside, the sky had descended into night, a blanket of stars casting a faint glow over the campus. the moonlight illuminated your tear-streaked face, streaks of black mascara smudged against your skin. you felt exposed and disheveled, a physical manifestation of your unraveling emotions.

˚ ༘♡ your goal was simple, get to the bus station and back to your dormitory as quickly as possible. the cold night air bit at your cheeks, making you wish you’d brought a scarf. but as you reached into your bag for your phone, your stomach dropped. it wasn’t there.

˚ ༘♡ a terrible realization hit you all at once, you must have left your belongings behind in the linguistics lecture hall. a frustrated sigh escaped your lips, mingling with the frosty air. it was the last thing you wanted to deal with after everything, and with your instructor having left, the classroom was locked with your belongings inside.

˚ ༘♡ to your dismay, as you approached the bus stop, you saw him, professor cho sang-woo, of all people. he must have been leaving after a long evening of grading in his office. he was standing by the curb, pulling out a cigarette from a silver case with the same precision he seemed to handle everything. you didn’t move, debating whether to turn away and avoid the humiliation of being seen like this, but it was too late. he flicked his lighter, the small flame briefly illuminating his sharp features, and as he tucked it back into the pocket of his blazer, his gaze caught yours.

˚ ༘♡ he paused, taking a drag from his cigarette. the glow of its ember reflected faintly in the dark, cold night. “what happened? are you alright?” his voice, as steady as ever, carried a thread of concern that you hadn’t expected.

˚ ༘♡ you tried to gather some semblance of serenity, forcing a weak smile through your tears. “we keep running into each other,” you said lightly, though your voice struggled under the burden of your emotions.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t smile back. instead, he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your tear-streaked face and the faint smudges of mascara under your eyes. “you’ve been crying,” he said.

˚ ༘♡ you quickly wiped at your face with your sleeve, but he stopped you with a quiet, “don’t.” reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, one you recognized, he often used it to polish his glasses. he held it out to you, his actions strangely tender.

˚ ༘♡ “i won’t press for details,” he said, his voice low, “but seeing you out here like this… it’s troubling for me.” a faint cloud of smoke curled from his lips as he spoke.

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated, gripping the handkerchief in your hands. the fabric was soft, clean, and smelled faintly of cedar and the faint musk of his cologne. “it’s nothing,” you mumbled, dabbing at your face. “i just… i left my purse in class. it has my phone, my bus pass, everything. and then this guy, he’s supposed to be my friend, pulled me aside earlier and asked me out. after i said no, he got angry, started yelling. said some awful things.”

˚ ༘♡ you bit your lip, your voice quivering, but you managed to add his name, the words feeling loathsome on your tongue.

˚ ༘♡ professor cho’s jaw tightened slightly, his composure cracking just enough to show his displeasure. “what an asshole,” he muttered, taking the cigarette from his lips and exhaling a sharp plume of smoke. the unexpected vulgarity caught you off guard. you’d never heard him speak so bluntly, so unguarded. “i remember him. he was in my class last year. didn’t turn in a single assignment, barely showed up. he is not the sort of young man you’d want to associate with.”

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t help it, you laughed, a hushed, strained sound that carried genuine amusement. his lips curved slightly, pleased that he’d managed to lighten your mood, even if just for a second.

˚ ༘♡ he tilted his head, studying you carefully. “you said you left your bus pass in your purse?”

˚ ༘♡ you nodded.

˚ ༘♡ he considered this for a minute before saying, “if you’d like, i can drive you back to your dormitory. it’s not far, and I know the route. my car’s in the faculty lot.”

˚ ༘♡ you blinked at him, startled by the offer. “really? you’d do that?”

˚ ༘♡ “it’s nothing,” he said simply, extinguishing his cigarette against the edge of a trash can and tossing the burnt end away. “you shouldn’t have to wait out here alone like this.”

˚ ༘♡ “thank you,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze with gratitude.

˚ ༘♡ he nodded and motioned for you to follow. as you walked beside him toward the faculty parking lot, the night air seemed a little less cold, the distress of the evening a little lighter. there was something strangely comforting about his presence, a stability that made you feel, if only for this night, that everything may be okay.

˚ ༘♡ his car was sleek, an understated black sedan that gleamed faintly under the dim glow of the parking lot lights. it exuded the same quiet sophistication as its owner. he walked ahead, opening the passenger door for you without a word, his demeanor calm but his eyes flickering with a subdued concern. you slid into the seat, the soft leather cool against your skin, and he closed the door gently before circling around to the driver’s side.

˚ ༘♡ the drive back to your dormitory was steeped in silence. the hum of the engine filled the void, rhythmic and constant, a soothing backdrop to your turbulent thoughts. though you kept your eyes fixed on the road ahead, you could feel his gaze darting toward you every so often, quick glances meant to check on you without drawing attention. your tears had stopped, but your face still bore the evidence of them, smudged mascara, blotchy redness, a weariness you couldn’t quite hide.

˚ ༘♡ when he finally pulled into the dormitory parking lot, the rows of empty cars seemed ghostly in the faint moonlight. he parked smoothly, the stillness settling in the air as he turned off the engine. for a brief period of time, neither of you moved.

˚ ༘♡ he stepped out first, rounding the car to open your door once more. you followed, the cold night air pricking at your skin as you stood beside him. his posture was relaxed, but there was an unspoken tension between the two of you.

˚ ༘♡ “are you sure you’ll be alright?” he asked, his voice low and sincere, though his eyes searched yours for any trace of uncertainty.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “i will. thank you, again. for everything.”

˚ ༘♡ your gaze locked with his then, and right then, the world around you seemed to fade. the misery of the evening, the lingering emotions, and the vulnerability you felt collided into a singular, reckless impulse. before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t pull away. instead, his hands rested lightly on your arms as he kissed you back, his movements slow and deliberate, almost tender. the passionate embrace stretched, suspended in time, filled with affectionate understanding and the quiet ruination of boundaries you had both carefully maintained until now.

˚ ༘♡ when you finally parted, you stared at each other in silence, breaths mingling in the frigid, icy air. the reality of what you’d just done lingered between you, an unspoken acknowledgment of the line you had crossed, the agreement broken. and yet, there was no regret in his eyes, and you felt none in your chest.

˚ ༘♡ he cleared his throat, his voice measured but somewhat huskier than usual. “i’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

˚ ༘♡ a soft smile spread across your lips, gentle but laced with something deeper. “i will,” you replied.

˚ ༘♡ as he walked back to his car, you turned toward the dormitory entrance, your heart ached with something bittersweet. you knew everything had changed, even if neither of you would speak it in words.

a/n: part two of my professor cho sang-woo series!!! please let me know your thoughts or if you have any requests!! i plan to continue this series, but i am also considering doing a zombie apocalypse sang-woo fanfiction and maybe one where he is the reader’s boss!! 🤍

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 𝓣rouble , 𝓓aniela 𝓐vanzini i know you felt something too.

─── 𝓣he annual sunnyvale vs. shadyside football game is always a disaster—violence, chaos, and spilled blood. but this year, when you laid eyes on daniela avanzini across the field, you don’t expect to fall for the woman—sunnyvale’s golden girl and the new cheer captain. she’s taken, off-limits, and from the wrong side of town. luckily, you’ve never been one to follow the rules. and hey, who were you to deny a challenge?

❝𝓯orbidden from the beginnin', i saw her there, up there. 𝓫een like that since i met her, they said i couldn't have her.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. cheerleader!daniela avanzini x bandkid!f!reader ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff wc. 5738 (IM SORRY I YAPPED AND ACCIDENTALLY DRAGGED IT😭😭😭) a/n. this was lowk all over the place and yes ik this isnt what frank's trouble means but lets pretend for one minute okay cause this song fits the plot sb🙏 based this off the little rivalry from fear street cs it made it easier for me to actually have sumn to base it on. ALSO MY BAD FOR YAPPING IN THIS FIC. layout inspired asf by @ninguitar bro ur layouts r bomb asf never die blud💯 WE MISS YOU FRANK COME BACK HOME PLEASE😭😭😭 also i mightve kinda lowk gotten sidetracked from the og plot like i usually do so js ignore that pls THANK YOU🙏🙏 NOT PROOFREAD BTW😿

❝𝔀ay out of my league, i never believed it. 𝓰otta get her heart, i gotta make her mine.❞

"UGH, I’M GONNA SHOOT THOSE SUNNYVALE IDIOTS." chaewon grumbled beside you, voice thick with frustration. she adjusted her cheerleader uniform, fingers tugging at the pom-pom attached to her hand with a huff, her face twisted in an annoyed frown as she glared toward the sunnyvale side.

she shifted quickly, bumping into yunjin who mirrored her expression with a roll of her eyes and a sigh. both of them, in perfect sync, looked ready to explode.

"seriously," chaewon muttered, "i can’t believe they pulled that stunt again. they don’t get it—we’re here to win." she tugged the clasp tighter, her anger palpable.

yunjin crossed her arms, jaw tight. "they think they can always get away with this. not this time." she shot a glare at the sunnyvale fans, still jeering.

you scoffed, shaking your head. their optimism stung, but it didn’t change anything. you glanced at kazuha, absently fiddling with her hat. she sighed, furrowed brow, already worn out before the game even began.

"let’s be serious," you muttered, voice sharp. "we’ll lose, like always. they cheat, we lose, and no one bats an eye." the words felt bitter, but true. it was the same story every year.

the air thickened with frustration. no matter how hard the team fought, sunnyvale would pull some underhanded move, and the town would be left with nothing but the sting of defeat. 

kazuha’s gaze flickered to the field briefly, fingers tightening on her hat. you weren’t the only one who knew how this would end. it wasn’t about whether you’d lose—it was how much damage they’d do before the game even began.

“hey, am i tripping or is that asshole alison gone?” chaewon asked, her voice laced with confusion as she scanned the crowd, squinting to spot the familiar face that usually irked her.

yunjin side-eyed chaewon, eyes narrowing as she took in the empty space where alison would usually be. “holy shit, i think you might be right,” she said, her voice almost disbelieving. “did she finally quit? or is she hiding somewhere?”

before chaewon could respond, sakura appeared beside yunjin, walking up with eunchae. she gave them both a knowing nod, her tone casual but with an edge of satisfaction. “i heard she quit a week before the game and got replaced. no one even bothered to tell us until today.”

yunjin and chaewon exchanged a relieved look, the tension in their shoulders easing. “good riddance,” yunjin mumbled under her breath, her lips curling into a small, victorious smile. chaewon chuckled, shaking her head.

"who’s her replacement though?" you asked, furrowing your brows as your eyes scanned the field, searching for any signs of the new addition. 

“oh, y’know daniela avanzini? the mayor’s daughter?” sakura replied casually, her gaze drifting across the field. “she’s replaced alison, from what i gathered from yena.”

“i still can’t believe she left us,” chaewon grumbled, her voice thick with irritation. you could tell she hadn’t quite let go of the betrayal. your eyes continued to flick across the other side of the field, trying to pick out any unfamiliar faces among the crowd.

“wait, what does she look like?” you asked, still scanning for someone who might match sakura’s description.

“the latina one with her hair dyed blonde,” sakura said, pausing as if she were searching the field herself. “you’ll spot her standing with her asshole of a boyfriend.” she added with a knowing look. “they’re the ones practically glued to each other.”

you shifted your focus, eyes narrowing as you spotted the girl standing in the middle of the group, her hair almost glowing under the stadium lights. it didn’t take long to identify her—daniela, the mayor’s daughter, standing right next to a tall guy with a smug look on his face.

from across the field, she stands there like a dream—daniela. her blonde-dyed hair shimmers in the light, catching every flicker of the lights and casting a halo around her. it’s like she doesn’t even realize how effortlessly she pulls everyone’s attention, how her presence shifts the energy of the entire place.

you can hear her laugh, light and musical, cutting through the noise of sunnyvale’s own marching band. it’s soft, almost like a secret, yet somehow it fills the space around her. she stands so casually beside him, yet there’s something so magnetic about her, like the world just seems to bend around her, to gravitate toward her without effort.

and then, your eyes meet. just for a second, but it feels like an eternity. time slows, the stadium noise fades, and all you can see is her—those eyes, full of curiosity and something else, something playful, pulling you in.

yunjin glanced at you, noticing the sudden silence that blanketed the six of you, eyes roving all over your face before her face fell, and her palm met her face. “y/n, you can’t be serious.” she knew you too well.

gaze still trained on the latina who looked away from the other side of the field, you’d only snapped back to earth when yunjin shoved you hard enough to bump into the person in front of you, a hurried, hushed apology slipping past your lips. “fuck you, she’s pretty.”

chaewon eyed the interaction before a dramatic gasp fell from her lips, clutching her pom-poms to her chest. “no, absolutely not. she’s a sunnyvale brat!”

“please,” an exasperated sigh left your lips, a smirk already curling at the corners. “it’s not her fault she was born in sunnyvale. besides, i’m pretty sure she’d swing my way if she saw how hot i am.”

an amused laugh left sakura’s lips while the other three’s expressions were the complete opposite, eunchae nodding at the back in agreement with your words. “why the dude in the sky ever gave you this much confidence, i’ll never know.” 

you gave yunjin’s shoulder a nudge, winking at her playfully. “watch carefully, jennifer. i’m gonna steal her from her boyfriend. give me a few weeks.”

and as your eyes darted back out into the field to zone in on your town’s football players trickling into the grass, you could’ve sworn the latina shot you one last look before pulling away from her boyfriend.

“camp nightwing, my fucking ass. camp nightmare, more like.”

“give it a chance, chae.” you’d mumbled, hauling your bags into your cabin, the girls following suit with their own bags in hand, dropping them on the floor promptly as chaewon practically collapsed onto the lower bunk, sprawled out on the sheets like a starfish.

"you only say that because yena told you daniela’d be here too. otherwise, you'd be just as miserable as i am.” she retorted with a huff, cheeks puffing up while yunjin nodded in agreement, walking past you to claim the top bunk and chucking her duffel bag onto the mattress.

“oh, give it a break. i need somethin’ to distract me while i’m in this dump-”

chaewon shrieks, the sound piercing and high-pitched as she sat up on the bed and ran towards the door, jumping towards yena who poked her head in through the doorway, stumbling back as she struggled to support chaewon’s weight. “dude, what the fuck.”

you groaned at the sight of the two already giggling like children, shaking your head as you started to unpack, drowning out the chatter until yunjin perked up beside you, her eyes widening. just as you were about to ask what happened, a sweet, unfamiliar voice travelled through the cabin.

“yena? sophia’s looking for you. she’s calling a meeting for all camp counselors and—oh, you must be chaewon? yena’s talked a lot about you.” you whipped your neck around. it was a surprise you didn’t get whiplash, eyes zeroing in on the latina that stood awkwardly outside the doorway, catching a small glimpse of chaewon tensing up and unwrapping herself from yena, taking a step back.

yena nodded in response, glancing at the two before gesturing. “chaewon, meet daniela. daniela, meet chaewon.”

daniela stuck a hand out, a rather awkward, crooked smile curling on her lips. “hi, nice to finally meet you.”

surprisingly, chaewon took the handshake, nodding with her lips pressed into a thin line. “nice to meet you too.” she’d mumbled, before quickly letting go after a few moments, acting like daniela’s touch had burnt her.

yena exchanged glances with you, shaking your head as she nodded in understanding, choosing to stop the interaction before a whole war breaks out in your cabin. “well, i’ll see you guys later. we can catch up then.”

chaewon had shut the door after the two had left, turning around with a gobsmacked expression. “out of all the people yena had daniela shake hands with, she chose chaewon.” sakura’s comment earned a laugh.

it was the fifth day of camp when your mere stares and glances at daniela from the sidelines suddenly turned into her standing in front of you with a pleading expression, though playful— something you’d never have expected from a sunnyvale resident to give to a shadysider. her eyes, usually sharp and calculating bore into yours wide-eyed and glossy, and fuck, why does she remind you of a puppy now?

she blinks up at you expectantly, and wait a second, what did she want again?

to say you were sidetracked by this absolute beauty asking you to do god-knows-what would be an understatement, with the way your grip loosened around the plates you were cleaning after dinner, slipping from your hands if it weren’t for her voice pulling you back down to earth. “y/n?”

she knew your name? you cleared your throat, forcing yourself to tear your gaze away from her and back to the dishes you were tasked to clean, two more plates till you were finished. “uh, sorry. what were you asking again?”

daniela doesn’t pay much attention to your demeanour, beaming beside you. “i was asking you if you could possibly light up the campfire?”

your brows furrowed. the campfire? wouldn’t there be another camp counselor in charge of that? you glanced back at her as you finished the last plate, and with the way that she’d practically shapeshifted her eyes into that of a begging puppy’s, you were more than a hundred percent sure that she could ask you to do anything and you’d oblige more than happily.

“uh, sure. got a match?” she grimaces at the words that slipped from your lips, shaking her head.

“yeah, that’s the thing. you gotta light it from scratch. that’s why i asked you, actually. yena told me you were a girl scout and that you knew how to make fire.” her words pulled out a dreaded groan from your throat, leaning your hip onto the end of the counter as your eyes shut briefly at the mention.

“ugh, please don’t remind me of that.” your pained expression had her smile growing, amused.

“i think it’s cute—”

“let’s start that campfire.” you’d cut her off before she could say anything else, the tips of your ears already bright red as you walked past her, the latina trailing behind you. seriously, this is the first interaction that you’re having, and she already pulls that shit on you? you were not god’s strongest soldier. at all.

you grabbed a twig next to the campfire as you kneeled beside it and placed the twig on top of the dry leaves, rubbing the pointed end of the stick onto the leaves until black smoke started to erupt, giving it a little oxygen and watching it spread quickly around the campfire, wood crackling and spitting out red embers.

daniela stood a few steps away, leaning casually against a nearby tree, but her gaze never left you. there was something so effortless in the way you worked, your movements confident and smooth, as if starting fires were just second nature to you. the way you knelt, the slight flex of your muscles as you arranged the wood just so—it all made you look so... capable. so in control.

her breath caught for a second, a warmth rising in her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. she didn’t even realize she was smiling until she caught herself. your quiet determination, your ability to turn a few sticks into something powerful, was somehow the most magnetic thing about you. there was a raw, understated strength in you, and daniela couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“you’re good at that,” daniela finally said, voice soft, as if she were careful not to interrupt the rhythm you’d fallen into.

you glanced up briefly, a flicker of surprise in your eyes before a small, meek smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "thanks," you replied, focus unbreaking, but the slight quirk in your expression told daniela she knew exactly what was going through your mind.

"no, seriously," daniela continued, stepping a little closer, her voice a little lower, "it's... kind of impressive." there was something in her tone now, something deeper, that made you look up at her with a raised eyebrow.

daniela didn't shy away, meeting your gaze with a warmth that mirrored the flames now crackling between them. it wasn’t just the fire that had her attention. it was you—everything about you, from the way you worked with purpose, to the way you seemed to make everything look effortless. and, maybe, just maybe, that was a little too attractive.

“thank you—”

“can you two stop undressing each other with your eyes for a quick second and help me out here? i need more hands.” yena appeared out of thin air, a disgusted look on her face as she crossed her arms, chaewon following behind her as she’d mirrored the exact expression the woman beside her had the moment her gaze fell on the two of you.

“are you incapable of being normal, choi yena?”

it wasn’t until the next week that you noticed daniela hovering around you like a watchdog—always lingering nearby, arms crossed, brows furrowed like she was a detective tailing a suspect. she wasn’t even subtle about it. every time you so much as breathed, her sharp eyes flicked to you, narrowed in suspicion, as if you were plotting some grand crime right under her nose.

it was almost funny. almost.

yena, however, found it downright hilarious.

“so like, you went from admiring y/n to hating her?” yena suddenly popped up behind daniela, munching on a bag of chips she’d somehow smuggled in. she extended the bag toward the latina, who shook her head without even looking, too busy burning holes into the back of your head with her stare.

“who said i hated her?”

yena scoffed, mouth full. “dude, you’ve literally been staring at her like she personally slaughtered your entire bloodline. ask anyone.”

before daniela could retort, yena’s eyes lit up as she spotted manon walking past, her delicate fingers curling around the ghanaian’s wrist to pull her close.

“yo, manz,” yena called, jerking her chin toward daniela with a smirk. “hasn’t she been glaring daggers at y/n?”

manon hummed thoughtfully, lips pursed in faux contemplation before her mouth stretched into a slow, knowing grin. “y/n… oh, the cute one from shadyside?” she teased, her amusement only growing when daniela shot her a glare. “yeah, poor girl. hasn’t done a thing wrong and already gained herself a hater.”

daniela’s frown deepened, arms crossing tighter over her chest as she let out an exasperated breath. “okay, no—i was not glaring at her,” she huffed. “i was just… making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. y’know, since she’s from shadyside. and—”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. like you ever cared about that bullshit.” yena tutted, cutting her off with a dramatic wave of her hand. “let me stop you right there. because while you’re busy playing hall monitor with y/n, your actual problem is throwing hands outside.”

she pointed her chin toward the commotion outside camp, where daniela’s boyfriend was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown, shoving people like a rabid raccoon and flailing his arms around as if he was possessed.

manon groaned at the sight. “please, for the love of god, go handle that before mt. sophia erupts and we’re all dead.”

daniela clenched her jaw, eyes flickering from the scene outside to you, who were now happily minding your business like you weren’t the supposed criminal she’d been tailing all week.

she sighed. christ.

it was the third week when daniela approached you again, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt and dragging you away from the chaotic mix of shadysiders and sunnyvalers gathered in a circle, shouting over each other in some ridiculous game she hadn’t even bothered to figure out.

her perfectly-sculpted brows furrowed in a deep pinch as she pulled you along with a little more force than necessary. you barely had time to react before yena stepped right in front of the two of you, arms crossed like a bouncer at the entrance of a club. “now, now. where do you two think you’re going?”

daniela let out the most dramatic eye roll known to mankind, while you perked up behind her, a small, playful smirk dancing on your lips as you shot her a look that practically screamed, ‘leave it.’

yena, naturally, ignored it. because why would she ever leave something this juicy alone?

“it’s gonna be dark soon,” yena added, raising an accusatory brow at daniela.

daniela scoffed. “please, we’re just going to fetch firewood for the bonfire tonight.”

you blinked, tilting your head. “we are?”

daniela’s head snapped toward you, briefly faltering for half a second before composing herself. “yes,” she said, more forcefully this time, as if sheer conviction alone would make it true.

yena squinted between the two of you, clearly skeptical, before finally stepping aside. “whatever, just don’t get murdered,” she muttered.

daniela took that as her cue to bolt, practically yanking you behind her like a dog on a leash as she sped-walked toward the woods.

“wait—where are we actually going?” you asked, half-laughing as you stumbled along.

“i told you, we’re picking up firewood for tonight’s bonfire,” she repeated, like that somehow clarified everything.

you mused for a second, feigning deep confusion, then suspicion, before letting a teasing smile creep across your lips. “wait, you’re not bringing me out here to kill me, right?”

daniela huffed, barely sparing you a glance. “oh, please.” a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she added, “if i wanted to kill you, you’d be six feet under by now.”

