#Tunnel Vision II | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

romerona · 3 months ago

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Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part II

You knew today was going to suck the second your alarm went off and you briefly, genuinely, considered faking your own death.

Not in a dramatic, movie-worthy kind of way. No, more like… vanish-into-a-data-breach, throw-your-phone-in-the-ocean, start-a-new-life-in-Finland sort of way.

But instead, you got up.

Because apparently, national security outranks your crippling fear of flight—not that it makes the simulator any less hellish, with its cold metal, stale coffee, and that faint chemical tang of fear.

You were strapped into the rear seat of a flight simulation pod, hands locked in your lap like they might betray you at any moment and start mashing random buttons. You exhaled slowly as your eyes flicked across the control panel. So many switches. So many lights. Half of them blinked like they were mocking you. The other half were labeled with words like “altitude” and “engine throttle” and “eject.”

Great.

You adjusted your headset as the technician’s voice crackled through. “Sim will start in thirty seconds, Doctor. We’ll be monitoring vitals and control input from the tower."

You forced a nod, even though your stomach was already trying to escape through your spine. Your breath fogged the inside of the visor. You clutched the tablet tethered to your vest like it was a stuffed animal and you were six years old again.

“Try not to scream this time,” came Cyclone’s voice through the comms, calm and flat like he was asking you to pass the salt.

You offered a shaky thumbs-up that somehow felt more like a surrender flag.

The sim operator spoke next, voice crackling through your headset once again. “Doctor, your objective is to remain conscious, keep your hands away from the panel, and activate the Ethera interface when prompted. We’ll simulate turbulence, evasive maneuvers, and mild G-force changes. Ready?”

No. Never.

“...Sure.”

The sim lurched forward with a roar, and your whole body snapped back into the seat. You let out a startled “whuff!”, eyes wide, heart in your throat. The room around you—walls disguised as sky—blurred as the machine banked hard to the left.

“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD—”

There was no gentle start. No soft acceleration to get your bearings. Just a violent jolt forward, and then you were climbing—straight up, like gravity had been turned into a weapon and pointed directly at your lungs.

Pressure slammed into your chest. The world outside the cockpit blurred. You couldn’t hear anything except your own heartbeat.

“WHY ARE WE TILTING—”

“Initiating evasive pattern,” came the tech’s voice, calm as ever.

The sim jerked again, this time into a sharp roll. The world flipped sideways. Your ears popped. Something primal in your brain screamed: This is how you die.

Your ears were ringing. Your pulse thundered against your ribs. Somewhere beneath the pressure and panic, you could hear the tech’s voice cutting in again—calm, detached, and utterly unhelpful.

“Doctor, you need to deploy the program,” he said. “Fifty seconds. Starting now.”

Oh, shit, you couldn’t even see straight.

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps as the simulated jet banked hard to the right, pressing your spine into the seat like it wanted to keep it. The G-forces made your vision tunnel, your stomach lurching somewhere around your throat.

Your hand fumbled toward the tablet mount, fingers shaking so hard they were basically useless. You tapped the corner of the screen. Missed. Tapped again. The jet jolted. The tablet shifted. Your palm slammed into the side instead of the input.

Forty seconds.

The Ethera prompt blinked up at you—green, glowing, go—but it may as well have been a mirage. You squinted through the dizziness, swore under your breath in three languages, and tried again.

Thirty-five.

The turbulence kicked again, harder. Your chest seized. The tablet slipped slightly in its latch. You tapped the input.

Too late.

“Simulation failed,” the system announced flatly. “Target missed.”

Everything halted—the motion, the noise—everything except your pulse, which pounded on like it hadn't gotten the memo.

The sim pod cracked open with a sharp hiss, releasing a rush of cool air that hit your sweat-slicked skin like a slap to the face. You didn’t move. For a second too long, you just sat there, fingers clenched around the armrests like they were the only things keeping you from unraveling completely. The silence pressed in, thick with the weight of your own embarrassment, humiliation settling low and heavy in your gut like a stone.

Your fingers fumbled at the release on your helmet, hands still trembling from the G-forces and adrenaline. The inside of your mouth tasted like copper and failure. You tugged off the headset next, wires dragging like they were reluctant to let go. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.

Your boots scraped against the cold floor as you shakily swung your legs out, and there he was, Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, standing with arms crossed, expression carved from steel.

You wanted to disappear into the floor.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you. Not angry. Not even disappointed. Just… calculating. Like he was already assessing the cost of putting you on a real jet.

“I missed the mark,” you said first, because silence felt worse. “I know.”

Cyclone gave a short nod, like that much at least didn’t need explaining. “You froze.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop trying to beat its way out of your ribs. “Yeah.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “You had a job. Not to fly. Not to fight. Just to stay calm. Deploy your program.”

“I know.”

“And you failed.”

You stood on legs that didn’t feel like they belonged to you, one hand gripping the edge of the simulator for balance, the other still clutching the edge of the tablet even though the prompt had long since vanished.

“If this had been real,” he continued, “that satellite would still be feeding your government false intelligence. That jet would’ve been intercepted. And you, Doctor, would’ve been dead, and so would've your pilot.”

You flinched. Not visibly—hopefully—but the words hit harder than they should have. You stared at the scuffed metal floor, heart thudding against your ribs.

“You’re not a soldier,” he said. “And you’re not trained for this. That’s clear.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to defend yourself—but he raised a hand, cutting you off with one sharp motion.

“That’s not an excuse,” he added, voice sharp. “It’s a reality. One you’ll have to overcome, and fast. I don’t expect perfection but I do expect progress. And I expect you to walk into that sim tomorrow knowing what you did wrong—and ready to fix it.”

You blinked hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Yes, sir.”

Cyclone gave you one last look—disappointed, but not hopeless—and then turned, then paused, glancing back.

“And see medical,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You’re pale as hell.”

Then he walked away, boots echoing down the corridor, leaving you standing there with a spinning head, a shattered ego and the feeling of wanting to curl up and cry.

As you moved to make your way toward medical—because yes, apparently nausea, disorientation, and a near-death experience weren’t enough on their own— you skidded to a stop just short of slamming into a very broad chest.

Of course. Of course, it was him.

The handsome, mustached pilot. The one who’d handed you your tablet like it was a glass slipper, back in the briefing room. The one who hadn’t laughed when you dropped it, but definitely thought about it.

His hair was slightly mussed, curls pushed back from his forehead like he’d run a hand through them one too many times. He held two water bottles, one in each hand, like he wasn’t sure if he meant to stay—or if he’d just pretend this was a casual “what a surprise” moment if anyone asked.

You froze. He straightened.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you expected. A lot softer than earlier. Less smirk, more... sincerity.

“Uh… hi,” you said finally. Nailed it. Pure elegance.

His expression didn’t change much, maybe just a flicker of amusement at the corners of his mouth. He held out one of the bottles. “You looked like you could use this.”

You hesitated—more from surprise than anything else—then took it. You took it, fingers brushing his as you did. His skin was warm—too warm for how cold you felt. You tried not to notice.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unscrewing the cap with hands that still trembled, ever so slightly. The water was blissfully cold against your throat, but it did nothing for the embarrassment still curdling in your stomach.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentler than you expected.