“hot.”

she faltered mid-step. you grinned.

for the next twenty minutes, the two of you wandered through the clearing, picking up dry branches and twigs—well, you were picking up branches and twigs. daniela, on the other hand, was sneaking glances at you like it was her full-time job.

her gaze would linger a little too long when you bent down to grab a log, eyes flickering over the way your shirt clung to your back. she’d watch, mesmerized, as you absentmindedly chewed on the inside of your cheek, the curve of your lips doing things to her. and every time you caught her staring, you’d shoot her a knowing smirk that sent her into a spiral.

“y’know, if you keep staring at me like that, i might start thinking you like what you see,” you mused, tossing a stick onto the small pile you had gathered.

daniela scoffed, crossing her arms as if that would mask the warmth creeping up her neck. “i don’t.”

you hummed, not even trying to hide the amusement in your tone. “whatever you say, watchdog.”

she scowled. “you really don’t shut up, do you?”

“nope,” you grinned. “but don’t worry, i’m starting to think you like that about me.” you murmured, gaining confidence by every second that passed.

daniela groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she were suffering, but the ghost of a smile threatened to betray her.

before you could tease her further, a sudden, ear-splitting scream rang through the clearing.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING?!”

you nearly dropped the entire pile of wood as sophia, the head camp counselor, emerged from the trees like an angry cryptid, her hands on her hips and her expression one of pure exasperation.

daniela, ever the composed one—though she was internally screaming at getting caught—, simply crossed her arms. “fetching firewood,” she said flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

sophia looked seconds away from combusting. “THERE’S ALREADY TOO MUCH FIREWOOD. LIKE. WAY TOO MUCH. WE HAVE A WHOLE DAMN PILE BEHIND THE CABINS.”

you pursed your lips, glancing at daniela. she blinked. “…oh.”

sophia exhaled like she had just aged five years. “drop the sticks. go back to camp. now.”

daniela, ever the picture of grace, immediately turned on her heel and started walking back, as if she hadn’t just dragged you all the way out here for absolutely nothing.

you, however, lagged behind for a second, shaking your head with a chuckle before calling out, “well, at least we got some quality bonding time out of it, right, watchdog?”

daniela flipped you off over her shoulder.

but, even in the dim light of the sun setting, you could see the way her lips curled upward, just slightly.

the night air was cool against your skin as you stepped out of the cabin, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your feet the only sound in the stillness. you hadn’t been able to sleep—mind buzzing with thoughts, the stuffy warmth of the cabin making it impossible to get comfortable—so you figured a walk might help. maybe some fresh air. maybe—

your eyes caught on a figure near the dimly burning campfire, hunched slightly, shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. daniela.

she was sitting on one of the logs surrounding the fire pit, absentmindedly poking at the embers with a stick, watching as little sparks floated up into the night like tiny fireflies. her expression was unreadable, lit only by the soft, flickering glow.

something about it made you pause.

you weren’t sure what compelled you forward, but before you knew it, you were sinking onto the log beside her, close enough to feel the residual warmth of the fire, but not quite touching.

daniela barely reacted, only glancing at you briefly before returning her gaze to the flames.

“couldn’t sleep?” you murmured.

she huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “not really.”

silence settled between you, comfortable but heavy, like there was something waiting to be said. you watched the way she prodded at the embers, her usual sharp demeanor dulled at the edges, almost hesitant.

then, finally—

“i broke up with him,” she said, voice even, but lacking its usual bite.

you blinked, caught off guard for a moment. “your boyfriend?”

daniela let out another humorless laugh, nodding. “yeah.”

holy shit.

you schooled your expression, keeping your face neutral, but internally? you were fucking cheering.

“wow,” you said instead, keeping your tone light but careful. “that’s… a pretty big deal.”

she shrugged, eyes still fixed on the fire. “should’ve done it sooner. he was a jerk.”

there was a weight to her words, a quiet frustration, but more than that—relief.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, watching her carefully. “why now?”

daniela let out a slow breath, tapping the stick against the charred logs. “i don’t know,” she admitted. “maybe i got tired of pretending. maybe i realized that… i wasn’t really happy. or—” she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the stick. “—maybe i was just waiting for the right moment.”

you tilted your head slightly. “and this was the right moment?”

her lips pressed together, like she was debating whether or not to say something, before she finally turned her head to look at you. really look at you.

there was something different in her gaze—something softer, less guarded.

“yeah,” she said quietly. “i think it was.”

your chest tightened, warmth blooming in a way that had nothing to do with the fire.

you didn’t push for more. didn’t tease, didn’t pry. instead, you simply nudged your knee against hers, offering the smallest of smiles. “for what it’s worth, i think you made the right choice. i saw him always fighting with those camp counselors just to see you.”

daniela stared at you for a moment, then exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “of course you would say that.”

“what? i’m being sincere!” you placed a hand over your heart in mock offense. “i can be nice, y’know.”

she hummed, unconvinced, but her lips curled upward ever so slightly.

the two of you sat there for a while, the fire crackling softly between you, the night stretching quiet and still around the campsite. neither of you rushed to leave. neither of you wanted to.

and later, when you finally dragged yourselves back to the cabins, a quiet understanding settled between you—something unspoken but felt.

something that, after that night, made the space between you feel smaller than ever before.

it started off slow. so slow daniela barely noticed it at first.

the way her eyes lingered on you longer than they should’ve. the way she found herself gravitating toward you more and more, standing closer, brushing shoulders, stealing glances when she thought you wouldn’t notice. the way her stomach twisted whenever you smiled—at her.

it wasn’t like she hadn’t always looked at you. from the moment you stepped foot in sunnyvale wearing that ridiculous dark blue band uniform and met her eyes across the field, daniela had been watching.

but it was different now. before, her stares had been filled with scrutiny, laced with the tiniest bit of frustration at how easily you got under her skin. and now they were filled with something else entirely. something she wasn’t ready to name.

but then—

it was the last week of camp when everything clicked.

the bonfire crackled in the middle of the campsite, a golden glow illuminating the circle of campers gathered around, their faces alight with warmth and laughter. the air was thick with the scent of burning wood, mingled with the distant scent of pine and the lingering traces of marshmallows and chocolate.

and you.

you sat on a log, guitar resting against your lap, fingers plucking at the strings with practiced ease. the opening notes of a song filled the air, soft and familiar, and as soon as your voice joined the melody, daniela felt something shift in her chest.

"well, i guess you'd say…"

her breath caught.

"what can make me feel this way?"

her fingers curled into the fabric of her jeans, stomach twisting as your voice washed over her—gentle, soothing, captivating.

she couldn’t look away.

she wasn’t the only one enraptured—everyone else sat silently, listening intently, swaying slightly to the rhythm—but it felt like the moment belonged only to the two of you. like nothing else existed outside of the glow of the fire, outside of the space between you.

and then you looked at her.

your eyes met across the fire, something soft and knowing dancing in your gaze, and daniela’s heart stopped.

"my girl, my girl, my girl.”

she swallowed hard.

“talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl.”

because that was the moment.

the moment she realized she was completely, hopelessly, utterly in love with you.

not in the way she’d tried to convince herself she wasn’t. not in the way that was casual, fleeting, something she could shake off or push aside.

no—this was real. heavy and warm and terrifying in the best way possible.

her lips parted slightly, breath uneven, her entire body frozen in place as the song continued, the words wrapping around her like a confession she hadn’t even said out loud yet.

"that's all i can talk about is my girl."

you smiled. a tiny, knowing thing.

daniela looked away, suddenly overwhelmed, her hands clenching into fists to steady herself. but it was too late. she couldn’t unfeel it, couldn’t ignore the way her heart ached at the sight of you, couldn’t pretend this wasn’t real.

she was in love with you.

and for the first time, she wasn’t afraid to admit it—to herself, at least.

the kitchen was quiet except for the faint clatter of dishes and the distant murmur of campers outside. daniela wiped her hands on a dishtowel, tossing it onto the counter with a little too much force. yena, leaning against the sink, watched her with an insufferable smirk.

"so," yena drawled, crossing her arms, "you gonna say it, or do i have to spell it out for you?"

daniela shot her a glare. "say what?"

yena scoffed, shaking her head. "oh, come on. that you're in love with y/n."

daniela froze.

yena grinned, clearly savoring the moment. "you act like she’s just some shadysider you have to tolerate, but you’ve been following her around like a lost puppy. you literally sat through her entire song at the bonfire last night, staring at her like she hung the damn moon. and don’t even get me started on the way you look at her when she talks—like you're trying not to combust."

daniela scowled. "i do not look at her like that."

"oh, please," yena snorted. "you're like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

daniela groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "fine. okay. maybe i like her."

yena gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "maybe? babe, you're in love. in love love.”

daniela rolled her eyes. "oh, shut up."

"nah, this is huge," yena continued, grinning like she just won the lottery. "i mean, the infamous 'i don't need anyone that’s why i broke up with my boyfriend like i did with the others' daniela? falling for a shadysider? this is better than a romcom."

daniela huffed, turning back to the sink, hoping to ignore yena and the smug energy radiating off of her. but then—

"oh."

daniela froze.

yena’s eyes flickered past her shoulder, widening slightly before her smirk returned full force. “well. my cue to leave.” she grabbed her towel and promptly bolted out of the kitchen, leaving daniela alone to face the one person she really didn’t want hearing that conversation.

you.

you stood in the doorway, looking completely stunned, like you weren’t sure if you’d walked in on a confession or a crime scene, before leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted slightly in amusement. there was a flicker of surprise in your eyes, sure, but it was the kind that faded fast—like you were already settling into the idea, getting comfortable with it.

daniela’s heart was racing. she gripped the counter, trying to ground herself. “how much of that did you hear?”

you hummed, pretending to think. “enough to know that you think i hung the damn moon.”

daniela groaned, running a hand down her face. “kill me now.”

“mm, no can do. i kinda like knowing you have a crush on me.”

daniela gaped at you, and you took slow, measured steps forward, that teasing glint in your eyes growing.

"you know, i was so sure you hated me at first," you mused, tapping a finger against your chin. "but now—"

daniela glared, cheeks burning. "don’t."

"—now, i'm thinking you just didn’t know how to handle your feelings," you finished, grinning. "poor thing."

daniela exhaled sharply, pressing her lips into a thin line. great. just great. she wasn’t even supposed to tell you, let alone have you overhear it in the most humiliating way possible.

silence stretched between you, thick and unsteady.

you took a small step forward. “so… you like me?”

daniela swallowed. she could lie. brush it off. say it was nothing. but looking at you now—playful smile and teasing eyes full of mirth, the way you didn’t look completely horrified—she couldn’t.

so she inhaled deeply and nodded. “yeah. i do.” daniela let out a slow breath, feeling something warm settle in her chest the more you looked at her. your eyes contorting into one of adoration now. “so… what now?”

you smiled, still playful but genuine. “well, usually this is the part where we kiss.”

daniela’s breath caught. her eyes flickered to your lips before she could stop herself. “oh.”

you tilted your head slightly, a soft invitation, no pressure, just you. and for once, daniela didn’t overthink it. she just leaned in.

the kiss was slow, tentative—like testing uncharted waters—but when you sighed softly against her lips, daniela melted. she pulled you closer, her fingers curling at the hem of your shirt, your hands finding her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

the kitchen smelled like dish soap and pinewood, the campfire outside still crackling in the distance, but all daniela could focus on was the way your lips moved against hers, the way your hands felt warm against her skin, the way everything—everything—felt right.

when you finally pulled away, you were grinning, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“guess that settles it,” you murmured, eyes flickering between her lips and her gaze. “so worth the wait and dealing with that ex of yours who kept popping in and begging for you to take him back.”

daniela huffed out a small laugh, her forehead resting against yours and pushing you lightly, but you just laughed, grabbing her hand before she could pull away completely.

"and they said shadysiders couldn't have sunnyvalers. guess i'm just built different. i'm the ultimate sig—"

"shut that mouth if you want to keep me."

"ooh, demanding. i like that."

bonus!

yunjin gasped dramatically, a hand clasped up to her chest while chaewon stood frozen beside her with a horrified expression. “you are not dating her. you’re fucking with me. a sunnyvaler? you could do better.”

you scoffed. “she is better.”

“i mean, you’re a shadysider and she’s a sunnyvaler. not to mention, she’s the mayor’s daughter! how the hell are you going to make it work?!” chaewon exclaimed.

you waved the concern away as yena munched on chips at your bed. “oh please, you guys talk about that like it was supposed to stop me. besides, have you guys even checked the news? apparently, they’re gonna join sunnyvale and shadyside. so… what’s the problem now? i’ve got a rich gorgeous, goddess of a girlfriend and we’re no longer gonna be poor like we are. quality month.”

chaewon collapsed face first on the cabin floor.

“i told y’all, she’s gonna be my baby mama.” “i’m throwing you into the lake.” “wait, i can’t swim!”

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

masterlist.

[pholla-jm]

Comfort Me

IMAGINE: COMFORT ME ~ SUKUNA X WIFE!READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: set during the heian period. sukuna is a bit ooc. ~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing you noticed was that the room was dark, with no source of light around you. Your heart was beating incredibly fast and you felt like your heart was stuck in your throat. 

Your previous nightmare caused fear to settle into your every bone. 

You lift your hand, noticing right away that it was shaky. Searching for the one person you wanted to get comfort from. And you knew that he would give it to you. You were his wife after all.

Your lover, Sukuna, wasn’t in the bed with you. A small whimper leaves your lips as you sit up in the bed. You couldn’t see a single thing in front of you, but you knew the layout of your bedroom from heart. 

You scuffle across your bedroom, on a mission to find your husband. If he wasn’t in bed, then he would be in his throne room. Sitting on his throne, just pondering. You didn’t ask what he thought about at times during these, but it was best not to. 

You don’t usually bother him when he’s in there, but right now you really needed him. So with a deep sigh, you push open the door to the room. He was right where you expected to see him. 

Sukuna perks up when he hears the door open, ready to slice the person who dared to enter the room without his permission. However, he stops short seeing that it was just you, his queen. 

“What are you doing up?” He asks and immediately your bottom lip starts to tremble and the urge to just curl up against his chest while his arms hold you against him. 

“I…” You look down at slippers, feeling a bit nervous to say what you wanted to. What if Sukuna ridiculed you for reacting this way to a silly nightmare. 

However, it was quite the opposite to Sukuna. In his eyes, he found you… cute. He would never say that word out loud though. His wife, standing in front of him, wearing a cute nightgown with matching slippers. Hair a bit tousled from tossing and turning, and the way your bottom lip jutted out made him want to kiss your lips. 

“Tell me, what’s wrong my queen.” 

Sukuna spreads his legs, arms uncrossing to make himself look more inviting to you. 

“I had a nightmare…” you whisper. “Speak up. I can’t hear you from over there.” 

You shuffle over to Sukuna, “I had a nightmare.” You say again, louder so he could hear you. 

A tiny smirk plays on his face. He wanted to tease you more and make you say what you wanted him to do. But he thinks you already suffered enough. 

“Come here.” He says holding his arms out for you. You didn’t have to be told twice. You walk over to him, climbing into his lap. As soon as you sit in his lap, his arms enclose around you. Pushing you right into his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, beating against your ear and the warmth of his skin immediately calms your own racing heart. 

It was silent between the two of you for a little bit. Until Sukuna gets up, adjusting you so that he could carry you like a baby. “Where are we going?” You whisper. “Back to bed. I have to protect you from the nightmares.” 

You blush at his words, but still happy that Sukuna was comforting you. 

Sukuna’s steps were smooth, and you couldn’t even tell he was walking. Soon, the both of you are in the bedroom. He gets in the bed, not once dropping you or moving you from your position. 

Now the both of you were laying down in bed. All of his arms wrapped snugly around you and it is exactly what you needed. It felt like Sukuna was protecting you from everything that would hurt you. 

It was like the world outside melted away and it was just the both of you. 

It was perfect.

[saltcxrcle]

some blood and a feral grin ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: you need to clean up after a hunt, sam can help with that

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, canon level violence, blood, fluff, smut: shower sex, oral fem! receiving, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, aftercare word count: 5.3K a/n: new fic layout!! i was inspired by @rubyvhs for the new layout hehe! also a huge shout out to my irl friend nicole for being the inspiration behind this fic LOL enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3 sam winchester masterlist

MOONLIGHT FILTERED in from the stained windows high on the walls as the sounds of grunts and squelches echoed all around you. Your arms were poised above your head before they came down one last time—letting out a guttural scream deep from within you and then, there was nothing. 

Your ears were ringing from the abrupt silence, and your chest heaved heavily from exertion. The long dagger that was hidden in your boot was caked in blood as the body beneath you was mutilated beyond recognition. You slowly stood and picked up the machete that you had dropped earlier. Your body had come to an upright position from hovering over the headless vampire you killed moments ago. 

Your muscles were burning, and you could already feel a deep ache beginning to settle into your bones, but you ignored it. You took a deep breath and stretched, shaking out your arms as you tried not to wince at the pain in your sides. The coppery scent of blood and the musty air of the dilapidated warehouse filled your nose before exhaling with a small sigh. You trudged towards the front of the warehouse, maneuvering through some headless bodies that you had taken care of earlier. You could feel the sting of the cut on your forehead and the bruises forming on your ribs, but you continued your trek through the warehouse. 

It felt like forever, but once you made it through the front door of the building, a familiar black car pulled up in front of it. You couldn’t help the smirk on your face when the headlights turned off as you slowly approached the Impala. 

“I think you’re a little late to the party boys.” You teased as they looked at you with surprise filling their expressions. 

You saw how they looked you up and down, and you could only imagine what they were thinking as the Winchesters took in your appearance. 

Wayward strands of hair fell from your updo and into your face. Drying blood that soaked your clothes and smeared on your face. Your machete was held limply at your side as you waved at them with your bloodied dagger and shot them a crazed grin—the blood lust and adrenaline that had filled your veins had just barely receded as your body began to relax. 

Sam couldn’t help but stare at you in awe. He’d seen you covered in blood; it comes with the job, but the glint in your eyes was something that he had never seen before. He thought you were always beautiful, but seeing your hair askew and practically drenched in blood with the pale moonlight highlighting your features and making the wide smile that you had plastered on your face even brighter than usual—well, he felt something in him stir, something primal in him had awakened. Sam subtly adjusted himself, relieved that his lower half was covered by the open car door. He cleared his throat before averting his eyes to the warehouse you had just come out of. 

“You took care of the nest all by yourself?” Dean asked you, skepticism coloring his tone.

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh and nod as you slowly approached the two brothers. You finally reached the taller brother as Dean rounded the car and stood next to him. 

Sam crossed his arms and looked down at you, an unfamiliar look in his eye. “You, of all people, should know that was reckless.” He lightly scolded you as his gaze strayed from your eyes to the cut that was near your hairline. Sam had to resist the urge to brush over the injury—wanting to take your chin in between his fingers and scan for any more open wounds you may or may not have. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to sit on my ass like some damsel in distress and wait for you guys to come and save me.” You shrugged. “Besides, it was a few vamps. Nothing that I couldn’t handle myself.” You shot Sam a wink and a slight grin. 

Sam pursed his lips, trying not to smirk when you sent him the smug smile his way.  He shook his head and sighed. “Has anyone told you that you’re difficult?” Sam asked with a cocked head. 

“Plenty of times, by you and your brother.” You said cheekily before taking a step back. “But, as much as I want to continue this lovely conversation, I need a shower and some food. I’ll meet you boys back at the motel.” You told them as you slowly walked backward in the direction of your car. 

Dean gave you a thumbs up and walked to the driver's side of the Impala as Sam just shook his head again, letting the smile that he was holding back emerge on his face as he saw you turn around and continue walking to your car (his eyes definitely didn’t follow the way your hips swayed and trailed downward to see good your ass looked in the jeans you were wearing). 

Sam finally ripped his gaze away from you when he heard a comically loud cough come from Dean. Sam’s head snapped towards the driver's side of the car to see Dean raising an eyebrow at him. 

“You going to stand there and stare all night or can we get back to the motel so you can finally spill your heart out to her?” Dean asked with a knowing smirk on his face as he wagged his eyebrows at his little brother. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just get in the car,” Sam grumbled before opening his door. He didn't wait for a response from Dean, so he climbed into the Impala. 

Dean got in and started the car, the Impala erupting in a loud roar. Dean looked at Sam before driving. “You didn’t say no.” Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face and began to drive, pulling out of the gravel driveway of the warehouse and toward the direction of the motel where the three of you were staying. 

Sam glared at Dean but offered no retort—he wasn’t willing to dignify Dean’s taunting with a response (but he knew deep down that his brother was right, he didn’t want to hear the ‘I told you so’ comment from him because Dean would be annoying about it).  

Driving back to the motel was slower than you anticipated but you blamed it on the drying blood on your hands and jeans that restricted your movements (and it definitely wasn’t from the pangs of pain you felt coming from your ribcage). So it wasn’t a surprise to find the Winchester’s Impala parked in the lot of the motel. 

You pulled up next to their car, turned it off, and headed towards their room, which was coincidentally (not) next to the brothers. You quickly entered the room, not surprised by the sight of the Winchester brothers, having given them the spare key to your room two days before, sitting at the table near the kitchenette at the back of the room. 

It was comical how both Sam's and Dean’s heads snapped in the direction of the door, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the action. 

Dean got up from the chair, patting Sam’s shoulder in the process. “Great, she’s back! I’ll grab us some food.” Dean grabbed the jacket he shrugged off earlier and put it back on. 

“It'll be a while, I gotta make a beer run as well.” Dean said as he shot Sam a pointed look before shooting you a smile, brushing past you in the doorway and making his way to his beloved car. 

“But I have-” You were cut off by the slamming of a car door and the roar of the car. You looked back from the near-empty parking lot to look at Sam with a raised eyebrow, having noticed the look Dean shot him. 

“Is your brother okay?” You asked Sam as you moved further into the room, closing the door behind you. 

“I think he’s had one too many concussions to answer that objectively.” Sam kept his eyes trained on you as you moved through the room. 

You let out a laugh at Sam’s words. “Right, that was the wrong question to ask.” You peeled off your blood-soaked flannel, leaving you in a blood-stained tank top. You let down your hair before cracking your neck and letting out a small sigh of relief. 

You paid no mind to Sam, who was still sitting at the table, as you made your way to your duffle bag to grab some clean clothes before you went and showered the glaring red remnants of the hunt off of you. But as you rummaged through your bag for your pajamas, Sam had gotten up from his seat and silently made his way over to you. 

With your pajamas in hand, you turned around and jumped slightly when you saw Sam right behind you, blocking the path to the bathroom. 

“Sorry.” Sam looked a bit sheepish as he apologized. “You should probably clean that before you shower.” He gestured to the cut on your forehead. 

You cocked your head at him. “Wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose of a shower?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to clean it twice.” 