You hesitated, then tilted your head in a noncommittal shrug. “Define okay.”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Not crying, not puking, not passed out? That’s the general baseline.”

You cracked a reluctant laugh. “Oh, sure, I’m totally thriving.”

He nodded once, and the silence settled again—less awkward now, more… charged. The kind of quiet that hummed between words. The kind that made your skin feel too tight.

He looked like he might leave, but then he didn’t.

Instead, he shifted his weight, adjusting his grip on the second water bottle like it was some kind of anchor or maybe just something to do with his hands while he said, “You weren’t terrible in there.”

Your stomach jolted—sharp, unexpected. Like missing a step on the stairs. Heat bloomed beneath your collar, crawling up your throat as your fingers tightened around the plastic water bottle.

“You…” Your voice cracked a little, and you cleared your throat. “You were watching?”

God. No.

Why did you ask that? Why would you ever want confirmation?

His expression shifted—just slightly. Not quite sheepish, not quite smug. Just something in the middle.

“I was passing by,” he said, entirely too casual.

You groaned softly, dragging a hand over your face. “Fantastic. I didn’t just humiliate myself in front of the brass. I also had an audience.”

“Don’t take it personally,” he said, his voice laced with something between amusement and sincerity. “We’ve all been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “In a classified sim seat with national security riding on your ability to not pass out?”

He grinned wider. “Well. Maybe not exactly there.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you take another sip of the water.

“You’re not supposed to get it right the first time." He said, "No one does. You think the rest of us were born knowing how to pull 7 Gs without losing our lunch?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t believe him—maybe part of you even did—but because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if it would come out as a laugh or a cry.

He noticed.

“You know, most people don’t get in the backseat of a fighter jet without years of prep. You? You've got a couple of days, a tech background, and a pulse. That’s it and you still got in. That counts for something.”

You stared at him. “Why do you even care if I mess this up?”

He looked at you then, long and quiet.

“You built something that could change the world,” he said with an easy shrug. “That kind of genius doesn’t come with an eject handle. So yeah. I care.”

You looked away fast, suddenly too aware of how warm your cheeks were.

He leaned back again, casual as ever. “Besides, if I'm the one you are gonna fly into enemy territory, I’d rather know you’re not gonna scream the whole time.”

You snorted. “I’ll scream quietly. Into my elbow. Like an adult.”

He chuckles and you looked at him. Really looked at him. Still in partial uniform, flight suit unzipped to the waist, sleeves tied and hanging loose around his hips. His shirt clung to his chest, slightly sweat-damp at the collar, and that damn mustache made him look both out-of-place and weirdly grounded at the same time.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was kind of infuriatingly steady.

“Can I—” You paused, surprised by your own voice. “Can I ask your name?”

His brows lifted, just slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. But then he shifted forward and extended a hand—open, easy, completely steady in a way that you most definitely weren’t.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” he said. “But most people around here call me Rooster.”

You blinked. “Rooster?”

A grin tugged at his mouth, soft and lopsided. “My call sign. It’s a long story.”

You hesitated for a beat, then reached out and slid your hand into his.

His palm was warm—really warm—and calloused in a way that made you feel every inch of the difference between your worlds. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, grounding. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply without overdoing it. His fingers curled around yours with quiet confidence, like this was nothing, like it didn’t send an unexpected little jolt of awareness all the way up your arm.

Your hand was smaller than his, your skin cooler, trembling just enough that you hoped he didn’t notice—but something in the way his thumb shifted, just the tiniest bit, made you think maybe he did.

You weren’t sure how long you held on. Long enough to register the strength in his hand, the steadiness, the solidness of someone who lived in the sky but was somehow more grounded than anyone you knew.

“Y/N L/N,” you said finally, your voice softer now. "But I guess you already knew that.”

He gave a small nod, his eyes not leaving yours. "You're hard to forget,"

You didn’t let go right away.

Neither did he.

Then, as if realizing the moment was hanging just a second too long, you both released at the same time—too quickly. Like a secret exchanged and immediately tucked away.

You took a half step back, pulse thrumming in your throat, fingers still tingling from the contact.

Bradley, however, didn’t step away immediately instead, he lingered for just a second longer, watching you with a look that wasn’t teasing or cocky or smug. Just something quiet and steady, then he smiled—small, crooked, the kind that didn’t feel all that teasing but still carried that glint of mischief behind it. The kind of smile that said he saw more than he let on.

“You’ll get it,” he said, voice softer now. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and something about the way he looked at you—like he meant it, like he believed it, made your chest tighten.

“But you will.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what you were about to say—maybe thank you, maybe don’t say that unless you mean it—but the words never quite made it past your lips.

Because Bradley gave you one last look, a flick of something unreadable in his eyes, then turned down the corridor, water bottle still swinging lazily from his fingers while you stood there for a moment, then finally exhaled. “Okay,”

Days went faster than you were ready for.

You hadn’t slept much. Not from fear exactly, though there was plenty of that still hanging around like a ghost in your chest—but more from the afterglow of adrenaline. The kind that leaves your body tired but your mind racing.

You’d replayed Bradley's words a dozen times. You’ll get it. You weren’t sure if they’d stuck because you believed them… or because you wanted to.

But when you arrived at the simulator bay, you were expecting to meet with Cyclone, just like every other day, but he wasn't there waiting for you.

It was a new pilot.

She stood near the simulator controls, arms crossed loosely over her chest, already in her flight suit, her expression somewhere between mildly unimpressed and genuinely curious.

“You’re my new project, huh?” she said as you approached.

You blinked. “Um. I—guess so?”

“I’m your point of contact now,” Phoenix said, nodding toward the simulator. “Cyclone thought a different approach might help. And I volunteered.”

You tried not to look too relieved. But you were. God, you were. Cyclone, well, he was rough, for lack of better words, Rooster had been kind, yes, but his presence was a lot. Intense. Distracting.

Phoenix, on the other hand, had that kind of practical, no-nonsense confidence you could actually lean on. She didn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen. She felt like structure.

“I’m Lieutenant Natasha Trace,” she said, extending her hand. “Call sign’s Phoenix.”

You shook her hand, your grip steadier than yesterday—though your palm was still a little clammy, and you were pretty sure she noticed.

“Y/N,” you said, then added with a tired smile, “Doctor. Uh, the nervous one.”

Phoenix huffed out a short laugh, a glint of something sharp but not unkind in her eyes. “I read your file.”

She stepped back, folding her arms as she leaned one hip against the edge of the sim console. Her stance was relaxed, confident, comfortable in her own skin in the way only someone who’d already proven themselves a hundred times could be.

“I also watched your sims,” she added, voice casual.

You winced, your smile turning into a grimace. “Oof. That bad?”

She tilted her head, as if considering how honest she wanted to be. Then gave a light shrug, eyes steady on yours. “I’ve seen worse. A lot worse.”

You let out a low hum, arms crossing loosely over your chest in mock thought. “That’s… reassuring.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, with just enough of a smirk to make you feel like she was on your side. “You hadn't passed out nor puked. You followed instructions until your brain short-circuited. Classic first-timer move.”

You laughed under your breath, surprised at how easily it came.

She finally looked at you then—steady, knowing. “We’re not here to make you into a pilot, Doc. We just need you ready for the mission. The rest? We’ll cover you.”

Something in your chest loosened at that.

Support. No condescension. No sharp edges. Just a quiet kind of strength you could lean against.

“Thanks,” you said. “Really.”

Phoenix nodded once. “Let’s get you in the seat.”

Inside the simulator, everything felt smaller than you remembered.

Not physically—just heavier. Like the air had thickened, like the walls had learned your fears from yesterday and decided to lean in a little closer.

You sat in the back seat again, the tablet already secured to its mount beside your right leg. Your fingers hovered near it, not quite touching, like it might bite. You could already feel your heartbeat in your palms.

“Straps secured?” Phoenix’s voice crackled through the headset. Her tone was crisp, even, the kind that didn’t rise to meet panic—it smothered it before it started.

You exhaled and gave a tight nod, forgetting she couldn’t see it. “Y-Yeah. Good to go.”

“All right,” she said. “We’re starting slow. Just basic turbulence patterns. No evasive maneuvers, no tricks. You’re not here to impress anyone. You’re here to breathe, and press a single button when I tell you.”

You nodded again, this time speaking aloud. “Sure.”

The sim hummed to life around you, and your body tensed automatically—like it remembered what came next, even if you swore it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Relax your shoulders,” Phoenix said, as if she felt the stiffness from her end. “You’re holding tension like you’re about to punch the air.”

The screen in front of you blinked to life. The sim took you airborne, but the motion was slow this time—steady, like a calm climb on a commercial flight.

You forced yourself to breathe out slowly and unclenched your jaw, trying to follow her lead. The shaking wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous day's simulated madness. No rolls. No sharp drops. Just steady pressure. Unnerving, but survivable.

Your eyes flicked to the screen.

The prompt glowed softly. Ethera. Standing by. Timer: 02:00

“This is just a systems check,” Phoenix said. “You don’t have to engage. Just keep your eyes on it. Notice the screen, your pulse, your breath. You’ve got time."

The pod dipped gently into a banking curve. You swayed, stomach flipping. "Keep breathing, Doc."

You gripped the edge of the seat, fingers twitching. “This still counts as breathing, right?”

“As long as you’re not blue in the face, yeah.”

You smiled—barely—but it helped.

The Ethera interface activated on the mounted tablet in front of you. The same prompt, The countdown. You glanced at it and your heart gave one uneasy thud.

“Don’t rush,” Phoenix reminded you, voice even. “One thing at a time. Don’t try to win. Just try to finish.”

You nodded again, reaching out slowly—deliberately—and tapped the screen to begin the simulated deployment sequence. The code began to unfold, and the sim didn’t break into loops or chaos. It kept going. And you were still breathing.

Your hand trembled slightly, but you stayed focused, eyes on the sequence as it loaded in steady green waves. The turbulence passed. The sim steadied.

“Ten seconds,” Phoenix said. “You’ve got it. Keep it locked.”

You kept your hand on the panel. You didn’t blink. The screen counted down.

3… 2… 1…

Deployment successful.

The soft chime of success echoed in your headset.

“Target received,” the system confirmed.

You blinked, then blinked again. “I… I got it?”

“You got it,” Phoenix said, the faintest edge of pride in her voice. “Nice and clean.”

You slumped back in the seat, suddenly aware of just how hard your heart had been working. Your eyes stung—not from panic this time, but from sheer relief.

“Doctor,” Phoenix said after a beat. “That was not bad.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke across your face, exhausted but real.

And when the pod finally powered down with a gentle thunk, and the hatch hissed open, you realized you’d done the whole thing without white-knuckling the seat.

You’d finally made it through.

Phoenix was waiting for you, arms crossed, leaning one hip against the console like she’d known all along you’d handle it.

You stepped out, legs a still stiff, but your head was clear.

“Not bad,” she said, and this time her smile wasn’t just professional. It was small, but real. “No ejections. No nausea. No hysterics.”

You let out a dry laugh, breath catching on the edge of it. “Just mild existential dread.”

She shrugged, cool as ever. “That’s standard issue.”

Then smiled—really smiled—for the first time since this whole classified, terrifying, completely-out-of-your-depth mission had begun. The kind of smile that pulled dimples you hadn’t felt in days.

“Thanks,” you said again, quieter this time. Not just for the training, but for not making you feel like a burden.

Phoenix nodded once, like she already understood all of that.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “We need to move faster. Real evasive sequences. Simulated pressure. Maybe even some yelling.”

“Yours or mine?”

She smirked. “We’ll see who breaks first.”

You laughed again—easier this time—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were pretending.

By the time the week came to an end, you and Phoenix had become friends.

Not in the polite, nod-in-the-hallway kind of way—but the real kind. The kind built through shared silence in the simulator bay, through low chuckles after a successful run, through Phoenix’s calm voice in your headset, cutting through the static and the fear. She never coddled you. Never sugarcoated anything but she never made you feel less, either.

There were moments where fear absolutely took over—where your breath hitched too high in your chest or your fingers trembled too much to find the prompt in time and there were other moments, rarer but growing, where you managed. Where you pressed the button, where you kept your head above water.

Phoenix never made a spectacle of either.

When you panicked, she talked you down, when you succeeded, she just clapped you on the shoulder, tossed you a bottle of water, and said, “Told you. You’re getting it.”

And somehow, that meant more than any standing ovation ever could.

By Friday evening, you had survived four more simulations, logged two successful Ethera deployments, and stopped referring to the ejection lever as “that red death stick.”

Progress.

“You coming to the Hard Deck tonight?” Phoenix said casually, already slinging her duffel over one shoulder as you both headed toward the lockers.

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

She paused mid-step, turning just enough to glance back at you with that crooked grin she reserved for moments like this—half dare, half invitation.

“The Hard Deck,” she repeated, now walking backward toward the hangar doors. “Bar. Pool tables. Bad decisions. You in?”

You stared for a beat too long, processing.

The Hard Deck.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. You’d heard about the place in passing—mostly through muttered comments and laughing threats. It had sounded like a local haunt. Loud. Messy. Full of people who knew exactly what they were doing and didn’t care that you didn’t.

“Wait, is that—like, is that a thing?” you asked, trailing after her. “Do people… actually go?”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow like she wasn’t sure if you were messing with her. “Only the ones worth talking to.”

You hesitated.

She paused at the doorway and tossed the final hook. “You’ve survived a week of sims, didn’t puke on anyone, and haven’t cried once. That makes you officially less pathetic than half the new guys. You’ve earned a drink... So?

Your brain, naturally, tried to stall. A bar? With actual people? And more pilots? But your mouth moved faster.

“Uh—yeah, sure,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before your usual social panic could hit. “I could go for a drink.”

Phoenix gave a little nod, like she’d already known your answer. Like this was the inevitable next step in whatever strange, reluctant journey you’d found yourself on.

Then she jerked her chin toward the exit, already on the move.

You hesitated. “What now?”

She didn’t stop walking.