You huffed a small laugh through your nose. “I suppose.” You hummed out before maneuvering around Sam and making your way toward the bathroom. But before you make another step, you feel a warm hand wrap around your wrist, stopping you momentarily and making you look back at Sam. 

“Let me help.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I can do it myself Sam, I’m a big girl.” You joked. 

“I know.” Sam smiled. “But you took out the nest of vamps when we asked for your help, so this is the least I can do to repay the favor.” 

I know another way that you can repay that favor. 

You purse your lips, trying to shake that thought from being blurted out as you look at Sam. Earnesty shone in his hazel gaze. 

You sighed. “Fine, you can help even if it's a small cut.” 

Sam smiled at you again, and without letting go of your wrist, you led him into the bathroom. It was small, to begin with, but it barely fit you and Sam. It was clear that this room wasn’t designed with someone of Sam’s stature in mind (but then again most things weren’t made to fit 6’4 giant men). The door shut with a soft click as you placed your clothes on the closed toilet lid, and Sam grabbed the first aid kit you had stashed in the medicine cabinet. 

Sam grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack, dampened it with warm water from the sink, and gestured for you to stand in front of him. The two of you maneuvered around the bathroom so your back was facing the mirror and sink while Sam stood in front of you. 

“Can I…” He trailed off, his free hand hovering awkwardly in front of your face. 

You nodded, and he took your chin between his forefinger and thumb. You almost flinched at the feeling of the warm cloth brushing against the skin surrounding the wound. You were gripping the edge of the porcelain sink to resist any urge to touch Sam that may rise. 

You were looking at Sam as his eyes were trained on the cut, making sure he didn’t accidentally hurt you as he wiped away the dried blood, the white hand towel slowly being stained red. Sam was gentle with his movements, and it was soothing—your eyes fell shut on your own accord, leaning into Sam’s touch. 

With your eyes shut, Sam took the opportunity to really look at you. He was used to admiring you from afar, so this was his window to take in your beauty. The towel had strayed, no longer cleaning the blood from your forehead but now the rest of your face. There was blood splattered across your cheeks, nose, and lips. Sam wiped away the blood, and the towel lingered on your lips. 

You couldn’t help how your breath hitched slightly at the feeling of Sam’s touch on your lips. The towel fell from your face, and you opened your eyes to find Sam staring at you with an intensity that you’d never seen before. The air was charged around the two of you, and both of you started to lean towards one another. 

Sam’s gaze flicked from your eyes and lips rapidly, and his grip on your chin changed to span the length of your jaw—his thumb resting on your cheek. You let go of the sink to lightly grab his wrist and rest the other on his chest. The two of you were close enough to feel his breath fan over his lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” Sam whispered in the shared space between you. He felt like he was at the end of his rope when it came to giving in to his desires. 

Instead of responding, you brushed your lips over his, and before he pressed his lips against yours, you pulled back slightly with a teasing smile on your face.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight of yours, but he wasn’t having it with your teasing and dropped the towel he was still holding, gripped your waist, and pulled you into a passionate kiss.  

It felt like liquid-hot desire was injected into your veins when Sam pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was demanding and urgent like the world would end in the next five minutes, and all Sam wanted to do was devour you whole. 

You and Sam have always had this underlying tension since you met, but you have never acted on it because the cards never seemed to align for the two of you—until now. 

The edge of the sink dug into your lower back as Sam leaned into you. Your hands moved to wrap around his neck, pushing up on your toes to match the fervor that Sam was kissing you with. Sam’s hands moved down your body and stopped at your thighs. He lifted you up with ease and placed you on the porcelain surface. You let out a small yelp from the sudden change in position, and you felt Sam chuckle against your lips. 

Sam swiped his tongue at the seam of your lips, and you let him breach your mouth, tongues dancing with one another and letting the taste of him consume you. You felt his hands squeeze your thighs before dragging up your legs to the hem of your tank top, his hands slipping under the fabric and resting on your bare skin. 

You broke the kiss, pulling back as your lungs screamed for air, but Sam didn’t want to stop kissing you, so his lips trailed down your cheek to your jawline and led down toward your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. You let out a soft moan at the feeling. 

Sam couldn’t help but groan at the sound of your moan and the scent that overtook his senses. You smelt like musk and the coppery scent of blood, but he could smell the perfume that you usually wore. 

You managed to pull him away from your neck by grabbing some of the long hair at the nape of his neck. 

“As much as I want to continue this, I’m covered in blood and dying for a shower.” You said a little out of breath from the kiss/mini makeout session that the two of you shared. 

Sam’s slightly swollen lips formed into a pout, but he nodded in response. He went to move, but you grabbed the loops of his jeans before he could pull away from you completely. 

“But, you’re entirely welcome to join me.” You had a sultry smirk on your face as you looked up at him. 

“Are you sure?” Sam met your gaze, a concerned frown on his lips. 

“One hundred percent.”

Sam leaned in and softly kissed you, a contrast to the initial kiss from earlier. He kept the kiss sweet as his hands pulled up the tank top you were wearing, breaking the kiss as he pulled it over your head and leaving you in a bra and jeans. Sam let his hands trail along your curves as he admired you. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Sam breathed out as his hands rested on your hips. 

You could feel yourself getting shy under his intense stare but fought through the impulse to cover up. 

Sam tapped on your clothed hip and backed up to give you room to slide off so you could take off your jeans. You slid off of the sink counter, unbuttoned your jeans, and shimmied out of them as best as you could, but they were stiff from the blood that they soaked in. You had to use Sam’s shoulders as leverage in order to kick them off, leaving you in your bra and underwear. 

You quickly turned away from Sam to turn on the shower and wait for the shower to get warm. You turned back around to see Sam shedding the flannel and shirt he was wearing, leaving his upper half bare for you to stare at. 

It was like Michelangelo himself sculpted him—your eyes flicked to various areas of his torso and arms. You had always imagined what he hid under all of those layers, but it seemed like your imagination paled in comparison to the actual thing. 

Sam’s chuckle made your eyes snap up to meet his amused smile. “I think the water should be warm now.” 

You could feel your cheeks heat up, but instead of responding to his teasing, you reached behind you and unclipped your bra. You let it slide down your arms and fall to the floor before taking the hem of your underwear and stripping those off as well, leaving you naked in front of Sam. 

You sent him a smirk before pulling back the curtain and getting in the shower, letting the warm water hit your sore and blood-covered body. You let out a sigh of satisfaction, momentarily forgetting that Sam was in the room with you until you heard the familiar sound of a belt unbuckling and rustling of jeans before the curtain was drawn back, and Sam entered the shower. 

If the bathroom could barely fit the two of you, then the shower was way too small for Sam and you to be in. But you paid no mind to it as you stared at Sam, keeping your gaze from straying downward toward his naked legs. 

Sam shot you a soft smile before grabbing the shampoo and pouring some into his hand. He gestured for you to turn around, and he began to wash your hair. You leaned into his touch, letting out a satisfied hum at the feeling of his hands massaging your scalp. You almost let out a moan of protest when you felt his hands withdraw from your head, but he gestured for you to turn around and wash out the soap. 

Then he took the conditioner and combed it through your hair before repeating the same process. By the time he grabbed another washcloth through the curtain, you were almost dead on your feet from the head massages you received. Sam couldn’t help but smile at your almost blissed-out smile. He took some of your body wash, slathered it on the washcloth, and began to gently scrub down your body. 

Sam started with arms and back before moving down your legs, getting down to his knees to wash them. He tapped your hip to signal you to turn around to face him. Sam washed your torso diligently, lingering on your breast for a moment before moving the washcloth down your waist and hips to your thighs. You started to breathe a little heavier in anticipation—seeing Sam on his knees in front of you was making a heat pool in your core, and you could feel yourself getting wet.  

Sam nudged your feet, spreading them apart so he could fit in between them. He dropped the washcloth on the shower floor with a wet thwap, grabbing one of your legs and throwing it over your shoulder. You leaned back onto the cool shower tile as you felt him press gentle kisses on your inner thigh, trailing up toward your heated center. 

“You got such a pretty pussy baby.” Sam murmured into the soft skin of your thigh. “Wonder if it tastes as good as it looks.” 

Your head fell back and a soft moan left your lips as you felt him press a soft kiss to your clit. A hand wove through the damp strands of Sam’s hair as he began to lick and kiss at your cunt. 

Your moans and whines filled the steamed-filled bathroom as Sam ate you out. He sucked and licked at your clit before his tongue made its way inside of you, darting in and out—collecting your sweet essence and spurring Sam on to taste more of you. He let out small grunts and groans as you tugged at his hair, the vibrations providing you more pleasure to your sensitive cunt. 

“Fuck, you taste so good honey.” Sam pulled away for a moment, making you whine slightly, which made Sam nip at your thigh. “Don’t be greedy just yet baby, I’ll make you cum. I just want to admire you.” He said while looking at your cunt hungrily. 

Sam blew cool air on it, making you clench around nothing. He chuckled darkly before diving back into your cunt. 

A keening whine left your lips as he ate you out like a man starved. “F-fuck! Oh Sam!” 

You started to chant his name like a prayer as you felt yourself hurling closer to cumming. 

Being spurred on by your moans, Sam sucked your clit into his mouth and slowly inserted one of his thick fingers into you. Sam quickly added another finger when he felt little resistance when he put the first finger in. 

His fingers worked in tandem with his mouth, and you were quickly shoved over the edge of pleasure when he crooked his fingers just right and hit your g-spot. You clenched hard around his fingers, Sam letting out another groan in your cunt, adding to the pleasure that coursed through your body. Sam only slowed his ministrations, helping through your orgasm until you had calmed down. 

Sam left one last kiss on your sensitive clit before trailing up your body, the soap no longer on your skin, before pressing his lips against yours. You melted into the kiss, resting your hands on his chest before one of them trailed down to brush against his raging erection. 

Sam grunted against your lips when he felt you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He pulled back from the kiss but rested his forehead against yours as you started to stroke him slowly. 

Then Sam pulled away suddenly and turned off the water in the shower. He quickly lifted you up in his arms, pulling another yelp from your lips. You had no choice but to wrap your legs around his trim waist as he made his way out of the bathroom and into the empty room, toward the nearest bed. 

He practically threw you on it before getting it on the bed himself, slotting himself in between your open legs and pulling you into a fiery kiss. Sam couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue dominating your mouth as his hand found your center again and began to tease your clit, rubbing soft circles on it. 

You moaned into his mouth before he pulled away and began to attack your neck, biting and sucking marks into it. One of his fingers started to trail up and down your slit and chuckled into your neck. 

“You’re still so wet. S’all for me honey?” Sam pulled back from your neck to hear your response. 

“Y-yeah, all for you, fuck!” You could barely string that response together—not when Sam had inserted his fingers back into you. 

Sam let out a dark chuckle before leaning down and sucking a nipple into his mouth, ripping another moan from you. 

“You’re doing so good for me honey. You feel so good around my fingers, sucking me right in.” Sam crooned, freeing your nipple from his mouth as he kept fingering you. He kept it at a slow pace, wanting to drag it out. 

“Please, go faster Sammy.” You all but whined out.

Sam said nothing but quickened the pace of his thrusts and started to thumb at your swollen clit. He leaned up and drew your lips into a kiss, but you could barely kiss him back, moans leaving your mouth with every thrust of his fingers. 

Sam could feel you clench around his fingers. “You gonna cum for me baby?” 

All he got was a loud moan in response, making him smile at how wrecked you were from just his fingers. 

“Good girl, come around my fingers and you’ll get my cock.” 

The praise from Sam made the coil that was wound up in you snap, and you came around Sam’s thick fingers. Sam whispered praises in your ear as you came down, having withdrawn his fingers and tracing the skin on your hips soothingly.

“There she is.” Sam said with a gentle smile once you calmed down and opened your eyes. 

“You ready?” Sam asked as he lined his tip to the entrance of your soaked cunt. 

You nodded. 

Sam clicked his tongue at you before slapping the tip of his cock on your oversensitive clit, making you jump at the feeling. 

“I need words, baby.” The low gravel of his lust-fuelled voice made your cunt pulse, and you could feel how wet you were. 

“Yes, I’m ready.” Your voice was slightly hoarse from all of the moaning and whining that Sam pulled out of you. 

“Thank you, baby.” Sam leaned down and kissed you. While he was kissing you, he slowly penetrated you. The stretch of his thick cock was teetering the line of pain, but it felt so good as he filled you up. 

Both of you let out moans when he filled you up to the hilt, and you clenched around him involuntarily. 

“Shit, honey, you can’t do that.” Sam told you in a strained voice. 

You noticed how his jaw was clenched and couldn’t help but tease him like he had been doing to you and clenched around him again. 

Sam stared down at you, a serious look on his face as you looked at him with a playful look in your eye. Then Sam pulled out until the tip was left inside of you before plunging back into you roughly, a sharp moan leaving your mouth at the sensation. 

Sam began his pace slow but hard, slamming into you with enough force to shove you up the bed. You had to wrap your legs around his waist and brace yourself against the headboard. Your moans and Sam’s groans filled the room as he fucked you. He shoved his face into your neck and started to suck at the skin, leaving his marks all over your neck and chest. 

You weren’t far from coming again, and Sam noticed, shoving a hand in between your legs and rubbing on your clit. 

Sweat coated your body as the heat in your core grew and grew. You could feel tears escaping your eyes from the amount of pleasure Sam was giving you. He finally pulled away from your neck and noticed your wet face. 

“Awe baby.” Sam cooed as he used his free hand to cup your cheek and wipe away some of the tears. “You gonna cum soon?” He asked with a slightly strained voice, Sam was so wound up, but he could hold off until you were close. 

You sputtered out a ‘yes,’ but you were overwhelmed with pleasure that you could barely speak outside of his name and ‘fuck’. 

“Come for me and I’ll fill you up, okay baby?” 

You clenched hard around him at the thought of him coming inside of you, and Sam noticed. 

“Fuck, you like that don’t you? You like me filling you up with my cum?” Sam rubbed at your clit even harder. 

“Yes!” You sobbed out; you were so close to coming. 

“Come around my cock honey,” Sam commanded, and his voice sent you over the edge. Stars exploded behind your eyes as you came around Sam. His thrusts faltered before shoving himself inside of you one last time, and you felt warmth fill your cunt. Sam all but collapsed on you, and you couldn’t be bothered to shove him off; the weight of him bordered on suffocation, but it was comforting to you. 

You wrapped your arms around Sam’s neck and started to card your hands through his hair. He relaxed further into you as the two of you calmed down. Sam eventually pulled out of you and got up from the bed. You threw an arm over your eyes as you tried to gain executive function in your legs, but they felt numb. 

You could hear Sam running the water from the sink. You jumped slightly as you felt a damp cloth on your tender cunt. You pried your arm away from your eyes and saw that Sam was cleaning you up, and your heart warmed at the action. You smiled softly at how focused he was. 

When he was done, Sam placed it on the nightstand, intending to take care of it later, and gestured for you to sit up. You did, albeit confused, because you didn’t know what he wanted. 

Then he lifted you up into his arms bridal style (again, you yelped) and carried you into the bathroom. 

“What is with you and carrying me?” You asked when he sat you down on the toilet so you could go to the bathroom. 

Sam smirked. “Would you have made it to the bathroom if I didn’t?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Shut up.” You grumbled before shooing him out of the room. 

Sam sauntered out of the bathroom, chuckling—though he left it open, it gave you an ample view of his perky butt. You realized that your clothes were still in there, so you got dressed after you were done peeing. Once you were done with the bathroom, you all but waddled out of it. 

Sam started to laugh at the sight of you; he was dressed in some comfy pants and a plain black shirt. You glared at him, but you couldn’t help but laugh with him. Once you guys calmed down, both of you settled into the other bed, and Sam took the time to check his phone and saw that he had some text messages from Dean. 

You had better make a move when I’m gone, or I’ll make it for you.  Sent an hour ago  FINALLY! I’ll be in our room with the food. ...jeez, you guys are loud Sent 15 minutes ago 

Sam rolled his eyes at his phone before turning to you. “Dean texted, he said he has our food in our room.” 

“Ooh, yes! I’m starving.” You got up from the bed excited and put on your shoes half-hazardly. 

Sam let out a small snicker at your eagerness, got out of bed, and put on his boots. As the two of you left the room, Sam swung an arm around your shoulders and made the short walk to the Winchester’s room, where the two of you were greeted by Dean’s shit-eating grin and dealt with his teasing for the rest of the night until Sam was fed up with him and dragged you back to your room to sleep the night away. 

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[smartkookiee]

How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days! || Ch.3 — jjk.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, fluff, 2000 rom com vibes, making out, flirting. drinking, swearing, crying, sweet pining Jungkook, Jungkooks past comes up (boooooo), ex situationship thingsss, its a sweet chapter and they make out and I love it, legit the easiest chapter I have written so far ❥word-count: 10.7k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Day 3

“And you really believe this guy is going to work for this?” Yoongi said, looking over your notes and layout of the entire plan you had.

“Absolutely sir.” You nod. 

It was the Tuesday following you and Jungkook’s date. You two had gotten some dinner and then you went home. You tried not to let that text ruin your mood but it did bring you down for the meal. You and Jungkook just talked more about what you do and things you liked. Just easy conversation and sharing social media, small things that you could mask your disappointment with and give cheerful and in depth answers. 

That text sucked to see. It sucked to see that he made this promise to be serious but he was just playing you. To be fair, you didn’t know him. It was your first date and he didn’t owe you anything. It would just make this easier. 

"Already past the first date. You’re jumping in head first." Yoongi mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "So, what’s next?"

"The plan is to keep things moving. I only have thirty days, so I wanted to start strong. The first date was just to break the ice. Now, I'm aiming to stay in touch throughout the weeks—get more involved and annoying to make sure I stay on his radar." 

Yoongi chuckled. "And what does annoying entail in this case?"

You grinned, feeling a mischievous spark. "I was thinking some things like being a little too clingy. Getting a bit too personal too soon. Social media stalking, maybe even acting overly sensitive to anything he says about 'dating' or 'us.' Just... trying to inch my way into his daily life, so he can’t quite shake me off. Then next week I will take things to the next step."

Yoongi nodded in approval. "I like it. Thorough and unexpected, just what we want. Let’s round back around next week and check-in. We’ll go over your progress and adjust as needed. You’re off to a good start."

You gave him a grateful nod. "Thank you, sir."

With a wave of his hand, “Now go write, be amazing.” Yoongi dismissed you, and you returned to your desk, your mind already spinning with ideas. You were ready to dive into this full force, but there was one small snag, a small but persistent worry. You’d sent Jungkook a quick text yesterday, just a light “good morning” and a note about enjoying the date, but there hadn’t been a reply yet.

It wasn’t a big deal but already not responding to a text after a whole day was not sitting well with you.

Settling yourself down into your chair, that small disappointment from seeing that text on Jungkook's phone was still nagging at you. Your friends had warned you not to get attached, to keep things light, but you’d ignored them. They called this from a million miles away and you, like an idiot, let your guard down like always. 

Well, not this time. This was just a job. No more emotional slip-ups. 

“Damn it, I’m a writer.” You mumbled under your breath. “This is just research. He’s just a random guy.”

With renewed determination, you opened your laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as you drafted the first section of your article. Reliving the details of your first date, you kept it light and short because this wasn’t about how the first date went great, it’ll be about everything that happens now. You had your plan ready for action.

You were finally hitting a flow, words forming exactly as you wanted, when you heard footsteps stop just outside your cubicle. 

“Special delivery!” Ann, one of the front-desk clerks, appeared with a bright smile, holding a small bouquet. "Someone’s got an admirer!"

She set down a small bouquet of sunflowers. The choice of flower surprised you most of all, you loved sunflowers. They were tied together with a purple ribbon and card attached to the end. Opening it, “A little bit of sun for a rainy first date. Thank you for listening to my fish facts. JK.” 

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” Ann cooed, lingering a moment to admire the flowers. She shot you a wink before heading back to the front, and you tried to keep your reaction composed.

You couldn't help but feel that small spark of joy, despite yourself, as you read the card. The sunflowers, your favorite, were unexpected and so charming. Tied with a cute ribbon that added a touch of thoughtfulness. You’d never been given flowers by anyone other than your parents and that one college boyfriend. Yet here they were, sent to your office, just for you.

If this had been any other situation, you’d probably be blushing and grinning like an idiot, falling head over heels way too fast. But the reminder of what you knew—what he was likely doing, the kind of guy he really was—kept you grounded. 

As you stared at the bouquet, lost in thought, the telltale squeak of a chair wheeling over caught your attention.

“Wow someone’s special.” Ronnie rolled right next to you. “Are those from who I think they are from?” 

 "Looks like it." You replied casually, flashing her the card. "Just… a little thank you gift."

Ronnie waggled her eyebrows. "Oh, just a thank you gift? The guy sent you your favorite flowers, after only one date. You sure you aren’t already planning your future house décor with him?"

Rolling your eyes, you turned back to your laptop, brushing off the teasing. "Maybe," But the flicker of disappointment crept back in. "If he hadn't got that text on our date. Then maybe this would be a sweet gesture. There's no way I'm getting attached to someone who’s probably chatting up another girl at the same time."

Ronnie gave you a skeptical look. "You still haven’t told me what it said, just that you went from mildly hopeful to permanently sour about him. Especially after you begged me and Jin to let you pick another guy before the date even ended."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "It was… friendly , if you know what I mean."

“Oh, friendly friendly?” She echoed, her voice heavy with implication. She winced sympathetically. "I’m sorry."

You shook your head, swiveling to face her. "No, no. We’re not doing the whole pity party thing. No look at Y/N she got fooled by another asshole again. This is work.  I knew what I was signing up for with this guy, and it’s why we chose him. I can handle it."

Ronnie raised her brows. "Yeah, sure. You sound totally fine."

“I am fine.” You insisted, forcing a smile. “It’s all part of the assignment, right? A totally detached, unbiased observation. Think of me as an objective researcher.”

“Okay Dr. Detachment. How are you going to respond to these?” Ronnie glanced down to the flowers and then back up to you. 

You opened your mouth to answer but paused, glancing at the flowers. You already knew what you wanted to do, but still… you weren’t quite sure how to play it yet. 

Meanwhile, across town, Jungkook was still buzzing from his own bold move. He and Hoseok were walking down the street on their lunch break, and Hoseok eyed him suspiciously. Jungkook filled him on the details with a little too much spring in his step, never a way Hoseok had ever seen Jungkook act after a date. 

“So… the date went that well, huh?” Hoseok finally asked, giving Jungkook a smirk. “You’re practically skipping.”

“Hey, I am not. ” Jungkook grumbled, trying to keep his voice casual as he filled Hoseok in on the date. It had gone smoother than he’d expected, and he couldn’t ignore that spark of excitement. 

Jungkook had done a little social media stalking when he spent the day with his parents yesterday. You used a sunflower in your bio and in a lot of your posts, so he took a guess that they may have been your favorite flower. It did take him a little tracking down though, since sunflowers were going out of season. 