“You go back to wherever you’ve been hiding, put on something that doesn’t scream ‘high-stress lab goblin,’ and I’ll swing by in an hour.”

You blinked. “That specific, huh?”

Phoenix half-turned, walking backward again like she had a personal vendetta against stationary conversations. “It’s a bar, not a Senate hearing. No briefing, no simulations, no threat of fiery death. Just drinks. Loud music. Maybe pool. Probably bad flirting.”

And with that, she was gone—leaving you standing in the middle of the hangar, sweaty, slightly stunned, and suddenly very aware that you owned exactly one outfit that wasn’t issued or work-adjacent.

Oh no. Now you actually had to get ready.

A/N:

Heyyyyy, OMG the support for this story is wild, thank you all so so muchhh!! I honestly did not think it would get this much attention, my first draft was actually a Charlie's Angel reader lol, but I'm so happy you all enjoy this version. I did try to make it as realistic as possible, after all reader does not like to fly I can only imagine being put in her position, so she being frozen out of fear and not completing the mission feels real, at least to me.

And my apologies it took me so long to put it out. Part III is already in the works, so I think it will be out soon.

Thank you all so so much for the support and the comments and reblogs, really.

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sunsburns · 5 months ago

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30 for 30 (i.) — vi (league of legends) !

⟢ synopsis. you swear you would be in peace if it wasn’t for her. but this kept you on your toes, you guessed. just the way you liked it. besides, everyone knew that falling in love with your best friend’s older sister only led to trouble.

⟢ contains. afab!reader, arcane!vi, feminine characteristics, angst, lesbians, lots and lots of longing, the reader is lowkey insane i cannot lie, vi is kinda toxic but we love her anyway, modern!au, nsfw, fingering, oral, really bad ending sorry, SMUT 18+.

⟢ word count. 17k+

⟢ part two: 30 for 30 (ii.)

⟢ authors note. i have been working on this for the last 6 weeks and i have lived so many lives through this fic. christmas passed, then new years, and then my abuelo died a few days ago. no one talk to me for a while, please.

You were totally, utterly smitten.

Every curve, cave, and mark of your heart was tainted, etched with her name in invisible ink only you could read. It felt like liquid gold ran through your veins, molten and alive, heating your body from the inside out. The rush of it coursed through you, fingers buzzing with static, your chest tightening as if you were holding your breath for years without ever exhaling.

Your vision blurred, a tunnel of light where every refraction became an iridescent heart, glowing faintly in the distance. And yet, over it all, denial bubbled and crackled in your mind like a sputtering fuse. You told yourself it wasn’t real—just a trick of adolescence, a fleeting desire, the way your brain played with shadows and feelings to make you feel like this.

It wasn’t unusual, you reasoned. Lots of people thought their best friend’s older sibling was cool. Admiration was natural, harmless even. Powder sure loved to tease you about it.

And maybe, when you were younger, the way your chest fluttered when Violet smiled was just a childish crush, the kind you’d laugh about later.

But you didn’t laugh.

Because the years kept moving, and the feeling never left. It dug in, shifting from an innocent admiration to something heavier, harder to ignore. It was a slow burn—each year adding fuel to a fire you couldn’t destroy. Every glance she threw your way, every offhand comment that lingered in your mind like a melody you couldn’t stop humming, every time she showed up for Powder with that effortless swagger, the heat in your chest built.

She wasn’t just cool. She was intoxicating. Destructive. The kind of person who drew people in and broke them apart without meaning to, leaving them scrambling to put themselves back together again. And you were no exception.

You told yourself it was a passing phase, a silly infatuation that would fade as you got older. But it didn’t. Instead, it grew roots, wrapping itself between your ribs, tightening its grip with every stolen moment, breaking the bone until it seized your heart too.

She became a constant—there, just out of reach.

But then, there was a glance that lingered too long. And another. And then another. Shy gazes turned knowing, wanting. Kind smiles started to curve on themselves, smirking, teasing.

Then her hand brushed yours one night, deliberate, the press of her fingers against your wrist sending a jolt through your body.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice low, the kind that made you feel like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

You weren’t.

How could you be when her breath was warm against your neck, her hands mapping every inch of your skin with an urgency that left you breathless? Her touch was fire, consuming you, leaving marks you swore she’d never see. She kissed you like she was trying to memorize you, her lips and teeth and tongue tracing the parts of you that ached for her.

The nights that followed were stolen—whispers exchanged in the dark, her body tangled with yours beneath sheets that smelled of her and regret. She’d show up unexpectedly, her knuckles rapping softly against your window, her grin equal parts cocky and sheepish when you let her in.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered once over the pounding of your heart.

But she just kissed you in response, her hands holding your face, her touch rough but reverent.

It was reckless, a secret you both held tightly, but it felt like falling—wild and thrilling like nothing else mattered.

Until it ended.

You should have seen it coming. The signs were there, subtle but unmistakable, like the way her touches lingered less, her smiles carried an unfamiliar edge of hesitation, or how she started showing up later and leaving earlier.

She pulled away first. Her body still sought yours in the dark, her kisses still burned against your skin—but something else tugged her away. The linkage you’ve made, fragile and unspoken, began to crack under the weight of what neither of you could say.

And then, one night, it just stopped.

There was no confrontation, no goodbye. Just a shitty note, scrawled in her rushed handwriting. An apology that didn’t explain anything and only left you with more questions than answers.

Sorry, can’t keep doing this. Take care.

That was it.

What the fuck? Who fucking does that?

You used to think you knew Vi, considering the two of you have known each other for years but for fucks sake. A fucking note?

You were left hollow, raw, trying to patch yourself together while carrying the weight of what you’d lost. The ache wasn’t sharp or explosive; it was slow and steady, a dull throb that settled in your chest and refused to leave. Like an old injury, it reminded you of her every time you tried to move on.

And then there was Powder.

The one thing both of you could agree on is that Powder could not know.

You couldn’t look at her without guilt sinking its claws deeper into you. Every laugh felt tinged with the shadow of what you were hiding from her. You’d never wanted to hurt her, not Powder—your other half, your best friend. But now, even sitting in the same room as her felt suffocating. She didn’t know why you pulled away, why you avoided talking about her sister, but she noticed. You saw it in her eyes, the way they clouded with quiet confusion and hurt.

Shit. You fucked up. Really bad.

You tried to fix it, pouring yourself into your friendship with Powder to make up for what you’d broken. But the cracks were there, widening with every forced laugh, every moment her gaze lingered too long, silently asking you what was wrong.

Did this make you a bad friend?

You told yourself it didn’t, that you were doing the right thing by keeping the secret buried until the day you died. But Violet was everywhere.

She was in every corner of that house, in every fucking memory. Her laughter echoed in your mind when the silence stretched too long, and her absence hung heavy in the air, turning a place that should have been safe into something haunted.

Now, the crunch of snow beneath your boots was deafening in the stillness of the night. Your breath hung in the air, visible and fleeting, mingling with the sharp scent of winter. The cold was unrelenting, biting through the thick layers of your coat and scarf, nipping at your cheeks and fingertips despite your gloves.