Hoseok grinned, giving Jungkook an approving nod. “So… flowers and a corny note? You’re going for gold.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook replied, a proud glint in his eyes. “I’m hoping she liked it. She’s into romantic movies and such so I thought it would be a good gesture.” Plus it was a perfect opening note since sending flowers is another classic romantic movie troupe. “She should have gotten them by now.” He checked his phone yet again, his screen still frustratingly blank.

Hoseok raised an eyebrow to him, “Does it bother you that she’s not immediately giving you all of her attention.” 

Jungkook snorted, “No.” He paused but the silence between them hung a little too long for Hoseok to be convinced, “Okay maybe a little.” 

Hoseok let out a laugh, shaking his head with an amused grin. "Wow. Didn’t know you were secretly a heartthrob under all that cool indifference. Who are you, and what did you do with Jungkook?"

“Shut up.” Jungkook muttered, fighting a smile as he looked away. “I’m just… giving this a real shot. Like I said I would.”

“And you’re stressing out over whether she liked your flowers or not.” Hoseok added, raising an eyebrow. “Must be a real first for you.”

Jungkook shrugged, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I just thought I’d make an effort, alright? ” He glanced at his phone again, his thumb hovering over the screen before he stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Why do I feel like the grand romantic gesture wasn’t entirely about the bet?” Hoseok chuckled, giving him a playful nudge.

“It’s not because I’m actually dating her remember?” Jungkook replied, a little too quickly, then caught himself. 

“You know,” Hoseok said, tilting his head, “there’s no law that says you can’t text her first, right? Might even make you seem… interested.”

Jungkook scoffed, his gaze glued to the sidewalk. “I don’t want to look desperate.”

“Dude, come on. Desperate is sending $50 sunflowers in November.” Hoseok replied, laughing as Jungkook scowled.

Jungkook sighed, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “I just really enjoyed spending time with her. It’s different.”

“So shoot her a text, lover boy.” Hoseok urged, hit Jungkook lightly on the back of the head. “All the smooth moves in the world won’t matter if she doesn’t know you’re into her.”

Jungkook’s phone buzzed just as Hoseok delivered his advice, catching him off guard. He glanced down and saw your name on the screen. His eyes lit up, and a grin broke across his face—so wide and giddy that it almost unnerved Hoseok.

“Speak of the devil.” Jungkook muttered, barely containing his excitement.

“Well answer it.” He shoves his shoulder.

 Jungkook fumbles with his phone and steps off to the side to answer, “You’ve reached Sunflowers on the Go. How may I be of service?” 

You hum on the other end of the line in amusement, “So it’s the strangest thing. I got this delivery of sunflowers here on my desk but I don’t remember placing an order.” 

“Hmm, strange indeed.” Jungkook replied, grinning. “Turns out we only deliver to Composure magazine. No one else.”

What Jungkook wasn't aware of is you had him on speaker phone so Ronnie was also able to hear him. She brought her hand to her face at his cheesy responses. You also shook your head at absurdity. 

“Oh, is that so?” You teased. “Well, there was a little card attached… signed by someone named ‘JK.’”

“Yep, that’s the guy. Don’t know him personally, but he seems pretty cool.” Jungkook said, leaning into the joke. Looking over at Hoseok who was drawing hearts in the air around Jungkook, Jungkook just rolled his eyes.

“Hmmm, I don’t know anyone named ‘JK’. Guess I’ll just have to throw these away then.” You play with the ribbon in your fingers.

“Whoa, whoa, hey! That’s mean!” He protested, laughing. You laughed as well at his protest.

“Okay but seriously how did you know these were my favorite?” You touch one of the petals, sunflowers were definitely out of season so he had to go to some work to find really fresh ones. “Or was it just a lucky guess?”

“I may or may not have noticed a pattern on your socials.” His tone was sheepish and you just shook your head.

“Ah, so you were stalking me.” You nod, you notice Ronnie roll on over back to her desk. Coming back with her phone in hand. She was typing frantically.

“Maybe a little bit.” Jungkook let a beat pass, “I guess more importantly do you like them?” 

“They are very beautiful. Especially for this time of year.” You sigh, the gesture really was sweet. Might be fast for Jungkook to send flowers this early on but still sweet.

Jungkook let out a sigh he hadn't realized he had even been holding in, “I do have to confess something. I was hoping this would make an opening for me to invite you to dinner.” He shifted from side to side, “Well I would be making dinner.”

“Inviting me over? Wow, bold move. So soon.” You smile, Ronnie giving you a knowing look and you brushing her off. “Would I have to do anything?”

“I will take care of it all, I need to prove I can make a mean carbonara.” Hoseok gave Jungkook a look like he had no idea he had any cooking skill. “How about tonight?”

“I have plans tonight.” Which wasn’t a lie, you were going to work on some writing tonight. “How about Thursday?” 

“Perfect. You’re gonna be impressed, I already know it.” Jungkook chewed on his bottom lip. 

“I’m sure I will.” 

With some goodbyes you both hung up the phone. You could suddenly feel your heart racing in your chest and you mentally scolded yourself. You needed to remember none of this was long term. Which Ronnie was taking the lead in reminding you about.

“For someone who claims to be totally normal about all of this, you sure are smitten.” She crossed her arms and eyebrow raised observing you, “He totally knew these would work on you.” 

“I am totally normal about all of this. This is perfect, we are going on a second date and I get to start implementing my plan. Everything is on track.” You say but Ronnie is looking back to her phone, “What are you looking at?”

“I’m trying to find his Instagram.” She continued typing, not looking back up to you. 

“Oh he doesn’t have one.” You remembered from dinner on Sunday. It wasn’t abnormal for someone to not have one but Ronnie was surprised. 

“Boo, how am I supposed to dig up dirt on him?” Ronnie slumped down into her chair. You had actually done a little digging of your own the evening before though. 

“Pretty sure that’s my job and I already did. He has twitter but he doesn’t post often. He keeps a pretty low presence online so I wasn’t able to learn much that way.” You sigh, it was actually a little refreshing although it did leave you guessing. Makes it tough to be intrusive in the next steps of your plan. “By the way, can you cry on command?”

Ronnie raises an eyebrow at your request, “I don’t but I think we both know who might.” 

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀ • *₊

Day 5

Thursday arrived, you and Jungkook spent the entire day texting back and forth just talking about whatever came to your minds. You found any excuse to ask him any random question. Send him random things you genuinely thought were funny. He also had something funny to say back or respond with. So you just let that be it, just texting and talking as much as possible. 

Jungkook had spent the night before doing a practice carbonara. Watching some guy on youtube walking him through the steps. It turned out pretty good but he knew he could make a better one tonight. He got really nice ingredients that hopefully would push it over the edge. He really wanted to make a good first impression with his cooking. He had no issue inviting you over so soon after knowing you, he felt really comfortable with you already. 

He hoped it wasn’t too forward, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

He had a bottle of mid tier white wine in his fridge and he also got a red one because he wasn’t sure what you would prefer. He also wasn't sure what would pair better with a carbonara. Jungkook dressed his table up all nice, it was nothing special but a candle classes it up a little bit. Classic romantic things. It felt somewhat awkward and made him cringe but also no one else was around to see his effort but you, and you would appreciate it. 

Or at least he hoped you would. 

He then heard a knock from his front door. He thought it was a little early for you to be here but he didn’t mind, he still was making the food and he could pour you a glass while you waited. He trotted to his door, a smile on his face as he swung the door open with some gusto, only to have his features fall. 

“Channel?” Jungkook's face twisted into a confused but unamused expression, as she brushed past him into the apartment. “Please, come on in.” He said, his voice clearly sarcastic.

Channel looked like she was dressed for a night out and not for a very cold November evening at that. She had her hair curled and bouncy like it usually was, and the highest heel she could comfortably wear, clicking her way around Jungkook's apartment.

“I want my scarf back,” She had her arms crossed, strolling into the apartment with ease. She had been here enough times to know where everything was. “and since you won’t respond to my calls, here I am in person.”

“Okay, you couldn’t have texted me about this?” Jungkook let his front door close and followed after her through his apartment, as she tried to look under things and around furniture. 

She laughed bitterly, “Last I checked, you’ve been avoiding my texts as well.” She continued her hunt around his space. Jungkook getting a little peeved since he spent a good amount of time trying to make his space look good for your arrival. Your arrival which would be really soon and this was not a good look for a guy as you clocked as ‘unserious’.

"I kind of have a life, you know? I can’t answer every text you send.” Jungkook kept his eyes peeled for the scarf, more than ready for this encounter to end.

“Yeah, right.” Channel’s voice dripped with disbelief as she followed him further into the apartment, her arms crossed. “I could tell Hoseok was covering for you.” She paused mid-sentence, catching sight of the dining table set for two, a soft candle flickering in the center. Her expression turned suspicious. “And… what is that ?”

Jungkook looked back to the table and then back to her, acting like it’s always looked like that. “Nothing, now where is that scarf?”

“Your place is so… spotless.” She murmured, her eyes scanning every corner of his living room, taking in the lit lamps, the neatly arranged coffee table, and the faint smell of food coming from the kitchen. “Setting a mood , are we?”

“I mean, I clean often. I’m not a slob.” He replied defensively, trying to wave off her assumptions, though he could see she was putting it all together, one detail at a time.

Channel sniffs the air for a moment and then stalks over to the kitchen, “You’re cooking? You don’t cook.”

“Whenever he hung out, cooking really wasn’t a part of the schedule.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, aware that he was pushing her buttons. “I cook all the time.” 

“Oh, I see.” She replied, her tone flat but her eyes flashing. She tilted her head, a cruel smile tugging at her lips. “So, who is she, then?” 

Jungkook sighed, not fighting her anymore, “No one, and she is coming over soon, let’s find your scarf so you can leave.” 

But Channel didn’t budge, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms tighter. 

“Oh no, no, no. You’re not brushing this off like that. Nice napkins, a candle? You set a damn table , Jungkook. What is this, some kind of date?” Her voice grew sharper with each word, anger and betrayal clear in her expression.

“That’s not really your business is it?” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, he needed to get her out of here. 

Channel let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Not my business? You know what’s funny? All this time, I thought maybe we were building toward something real. And now, I see you’re doing that with someone else ?” She scoffed, her face hardening. “What, you just didn’t want this with me?”

Her words hung in the air, clear betrayal laced them. Him and Channel only had a sexual relationship, it’s what they agreed upon from the start. Sometime in there Channel developed some feelings for him and after a few months asked if they could take this more seriously. Jungkook wasn’t ready for that kind of step so they ended it all together. So now this all looks really bad. 

Except, he thought, it’s none of her business if he did change his mind. He never lied to her, and he was always very clear that he did not want a relationship. He really didn’t, and this thing with you, although a part of a bet, was something he was dipping his toes into. 

“Channel, that’s not it.” Jungkook said, sighing. “I really didn’t want a relationship.” He hesitated, then finally admitted, “But I met someone, and…we’re trying things out and it’s brand new. So please leave.”

Channel’s face twisted in anger, her voice rising as she spat, “Oh, I get it.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking around his place with fresh resentment. “I bet you’ll dump her as soon as you’ve slept together a few more times. Because that’s what you do , Jungkook.”

He clenched his fists, frustrated but trying to stay calm. “You know, I’ve had enough of this.” He said quietly, finally spotting the scarf stuffed into a seat cushion. He pulled it out, tossing it to her.

She caught it and threw it around her neck with a sneer. “So what is it about her, huh? What makes her so ‘special’ that suddenly you’re willing to commit ?” She shot him a glare, stepping closer. “Maybe I should stick around and meet this one-of-a-kind woman. See what all the fuss is about.”

“No,” Jungkook said firmly, guiding her toward the door. “You’re leaving, now.”

She jerked away from his touch, folding her arms defiantly. “What? Is she going to be here soon?” Her eyes gleamed with spite. “You don’t want her to know what you’re really like?”

Jungkook let out a slow breath, gathering his patience. “No. I think she would be an adult and actually talk with me about it.” He replied, surprising himself with the honesty in his voice. “Whatever she finds out—that’s for me to tell her and her to decide. So, goodnight, Channel.”

She stared at him, anger simmering as she pulled open the door, glancing back with an icy glare. “Screw you, Jungkook.” With that, she stormed out, letting the door slam behind her.

At the same time she opened the door, you were stepping out of the elevator and onto Jungkook’s floor. You spotted a girl storming down the hallway after yelling inside a doorway, as she passed you muttering a quick “Excuse me” without a second glance. You had an uneasy feeling about her, especially as she walked away from the very apartment number Jungkook had given you. You double-checked, confirming the number on your phone with the one she had just exited, and the sinking feeling intensified.

“Jesus Jungkook. At least have some class and spread out your dates so we don’t bump into each other in the hall.” You whisper under your breath, but you still had to go through with this as if you didn’t immediately feel a sense of dread. 

You took a steadying breath, willing yourself to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. After all, you were here now, and nothing had technically happened to prove your suspicions. So you pushed them down, knocked on the door, and tried to keep your expression neutral, reminding yourself you were maybe a minute early—nothing too crazy.

The door opened after a brief pause, and Jungkook’s face shifted from guarded to bright relief when he saw you standing there. His lips curled into a wide, easy smile, like he was genuinely glad to see you. His hair was a little tousled, his shirt a snug, tucked into jeans that fit him perfectly, emphasizing his lean frame. He looked relaxed, casually put together, which was somehow infuriatingly charming.

“Hey,” He greeted, his voice warm, stepping aside so you could enter. “Come on in.”

“Hi.” You replied, acting as if nothing felt off. 

You stepped past him, letting your eyes flick around the apartment, taking in the details—the tidy coffee table, a low hum of music playing through the room. He had a nice living room set up around a TV on the wall, the dining setup with an actual candle in the center. He’d put thought into this, that much was obvious. You couldn’t deny it was sweet, even if it left you slightly off-balance, considering what you’d walked past in the hallway moments ago.

“Okay now looking at it, the candle maybe was a little cheesy.” Jungkook cringed at himself looking at the little set up. You shake your head and wave him off. 

“No, I think it's adorable. You even got a scentless one so it doesn’t cover the smell of the food.” You take a seat at the table, “I’m prepared to be wow’d like you promised me.” 

“I unfortunately got a little bit delayed so I am not quite done yet.” Jungkook was shuffling his way back into the kitchen, “But make yourself at home.”

“Okay.” You smile as he rounds his way back into his kitchen, he watches you get back up and walk around his living space. Almost like he was waiting for approval. Luckily Channel hadn’t trashed the place. 

You took note of all of the little things he chose to have on display, some books, a few polaroid cameras and some polaroid's on the walls, as well as a record collection that was lined the side of the living room on some shelves. You thumbed through some of them to see what was available. Impressed with some of his picks, some similar to your own. His place wasn’t terribly big. Classic little bachelor pad. You had noticed he had chosen to keep what you could only assume was his bedroom door closed. 

It was something Jungkook thought way too hard about, if he left it open was it like saying he wanted to sleep with you tonight? Would it be way too forward? Or was closing it just as weird? Was closing it like telling you that he didn’t really want you in his space? He went back and forth and then opted to close it to maybe say he wasn’t expecting anything to happen, although he wouldn’t mind if it did. 

You on the other hand didn’t barely give it a thought other than noticing it. You picked up one of his polaroid cameras and brought it with you. You round your way back to his kitchen and stand off to the side watching him work. He was pretty zoned in on what he was doing, everything was really smelling great. You usually found it pretty hot if a guy could cook well. 

Jungkook took an opportunity to try some of his work and you took a photo right at the moment he took a bite, his eyes widened right at the moment he realized he'd been caught.

The picture came out and you set it down to develop. 

“I’m sure that will be super cute.” You laugh, setting down his camera as well. He laughs and you look over his shoulder to see how close he is to being done.

“Coming to inspect my work?” Jungkook glances to his side, seeing you peering over his shoulder to see what he was doing. He was almost done cooking. 

“Maybe.” You tease, “I’m a sucker for people who can cook. I’m just… okay at it.” 

“Well,” Jungkook stops what he is doing and reaches for a drawer next to him pulling out a fork and twirling some of the noodles onto it. Then holding the fork out to you. “I’m ready for your final score.”

You paused. Debating if you should eat the food off the fork or if you should take the fork. Would it send the wrong message if you ate off it? Or was that exactly what he was doing? The fork wasn’t very close to your mouth but not crazy far. You decided to just take the fork from him and take the bite. 

It ended up being really good carbonara. 

“Oh my god.” You smile chewing, “It’s really fucking good. Ten out of ten.” 

Jungkook did a small fist pump to himself, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth hiding a smile. “I’ll admit, I did a practice run yesterday and it was just okay but I’m glad this one is good.” Jungkook then took a bite of it himself with another fork. Jungkook upon tasting his own food smacking his own forehead and leaning back. 

Causing you to laugh at his dramatic reaction. 

You glanced at the polaroid on the counter picking it up to see if it had developed yet, it wasn’t fully done but you could see mostly what the picture would look like. You showed it to Jungkook and he smiled, “Ten out of ten picture. Best one of me yet.” 

You looked at it and he did look like a deer caught in the headlights but it was funny, you absentmindedly put it in your pocket. 

“I’ll admit I’m wowed, to be fair I’ve only had carbonara like one other time.” You lean against one of his kitchen counters watching him as he plates the pasta for the two of you.

“I’ll still take the high praise. Now, should we do a white or a red wine?” 

“Hmm, a red works better with this I think.” You nod. 

Jungkook tells you where you can find his bottle opener and some glasses. You managed to get the cork screw into the cork but seem to be lacking the ability to actually pull the cork out of the bottle. Jungkook finds some amusement in watching your struggle but you persist. You’ve opened plenty of wine bottles in the past, this shouldn’t be difficult. 

“Having some trouble?” Jungkook watched you try and fail to pull the cork out a third time.

“Absolutely not. The cork and I are just having a disagreement.” You shake off your hand a few times and then get a better grip on the screw pulling upward as best you can. With some pathetic struggle, you really swear you can feel the cork moving. You let out a sigh as you let it go again. 

“May I?” 

“I swear I’m not that weak.” This honestly was just embarrassing at this point, so much so you have to face away from Jungkook at your next attempt. 

You make one final grip on the corkscrew and twist and tug, finally the corkscrew and cork pop free. Not before your hand comes straight, hard and fast, into your own face.

“Oh shit,” Jungkook’s face changes as he sees you basically punch your own face. “Are you okay?” 

You did dizzy yourself slightly but you set the bottle down. Feeling your face, hoping you hadn’t broken your nose although it certainly would be bruised or sore at least, “Okay maybe I should never open wine ever again.” 

Your nose then began to pulse with pain, this definitely wasn’t a part of your plan for sure. You covered it with one of your hands but Jungkook pulled it away. “Here let me look at it.”

“Please tell me it’s not bleeding.” You groan, and Jungkook places his hands on both of your cheeks looking at it. You match his face and he looks genuinely concerned. 

“Well, I’m not a doctor but you’re still pretty cute.” He then smiles and rubs one of his thumbs on your cheek. “That’s my professional assessment anyways.”

“Okay, but it still really hurts.” You say, letting your own hands rest on his wrists. 

“Hey, it’s probably just a bit sore—no blood, no bruise.” He gently tilts your head from side to side in a silly, exaggerated inspection that makes you giggle. 

It’s quiet between you both for a moment, Jungkook still holding your face. He just looks over your face for a moment, your nose was red but it was probably going to be okay. He had hurt his own nose a few times to know if it was broken. 

Jungkook’s hands still on your cheeks, eyes meeting as he studies your face. It’s easy to get lost in the warmth of his gaze and how close he is. A little too easy. For a second, you find yourself softening, tempted by the thought of leaning in and just letting yourself enjoy this. But then, just in time, you snap back to reality, realizing you can use this little mishap to your advantage. This damage to your nose might have actually opened up a window for what you had been working yourself up too.

You pull your face away from Jungkook and shake your head, breathing in a heavy breath. Jungkook looked a little confused but then after a moment you were crying. You were crying? 

“Hey,” He placed a hand on your shoulder, “I was just teasing you.” 

You wave your hands in a frantic show, your voice cracking just a little. “No, no, it’s not you. It’s just….” You let out a little sob. “I’m just so clumsy! And you made this beautiful dinner, and I’ve totally ruined it!”

Jungkook looks utterly bewildered now, glancing around as if the answer to your sudden breakdown might be hiding in his kitchen cabinets. “Really, I promise, you didn’t mess anything up. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, almost nervously.

“Ugh, I can't believe this. I’m totally ruining the mood.” You wipe your tears away. 

It was a good little performance. One that was planned.

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The evening before.

Day 04

“The art of crying on command.” Here you were again. Ronnie sitting next to you. Jin pacing back and forth with his notepad once again. Unfortunately for you, Jin was the person to have expertise on this subject being an acting teacher. 

“Okay I already regret this.” You try to stand up but Ronnie pulls you back down onto Jin’s couch. 

“This will help you!” Ronnie protested and leaned on you once you were settled back in. “This can be a part of your over dramatic persona you use.” 

“Exactly! It gives you another tool in the toolbox for the charade you signed up for!” Jin pointed at you with his pen and waving it around. 

“Fine, continue.” You wave for him to go on and Jin grins. 

“Thank you! Now, there are three main techniques for crying on command.” he begins, pacing dramatically. “Some people can just… do it. They snap their fingers and—bam! Tears.” He snaps his fingers for effect. “Others need to go to a sad memory. Something personal and emotional, something that really tugs at the heartstrings. And then, of course, some people have to resort to…ahem, creative methods. Pepper in the sinuses, maybe a little poke to the eye…”

“Let’s please avoid self-injury.” You interrupt dryly, giving him a look.

“Fair enough. Let’s start with the basics and see if you’re a natural.” Jin says, jotting a note on his pad. “Close your eyes, focus, and let’s see if you can will the tears into existence.”

You sit up straight, trying your best to summon tears on command, forcing your eyes to feel…sad? Your face contorts into what you hope is a tearful expression, but as you blink, nothing happens. Your eyes are as dry as ever.

“Nothing?” Jin sighs and makes a dramatic strike-through on his notepad, looking deeply disappointed.

“Yeah, sorry.” You mutter. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” Jin strikes something out on his notepad and you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “ Cannot cry on command. So let’s try a memory, or is there a movie scene you can’t think about because it gets you teared up?” 

You sit and think, you have some sad memories from your childhood that you bring to the front of your mind. Reminiscing on them, although some things are sad or bittersweet, nothing tear jerking. 

“Dry.” Ronnie leans over and looks closely in your eyes, so much so you have to shove her face away from you. 

“Dry.” Jin repeats and writes on his notepad. 

“Maybe try going to the dark place?” Ronnie snaps and looks at you. “You always get really teary eyed when you think about dying alone.”

“Okay rude.” You sigh, it wasn’t untrue. Whenever you came back from dates that were unsuccessful or you wasted your time on someone who just wanted something casual you found yourself going to, what you and Ronnie have deemed, the dark place. “I don’t like thinking about that.” 

“It’s for science!” Ronnie cheers, throwing her arms up like it's supposed to make it more fun or something. 