Ekko stood beside you, adjusting the knit hat pulled low over his ears. He shifted from foot to foot, his warm brown coat dusted with snowflakes that clung stubbornly to the fabric. His scarf was wrapped snugly around his neck, and his expression was relaxed, a stark contrast to the tightness in your chest.

You tugged at the sleeves of your coat, pulling them further over your hands as if that could keep the cold—and your nerves—at bay.

The house before you looked like something out of a holiday postcard. Twinkling Christmas lights lined the rooftop, casting a golden glow over the snow-laden yard. Frost framed the windows, and a simple wreath adorned the weathered front door, its red bow vibrant against the muted greens. The faint aroma of pine and cinnamon drifted from inside, wrapping around you like a bittersweet memory.

You stared at the door, every second stretching longer than it should. Standing here again, in this place so familiar yet painfully different, you wondered if coming back was a mistake.

Ekko nudged you gently with his elbow. “You good?” His voice was soft, a puff of mist forming with each word.

You nodded, though the knot in your stomach said otherwise. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Just... cold.”

Before either of you could knock, the door swung open.

Vi stood there, her presence commanding even in the soft glow of the porch light. Her once-vibrant pink hair had grown longer, the colour almost red at the ends, with dark roots framing her face in uneven strands that still carried that effortless charm. She wore a sweater and a jacket that stretched over her broad shoulders and dark jeans tucked into worn combat boots.

Her gaze landed on you, and for a moment, something flickered there—recognition, maybe even surprise—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Her lips curved into a faint smile, but it wasn’t warm. If anything, it felt like a placeholder for something she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say.

“Oh,” she said after a beat, her voice carrying an edge of surprise but little warmth. “Hey, guys. You’re early. Like, two days early.”

“We’re staying for the night,” Ekko said, brushing snow off his coat. “I thought Vander told you. He and Powder invited us.”

Vi blinked, her expression shifting almost imperceptibly as her jaw tightened. Her eyes flickered toward you—briefly, like looking too long might hurt—before she stepped aside.

“Oh,” she murmured, her voice quieter this time. “Right. Yeah. I was just heading out... but, uh, come in.”

The warmth of the house hit you immediately as you stepped through the door, but it barely thawed the chill lingering in your chest. The soft creak of the wooden floor welcomed you back like an old friend, though the once-chaotic energy of the home was subdued. The living room was tidier than you remembered, with carefully placed holiday decorations that hinted at some change within the walls.

Ekko stomped his boots on the mat and shrugged off his coat, but you hesitated, taking in the quiet. The faint murmur of laughter from upstairs made you smile, though your focus was pulled back to the sound of the door clicking shut behind you.

Vi lingered in the entryway, her frame silhouetted against the soft glow of Christmas lights spilling through the frosted windows. She looked different—older, sharper. Her pink hair was darker now at the roots, the faded strands falling over her face in a way that made her seem distant, untouchable. She shifted her weight, the leather of her jacket creaking softly, and the tension in her shoulders was noticeable.

Before either of you could say anything, a blur of blue came bounding down the stairs.

“ Finally! ” Powder’s voice carried through the room as she launched herself at you, arms tight around your shoulders. Your bags hit the floor with a dull thud as you caught her, laughing despite the ache in your chest.

She hadn’t changed much. Though her hair was shorter now, spiked at odd angles and choppy. Her hair was shorter now, spiked at odd angles, and choppy in a way that screamed ’last-minute experiment.’ You remembered her midnight call a few days ago, her voice buzzing with nerves and excitement over the impulsive haircut.

You hugged her back with the same force and you could feel the warmth of her cheek against yours. There was something undeniably comforting about being near her again.

When you pulled back, your gaze drifted to her hair, and you reached out instinctively, teasingly tugging at one jagged edge. “It looks worse in person,” you said with a smirk. “I thought you said Silco would fix it for you?”

Powder rolled her eyes dramatically, though her grin stayed firmly in place. “Jesus Christ, I just got home a few hours ago. Cut me some slack.”

“I’ve missed you,” you said, your voice softening as you leaned back to really look at her.

“Missed you more,” she shot back instantly, her arms still lingering on your shoulders like she was afraid to let go. “God, it’s been way too long.”

“Not that long,” Mylo called from the end of the stairs, “We literally saw each other at Thanksgiving.”

Powder’s head snapped around, glaring. “Fuck off, Mylo.”

“Just saying,” he muttered, disappearing into the kitchen with a shrug.

Powder turned back to you with a huff but couldn’t suppress the laugh bubbling up. “What an asshole. I swear he hasn’t grown up a day.” She pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before bounding toward Ekko, who barely had time to react before she threw herself into his arms.

Ekko froze for a split second, his hands hovering awkwardly before resting on her waist. You stifled a grin as she leaned up to kiss him lightly on the lips. His ears turned crimson against his dark skin, and the sight almost made you laugh, but you held it in. Powder, of course, acted like nothing had happened, grabbing his bags and darting further into the house.

“Vander and Silco aren’t home yet,” she called over her shoulder, barely breaking stride. “They’re doing last-minute shopping with Claggor and Isha.”

You and Ekko exchanged a glance—his flustered expression made you grin wider—and then he followed her further inside.

You reached for your bag, your attention wandering as your eyes traced the wallpaper. It was new—bright and floral—but seemed oddly out of place against the worn, scuffed floors and familiar marked walls. Your fingers brushed at the strap absently, your mind still half-caught on the contrast between the house's old and new pieces.

A warm touch startled you.

Your hand stilled as you glanced down, finding Vi’s fingers barely brushing the strap of your bag. She froze too, her hand hovering awkwardly next to yours. For a moment, neither of you moved, the shared hesitation thick in the air between you.

“I just…” Vi’s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d expected. “In case you needed help,” she added, her tone careful. Without waiting for an answer, she slid the strap off the floor and into her hand. The weight didn’t faze her—of course it didn’t.

She stepped back immediately, her hands dropping to her sides. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue. For a second, it seemed like she might say something more, but the moment passed.

You waited—just a beat longer than you should have—but when she didn’t speak, you turned toward the stairs. Each step thudded softly beneath you, the weight of her silence trailing after you like an unwelcome shadow.

The grooves in the banister felt familiar under your fingertips, grounding you as you looked back. Vi hadn’t moved. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her shoulders hunched forward as though she was trying to shrink in on herself. Her jaw worked tight, and her gaze was fixed on the floor, unyielding.

Something about the set of her shoulders tugged at your stomach, twisting it into an uneasy knot. But before you could decide whether to say something, she turned on her heel and slipped out the front door, letting it click softly shut behind her.

The ache in your chest lingered as you moved down the hall toward Powder’s room. Slipping in through the open door felt like stepping into a memory.

Nothing had changed.

The posters on the walls curled at the edges, faded from sunlight and time, but they were the same ones Powder had painstakingly arranged in high school. Her desk was a familiar mess of old art supplies, dried-up bottles of nail polish, and a tangle of wires from unfinished projects. A precarious stack of sketchbooks leaned against the desk lamp, and the familiar scent of vanilla candles mingled with something faintly chemical.

You smiled softly, running your fingers along the edge of her desk. It was comforting, in a way, to see how untouched it all felt, as though the past few years had been frozen in this space.