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch.  “I don’t know if this is such a great idea, honestly. When I start spiraling about my love life, it’s not exactly…mild.” You look down, already feeling a little prick of sadness starting to stir.

Jin comes and squats in front of you, “Well then just go to the edge of it and don’t think about the whole picture. What about dying alone usually gets you crying?” 

You think for a second, and finally, the words come out quietly. “I guess… I cry when I start thinking that maybe I won’t ever find someone who’s…just right for me.”

Ronnie lets out a soft “aww” and nudges you gently.

You let yourself feel it for a moment—the uncertainty, the nagging doubt that, maybe, you’ll keep hitting dead ends. And with that, you feel a familiar, bittersweet ache starting to well up.

Jin nods approvingly, seeing a slight glimmer in your eyes. “Excellent.” He says, jotting down, potential crying trigger identified.

The vulnerability hangs in the air, and you let yourself lean into it a little. Lately, it felt harder and harder to keep going on dates, to believe that love might work out someday. You always seemed to be either too much or not enough—loving too deeply, too slowly, too intensely. It left you feeling drained, to the point where dating felt less like romance and more like a chore.

But with Jungkook, for once, you’d felt...hopeful. Like there was someone who genuinely wanted to share a moment, who put effort into making sure you had a good time. As unintentional as it was, you’d started to feel a little spark, considering the circumstances of your forced meeting. But as soon as you’d started to believe it, you reminded yourself it was all part of the act. You couldn’t let yourself actually believe it. You got your hopes up again , and they were ripped out from under you… again . 

So you had slowly felt as time went on, you were losing sight of finding the one.  

Then without even realizing it, you had a few stray tears fall from your eyes. 

“Boom!” Jin erupted and sprang to his feet, “We have tears!”

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You gripped onto that feeling you let it force a few more tears out of your eyes. Unfortunately you did not avoid the personal injury part of the tears. So this was going really well for you. 

You take a shaky breath, letting a few more tears roll down, making sure the sniffle that follows sounds especially pitiful. “Maybe I should just go home.” You say, voice wavering. “This along with my day… it’s all just been too much. You probably think I’m completely insane.”

You manage to start walking toward the door. Jungkook then panics for a moment, how did we go from laughing at you injuring your nose to crying and saying you’re going home? He felt like he had jumped three steps or something. You start toward the front door but Jungkook stepped around you, stopping you. 

“Wait what?” Jungkook looked confused, “How did we get here? I don’t want you to leave.”

You sniff even louder, adding just the right amount of snotty dramatics. “No, I should. You barely know me, and here I am—an emotional wreck in your kitchen. It’s… it’s too much.”

“And? You just hit yourself in the nose really hard. I would be a little embarrassed and want to leave too.” Jungkook places a hand on your arm, trying to comfort you. “Besides, isn't the whole point of going on dates to get to know each other better?”

“I guess.” You wipe your face again, “I don’t know… I didn’t mean to just… fall apart like this.”

Jungkook sighs a little relieved, that could have spiraled further. “And just so you know, I don’t think you’re crazy at all.”

“Well it’s still early, I haven't had a chance to go full blown crazy yet.” Which gets a laugh out of both you and Jungkook. 

“Well I can deal with that I think.” He gives you a small, reassuring smile. “Besides, the food is still good. Wine is still out and last I checked a bruised nose doesn’t stop you from eating.” 

“Wait, is it actually bruising?” You reflexively go up to touch it, definitely tender to the touch and Jungkook chuckles a little. 

“I’m teasing. It’s only a little red.” He takes your hand and pulls you back into his apartment, with a little reluctance from you. “Stay, at least for a little while. I’m not going to let you walk out of here feeling like this.”

You blink up at him, playing up a hint of uncertainty, but inside, you’re genuinely a little taken aback. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” He tilts his head to the side trying to meet your eyes, that had been darting everywhere else out of real embarrassment. “Look, I don’t care if you cry, I’m the biggest cry baby I know!”

You manage a small, hesitant smile, as if he’s starting to get through to you. “I find that hard to believe.” 

Jungkook scoffs, feigning insult. “Oh, don’t underestimate me. Those ‘lost puppy finds his way home’ commercials? I’m done. I’m over here pretending there’s dust in my eyes.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Okay, maybe I believe you… just a little.”

“There we go!” He looks genuinely pleased, his expression softening as he sees you relax. “So, if I’m willing to admit my crybaby tendencies, it’s only fair you stick around for dinner, right?” He tucks his bottom lip into his mouth in anticipation of your answer. 

“Alright, I’ll stay.” You say it with an air of nonchalance, trying to mask the small spark of mischief hidden behind your agreement. It earns you a relieved, borderline triumphant smile from Jungkook.

“Phew! You’re sparing me from a whole night of wondering if my cooking scared you off for good.” He grins, his dramatic sigh punctuating his relief.

“Oh, please.” You say, rolling your eyes, feeling the perfect opening for a light jab. “If anything, the food is what convinced me to stay.”

Jungkook then serves dinner for the both of you. You both fall into easy conversation as you eat, he really did do a great job with the food. He was very considerate of making sure you needed anything else or pouring more wine when you wanted it. As well as making you laugh at almost every single turn. You really do get it why he got girls to go home with him so easily, between this and your first date the amount of confidence and charm that exudes from him is palpable in the air. 

Jungkook would never show it but his lack of practice with dating has actually made this date and your last the most nervous he has been in a while. Jungkook’s mind is racing, carefully cataloging every response you make, every laugh, every nod. He wants—needs—this to go well, not just because he’d prefer to win $300 rather than lose it, but because, in his gut, he actually likes seeing you here, across from him. He catches himself wondering if he’s oversharing when he starts a story, or if he’s going on too long when he recounts his last trip. When you laugh at one of his stupid jokes, he relaxes a bit, but he still can’t quite shake that uncertainty. 

You decided no more theatrics for the evening and let this play out naturally, how you would play out any other evening. Anything else would tip him off that maybe you were doing this on purpose. 

After a while the two of you had moved into the living room, you had been flipping through his records again, you didn’t take a chance to look at them all earlier. He had a decent collection for sure so you got a good sense of the type of music he liked. You both had a few glasses of wine now and so the conversation had turned more and more flirtatious. 

Noting the variety of music—jazz, a little classic rock, some alternative stuff. “You’ve got a good taste.” You say, glancing back at him. “This one,” you pull a record out with a slight smirk, “definitely says something about you.”

“Oh yeah?” He grins, leaning on the side of his couch as he watches you move around his shelves. “And what exactly does it say?”

You tilt your head, pretending to give it serious thought. “That you’re trying really hard to be cool. Just edgy enough.”

He laughs, though you notice he flushes slightly, brushing off your joke with a casual shrug. “Hey, everyone needs a little mystery. Or at least…a halfway-decent record collection.”

“Is that what you’re hiding?” You tease. “A mysterious vinyl collection? Or is it just your immense amount of fish facts?”

“Well, you’ll have to stick around to find out.” The words slip out before he can stop them, and he immediately kicks himself. It feels too... eager, a bit too close to something genuine. But he manages to recover, putting on a self-assured smile. “Not everyone gets to see my hidden jazz albums.”

You laugh, setting the record back and looking at him with a raised brow. “Guess I’ll have to consider myself lucky, then.” Finding a spot back on the couch with him. 

Jungkook shifted in his spot so his body was completely facing you now. With the alcohol having set in, his eyes were a little droopy and he was smiling but he looked boyish. He found the more he was learning about you the more he felt fine with telling you things about himself. 

“You look tired.” You poke his forehead. “Maybe I really should go.” 

“It’s barely even late.” Jungkook takes your hand, lacing your fingers with his. “I’m not tired at all.” 

“Your eyes tell a different story.” You laugh, leaning your head against the back of his couch. 

“Well what else are they saying?” He smirks, finding any reason to get a compliment from you. 

You stare at them for a minute, you were trying to come up with something clever. “Well if I am translating this right… I can’t handle my wine. ”

You laugh and Jungkook rolls his eyes, “Wow how did you know?” 

“I have a thing for reading people.” You shrug. “What do mine say?”

He leans in really close looking between them. “Wow this guy is so hot and charming I really want to kiss him again .” Jungkook then gasps dramatically leaning away. “That’s scandalous, Y/N.”

“Shut up.” You laugh and get up from the couch trying to leave, Jungkook's hand pulling you back to standing in front of him. “You’re really full of yourself.”

“I’d like to think just a healthy amount.” He grins, Jungkook then places one of his hands on the back of your thigh. The warmth of his hand sends a shiver up your spine, but you do your best to keep your cool, not letting him see just how much his touch is affecting you.

You scoff with a half smile, “We’ll see about that.” 

Jungkook's smile widens sitting forward on his couch, both of his hands finding their way to your hips. Tracing small circles with his thumbs, making it impossible for you to think. The way he looks at you—intense, unflinching, like he’s trying to figure you out—has you second-guessing your plans  all over again, just for a second. This is what makes this hard, because the way he looks at you makes you believe every single word.

Many guys before have looked at you like this and you always fall for it, you always let yourself go for it. 

It’s a little difficult to remember that right now though, your mind is clouded by the wine. 

You glance down to his lap for a moment then back up to his eyes that haven’t left yours. “Can I?” 

Jungkook just nods, allowing you to take your place on his lap. Lifting your legs to either side of his hips. Jungkook really was not intending for this night to go this way but he wasn’t complaining if it had. He would do whatever you wanted. His hands stayed planted on your hips as you found what felt comfortable. 

“You’re pretty.” He says with a shine in his eyes, he really did find you gorgeous and would tell you again and again if it wouldn’t be weird. The compliment makes you blush and hum. 

“You’re pretty too.” You lace your arms around his neck. Both of your faces are coming so close together now. Breathes intermingling for a moment, asking the same question. “You were right though.” 

“About what?”

“I do want to kiss you again.” You catch the slight hitch in Jungkook's breath at your words, the way his fingers tighten on your hips, grounding you even as your heart races. His eyes flicker from your mouth to your eyes, searching your face as though he’s almost afraid this moment might slip away.

“I’m not one to protest.” Jungkook swallows for a moment, before you took no time to close the distance between you. Pressing your lips against his soft but certain. Jungkook immediately responds tilting his head to deepen it. One of Jungkook's hands sliding up your back to bring you closer to him. The moment makes you forget everything else, as you slide your tongue into his mouth. 

For a moment, you allow yourself to sink into it, into the surprising tenderness of his touch, the quiet intensity of his kiss. You move your hands to cup his face, relishing in how warm you are now. You felt your whole entire body heat up, and small wetness in between your legs. Oh this was not good, you cannot sleep with him this soon. 

Oh he probably knew exactly what he was doing though.

He would know exactly where to touch you and exactly how to make you moan and you had very little issues with wanting to let him do that. It would be so worth it, it would be so good. Except it cannot go past this, for your sanity at least. You needed to cut this off somehow. His tongue in your mouth was making it incredibly difficult to be logical. You could feel him probably already getting a semi and you really could not stop thinking about grinding on him. 

You needed to stop though. Because this is a great opportunity to drive in that wedge between the two of you. One more way to mess this situationship up, but not ruin it completely.

As you pull away from him, leaving his lap, you mutter, “Okay… Goodnight.” You force yourself to stand, feigning nonchalance as you gather your things, even though every cell in your body is screaming at you to turn back around. Jungkook is left blinking at you, visibly caught off guard, his hands awkwardly suspended in the air where your hips just were. He clears his throat, collecting himself as he scrambles to follow you.

Clearing his throat. “Hey… um woah… was that not good or whatever?” 

You pick up some of your stuff into your arm, “It was, it was good. It was great.” 

Oh god it was great, he was a really good kisser and your whole body was screaming at you but you fought through. 

Jungkook was confused by your answer and shook his head, as he continued to follow you, “Did… did I misread something? Because I was getting a vibe.”

You glance over your shoulder and manage to flash a casual smile. “No, you didn’t misread anything. I just… don’t usually sleep with someone on the second date. Kind of a rule.” You bite your lip, keeping the truth of it hidden.

“Oh.” Jungkook nods, a look of relief mixed with mild confusion crossing his face as he adjusts his shirt. “Right, totally. Cool cool cool. That’s more than okay and Makes sense, makes sense… you should have said something.”

“It’s a bit of a mood killer to say ‘hey, by the way, you’re not getting any,’ don’t you think?” You raise an eyebrow, suppressing a grin.

You gather your things, amused by his honesty, and start toward the door. Jungkook trails behind you, letting out a small puff of air as he stares at the floor. Then, after a beat, he glances up with a sly grin. “So… just out of pure curiosity, not trying to be weird or anything, but what date number are we talking about here? Fourth, fifth…?”

You can’t help but laugh at his question, knowing full well he has no idea you’re just messing with him. “More than that.”

He frowns, looking genuinely curious now. “Sixth?”

“Nope.”

“Seventh?” He leans in closer, eyes narrowed like he’s reading the answer off your face.

“Higher.”

“Okay, when do you usually?” 

You cross your arms, “Twelfth.” 

Jungkook’s face barely changes, but you can see his jaw tighten just a little as he processes this. “Twelve… dates.” he repeats slowly, nodding as if he’s mentally mapping it out. “I mean, sure. That’s totally reasonable. Not a problem.”

“Really?” You ask, surprised at his lack of pushback.

"Yeah.” He shrugs, putting on a confident smile. “Guess I just have to plan ten more killer dates.”

“Uh huh. I’ll believe it when I see them.” Jungkook then opens the front door for you. 

“You're going to keep me on my toes aren’t you?” He watches you slowly step out the door with a wide grin on your face. He finds it cute and playful, he could tell you liked the chase. 

“Goodnight Jungkook.” You say in a sing song voice, giving him a flirtatious wave as you walk up the hallway to his elevator. 

Before you could get too far Jungkook decided to leave with something. Trotting up the hallway so he could catch you, taking your wrist and stopping you. “One last thing.” 

Jungkook places a hand on your cheek and then kisses you. It surprises you but you welcome him, its one of those kisses that is so passionate and it makes your knees want to buckle out from under you in response. He uses just a little bit of  tongue to send a shiver through your whole body, his hand warm against your cheek as he continues to kiss you just long enough to make you lose track of the hallway, the elevator, and everything else. 

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are twinkling with that trademark cockiness, but there’s something softer underneath, something that makes your heart do an unwelcome little flip. He grins, his hand lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer before letting go. “Goodnight.”

He goes back into his apartment as you retreat to the elevator. As you ride down, you let out a shaky breath, trying to process what just happened, and trying even harder to remind yourself why you’re supposed to be making him miserable. But as your lips still tingle from his kiss, you’re the one who is being thrown off balance now. This was continuing to prove to be difficult.

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Day 6

Jungkook is floating on air as he gets through his next work day. So much so Hoseok has taken notice of Jungkook's change in attitude. Really his whole attitude had been different all week. Not that he was particularly grumpy before or even usually in a bad mood, but he was just in a  really good mood. 

It was Friday night, and the familiar hum of the weekend buzzed in the air as Jimin and Taehyung once again convinced Jungkook and Hoseok to come out for a night of fun. Jungkook had been hesitant, his thoughts lingering on you. He’d been so busy lately, and while the dates had been great, there was something about tonight that made him want to see what plans you had before fully committing to the night out. But eventually, he decided he should just go—time with his friends, after all, was good too. Plus, there was that whole bet to think about, and he had a chance to subtly show Jimin and Taehyung how smoothly things were going with you.

When Jungkook and Hoseok arrived at the booth, they were greeted with their usual boisterous energy. Taehyung raised his glass, grinning widely. “Look who it is!” He said, motioning to the empty seats. As they sat down, the drinks flowed easily, and the conversation began to buzz.

However, Jimin and Taehyung had something else on their minds—Jungkook’s unusually good mood. While their conversation about random topics picked up, they were both trying to pinpoint exactly what had changed in him.

“So,” Jimin leaned forward, his voice a bit more teasing than usual, “what’s going on with you tonight? You’ve been, like, way too chill. It’s freaking me out.”

Jungkook paused for a moment, a little taken aback by the sudden observation. “What do you mean?”

Jimin gestured at him with a mock-serious face, “You're usually the one trying to take the night to the next level . Trying to make things more interesting. Tonight, you're just sitting here, all calm, looking like you’re, I don’t know, at peace or something?”

Taehyung chuckled at the thought, leaning in with a grin. “Yeah, what happened to the Jungkook who was out here doing whatever it took to keep things fun and exciting? You usually make sure the whole night has a direction. Right now, you’re, like... engaged in our conversation about cyber-security. That’s... not you.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool, but he could feel the pressure mounting. He knew his friends had caught on to something, but they didn’t know why he was acting different. “I’m just… having a good day.” His voice light and casual. “Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Hoseok snorted next to him and Jungkook gave him a side eye. 

“You definitely would have gotten someone’s number by now but your eyes have been glued on us or on your phone this whole time.” Taehyung added on, which was usually true but Jungkook was glued to his phone. Hoping maybe he would see another text from you, secretly. Casually, in a totally normal way. 

“So what gives?” Jimin pokes Jungkook in the arm. 

“It’s nothing.” Jungkook shrugged and took a sip of his drink. 

Hoseok rolled his eyes, “It’s Y/N. The girl you set him up with for this stupid bet.” 

“Oh.” It all clicked into place for the both of them but it was still weird, Jimin continues.“She totally see through your act yet?” 

Jungkook was caught off guard, the question cutting deeper than he expected. He shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Actually,” He began, his voice softening, “No. We had a really nice date last night. There is nothing to see through, I’ve been completely genuine.”

“Oh, really?” Jimin raised a skeptical eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips.

Hoseok, who had been mostly observing, finally chimed in with a sigh. “He’s been in such a good mood about it all day, I’ve actually been avoiding him.”

Jungkook shot him a glare, nudging his arm. “So you were dodging me earlier?”

Hoseok shrugged, chuckling. “Sorry, man, I just couldn’t listen to you go on about Y/N again today.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, glancing back at Jimin and Taehyung. “You guys are acting like it’s such a big deal. It’s just… going well.”

Taehyung raised a skeptical brow, his tone a bit annoyed. “So, you’re hitting it off?”

Jungkook smirked, raising his glass. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

That earned a laugh from Jimin and Taehyung. “Yeah, right.” Jimin scoffed, shaking his head.

“All I’m saying,” Jungkook replied, his smirk widening, “is you two better get your wallets ready. In 24 days, you’re going to owe me big time.”

With a final grin, Jungkook set his glass down and excused himself, heading off to the bathroom. As soon as he was out of earshot, Jimin leaned closer to Hoseok, lowering his voice. “Okay, is it actually going well, or is he just messing with us?”

Hoseok took a sip of his drink, letting the suspense hang in the air for a moment before answering. “All I’ll say is… he sent flowers.”

Jimin’s jaw dropped, and Taehyung’s eyes widened. “Flowers?” They exchanged looks of disbelief, struggling to picture Jungkook—who hadn’t done more than text after a night out for years—sending flowers.

“What kind?” Taehyung asked, still dubious. “If they were just roses, it might’ve been for show.”

Hoseok gave an exasperated look. “Sunflowers. They’re her favorite.”

Jimin blinked in disbelief, his jaw still halfway dropped as he processed Hoseok's words. “Sunflowers?” He repeated, as if the specific flower choice made it even more surreal. “You’re telling me Jungkook not only sent flowers but remembered her favorite kind?”

Hoseok nodded, his expression one of mild amusement. “It’s like he’s on some kind of mission. Didn’t even blink when he mentioned it either—used it as his way to get the second date they had this week.”

Taehyung shook his head, laughing under his breath. “I don’t know who this new Jungkook is, but he’s full of surprises. Sunflowers? That’s not just impressive; that’s borderline romantic.”

“Borderline?” Jimin laughed, still trying to wrap his head around it. “He’s gone full-on romance novel, and for someone he’s been seeing for, what, a week? This has to be the longest he’s been interested in anyone, like, ever.”

Taehyung let out a low whistle, chewing on his lip as he processed the surprising information. “Damn. This is serious.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok said with a small smile, finding some pride in a changed Jungkook. “So he’s not wrong when he says you guys are going to owe him. He’s actually putting in the effort.”

Jimin and Taehyung exchanged a look, stunned but slightly impressed. Watching Jungkook send flowers, remember favorites, and put his best foot forward was new—and honestly? They both knew they might just end up eating their own words. Which made them think, was there a way for them to slow this down, make it come to a halt?

It wasn’t an insane amount of money for either of them to lose, but it was much more entertaining to see Jungkook lose. Was there something they could do to mess this up but in a non asshole way?

If they didn’t, Jungkook was going to win the bet, but it had already become much more than a bet at this point for him.

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[leclerc-hs]

fille stupide - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: request from anon, in which you don't know French and a stranger helps you find your way back home Warning: 18+, SMUT, mean charles, degradation, some French (badly translated please correct me if needed), smut, smut, smut.... Word Count: 1808 Author's Note: I can't stop writing smut??? I think I hit every area the anon wanted!!! xo hope you like it lmaoooo also I wrote this so fast so it might not be my best work but I couldn’t sleep so I decided to write to pass the time. UPDATE: Also I just want to give a major shoutout to @dannyramirezwife for checking the translations for me!! It seriously means the world to meeee PART 2

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DESPITE MONACO'S REPUTATION as one of the smallest countries in the world, you found yourself defying expectations by getting lost. The common assumption that such a compact place would be easy to navigate proved to be a misconception, as Monaco’s intricate streets and unique layout presented a challenge, turning what seemed impossible into a reality. Your reality.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The murmur of students passing by echoed, their conversations blending into a linguistic symphony of French, a language foreign to your ears. The decision to pursue the International University of Monaco, a place where the native tongue was French, felt like a bold and ambitious choice at first. The picturesque landscapes, the allure of the Mediterranean, and the prestigious academic reputation had drawn you in. 

However, as you stood outside the building, the reality of linguistic barriers hit you with full force. It seemed like every conversation, every announcement, and every piece of information was enveloped in a language you struggled to comprehend. Although, most knew English, it wasn’t the standard, and you were not yet adjusted to it. 

Panic surged through you as you hurriedly navigated the winding sidewalks, desperately trying to locate the building housing your apartment. Your focus was solely on scanning the towering buildings, hoping to spot a familiar one. The urgency of the situation compelled you to dart forward, not paying mind to those surrounding you. It was a recipe disaster, leading you to collide right into the body of another person.

“Mon dieu,” My God. The man said with a slight annoyance in his tone. “Regarde où tu marches!” Watch where you’re walking!

As the words were proclaimed, your eyes locked with a man’s gaze. He was the most stunning individual your eyes have ever beheld. His physique was tan, sculpted and taut, with biceps stretching the seams of his t-shirt. A pair of black sunglasses perched confidently on the bridge of his nose, adding an extra layer of allure to his presence.

You had absolutely no idea what he was saying. Although by the look of his furrowed eyebrows and tightened jaw, it was evident he was far from pleased. He removed his sunglasses, unveiling a pair of narrowed eyes.

Embarrassment tinged your cheeks as you stammered, “I’m so sorry!”