“What's the mattress for?” Ekko dropped his bag onto the floor with a loud thud.

Powder, kneeling on the ground by the end of the bed, didn’t look up as she smoothed the worn blanket over the mattress she’d pulled from the closet. “The three of us won’t fit on the bed.”

Ekko scoffed. “Don’t really want to share, anyway.”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow at him. “Not sharing a bed with me, or Pow?”

“You can’t just claim the bed,” you shot back, indignant.

“Why not? First come, first served.” Ekko leaned back, folding his arms behind his head like he was already settling in.

“Oh, come on.” You kicked at the mattress. “You’ve got this nice old mattress right here.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly enjoying your indignation. “ You’ve got a nice old mattress.” Then he smirked, playing his trump card. “I’m the boyfriend. So I should get the bed with her.”

“By that logic, I’m the best friend,” you countered. “Therefore, I should get the bed.”

Powder glanced over her shoulder, her face split into a wide grin. “Flip a coin for it. I don’t care who gets the bed or not.” Then, as if anticipating neither of you would back down, she added, “Both of you can sleep on the floor if you really want.”

Her teasing pulled the tension out of the air, and Ekko shot you a victorious smirk as he rolled to the center to take up even more room.

You rolled your eyes, giving up the fight for now.

As the moment passed, your gaze drifted back to her desk. Amid the usual chaos of supplies and half-finished projects was something new: an open gift box. Curious, you stepped closer.

Inside was a framed collage, a carefully arranged mix of photos and clippings. There were pictures from Powder’s childhood, moments preserved from long-forgotten holidays and all the Christmases Vander and your parents had documented. A mix of photos showed her with her family, you, and Ekko in the snow. There were clippings of ribbons Powder used to wear in her hair, pressed flat against the collage, and notes you didn’t recognize.

“This is so cute,” you said, your curiosity piqued. “Who gave you that?”

Powder glanced up from the bed, her grin softening. “Vi. She gave it to me early—said she couldn’t wait until Christmas.”

Her tone was casual, but there was a warmth in her eyes as she spoke.

“Vi made that?” you asked, surprised.

Powder nodded. “She’s got her moments, you know.”

Ekko leaned back against the wall, chuckling. “You sound surprised. Vi’s the most sentimental person in this house.”

You blinked, caught off guard, your gaze flicking back to the collage. The little details stood out now—tiny notes scribbled in the margins of photos, careful placements that could only come from someone who knew Powder inside and out.

The realization settled slowly in your chest, like the soft weight of something long overdue. In the past few months, you’d let Vi’s tough act make a fool of you. You’d seen her through a lens warped by anger and frustration, letting her sharp edges and rough words overshadow everything else.

But you were wrong. You’d always known that, deep down.

Growing up, Vi had been a force of nature. Unstoppable, brooding, fierce in everything she did. She carried herself like someone who didn’t know how to back down, who didn’t know how to break. And maybe, as a kid, you’d believed that too—that she couldn’t break, that she was untouchable. But even then, there had been moments that broke through the storm, glimpses of the person she really was.

She’d always been the first to defend Powder when other kids teased her. She’d always been the one to step in when fights got too rough, when someone was about to cross a line they couldn’t take back. She was the one who stayed up late patching up scrapes and bruises with whatever supplies she could scrounge up, her hands gentler than you’d expected them to be.

Vi had always cared. Too much, maybe.

Her choices didn’t come from cold calculation or detached logic. She wasn’t distant. She wasn’t indifferent. Everything she did was rooted in emotion—raw, messy, overwhelming emotion that she couldn’t always hide. The same fire that made her so strong was the thing that burned her most. And somehow, you’d forgotten that.

Maybe it was because she played you. After all, she used you, used you like some toy until none of your tricks worked anymore. Until she got bored, you think.

Sorry, can’t keep doing this.

It had been months and the note is still tethered in your mind.

Powder, though, had never stopped seeing her for who she was. Powder fucking worshipped Violet. She always had. Even when they bickered, even when Vi’s temper flared, Powder talked about her like she was invincible. Her superhero big sister, the one who could do no wrong, who could fix anything.

To you, Vi had been more than a superhero. She’d been a storm. Something to admire from a safe distance, to watch in awe as she tore through the world around her. She was all the things you weren’t—bold, unyielding, unafraid. And maybe that’s why you couldn’t see her vulnerability. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to forget that she wasn’t just a storm.

Your gaze drifted back to the collage, to the careful placements and tiny notes scribbled in the margins. Every piece of it spoke to how well Vi knew her sister, how much she’d paid attention all these years, even when it looked like she wasn’t watching.

For all her strength, Vi had always been just as vulnerable as the rest of you.

Whenever Vi was around, you got quiet.

It wasn’t something you consciously decided. It just… happened. Words that usually came easily suddenly felt too big in your mouth, so when you were younger, you kept them locked behind your teeth.

The Last Drop was always noisy, the usual crowd of patrons filling the air with drunken chatter and the occasional crash of bottles. You weaved your way through the chaos, eyes scanning the room for Powder. She had a habit of disappearing into her projects, sometimes forgetting the world outside entirely, but she usually stuck to places where you could find her.

Though, she wasn’t at her usual corner table.

You hesitated outside the back room, your knuckles brushing against the door. It was already slightly ajar, faint light spilling into the hallway. You debated leaving—Powder would show up eventually, probably dragging some new contraption behind her—but then you heard the low murmur of a familiar voice.

Vi.

Your heart stuttered.

You pushed the door open cautiously, stepping inside. The smell of oil and something acrid lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth from the old, flickering light above. Violet was sitting at the edge of a workbench, her hands occupied with one of Powder’s unfinished gadgets. Her fingers worked with surprising precision , twisting wires together and securing pieces in place.

She looked up when she heard you enter, her sharp blue eyes pinning you in place.

“Looking for powder?”

You nodded, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself. You’d been so prepared to ask Powder if she’d remembered to grab Ekko’s spare slingshot, but now you were just... standing there, your mouth slightly open.

“Is she... here?”

“Yeah, she went to get somthing.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You wanna wait here?”

You nodded again, like it was the only thing you knew how to do.

She kept looking at you, “You can sit, you know.”

There weren’t many places to sit. The workbench was cluttered, and the rest of the room was lined with crates and boxes that didn’t seem sturdy enough to support anyone’s weight.

But then Vi slid over to the side of the workbench, her boots scuffing lightly against the floor as she made space, and she glanced at you expectantly.

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, before finally taking a step forward. Your movements felt clumsy like you were an awkward puppet trying to figure out its strings. When you finally sat down, you perched on the very edge of the workbench, choosing the spot farthest from her. Your legs dangled awkwardly, your hands gripping the edge of the bench.

It wasn’t that you were scared of her—not exactly. There was something magnetic about Violet that you couldn’t put into words. Powder had talked about her endlessly, weaving stories that sounded too cool to be true: how Vi could talk her way out of anything or fight her way through anything she couldn’t. How she always stood her ground, even when she was scared. Those stories had made Violet seem larger than life, someone untouchable and unreal.

But now she was here and suddenly all those stories felt real.

You’d only seen her in passing before—a fleeting glimpse in Powder’s hallway or her shadow leaning in through a doorway. Those encounters had been brief, easy to escape. This? There was no escaping this.

Vi must’ve noticed the space you’d intentionally put between you both.

She smiled, slow and lopsided, a faint shake of her head betraying her amusement.

“What’s funny?” you asked, defensive.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice edged with a chuckle. She leaned back on her hands, crossing her legs casually as though to make herself smaller—less intimidating, perhaps. “You’re just… I don’t know. Skittish.”

“I’m not skittish.”

“Right,” she teased.

Your hands curled tighter around the edge of the bench. You could feel your heart pounding so hard you were convinced she could hear it.

“Relax,” she said after a moment, her tone lighter. “I’m not gonna bite.”

“I know,” you blurted out, the words coming out louder than intended.

Vi chuckled softly, shaking her head again. “So,” she began, as if trying to put you at ease, “you and Powder—friends, huh?”

“Best friends.”

“You guys get into trouble?” she asked.

“No,” you said automatically.

Her eyebrows lifted. “You lying?”

“…No.”

The pause was too long to be convincing, and Vi’s smirk widened as she leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. “Uh-huh,” she murmured, clearly not buying it.

The door creaked open before she could press further, and you turned quickly, grateful for the interruption. Powder burst into the room, a notebook tucked under one arm and a precarious bundle of tools balanced in the other.

“There you are!” she chirped, her voice bubbling with excitement . “You’re not gonna believe this idea I had—”

Without waiting for a response, Powder grabbed your wrist, her grip surprisingly strong as she tugged you toward the door. She barely noticed Vi, too caught up in her excitement as she launched into an explanation of some wild project you only half-understood.

You stumbled after her, but as you reached the doorway, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder.

Vi was still watching you.

Her gaze was steady, her expression unreadable. It scared you. There was something in her eyes that made your stomach flip. Even as the door swung shut behind you, that look stayed with you, leaving a strange heat in its wake.

You’d always been a little jealous of how close Powder’s family was.

It wasn’t something you ever voiced aloud—it felt like a betrayal of your own family, even if there wasn’t much to betray. But the truth was that being around them, especially during the holidays, filled a space in you that you hadn’t even realized was empty.

Powder’s family had a way of making everyone feel like they belonged, whether it was Ekko or you slipping into the chaos of their home like you were meant to be there. Despite the worn walls, the mismatched furniture, and the chipped mugs of cocoa on the table, there was a warmth that couldn’t be shaken, a sense of togetherness that was tangible in the air.

They never made you feel like an intruder. In fact, you were certain you’d been assumed into the family years ago when Vander had hung up that photo of you winning your school’s spelling bee. It had a place of honour in the narrow hallway, wedged between photos of Powder’s first fight with Mylo (a blurry shot of fists mid-swing with Claggor and Vi trying to break them apart) and Ekko holding Isha as a baby.

Your photo was still there, a little faded from sunlight streaming through the windows, but it hadn’t budged. Vander’s way of saying you belonged.

The scent of cinnamon hung faintly in the air from Powder’s earlier attempt at baking cookies, but the chaos had only truly ignited when Vander, Silco, Claggor, and Isha returned from their last-minute grocery run.

The front door banged open, letting in a blast of cold December air, and the house erupted into chaos.

Isha launched herself off Claggor’s shoulders the second she spotted you and Ekko lounging on the couch with Powder. She gasped dramatically, her wide eyes shining as she yanked off her hat and darted forward, boots still tracking snow onto the worn rug.

“Shoes off at the door, Isha!” Vander called, his voice half-stern, half-amused as he stepped inside behind her, arms loaded with grocery bags.

Isha ignored him completely, stopping in front of you to tug insistently at your sleeve and point to the bag of snacks Vander had left on the counter. You raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You want first pick? Only if you let me braid your hair later.”

Isha exaggeratedly rolled her eyes but gave you an enthusiastic nod, darting toward the kitchen before Claggor could even put the bags down.

“Didn’t we just clean the floor this morning?” Claggor muttered, shaking his head but smiling. He followed Isha into the kitchen, helping Silco unpack the bags while Mylo hovered nearby, his arm already snagging the bag of candy canes.

“We’re redoing those cookies,” Silco said, his calm voice cutting through Mylo’s protests.

“That’s not on me! Powder was supposed to—”

“You were distracting me!” Powder called from the couch, not even bothering to look away from the movie she and Ekko were half-watching.

“Enough bickering. Let’s just get it done,” Silco said with finality, rolling up his sleeves.

Warm greetings and laughter followed, and eventually, everyone found their way to the living room. It felt like old times—loud, messy, and alive in a way that was uniquely theirs.

You sat cross-legged on the rug, carefully weaving a braid into Isha’s hair. She perched in front of you with exaggerated patience, her fingers tapping on her knees every time you paused to adjust a strand. Every so often, she tilted her head back to glance at the movie, nearly undoing your work.

“Stay still,” you murmured, gently guiding her head back into place.

She groaned dramatically, her hands moving in quick, sharp gestures towards the television.

“You’ll see when it’s done,” you promised, laughing softly. “Almost there.”

Across the room, Powder was curled up on the couch with Ekko behind her, the two of them bundled under a mismatched blanket. Powder sipped from a steaming mug, her eyes half-closed as she relaxed against Ekko’s chest.

“You missed a spot,” Ekko teased, gesturing vaguely toward the braid.

“Quiet, or you’re next,” you shot back with a grin, earning a soft laugh from Powder.

“Next? You think I’d let you near my hair?” Ekko countered, sitting up just enough to look mock-offended.

“Keep talking, and I’ll braid yours while you sleep,” you quipped, finishing Isha’s braid with a quick twist and securing it with a small elastic.

Isha beamed as you let her go, rushing to the mirror by the dining room to inspect your handiwork. She returned moments later with a bright smile and a thumbs-up of approval, spinning dramatically to show off to everyone before plopping back down beside you on the rug.

The room hummed with quiet chatter and the faint crackle of the old TV. Vander sat in the armchair, flipping through the pages of an old, dog-eared book, while Claggor and Mylo argued over whose turn it was to get the snacks from the kitchen. Silco leaned against the wall, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched the scene unfold.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered when Vi would come back home. She always seemed to find her way back eventually, just like everyone else.

But for now, you let yourself sink into the warmth of the room, the sound of Isha’s soft humming beside you, and the way this mismatched family made you feel whole.

It was hours later until the house had finally quieted down.

By the time you got ready for bed, everyone else had already found their corners of the house to sleep in. Powder and Ekko had claimed the couch for a while, tangled up under the same blanket, their heads tilted toward one another before they went upstairs. Vander was stretched out in his recliner, his book slipping from his fingers as his snores rumbled softly through the room. Mylo and Claggor had retreated to their rooms. Even Silco, who always seemed to operate on less sleep than anyone else, had disappeared.

The last to go was Isha.

She hadn’t wanted to leave the warmth of the living room, her small hands clutching your sleeve as you led her down the hallway to her bedroom. She’d signed with exaggerated reluctance, dragging her feet just enough to make you laugh softly.