Under his scrutinizing gaze, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of smallness. His eyes, which you presumed to be green, were veiled in fury, making it difficult to discern their true color, yet undeniable captivating in their intensity. 

“Tu parles Français?” Do you speak French? A sly grin stretched across his lips slowly, reveling in your bewilderment. “Stupide, stupide fille,” Stupid, stupid girl. he added, savoring the moment.

Gazing downward, you focused on your feet, idly brushing your hands across the bottom of your white sundress. The garment was short, adorned with a little tied bow between your breasts and flower details.

“I’m a bit lost.” You muttered. “Would you be able to help me find my place?”

“I ne sais pas,” I don’t know. He persisted in speaking French, despite knowing you couldn’t understand. It felt as if he aimed to humiliate you, to provoke a sense of frustration or anger deliberately.

“Évidemment, je peux. Fille stupide.” Of course, I can. Stupid girl. He was mocking you and you didn’t even know it.

You let out an exasperated groan and sidestepped to make way for him, muttering a small ‘nevermind.’ However, as you moved, he followed suit, intentionally blocking your path and halting your movement.

“You shouldn’t be wearing dresses so short,” his fingers gently toyed with the thin strap of your dress. “It’s a bit windy for them.”

You felt the goosebumps rise on your skin from his touch alone. You frowned, “So, you do speak English?”

“Oui, la plupart des gens le font.” Yes, most people do. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he continued speaking in French. While you acknowledged the need to learn the language, it felt like he was intentionally being cruel rather than helpful. “Are you in University?”

You nodded briskly, eager not to waste any time, especially since he finally seemed willing to be helpful.

“Most of the students live this way,” he mentioned, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he began to walk, essentially pulling you along with him. The touch of his skin against yours stirred butterflies in your stomach. Despite the fact he was insanely hot, you struggled to concentrate, almost forgetting the fact that he was behaving like a total asshole. 

He muttered French phrases to himself throughout the entire walk, small laughs escaping his lips while you remained clueless about what he was saying.

“Je veux te manger.” I want to eat you out.

“Tu t’habilles comme une salope.” You dress like a slut.

“Je vais te détruire.” I’m going to wreck you.

You weren’t sure what it was. Whether it was delusion from exhaustion or simply the undeniable sex appeal of the guy, the words, even though you didn’t understand them, strangely aroused you. 

Guiding you through the streets, he steered you into a lobby of a building that finally seemed familiar. “What number are you?” he inquired, referring to your apartment number. 

“Why would I give a stranger my apartment number?”

He scoffed, “I’m Charles. Not a stranger anymore. What’s the number?”

You didn’t give him the information because he convinced you that easily. It was more because he knew the area better than you. 

“0217? I think.” You replied, not entirely certain. The rush of your first day at university had left you with little time to settle in and memorize details. He didn’t seem to have much patience as he led you quickly up the stairwell and in front of a door with the numbers 0217 on it. You pulled out your key and unlocked the door, smiling as you finally pushed it open with success.

“Come in and have some water before you go,” You offered. It was the least you could do to express gratitude for his assistance. Your apartment was sparsely furnished, with only a mattress on the floor and several boxes scattered about.

“Sorry for the mess,” you bent over to pick up two water bottles from the case of water, your lace underwear with tiny hearts all over them peeking out for Charles view. He groaned loudly and unashamed.

Fatigue weighed heavily behind your eyes, but a persistent ache tugged at your stomach, insisting on the need to fulfill it.

“Mon dieu, j’ai besoin de t’avoir.” My god, I need to have you.

You rolled your eyes at the man as he said yet another sentence in French, handing him the water bottle. Rather than taking the water bottle from your hand, he grasped tightly onto your forearm and pulled you into him, the shock of his grasp causing you to drop the water bottle.

You felt your stomach tightening with need as his hands were on you once again. It was sick really. How this big of an asshole could turn you on so much.

“Rule number one, you can only roll your eyes when my cock is stretching your tight little pussy.” The scent of his cologne made your knees week. It was embarrassing. How quickly he was able to affect you. 

A soft gasp escaped your lips at his words, and your heart raced rapidly in response. He towered over your small frame, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at your flushed skin. A dead giveaway to how badly you were aching for him.

His hand swiftly pulled the strings of the dress, giving him full access to your breasts. He slipped his hand into it, pinching your nipple between his middle finger and thumb.

“On the bed.” His tone was demanding and authoritative, treating you like you were the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Treating you like the slut that you were. “On your hands and knees.”

You rushed over to the bed, falling to your hands and knees, turning your head to look up at Charles behind you. Once he makes his way over, he grabs your hair and pulls you so your back is flushed to his chest, pulling your mouth to his. His tongue slips its way into your mouth, devouring you. The process is not entirely sexy. It’s urgent. Frantic. As if neither of you could have enough of one another.

He pulled away and spoke gruffly, as if he was angry with you. “Doesn’t even know a lick of French, stupide fille.” Stupid girl. He remarked, switching off between French and English.

Your dress was so short that he didn't even need to move it to see your panties. The dainty little hearts had him foaming at the mouth. So fucking cute.

“Fucking salope.” Slut. He pushes you back down, letting you fall back onto your hands as he pulled his pants down, freeing his cock.

You felt your mouth water at the sight. Just like him, his cock was beautiful. Perfectly smooth and dripping with pre-cum. You moaned as he pressed the head of his cock to your lace covered pussy, teasing you with it. You felt yourself growing needier, trying to push yourself onto his cock for more friction. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” He groaned, pulling your underwear to the side, and spitting directly onto your pussy. He did it as if he was spitting on the sidewalk, with no care and no respect, shoving two fingers into your heated center. He wasn’t gentle in the slightest. He was greedy, taking whatever he wanted from you. “Pathétique,” Pathetic. He sighs, shaking his head, "Such a cock slut."

Loud moans left your mouth as he stroked where you ached with his fingers before removing them and replacing them with his cock. 

“So fucking tight,” he hisses, his fingers grabbing onto the skin of your ass to add leverage as his continues to push deeper. To push harder. Your pussy squeezes him harder as he utters the words. “Tu aimes ça?” You like that? He muses on, “You like hearing what a tight pussy you have?”

“Dirty fucking slut.”

His hand reaches out and forces your head down onto the mattress, limiting your breathing. He’s completely unhinged. His hips relentlessly pounding into you. Fucking you like he’s mad at you. Fucking you like he hates you. With every thrust, a loud moan escapes your lips, echoing off the empty apartment walls.

“Come on my cock,” he demands. “Squeezing me like you’re going to come.” He states. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You feel yourself choking on your moans as it hits you. You’re now leaping over the edge of your orgasm. “That’s it,” he soothes, talking you through as you release all over his cock, but he doesn’t slow the roll of his hips into you. He pulls your face up from the mattress, his hand holding you up by the back of your neck. You’re completely limp, practically nothing but a toy for him to use. 

“Charles,” you’re yelling his name repeatedly.

At the sound of your voice yelling his name, he quickly pulls out and comes undone, releasing all over your backside. He collapses beside you, both of you trying to catch your breath. You both lie there, unmoving, just staring at each other.

“You should really learn French.” He laughs, a smug smile forming on his lips. You can’t help but laugh in response. 

“Maybe you can teach me?” 

“Peut être.” Maybe.

[huggingkoalas]

𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐝? 𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞? | natasha romanoff

pairing — ‧₊˚ avenger!natasha romanoff x fem!avenger!reader

summary — ‧₊˚ what happens when you have to share a bed with your enemy?

word count — ‧₊˚ 2.9k

warning(s) — ‧₊˚ fluff, teasing, gunshot wound, reader’s injured, pet names (sweetheart, love), one bed trope, enemies to lovers, they’re both so in denial it makes me want to bang my head against the wall

authors note — ‧₊˚ haven’t had the time to write in a long time. i honestly had a lot of fun writing this, natasha being the most annoying fucking tease is the biggest headcannon to me <3

“Need a hand, dorogaya (sweetheart)?”

“Shut up, Romanoff.”

“If you say so.”

With your dominant hand pressed firmly against your wounded abdomen to stem the bleeding, your other hand trembled as it swiped the card through the reader. Natasha leaned her back casually against the adjacent wall, her boredom thinly veiled by a feigned yawn as the reader emitted its third ‘beep’ of rejection due to your insufficient force.

“We’ll be here all day. Aren’t you supposed to have super soldier serum in your blood?” 

“I said shut up.”

With an exasperated scoff, Natasha snatched the card out of your hand. She forcefully swiped it through the reader, the satisfying click of the door unlocking echoing in the corridor. As the door swung open to reveal the dimly lit motel room, Natasha couldn’t help but grin smugly.

“See? Easy as pie.”

You grunted in response, carefully adjusting your stance to maintain pressure on your wound. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, love.” She replied breezily. 

With a nod of appreciation, you stepped through the doorway, a wave of relief washing over you, although the throbbing pain in your abdomen dampened it. Natasha followed suit, closing the door behind her and locking it. She walked past you, her demeanour shifting subtly from teasing to attentive as she scanned the room. Once she familiarised herself with the layout and window exits, she turned back to you, nodding her head to give you the all-clear.

The room looked ordinary like any other hostel room, with neutral-toned walls and simple furnishings. A small table sat in one corner, adorned with a lamp and a few scattered brochures. Across the room, a worn-out armchair stood next to a narrow window, its curtains drawn shut to block the dim city lights. On the opposite wall, a modest dresser provided limited storage space, its drawers slightly ajar. Despite its lack of luxury, the room emanated a sense of comfort. As you looked around the unremarkable surroundings, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gratitude for the simple shelter it provided.

While you were busy surveying the room, Natasha’s attention was on your injured abdomen, a subtle flash of concern in her eyes. The sight of the fresh blood staining your shirt in the brief moments it took to open the door tugged at her heartstrings, even if she would never admit it to you.

“How bad is the wound?” She inquired, pointing a finger towards your abdomen.

You glanced down, noting the slight redness seeping through the fabric and onto your shirt. “Well, I wouldn’t have this wound if someone realised that a HYDRA agent was aiming at them.” You retorted.

Natasha smirked, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Hey, it’s not my fault they can’t resist taking a shot at me, I’m irresistible.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle despite the ache in your side. “Irresistible, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

“Of course.” She shrugged casually, giving you a knowing look. “I honestly think we both attract trouble wherever we go. It's probably the only reason Fury paired the two of the biggest troublemakers on this mission, right? He’s probably having the best day of his life without having to deal with us constantly being at each other’s throats.”

You smirked, acknowledging the truth in her words. “Seems like Fury knows what he’s doing after all.”

 “Well, I’d like to think he’s getting some entertainment out of it.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Entertainment? More like a headache.”

Her smirk softened into a faint smile as she shook her head. “Just because you saved me doesn’t mean that I don’t hate you still.”

“Likewise, Romanoff. Just because we’re being all buddy-buddy right now doesn’t mean I suddenly like you.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. “Good. Wouldn’t want things to get too sentimental, partner.”

You knew that the word ‘partner’ was dripping with teasing and sarcasm. The two of you were anything but cooperative with each other. You both frequently exchanged biting remarks, teasing, and insults. You couldn’t help but wonder what you had done to make her despise you so much. You were nice to her when you joined the Avengers all those years ago, but it always seemed that she harboured a deep dislike for you. When you spoke up in a team meeting, she would scowl and you could always feel her gaze burning a hole in your skull.

In the beginning, you tried to get along with her and be as friendly to her as you were to everyone else. From offering her assistance during training or helping her with her mission reports, nothing you did ever seemed to break the coldness and distance in her heart. You knew she wasn’t the most extroverted person, but you never saw her act that way towards others. Eventually, you gave up and decided it was best to ignore her, just as she had ignored you. 

Of course, once you started ignoring her too, Natasha’s behaviour changed. She started teasing and taunting you, finding ways to provoke a reaction from you even when you tried to ignore her. And she kept winning. Her incessant teasing had a way of getting under your skin. It was a frustrating cycle of provocation and reaction. You felt like you were constantly on edge whenever she was around. 

But reluctantly, you couldn’t deny that everything had changed during the mission an hour ago. Despite the heated tensions, you both had an unspoken agreement to watch each other’s backs in battle.

As the weight of the moment settled on you, Natasha’s gaze softened, and her concern for your well-being was evident in the depths of her eyes. “But seriously,” she said, her tone changing to genuine concern, “let me help you tend to that wound before it gets infected.”

You shook your head slightly. “It’s okay, I can take care of it myself.”

Her expression tightened slightly, her concern unwavering. “Stubborn as always,” she muttered under her breath.

You met her gaze with a steely resolve. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve handled worse.”

Her lips formed a thin line, showing her frustration. "Think of it as a way of repaying you for helping me.” She insisted, her voice firm.

You knew she wouldn’t give the matter up. The both of you were equally as stubborn as a mule. “Fine.” You relented, offering a nod. 

“Great,” Natasha replied, a hint of relief in her tone. “To the bathroom then. I’m sure this motel room has a first aid kit somewhere…”

You and Natasha made your way to the bathroom, her footsteps echoing yours. Silently, you took a seat on the edge of the closed toilet seat. You leaned back against the toilet’s tank, the cool porcelain surface offering a brief respite from the tension in your muscles. She wasted no time in retrieving the first aid kit from the mirror cabinet and moving towards you. 

“Take off your shirt,” She instructed, settling the first aid kit on the tiled floor.

Your brows furrowed in surprise at her directive. “W-What?” You stammered, looking down at her with an incredulous look.

Natasha rolled her eyes at your surprise, her patience wearing thin. “Come on, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” she chided, her tone tinged with exasperation. “I can’t clean your wound if you have your shirt on.”

Reluctantly, you began to peel off your shirt cautiously. Each inch revealed the angry red gunshot wound beneath, eliciting a whine as the fabric grazed against your wound. At least you were lucky that the bullet passed through instead of staying inside your body. As more of your skin came into view, Natasha’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. A blush crept onto her cheeks, betraying her normally composed demeanour. Despite her best efforts to maintain her composure, the sight of your exposed skin stirred something within her, igniting a warmth that she couldn’t quite suppress. Quickly, she averted her gaze, busying herself with preparing the first aid supplies. Though she tried to hide it, the flush on her cheeks lingered.

As you finally removed your shirt, Natasha’s expression softened even further. “Thank you for sacrificing yourself for me. It was incredibly stupid, though.” She murmured, her voice softer now.

“It’s alright, Romanoff.”

“You can call me Natasha, you know. You’re the only one in the team that still calls me by my last name.”

“Alright, Natasha.” Your lips twitched into a small, appreciative smile. 

In a comfortable silence, Natasha began to carefully clean the wound with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, her touch gentle yet precise. The warmth of her fingertips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine. As she worked, you couldn’t help but steal glances at her, admiring the focused expression on her face.

Natasha’s brows furrowed as she delicately dabbed at the wound, her lips forming a thin line. Now and then, she would scrunch her nose up, a small, endearing gesture that softened her usual stoic expression. Despite the pain, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the sight of her.

Once the wound was cleaned and dressed, her gaze met yours with a sense of satisfaction. “There,” she said softly, relief in her voice. “All done.”

You offered her a grateful smile, “Thank you.”

A small, genuine smile curved Natasha’s lips as she met your gaze. “Anytime, dorogaya (sweetheart).”

As she rose to her feet, a blush crept onto your cheeks. You were well-acquainted with Natasha’s tendency to use nicknames on you, especially ‘dorogaya’, but it was typically wielded with a teasing edge. This time, however, it wasn’t accompanied by the usual teasing tone. Instead, it carried a genuine warmth that caught you off guard.

“Uh…” You stammered, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest at the unexpectedly sincere endearment. Clearing your throat, you tried to push aside the fluttering in your chest.

Her smile widened at your reaction. “Nervous, are we?”

“Shut up, Natasha.” 

She chuckled softly at your retort, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she teased, her tone light and playful.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips despite the warmth still lingering in your cheeks. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words.

With a shake of her head, Natasha reached down to offer you a hand. “Come on, let’s get you back on your feet,” she said.

You hesitated for a moment, touched by her gesture, before placing your hand in hers. With a steady grip, she helped you to your feet. She moved to the doorway before looking at you over her shoulder. “I’ll let you shower first. Try not to get water on the dressing.”

“Got it.”

With a final nod of acknowledgement, Natasha closed the door behind her, leaving you alone in the quiet of the bathroom. Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you slipped off the rest of your clothes and placed them in a pile with your soiled shirt. A sense of relief washed over you at the prospect of washing away the grime of the day’s events. You turned on the water, allowing the warm cascade to envelop you as you stepped beneath the stream. Despite the lingering ache in your abdomen, the sensation of the water against your skin was soothing, easing the aching tension that had settled in your muscles.

As you stood beneath the spray, you couldn’t help but reflect on the events that led to this moment. Fury had sent you and Natasha on what was supposed to be a routine mission, but as these things often went, it spiralled into chaos. The intel given was faulty, the security stronger than anticipated, and you were in over your heads before you knew it. It was a mission gone wrong, one of those rare instances where even the most meticulous planning couldn’t prevent disaster.

In the aftermath of the debacle, with your injuries sustained and the mission being held in another country, there was no choice but to seek refuge in a motel room for a night before a Quinjet could transport you back to the Avengers Compound. Fury had booked a motel room for you and Natasha, a nondescript haven tucked away from prying eyes. It was a humble accommodation, far removed from the luxuries of the Compound, but at least it provided a temporary sanctuary where you could tend to your wounds without drawing unwanted attention.

As you stood beneath the shower’s warm spray, the mission’s events were still fresh and raw as they replayed in your mind like a relentless loop. The close calls, the split-second decisions, the adrenaline-fueled rush of combat. And yet, despite the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remained constant — Natasha fighting with you side-by-side.

You couldn’t help but marvel at Natasha’s resilience. Her determination even in the face of overwhelming odds. She had saved your life more times than you could count, her skills as an assassin matched only by her unwavering loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. 

However, this time was different. During the mission, the roles had been reversed. In a moment of instinct, you had thrown yourself between Natasha and the gun aimed in her direction, putting your own life on the line to protect hers. The only reason you could think of for making a reckless decision like that was that simple —  you couldn’t bear the thought of losing Natasha, even if you hated her with your whole heart. There was no hesitation as you acted on pure instinct, driven by a need to protect her.

As the warm water washed away the physical remnants of the mission, you emerged from the shower. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you stepped out of the bathroom, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as the steam-filled air gave way to the coolness of the room. 

Immediately, your gaze was drawn to Natasha, who sat on the edge of the bed, her expression a mix of surprise as she took in your appearance. You couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves at the intensity of her gaze, prompting you to tighten the towel around yourself in a subconscious attempt to shield your modesty.

Finally, Natasha broke the silence. “Sorry for staring. I.. uh-” She faltered for a moment, her words trailing off as she cleared her throat, seemingly struggling to find the right thing to say. “We have a problem. There’s only one bed.” 

Her words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were at a loss for how to respond. You looked down at the singular bed Natasha was sitting on. You couldn’t help but feel a flush of embarrassment colour your cheeks. The prospect of sharing a bed with Natasha added a whole new layer of complexity to your already complicated relationship with her.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Natasha suggested, standing up.

You felt a pang of guilt wash over you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t be fair for her to sacrifice her comfort for your sake.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You interjected quickly. “You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor instead.”

Natasha crossed her arms, regarding you with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not being ridiculous. You’re the one that’s injured, you should get the bed instead.”

You shook your head. “I appreciate the concern but I really can’t let you sleep on the floor. We’re both equally exhausted from the mission and besides, you need a good night’s rest too.”

Natasha’s expression softened, her gaze meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and stubbornness. “I can’t let you sleep on the floor either,” she countered, her voice firm.

You sighed, realizing that neither of you would easily back down from this standoff. “Alright, how about this,” you proposed. “We share the bed. It’s really small, so we’ll have to sleep pressed up against each other, but at least neither of us has to sleep uncomfortably.”

Natasha hesitated for a moment, considering your offer. “Are you sure?” she asked, her tone softening with concern.

“I’m sure.” You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. “Go take a shower. You smell.”

She chuckled softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. “Yes ma’am.”

As Natasha disappeared into the bathroom, you took a moment to collect your thoughts, relieved that the tension between you had dissipated, at least for now. Sharing a bed with her was certainly going to be an… interesting experience.

You reached for the bag you had dropped near the doorway and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. Quickly, you dressed yourself. As you settled into bed, you heard the door open as Natasha emerged from the bathroom. You were facing away from her as you felt the bed dip behind you when she got into bed. Feeling her presence behind you, you turned your head to offer her a small smile. 

“Can I… wrap my arm around you? It’s the only way we’ll both fit in this bed.” Natasha remarked, her voice laced with a hint of embarrassment. 

You chuckled softly, feeling the tension easing further as you nodded in agreement. “Sure, yeah, go ahead.”

As Natasha shifted closer, her front pressed up against your back and her arm gently encircling your waist, you couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach at the sudden intimacy. Despite the awkwardness, there was a surprising comfort in the warmth of her touch, and you found yourself relaxing further in her embrace.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Natasha murmured, her breath warm against your ear.

“Goodnight, Natasha.” You replied, a sense of contentment settling over you as you closed your eyes.

[wystiix]

‘til death hits me (literally)

❥ pairing: luka x death ❥ synopsis: How long has it been since he laid there, cold and alone? Despite his condition, Luka had just one wish—to have one last look at the sky. ❥ cw: chronically ill luka in a wheelchair, he gets hit by a bus, satire and poorly written ❥ additional tags: bus gives him a kiss hyuna would never give him in this fic, idk hospital au, and just me bulshitting so possibly ooc luka ❥ word count: penis ❥ notes: shoutout to @milksnake-tea @papiliotao @starcharmed @luunares for curing my writers block! the formatting is asscheeks cuz I’m on mobile rn but I’ll fix it later because I just drank horchata and somehow I think god hates me and decided to make me lactose intolerant out of nowhere so I had to take the fattest shit in the middle of my barista session and yeah. reminder that this is SATIRE so don’t come for my ass pls 🥀🥀 I love Luka and this is my way of coping. I could not write a proper synopsis idk cuz I wa sin my barista session when I wrote this so YEHA idc idc I’ll fix the layout and stuff later.

The beeping of the machine next to him slowed. A thin light came into view, stretching across the hospital parking lot out of the window. Luka had always loved the quiet mornings.

He closed his eyes to listen for the birds that chirped outside his window. When he opened them again, someone was standing beside the bed. Nurse Kissmyass, he thought, or someone who wore Kissmyass’s face. Maybe he'd already started hallucinating. Maybe everyone was Kissmyass now.

"You're awake," Kissmyass, or someone, said softly. “Doctor said if you’re feeling up for it… we can take you outside for a bit. Get some sun.”

The sun.

He tried to say something like It's about damn time, but all that came out was a small rasp from the depths of his throat. Close enough.

Kissmyass smiled and started adjusting his IV. “We’ll get the chair.”

Moments later, they wheeled him hrough the sliding doors. Unc blinked up the sky. The sun was still rising, so blotches of orange and splashes of red scattered across the sky. A breeze tugged weakly at his hospital gown. The light was so clean, much unlike him.

Luka let his head to fall back onto the stiff chair. Everything ached from his chest to his crusty toes, but the pain had been there for so long that it felt more like a companion since the day Hyuna left him. His body was like an old, abandoned house.

But the sun. The sun felt good.

“Just a few minutes,” Kissmyass murmured behind him. “We’ve got to be careful with exposure. Delicate system and all.”

Luka hummed, watching the wind move through the trees across the lot, brushing the leaves in waves. Time passed like molasses.

Honk.

His eyes opened just in time to see a bus making a wide, confused turn. The driver looked panicked. The driver looked like they were mouthing “I’m so sorry.” The driver looked like… Hyuna—?

thunk.

The wheelchair jolted forward as something nudged it. Luka’s body followed half a second later. Everything happened absurdly slowly.

Kissmyass’s screams at him to get up felt muffled. Luka was still mid-“Huh?” when his forehead bounced off the license plate, sending him flying through the air. He floated for a second like a ragdoll, flailing gently in the morning light. His eyes took sight of the sun one last time. The last thing he saw and felt was the warm, yellow and eternal streaks.

So this was it. For a glorious moment, he looked majestic—like an angel. Lives flashes before his eyes, remembering the time he danced under the moonlight with Hyuna. When he was happy despite his chronic conditions.

The IV line trailed after him in the air, still bravely attached while flapping about . A single tear slipped down his cheek—whether from pain, joy, or windburn, no one could be sure.

Before he hit the pavement. And he fucking dies LMAOO LOSER

[lloveboo]

ALL THE WAYS WE BURN - a Kim Mingyu fanfic

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader, ceo!mingyu x employee!reader

genre: office romance, sexual tension, yearning, heavy angst, slow burn

next chapter: Under His Gaze

Chapter One – A New Beginning

The glass facade of Kim Architecture stretched high into the clear sky with it's sleek panels reflecting the soft morning sun. I stood at the entrance, gripping onto the strap of my bag, my stomach was twisting with nerves.

This was it. The first step toward everything I had worked for.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

Charlotte: Good luck today, sis! You’re going to be amazing. I’m so proud of you. Love you!

A small, grateful smile tugged at my lips.

Me: Love you too, Char. I’ll tell you all about it later.

Charlotte, my little sister had always believed in me—even when I struggled to have faith in myself. This job wasn’t just about me; it was about us, about finally moving forward.

I took a steadying breath and stepped inside.

The cool air of the lobby hit me first, followed by the quiet hum of conversation and the sharp clicks of heels against marble. The employees moved with such purpose that exuded such confidence which made me feel like I was an outsider in their world.

“Miss Nova?”

I turned at the sound of my name, coming face-to-face with a woman who carried herself with effortless authority. She was strikingly tall, with dark eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Her heels clicked with each step while her chestnut hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders.

I recognized her instantly.

“Miss Lila,” I said, straightening.

“You remember me,” she noted, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Good. I interviewed so many candidates I almost lost track.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Hard to forget an interview that made me this anxious.”

Lila chuckled, then gestured for me to follow. “Come on, let me show you around.”

As we walked, she explained the office layout, the different departments, key people to remember, and where to get the best coffee. Which was not from the break room, apparently.

We reached an open workspace where rows of desks stretched before us, occupied by employees engrossed in their screens or engaged in quiet discussions.

“This is you,” Lila said, stopping at a desk near the floor-to-ceiling windows. “It’s not much now, but trust me, once you get into the rhythm of things, this place will feel like home.”

I slid my bag onto the desk, taking it all in. It was a simple setup, a sleek computer, a keyboard, a neatly stacked pile of documents —but to me, it was everything.

Lila glanced at me, her expression softening slightly. “You’ll be fine. Just do the work, pay attention, and don’t be afraid to ask questions. You’re here for a reason.”

I let those words settle deep in my chest.

I hoped she was right.

The next few days blurred together as I adjusted to my new role.

I spent mornings navigating spreadsheets and reports, gradually learning the unspoken rules of corporate life. The break room quickly became a familiar retreat, where I found myself easing into casual conversations with colleagues.

“First-day horror stories, go,” Lila prompted one afternoon, stirring her coffee.

“I spilled tea on my manager’s desk,” one coworker admitted.

“I called the CEO by the wrong name,” another groaned.

I raised a brow. “You’re still here?”

“He found it funny,” they replied.

Lila smirked. “Mr Kim doesn’t care about stuff like that. As long as you’re competent, he barely notices you exist.”

I blinked at the name. Mr Kim.

I had seen him around.

Noticing him.

I mean it was impossible not to notice him.

Kim Mingyu moves through the office with an air of quiet authority, that his presence commands even when he wasn’t speaking. Tall, broad-shouldered, always dressed in sleek, in perfectly tailored suits. His expression always unreadable, his focus being razor-sharp.

I had watched him in passing—discussing figures with the finance team, reviewing blueprints with the senior architects. He never lingered, never wasted words.

I saw him laugh once, a brief chuckle at something a senior manager had said, and even that felt rare, like catching a glimpse of something not meant to be seen.

But he never looked my way.

And that was fine.

Three days in, as I was finishing up my work for the evening, Lila appeared at my desk and dropped a thick stack of documents in front of me.

“Can you do me a favor?”

I glanced up, already wary. “Depends.”

Lila chucked. “I need you to sit in for me at tomorrow’s project meeting. I’ll try to make it, but if I’m late, just take notes.”

I stiffened. “Wait—you want me to cover for you?”

“You’ll be fine,” Lila said breezily. “Just observe, stay sharp, and who knows? Maybe you’ll learn something useful.”

I swallowed unsure but still nodded.

That night, I sat at my tiny table desk at mine and Charlotte's apartment, surrounded by documents and notes, highlighting key points and scribbling in the margins.

I didn’t know it yet, but tomorrow would change everything.

The next morning, smells of toasted bread and coffee filled our tiny apartment as I flipped through my notes again, my pen tapping against the page. My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. It was almost time to go. My stomach twisted in nerves.

“You’re going to burn a hole through that paper,” Charlotte teased, sliding two plates of scrambled eggs and toast onto the table.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. “I just want to be prepared. This is my first big meeting, and I’m filling in for someone way more experienced than me. What if I screw up?”

“You won’t.” Charlotte sat across from me, propping her chin in her hand. “You always do this. Overthink, stress, then absolutely crush it.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. “I hope you’re right.”

She pointed her fork at me. “I am right. And if you impress your boss, maybe you’ll get promoted faster, and then we can finally move into one of those fancy high-rise apartments you’re always obsessing over.”

I huffed a small laugh. “One step at a time, Char.”

Charlotte shrugged. “I’m just saying, you’re kind of a genius, and they’d be stupid not to see that.”

Something in my chest warmed.

“Thanks,” I murmured, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “I’ll do my best.”

Charlotte smiled. “You always do.”

The tube rattled as I gripped the pole, running through everything I had memorised the night before. The key points, the numbers, the small details that could set my idea apart.

This was my chance.

A high-stakes meeting. Executives. A vice CEO. And—of course—him.

Mingyu.

I’d seen him around the office. Heard the way people spoke about him. Respected, ambitious, incredibly intelligent. But cold. Calculated.

We hadn’t spoken yet.

He hadn’t even acknowledged me.

But maybe that was about to change.

The conference room was sleek and modern, floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the far wall giving a breathtaking view of the city. But I had barely noticed. My hands rested neatly in my lap, my mind sharply focused.

The room filled quickly, conversations buzzing—high-ranking executives taking their seats, the vice CEO flipping through his notes.

Then, everything shifted.

The door opened, and the air grew heavier.

I felt it before I even saw him.

Mingyu walked in, his dark suit fitting him perfectly, exuding power without even trying. He didn’t say a word, yet the room responded to him instantly. Loud conversations quieted. People straightened in their seats.

I kept my posture composed, but my pulse quickened.

For the next few minutes, discussions passed over my head. Numbers, projections—until we reached the project I had spent hours studying last night.

Mingyu’s voice was smooth, deep. “There are inefficiencies in the current layout. We need a solution that maximizes space without increasing costs.”

Silence stretched across the table.

I swallowed.

I wasn’t supposed to speak. This wasn’t my place.

But the answer was right there. Clear as day.

I took a breath.

“If we modify the structural framework to incorporate more lightweight materials,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “we can maintain durability while cutting down on costs. It would also allow for a more open design, which aligns with the project’s vision.”

The room turned to me.

My throat went dry.

Then, finally—finally—he looked at me.

His gaze was unreadable. Dark. Sharp.

Assessing.

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

“Explain,” he said.

It wasn’t a dismissal.

It was a challenge.

I met his eyes and pushed forward, breaking down my reasoning, referencing research, calculations, every fact I had spent hours memorizing.

I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t stutter one bit.

By the time I finished, silence settled over the table.

Then—Mingyu nodded. Just once.

“That’s a good approach,” he said simply. “We’ll look into it.”

The meeting moved on, but I barely heard the rest.

Because for the first time since I started working here— I wasn’t invisible to him anymore.

And something told me—this was only the beginning.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Just a Little Sick

Cgs!Wandanat x little!fem!reader

Summary: You're sick and your Mommy and Daddy are here to take care of you

Word count: 3K

Warnings: None fluff and comfort

A/N: I'm sick and I just want Wandanat

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

In the Avengers compound, the living area was unusually quiet, save for the occasional sneeze or cough from you all bundled up on the couch, swathed in your favorite blanket. Your trusted stuffie sat beside you, offering silent comfort.

Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, moved around the room, ensuring you had everything you needed. Your occasional whimpers caught Natasha's attention every time, making her heart ache.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Natasha asked softly, brushing your hair off your forehead. You sniffled, your eyes watery.

"Sick, Daddy," you murmured, your voice hoarse. You clutched a lollipop lozenge, the soothing taste providing a small comfort. Natasha smiled gently, adjusting your glasses for you.

"I know, sweetheart. Just rest, okay? I've got you." She tucked your blanket more securely around you.

The bond between you two was unique. In a world filled with heroes and battles, you two had found solace in your relationship. Today, as you battled your cold, Natasha's protective instincts were in full force, ensuring her little girl felt safe and cherished.

Natasha's fingers danced across the keyboard, rapidly typing up a report for Fury. Every few minutes, she'd glance over at you, ensuring you were okay. The juxtaposition was stark: the fierce warrior, known and feared by many, caring for the young, vulnerable girl who had a power greater than most could imagine.

A soft snore broke Natasha's concentration, and she looked over to see your chest rising and falling rhythmically. Smiling softly, Natasha reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, careful not to disturb you.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha continued her work, answering calls with a hushed voice, ensuring the noise didn't disturb your slumber. Every so often, she'd pause to jot down notes or sip on a cup of tea, the room filled with the sound of rain gently tapping against the windows.

Despite the pressing demands of her job, Natasha's priority was clear: ensuring you felt loved and protected, especially on days like this. The bond the two of you shared was unbreakable, built on trust, care, and a love that transcended the ordinary.

As the day carried on and Wanda came rushing in. "How is she Tasha?" Wanda asked in a panic, seeing the little one's sleeping form.

"She's got a cold. Trying to give her medicine was hell, but she enjoyed those lollipop lozenges you got. I wanted to make her soup, but I know she'd want yours more." Nat told her girlfriend. Wanda smiled, giving Nat a kiss.

"I'll get it started right away." Wanda got up going to the kitchen which was attached in an open layout with the living area.

Wanda's nurturing nature made her a perfect fit as "Mommy," complementing Natasha's protective instincts as "Daddy."

From the couch, you stirred slightly, your brows furrowing. Natasha was by your side in an instant, placing a gentle hand on your forehead. The medicine seemed to be doing its job; your temperature felt slightly lower.

A short while later, the aroma of homemade soup filled the air. Wanda emerged from the kitchen with a steaming bowl. "I made her favorite," she said, placing the bowl on the coffee table.

Together, they carefully woke you, who blinked up at them sleepily. "Mommy?" she murmured, her voice raspy.

Wanda smiled warmly, brushing your hair back. "Hey, sweetheart. I made some soup for you."

Your eyes lit up a bit, and you nodded weakly, allowing Wanda to help you sit up. As Wanda fed you the soup, Natasha couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. In the midst of chaos and battles, they had found a semblance of home and family, and she cherished every moment of it.

°○°○°○°○°

Natasha observed from a distance, her brows furrowing with concern as she watched you shiver from the cold sensation of the fever patch. The bond between you and Wanda was evident in moments like these—Wanda's gentle reassurances calming you despite the discomfort.

Once the patch was in place and you were comfortably nestled back under your blanket, Wanda sat beside you, softly singing a lullaby, an old Sokovian one. The room was filled with the warmth of their love and care, a stark contrast to the chilly patch on your forehead.

Natasha approached, placing a hand on Wanda's shoulder. "You're amazing with her," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's temple.

Wanda smiled softly, her eyes never leaving yours. "She's our girl, Tasha. We'll always do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy."

°○°○°○°○°

"In a little bit we should give her a bath." Wanda mentions taking the empty bowls to the kitchen, Nat following behind.

"You cooked dinner, let me take care of the dishes." Nat said, putting her hands on Wanda's hips, kissing her shoulder. "Go be with our little one. I'm sure she wants Mommy cuddles." Nat mentions Wanda turning, kissing Nat on the lips,

"Thank you Daddy." Wanda whispered going back to the couch and moving onto the couch, having you lay on top of her.

°○°○°○°○°

Once the kitchen was in order, Natasha joined her two loves on the couch. You, now clean and wrapped in a fluffy towel, snuggled comfortably against Wanda's chest. Wanda softly stroked your damp hair, humming a lullaby as the trio settled into the quiet comfort of their makeshift family.

Wanda got you dressed in comfy pajamas and helped get your dry. “How about we watch something little one?” Wanda asked softly, kissing the crown of your head.

“Please Mommy, can watch Bluey?” You ask as Wanda gets your paci, popping it in your mouth.

“Of course we can little one.” She smiled softly, pushing your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

°○°○°○°○°

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you snored peacefully, still wrapped up in your favorite blanket. Wanda's emotional admission filled the air with a mix of vulnerability and love. Wanda smiled, tears pricking the sides of her eyes.

"What's wrong Wands?" Nat asks, noticing her girlfriend's mixed expressions.

"I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I just never thought it'd be like this, but," Wanda looked up at Nat, the tears spilling over, "I wouldn't trade being her Mommy for anything in the multiverse or having you by my side as her Daddy." Wanda reached a hand out, Nat lacing their fingers together and smiling,

Natasha's eyes softened, and she squeezed Wanda's hand reassuringly. "We may not have expected this journey, but it's our own unique adventure, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Y/N is lucky to have you as her Mommy, and I'm grateful every day to be her Daddy with you by my side."

Wanda nodded, wiping away a tear with her free hand. "She's our little miracle, isn't she?"

Natasha leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Wanda's forehead. "Absolutely, and our family is stronger for it.”

°○°○°○°○°

The three girls all ended up falling asleep with Bluey playing in the background. As morning came, Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Bruce made their way down to the kitchen for breakfast finding the three girls there all the Avengers knew of the girls special relationship and your needs at times. "They probably had a long night, Wanda was telling me as we came back from our mission about Y/N being sick." Steve mentioned.

Bruce, pouring himself a cup of coffee, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Nat mentioned it to me. It's good they have each other, especially on days like this."

Tony, flipping through a digital newspaper on his tablet, chimed in, "We've all seen how strong their bond is. It's heartwarming, really. Makes the compound feel a bit more like home."

Bucky, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, glanced over at the sleeping trio. "They're a team within a team. It's nice to see they've found their place here."

Steve smiled, looking at the scene before him. "Let's give them some space. I'll whip up some breakfast for when they wake up. They'll need it.”

Steve decided to gently wake Nat first. Who stretched out, bones cracking and popping from the way she slept. "Hey I made breakfast for you three. How's Y/N?" He asked softly. Nat leaned over feeling your forehead.

"She's going to need more medicine." Nat stood up. Going to the cabinet, grabbing the grape flavored liquid medicine along with a sippy cup of apple juice. Moving back over to the other two as the boys watched their dance with practiced ease. "Baby girl, it's time to wake up." You stirred in Wanda's arms, which made Wanda wake up as well. Nat smiled, kissing Wanda. "Good morning love." Wanda smiled back,

"Mmm morning sweetie." You rubbed your eyes, coughing up a storm.

"Owwwww" you whined. "Daddy..." Nat moved back to the couch, scooping you up,

"Medicine first baby girl and then your apple juice to get the yucky taste out." You pouted, but took the medicine, making a gross face and took the apple juice and sucking it down.

"Easy baby." Wanda rubbed her back,

"Yes Mommy." You eased up on your juice.

Steve watched the exchange with a sense of admiration. Despite the challenges and the morning's routine, there was a tenderness to it that he found endearing.

"Need anything else for her?" Steve asked, referring to the medicine.

Natasha shook her head. "We're good for now, thanks, Steve. Just need to keep an eye on her fever."

Bucky approached with a gentle smile, ruffling your hair playfully. "Hey there, kiddo. You had us all worried."

You gave a weak smile, leaning into Natasha. "Hi, Uncle Bucky.”

Tony, holding a tray with breakfast plates, smirked. "I made sure there's plenty of bacon. Thought it might tempt a certain little one."

Wanda chuckled, "You know her too well, Tony."

As the group settled around the dining table, the room was filled with the comforting sounds of a family breakfast, laughter, and the unmistakable bond that held them all together.

°○°○°○°○°

Wanda held you close, you were nestled against her, comforted by the warmth and love of your Mommy. Natasha had gone off to shower first as the room was filled with the hum of conversation as the remaining Avengers continued their breakfast.

Steve, sipping his coffee, remarked, "We've got a briefing later today. Nothing major, just some updates on potential new threats."

Tony, scrolling through his tablet, nodded. "Yeah, I've been monitoring some unusual activity. Might be worth looking into after the briefing."

Bucky, leaning back in his chair, added, "Well, if it's anything like last time, it'll be a team effort."

Wanda listened intently, her focus shifting between the conversation and the little girl in her arms. "Just another day in the life, huh?”

Wanda and Nat switched spots so Wanda could take a shower, you whined as she was shifted around after having fallen asleep.

"Shhhh it's okay Detka, Daddy's got you." Nat ran her fingers through your hair, calming you back down and grabbed a paci, rubbing her knuckle gently over your lips first to make you open up and then stuck the paci in.

"There, there, sweetheart," Natasha cooed softly, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. The pacifier worked its magic, and soon, your breathing evened out, your little chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Steve, observing the tender scene, remarked softly, "You two have something truly special."

Natasha looked up, her eyes reflecting gratitude. "We do. It's a bond unlike any other."

Bucky nodded in agreement. "It's clear she feels safe and loved with you both. That's what family's all about."

As Wanda returned from her shower, refreshed and ready for the day, she smiled at the sight before her. "Thank you, dorogaya.”

Natasha nodded, carefully handing over your sleeping form. "Anytime, milyy. We've got each other's backs, always."

°○°○°○°○°

As the meeting began, Nat kept a hold of you who unfortunately for everyone had to be awake. You never enjoyed being forced out of little space for missions and debriefing. So a grumpy half little half adult was currently in Nat's arms as the secretary of state droned on and on and on.

Natasha tried her best to keep you calm, gently rocking you back and forth while the Secretary of State continued with the briefing. Your discontent was palpable, your little space clashing with the serious tone of the meeting.

Steve, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "If we could just summarize the main points, please. We have a lot to cover."

Tony, ever the provocateur, leaned over, whispering loud enough for those nearby to hear, "Think Grumpy Bear needs a timeout?"

Bucky smirked, "Or maybe just a nap."

Wanda, sitting beside Natasha, reached over, gently stroking your hair. "It's okay, detka. We'll be done soon.”

After hours of them being force fed information it was finally over and you were the exact opposite of happy between having to pretend to be an adult and being sick made you fussy beyond belief as everything Nat and Wanda tried currently wasn't helping so when they got back to the common room, Nat set you down as you started throwing a tantrum that turned into a full blown meltdown. Wanda wanting to intervene, but Nat stopped her. "She needs to let it out.”

Natasha's experience with you over the years had given her insight into your needs, especially during moments of distress. As painful as it was to witness your meltdown, Natasha knew that suppressing it wouldn't help.

The common room fell silent as the Avengers watched, their concern evident. Steve approached cautiously, "Should we give them some space?"

Wanda nodded, her eyes filled with worry. "Yes, but it's hard to see her like this."

Bucky, leaning against the doorway, sighed, "She's been through a lot, even for someone her age."

Tony chimed in, "Is there anything we can do?"

Natasha shook her head, her focus solely on you. "Right now, she needs us—Wanda and me. We'll handle it.”

Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, your cries began to subside, replaced by soft whimpers. Natasha approached, offering a comforting embrace, her voice gentle. "It's okay, sweetheart. We're here."

Wanda joined them, her own voice soft and soothing. "We love you, detka. Always."

You clung to your Daddy, sniffling and hiccuping out a 'sorry for being so cranky.' Nat just soothed you, "no baby it's okay." Nat spoke up rubbing her back, "you're sick and forced out of your preferred heads pace at the moment so it's expected. We still love you.”

°○°○°○°○°

You started nodding off, Natasha smiling at the scene as she got up, picking up the littlest Avenger. "Come on baby girl." Natasha held you close, grabbing all of your things and bringing them down the hallway.

The two loves of her life walked through the door as she finished getting changed after her shower.

"What are you two doing up here?" Wanda asks.

"Shhhh...she's finally gone down for a nap." Natasha responds, setting you on the bed. Making a cocoon of blankets and pillows, putting your stuffie back into your arms. Wanda leans down and kisses your forehead.

"Oh she's getting warm again." Wanda goes to the bathroom grabbing a cooling patch to put on your forehead, making you shiver as it got put on, but you didn't wake up, only turning over. "Nat I love her so much. She's too precious for words." Wanda spoke softly as Natasha wrapped her arms around Wanda's waist, trailing kisses up the witches neck and jaw.

"You're such a good Mommy to her. You were meant for this." Natasha whispered.

"And you are the Perfect Daddy for her." Wanda responds, turning to cup Natasha's face, kissing the older woman's lips.

"Let's go watch something that isn't Bluey while she naps." Wanda says turning on the little baby monitor so they could watch over and listen while they headed back to the common area to watch something together finally having some time for just them.

As they made their way back to the common area, Natasha intertwined her fingers with Wanda's, the warmth of their bond filling the space between them. The weight of the day seemed to lift as they settled onto the couch, the soft glow of the TV providing a welcome distraction.

Wanda snuggled into Natasha's side, her head resting against her shoulder. "I'm so grateful for moments like these," she murmured, her voice filled with love and contentment.

Natasha pressed a kiss to Wanda's forehead, her heart swelling with affection. "Me too, my love. It's moments like these that remind us of what's truly important.”

Natasha and Wanda were actually able to make it through a movie before they heard you stir. Wanda gave Natasha a kiss before getting up. "I'll get her." As Wanda was heading out she heard the whimper from you,

"Mama...?" Wanda smiled, picking up her pace just a bit. Opening the door to their shared room, you sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking a bit like a disheveled mess as she sniffled and coughed. "Mommy!" Her calling out started a coughing fit that made Wanda grab the little trash can near the bed.

"It's okay baby, cough up the yuckies." Wanda rubbed your back as you coughed up the phlegm and mucus. "That's it baby get it all out. It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here," Wanda whispered soothingly, gently wiping away the tears that had welled up in your eyes.

You sniffled, clinging to Wanda tightly. "I don't feel good, Mommy," you whimpered.

Wanda pressed a kiss to your forehead, her heart breaking at her daughter's distress. "I know, baby. But Mommy and Daddy are right here with you, okay? We'll take care of you."

Natasha appeared in the doorway, concern etched on her features. "Is she okay?"

Wanda nodded, giving Natasha a reassuring smile. "Just a little coughing fit. She's doing better now.”

°○°○°○°○°

Your two girlfriend's took care of you the rest of the night and by morning you woke up feeling much better as you rubbed your eyes. As the other two stirred beside you, you smiled down at them.

“Thank you for taking care of me, my loves.” The two redheads smiled up at you,

“Always dorogaya.” Wanda's voice full of sleep as Nat sat up and kissed your cheek. You felt so much gratitude towards your girlfriend's for always taking care of you when needed.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @mrsromanovaa

[th3r3dw00dtr33]

Strangers || Obey Me! x Reader

I was craving a little angst today. Let me know how I did in the comments! Also, please let me know if you'd like a part two!

TW: Angst, Swearing, Spoilers

READER IS NOT MC .

.

.

Why were you in jail? It wasn't like you did anything illegal, but you'd just so happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. You were also terribly unlucky, but that was already a given based on your current predicament...

You were framed with murder.

How you didn't know. Why, you also didn't know. The only thing you knew about the case was the penalty.

They told you themselves: You are to be sent to a place far beyond this plane (a different universe), doomed to be a stranger for the rest of your time there. (This wasn't like the penalties back where you were from, but you didn't want to be stuck in prison for life.)

It seemed light, for a punishment, but you shrugged it off with a 'It's probably normal here.'

But they also told you how you were able to choose where you were to be sent.

You, being the person you were, immediately thought of a game.

You were a part of many fandoms. You loved indulging yourself with these different pieces of media. Of these, Obey Me was a game you particularly liked.

How could you not? The characters were stupidly hot and complex at the same time, and the plot and setting were interesting enough to keep you invested. There were a whole lot of reasons you could list off as to why, but to keep this short:

You loved Obey Me. You loved the characters just as much as MC, if not more.

Which is why you chose that world without a second glance.

Oh, how stupid you were.

.

You had walked out of the shining, blue portal, taking part as a new demon (though you're technically a human) student at RAD. Despite this being a punishment, you had been really excited to finally meet these characters in real life.

Being strangers doesn't mean you couldn't work towards a friendship, right?

You had forgotten this was supposed to be punishment for a murderer, even if you had been framed.

LUCIFER:

He was walking down the halls in a particularly bad mood, after several all-nighters to finish his workload of paperwork.

He turned the corner, making his way to the entrance of the school, greeting the new students who poured in for the new term.

Lucifer handed one student a map of the school, something he and Diavlo should've implemented beforehand, with the increase of new students attending. (MC was an example. Mammon did not do a very good job with the tour.)

The new demon had tried to make small talk, and Lucifer didn't snap, knowing full well how it would impact Diavolo's image.

"This is the map of the school. Please familiarize yourself with the layout of the building." He paused, "I also advise you to keep your thoughts to yourself."

He didn't care about the wording at the time― it's not like it mattered much anyway.

The demon paused, bowed their head and walked away. Looks like they got the hint.

Well, he may have been a bit rude to them on their first day, but he was too prideful to take anything back at that point.

Plus, it was Hell. Demons can take a comment or two.

After some time, he would occasionally see the new student across the hall or in the classroom.

Sometimes he would check on them to see if they were adjusting well, but he didn't bother too much with the demon when he had a human exchange student to watch over.

They never really responded, but he just assumed they were shy.

He didn't bother to ask for their name. When MC had asked him about them, he just let out a "Do you really think I have the time to memorize everyone I meet at RAD? Besides, most of the students here aren't too special. Don't worry too much about them."

He could if he wanted to, but they were just a stranger.

MAMMON:

He met them in one of the two history classes. He forgot which one, but can you blame him?

The second-born had just asked to borrow a pencil, but turns out the demon only had one, so it didn't matter anyway.

When he asked, they had perked up slightly at the question.

He automatically assumed it was because the GREAT Mammon was gracing them with his attention, but this was the only time he actually got it correct.

"Ya don' got a pencil? Lame."

He was cheerful for the rest of the class, despite the fact that the lesson was boring and Lucifer forced him to do it.

He pretends not to notice when they shrink away from his comment.

He pretends that they didn't manage to make him feel important— something his own brothers never tried to accomplish.

But he, too, forgets about them pretty soon.

What can he say? Mammon's a hustler, ya know! He barely remembers the names of those he makes a deal with, let alone a random student in his class!

He would also see the demon occasionally, but they've never exchanged greetings.

When MC asks him about them, after telling him how they felt something was off, he replied, "Come on, MC! Ya can't expect me to remember every face I meet, right?"

He pretends not to notice how they seemed to care about him, despite barely knowing him.

He pretends that ignoring them doesn't impact him at all.

After ignoring them for so long, Mammon truly forgot about their existence. But what can I say? They were just a stranger, after all.

LEVIATHAN:

Leviathan was an anxious wreck.

Lucifer didn't let him participate in the online schooling, with the new year beginning, so he was forced to attend school.

With all these normies...

He hated 'normies' to a certain extent, and being surrounded by so many was getting on his nerves.

Which was why he turned and walked away the moment a demon walked up to him.

He didn't know the demon just wanted to talk a bit, but this was Hell. Demons don't do that without an ulterior motive.

He didn't notice how the demon deflated with a small frown from the reaction. He didn't care— it's not like he knew them.

"Stupid normies," he would mutter as he scurried away to his next class.

Over the next couple of weeks, he would bump into the same demon during the lunch rush. Every. Time.

He would always turn around and walk stiffly away in the opposite direction, even if at times they hadn’t tried to initiate any forms of contact or conversation.

He hated 'normies' like them, and being around demons of this sort would only prove how he was nothing but a stupid otaku.

Oh, how he envied them... it just wasn't fair.

When he had the competition with MC on TSL, he could see them in the audience, watching them― him intently as if they were hoping he would win.

It unnerved him― why were they looking at him like that? They were only strangers; it wasn’t like a 'normie' like them would want to hang out with an otaku like him.

Especially one who avoided them every turn he took.

After the competition (a failure on his part), he found the same demon walking through the halls.

They were trying to comfort him. Him out of all demons?! Leviathan snapped, and he realized too late.

His anger, accompanied by his envy, flared, "Stupid normie, screw off. I don't need your fucking pity, so you'd better suck it before I rip you apart and feed you to Cerberus."

At the time, he didn't care how the demon's face grew alarmed.

He didn't care how their face scrunched up, and they fled the hall.

He only looked back with slight guilt a couple of weeks after, but it was too late. He couldn't find the demon anywhere.

But it was fine― they were just a stranger, right?

SATAN:

The fourth-born was usually found in the library, but this time was different.

Lucifer, his delightful brother, had oh so graciously piled on paperwork to his own workload, effectively shutting down his free time at the library.

As you could probably see, Satan was pissed.

There had been more cursed books he had wanted to check out at the library, but was unable to due to the paperwork.

And this didn't help when a random demon crashed into him and his stack of books.

It was after the TSL competition, and Satan, being the demon who was at his final straw, was seething.

It didn't matter if the demon had apologized and tried to help him pick up and reorder the books. It didn't matter if they already looked hurt and panicked.

"Leave," Satan growled with his wrathful aura, "Leave and watch where you're fucking going next time."

These books were a special part of his collection, and he already had enough to deal with.

The demon had run away, and the fourth-born was left by himself.

Sometime later, in about two days, he would find the same demon sitting in the library.

They looked like they were studying for a test on a topic on which he had a lot of interest.

He didn't bother to ask for their name, nor exchange a greeting.

He didn't even ask if they needed help.

Satan didn't care. It wasn't his business in the first place, unlike with MC, where he felt obligated to help as a member of the House of Lamentation.

He just walked past the demon with a frown, as if the demon were a figment of his imagination.

Had I seen them before?

ASMODEUS:

Asmodeus was the Avatar of Lust.

He didn't truly love anyone but himself (or so he thought), but he cared genuinely for others' physical appearances.

Which is why, when he met a demon after the two-night trip to Diavolo's castle, he gave them tips for their skin routine.

The demon had approached him and asked, obviously shy, and he cheerfully handed them a tube of his extra lotion.

"Everyone deserves to look pretty, but obviously I always look the best~" he had said.

He didn't care about the demon themself, but if someone wanted help on their appearance, who was he to refuse?

He hadn't seen the demon before, so he assumed they were new.

Asmo knows most of the school body, so it was a surprise that he didn't at least know of their name.

Sadly, he was pulled away by his brothers before he could ask.

After a while, he forgot about the situation with the new demon student entirely.

They should understand, shouldn't they? Asmo, being the most beautiful creature there is, couldn't possibly make time for everyone, right?

So when the demon came up to him and thanked him for his advice...

"Oh! Yes, those were basic dos and don'ts of skincare, you shouldn't thank me. Though, have I met you before?"

He prided himself on being able to converse effortlessly with those around him, so it made him cringe internally at how bad it sounded.

His eyes caught the reflection of his face in a nearby mirror, and Asmodeus, the narcissistic and vain fifth-born, was entranced.

How long had he been staring at his reflection?

How long had it been since they had left with a frown on their face?

BEELZEBUB:

Beelzebub was the one who was always hungry.

What can you expect? He is the Avatar of Gluttony, after all.

Something that most demons won't know, however, is how Beelzebub hates seeing someone else hungry.

Sometimes, if he had a lot of food, he would save a little bit. Just a little, enough for them to last a bit.

Which is why when he saw one of the new students sitting in the corner without any food, he assumed they were hungry.

They looked hungry, he'd argue, they aren't eating anything.

The demon wasn't, but they sat straighter when they saw the sixth-eldest walking towards them.

He'd place a singular chocolate bar on the table and slide it towards them.

"You... you look hungry," he would say, and they'd thank him.

If it were any normal demon, the Avatar of Gluttony wouldn't share his food just like that.

But they weren't. They, despite being a demon, reminded him a bit of MC.

It was odd, but he didn't pay it any mind.

For the next couple of weeks, Beelzebub would bring extra food.

If the demon wasn't eating (they said they didn't have enough money for lunch every day), he'd slide them a chocolate bar.

It became a little routine between them, even if they barely knew each other.

He would make his way to the table in the corner every lunch, the one they always sat in.

Even if one day the demon disappeared entirely.

BELPHEGOR:

They didn't meet until a couple of months into the school year.

It was after he killed MC― the last thing he wanted to do was go to school, but it wasn't as bad as it would've been if he were stuck in the attic.

The Avatar of Sloth met the demon during one of those classes with the boring lectures.

They didn't interact much at first, each to their own.

Great, another random demon... was what he thought before— they were both at the back of the classroom, right beside each other.

It took a couple of days before he realized the demon wasn't half bad; they were actually pretty chill.

They watched his back when he dozed off, prodding him awake before the instructor could catch him asleep.

He appreciated that, so he would often give them good dreams so they could be well-rested for the day.

It wasn't until they had a big upcoming test that he grew anxious.

Belphegor had dozed off way too often, causing him to miss important bits of the lectures during class.

He didn't realize the demon who always sat beside him saw his troubled resting expression.

He didn't hear the rustling of papers nearby as they placed down an extra copy of their notes onto his desk, along with a note.

When the youngest of the seven brothers woke up, his eyes fell upon the pages on his desk.

The name [Name] [Lastname] was written on the corner of the first page in a foreign handwriting.

He smiled faintly, tucking the papers into his bag.

When Beelzebub asked him about his mood, he couldn't help but explain everything. (He isn't one to hide things from his twin.)

The day after the test, he placed the papers on the demon— [Name]'s desk, along with a note of his own that expressed his thanks.

[Name] never came.

DIAVOLO:

The Prince of Devildom is a busy man demon.

He has his dreams, his goals, and his ever-increasing paperwork.

The Prince of Devildom is a very busy and important demon, so why would he pay attention to a random student like them?

It wasn't that Diavolo didn't care; he definitely did, but it wasn't like anything about that demon stuck out.

He is a demon who cares about his people and definitely the students in his school. But even if they weren't, he would still care.

Prince Diavolo was like that.

But he was only like that to those he knew and saw.

The new demon student wasn't one of them.

Once, they had been running down the halls and nearly bumped into him.

At the time, Barbatos hadn't really moved, much to Diavolo's surprise. Perhaps he saw something..?

Probably, but his attention was snapped back to the demon who bowed their head and apologized profusely.

"Ahaha! It's alright, just watch where you're going next time and try not to run in the halls."

After that, he didn't really see the demon much.

They had always been so nervous around him; he just didn't want to scare them too much.

Soon after, that interaction was drowned by the other memories and plans he had until it vanished.

MC had asked about the demon, but Diavolo didn't know and redirected the question to Barbatos.

They were just a stranger, after all.

BARBATOS:

The Prince's butler never interacted with the demon.

He was also very busy helping Diavolo and the maintenance on the castle.

Yet, he saw the demon in one of his visions.

He knew how they were framed, how they were sent from another universe, how they were just a human.

But he never dared to say anything.

He never told Diavolo exactly what happened, just said that there would be some surprising information arriving soon.

He saw how they had loved them as characters in their world. Saw how they chose this as a hopeful act.

He also saw how this punishment would break them.

When MC had asked him about them, a thought struck his mind.

Why would he let them break like this?

Oh, right.

Barbatos didn't say anything because he didn't want to disrupt the flow of time again.

That's what he told himself.

He did it for MC because he loved them, but he wouldn't risk such a thing for them.

He didn't have the right to do this again.

"This was supposed to happen."

After all, they had nothing between them. They were merely strangers.

Things like this happen to strangers all the time.

SIMEON:

Simeon had a neutral feeling towards demons.

He doesn't hate them, nor does he particularly like them.

Don't get me wrong, he is mistrustful of demons with no particular connection to the demons he's known, like that demon student.

They shared a couple of classes together, along with that one lecture with Belphegor, and he always noticed them at the back.

Don't think he didn't caught on to their little routine of one sleeping and the other keeping watch.

In his opinion, after taking note of their behaviour, the demon had a great personality.

He would've dismissed them as a human or angel if it weren't for their demonic aura. Which was weird in of itself.

The two actually met when the demon had accidentally bumped into him.

While Luke was busy scolding them for not watching their step, Simeon took this as an opportunity.

"It's quite alright, Mx," he would ask, "May I know your name?"

He found them interesting and a great influence for Luke, though the latter may pout and whine at first.

They were much nicer than he expected, honestly, and (much to his surprise), they were very polite and apologized.

Over the next weeks, he would sometimes find the demon, whom he came to know as [Name] [Lastname], sitting in the back of classrooms.

He would exchange greetings, but even the older angel wouldn't say much afterwards.

They were still a stranger, after all.

LUKE:

Luke disliked demons. Greatly.

He was an angel who reported directly to Michael, and so he shouldn't be the one who joined Simeon at RAD!

I mean, he was right!

These good-for-nothing demons keep calling him a dog! A dog!

He met the nice demon when they accidentally bumped into Simeon.

They had been rounding the corner, and the demon was carrying a stack of papers for a teacher.

"Hey! Watch where you're going! As an angel who..." he gave a minute-long talk about watching where they're going.

He hadn't expected the demon to apologize― so genuinely, too!

Well, this demon was a lot nicer than the others... but don't tell Simeon he said that!

He didn't know their name, but they became one of the demons, the only demon he actually felt safe with.

It was odd; they acted so much like humans instead of demons.

They even patted his head when he said he missed the Celestial Realm!

Luke pretended not to notice when a fight broke out among a group of demons.

He didn't notice when the very demon who patted his head was running away from the group with bruises and scratches littered all over their arms and legs.

Looking back at it, if he had helped, would they have stayed?

In the end, they were nothing but a stranger.

SOLOMON:

Solomon was practically the strongest sorcerer both alive and to ever exist.

He was one of the exchange students at RAD, wandering about the halls of the school.

The classes and lectures the teachers gave here were things the sorcerer had already known or experienced himself.

Yet there were two things that grabbed his attention.

One, being how MC had made pacts with most of the Seven Avatars, something he had struggled to accomplish.

Second, being the demon whom he had come across earlier, who helped another with a kindness he'd never seen in a demon before.

The first one was frustrating, the second was just weird.

He observed the demon from afar, taking note of how they were often overlooked by the demons around him.

He took note of the one thing everyone around him said when he asked about them: they were a stranger.

Solomon knew demons very well, having made a pact with seventy-two.

This... person was no demon. He was sure of it.

Creating a demonic aura is a hard spell to cast, even for me... he thought, They have little aptitude for magic within them... I wonder who cast it.

He never approached them, researching on what they were instead of who.

When they disappeared one day, he could only chuckle.

That demon was still a stranger, despite his observations.

MC:

MC is someone who has had both great luck and horrible misfortune.

From making pacts with the demon brothers to getting killed by Belphegor in the attic, they've seen a lot of weird occurrences during their stay in the Devildom.

They've never expected a demon to save them from being eaten.

Especially one who had the task of taking their soul.

MC had been on their way to one of their classes when they were cornered by a group of demons.

But the demon had told them off and helped MC to get on their feet.

MC was confused, but grateful nonetheless.

They later knew their name as [Name] [Lastname], but their rush to different classes soon disrupted their time of getting to know each other.

MC asked Lucifer, Mammon, Diavolo, and lastly, Barbatos.

It felt weird to them that none of the demons gave them a proper answer.

Barbatos made them feel like he was hiding something.

The next time they saw them, [Name] was running from the same group of demons who had cornered MC earlier.

They had tears streaming down their face with cuts and bruising littering their limbs.

But MC had been busy talking to Simeon and Luke, and they pretended not to notice.

They found them, a day later, stepping through a portal of blue.

It made them think, in another world, could they've been friends?

It was a shame, they realized, that they were merely strangers in this one.

.

.

.

[Name] [Lastname] hated this place.

The Devildom was horrible.

They had been ignored, looked over, bullied, hungry...

Why were they here again?

A blue portal popped up in front of them. Oh, right, they were framed for murder.

The people had found the real murderer and sent for [Name] to be retrieved.

They were a bit too late, anyways.

.

.

.

Diavolo was sent a letter regarding the disappearance of one of his students.

Usually, if someone went missing, there would be a report of them moving, expelled, or dead.

There was none for [Name] [Lastname] until now.

Diavolo didn't know whether or not to be relieved, shocked, disappointed, or frustrated.

Word got out among the exchange students and the RAD student council.

Some didn't care, others felt guilty.

Diavolo couldn't help but scoff.

In the end, despite all of [Name]'s unseen efforts, they were still nothing but a stranger.

[blingblong55]

Perfectly symmetrical- Keegan P. Russ

Based on a request: Hiiii :D Idk if u do requests or whatever but can I please ask for Keegan comforting OCD reader? Preferably OCD related to needing things to be symmetrical? Also please tag me when it's out OK byeeeeeee :D ---- GN!Reader, fluff?, comfort, established!relationship ---- A/N: this is a really old request I just found...I also will only tag the person who request it because I dont know if anyone on my tag list wants to also read about ocd reader (I've been scolded once or twice by you<3)

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater in the corner. Keegan sat on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, his sharp gaze flicking between you and the coffee table. Your breathing was uneven, and your hands trembled as you adjusted the objects in front of you.

You shifted the coasters—two on the left, two on the right—aligning them meticulously. The edges still didn’t look right, gnawed at you like an itch you couldn’t reach. You frowned, pulling them a fraction closer to the centre of the table, trying to match their placement to the imaginary grid in your mind.

“It’s off,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else.

“Looks fine to me,” Keegan said softly, but his voice carried no judgment. His tone was low, reassuring, like a ripple over still water.

“It’s not fine.” Your voice cracked, and you quickly set the coasters down, clenching your hands in frustration. “It’s wrong. It doesn’t feel… even. It’s all wrong.”

Keegan shifted, leaning back onto the couch. “Alright,” he said, stretching out a gloved hand. “Show me what you’re seeing. Maybe I can help.”

Your gaze flicked to him, your stomach twisting. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

Keegan tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, but not in anger. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought that.”

His simple honesty made your chest ache. Taking a shaky breath, you pointed to the coffee table. “The left side looks heavier than the right. The coasters need to be perfectly symmetrical, or it… I don’t know, it just feels wrong. It’s like… like something bad will happen if it’s not fixed.”

Keegan nodded, his expression serious. “Alright. Let’s fix it, then.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted firmly. “You think I’m going to leave you to fight this alone?”

His words grounded you more than you expected. Together, the two of you adjusted the coasters. Keegan moved slowly and carefully, asking for your input each time he adjusted. When he saw the tension in your shoulders ease, he stopped.

“How’s that?” he asked, looking up at you.

You tilted your head, inspecting the layout. The relief hit you in waves, like a burden lifting from your chest. “It’s… perfect.”

Keegan leaned back, watching you with a small, satisfied smile. “Told you we’d get there.”

You sank onto the couch beside him, your hands finally still. Keegan reached out, tugging the blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over your legs.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

And for the first time that day, you did.

Tags: @genderfluodvoid

[goldenstring6123]

A FREE SMALL GIFT FOR THE LNDS FANDOM!

Tumblr notified me yesterday and said i managed to get a thousand notes which was very surprising! I try not too look at numbers too much but they (tumblr) suggested that I should post to celebrate, and I thought I should celebrate with my readers and fellow hunters as well!

What you can do:

Leave a note, Leave a comment & Reblog (Will be highly appreciated)

Share to another platform while also sharing the link to the original post.

Use the design in a non-profit/private post/graphic material. (give credit if possible)

What you can't do:

Profit off of this design in any way shape or form. (I made it free for everyone!)

Include the stickers in a layout which you/anyone can profit from.

Claim that this is your design (Is this even worth stealing?)

Mechanics/Instructions:

Use a sticker paper if you have one. If not, use what's available around you! Bond paper is good, you can use glue and and or double-sided tape!

Download the stickers from the link below: If the first link fails, try the second/third one! Access here! Access here! Access here!

Open the sticker/s on a document app (Word, Google docs, etc.) or a design app (Canva, Photoshop, etc.)

Scale it too your preferred size (not too large!)

and save as a pdf file or print directly!

There's also a print-ready file, though sizes aren't adjustable!

Again, Thank you so much for reading my content. I'm still growing, learning and brimming with ideas! Maybe if i hit another milestone, I'll make another printable!