“Come on, you need your beauty sleep,” you had teased, tucking her into the small bed piled high with mismatched blankets. Isha grinned up at you, her eyes bright even in the low light, before closing them as if to humour you.

Once her breathing had evened out, you quietly slipped out of the room, shutting the door just enough to let a sliver of light from the hallway peek through.

And you? You lingered.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you brushed your teeth slowly, watching your reflection in the dim light. The rhythmic swish of the toothbrush and the faint creak of the old floorboards were the only sounds in the stillness. You were taking your time, you realized.

It wasn’t that you weren’t tired. You were—your limbs heavy from the warmth of the house, your eyes drooping slightly. But you’d noticed the way Powder had curled closer to Ekko as the night went on, the soft, shy glances she’d thrown him. They’d barely had a moment alone all evening, and you didn’t want to intrude, not when she’d looked so happy.

So, you stalled.

After rinsing your mouth, you padded quietly into the kitchen, your socked feet barely making a sound on the worn floor. You poured yourself a glass of water, sipping slowly as you glanced out the window. The snow had stopped falling, leaving a soft blanket of white under the moonlight. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel like the whole world was holding its breath.

You set the glass down on the counter, letting your fingers trace the rim absentmindedly. The stillness felt comforting, though admittedly a little lonely.

The soft creak of the front door broke the silence.

You turned, your heart skipping just slightly at the unexpected sound. The door opened slowly, and a familiar figure stepped inside, brushing snow off her jacket.

Vi.

She quietly kicked the door closed behind her, her boots scuffing against the rug as she tugged her gloves off. Her hair was damp with melted snow, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. She looked surprised to see you, her eyes narrowing slightly before recognition softened her expression.

“Oh, hey.”

“Hi.”

You watched as she shed her jacket, revealing the worn sweater she had underneath. She looked good, you realized, in that effortless way she always did. Like she didn’t have to try to draw attention—she just did. You hated that after all this time you still found her maddeningly attractive.

You cleared your throat. “Did you have fun?”

You were trying this new thing called: being mature.

Vi glanced at you, her brows knitting together as if puzzled by your question. It struck you that maybe she’d expected you to ignore her, to keep the peace by staying out of her way. “Oh, yeah. Jayce says hi.”

That tugged a faint smile from you despite yourself. It had been a while since you’d seen or even thought of Jayce, Mel, or the rest of the old crew. Memories stirred—ones you hadn’t decided whether to cherish or bury.

“I figured everyone would be asleep by now,” she said as she moved toward the kitchen, her voice casual but her movements careful, like she was testing the waters.

“They are,” you replied. “I was just… taking my time.”

Vi arched an eyebrow, leaning against the counter beside you, her frame close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating off her. “Taking your time? That’s a new one.”

You rolled your eyes, the teasing curve of her lips unsettling you more than you wanted to admit. “Powder and Ekko looked like they could use some space. I thought I’d give them a chance to… you know, not have me hovering.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I can be nice.”

“Sure you can.”

“Yeah, well, I try,” you said, shifting your weight and crossing your arms as you turned to face her.

The kitchen fell silent. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy, either. She met your gaze, her expression unreadable for a moment. Her gaze on your skin felt like a physical touch, and when it stopped at your lips, a shock of heat went through your body, from the crown of your head down to your toes. Her eyes moved over you like a caress of the summer breeze.

You watched her swallow. You saw her mouth part, her tongue emerging to wet her lips.

All of a sudden, the thought of being civil shattered, crumbling into a heap of raw, unfiltered anger. You were back in your bed that summer, the sunlight streaming through your curtains in lazy, mocking streaks. It was too bright, too cheerful, as if the world hadn’t just caved in on you.

Your eyes zeroed in on that damned note—the one she’d left on your bedside table, shoved beneath an old glass of water. Half-empty. The wet rim of the glass had left its mark, smudging the ink like it was trying to wipe her words away, but they were seared into your mind.

Sorry, can’t keep doing this. Take care.

Can’t keep doing what ? Can’t keep loving you? Can’t keep seeing the way your ribs were cracking? The skin breaking? The bone snapping? Splintering after each pound of your heart because she was close to you? Because she was kissing you? Because her lips left searing marks for you to remember the longing in her eyes, the blush on her cheeks?

Can’t keep doing what ?

Why couldn’t she take the heart you were giving her? Why couldn't she take it from your hands, blooded at the nails as you tore it from your own chest, strings and veins hoping to attach to hers if she lets you?

Huh.

Maybe you weren’t as over it as you thought.

Even now, the bitterness clawed its way back to the surface, sharp and unrelenting. You remembered the feeling—the quiet, creeping devastation of being blindsided. The hollow ache in your chest as you read her rushed words, so impersonal it felt like a stranger had written them. Not her.

The sharp edge of the memory made you flinch, thrusting you backward, too fast, your hip slamming into the counter. The pain was sharp, wrenching you back to the present. You winced, a pained groan caught in your throat.

“Hey—” Vi moved toward you instinctively, her arms half-raised.

“I should go to bed,” you managed, voice strained and uneven. You reached for your glass, fumbled it into the sink, and winced at the clatter. Frustration rose like a tide, threatening to pull you under.

Vi muttered your name, soft, almost tender. Her hand brushed against your forearm, the barest graze of her fingers sending a shock through you. You jerked back, raising a hand to keep her at a distance.

“You’re still angry,” she said, her voice even, like she was stating a fact.

A bitter laugh escaped you, sharp and cutting. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“Look—”

“What are we doing here, Vi?”

She tilted her head, trying for humour. “Standing in the kitchen?”

You didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “Vi.”

“What?”

“You left me.”

She went stock still. Rigid.

Finally, finally , there you were, hands balled into fists, turning in the middle of the room. Almost a decade’s worth of anger, disappointment, confusion, and, what the hell, maybe a little hatred boiled over, clawing its way out of you before you could stop it.

“ You left me,” you repeated, your voice rising despite yourself. “And I… I had no one to talk to about it. Do you have any idea what that was like?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“You told me not to tell Powder. You made me promise,” you continued, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “Do you know how fucked up it was to keep that kind of secret from her? From everyone?”

Vi’s jaw tightened, and her lips pressed into a thin, defensive line. “Obviously I know. She’s my sister. What the hell was I supposed to do? Just tell her I was hooking up with her best friend behind her back? How was that gonna go over?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Vi,” you hissed, trying to keep quiet. You threw your hands up, pacing a step away before turning back. “You really think Powder would’ve cared? She idolizes you. She’d have been thrilled if you had just—ugh—grown a pair and said something!”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Vi snapped, “you weren’t the one breaking every unspoken rule of friendship with her. I was. I was lying to her, betraying her—”

“Easy for me? What? And what ?” you shot back, cutting her off. “You think I was just fine with lying to my best friend, pretending nothing was going on? I thought we were doing this together, Vi. But no, you had to make it this big, guilty secret. Like... like I was some dirty fucking secret to you.”

“It wasn’t like that—you weren’t—”

“And then—then you didn’t even have the guts to tell me you were leaving. You just—” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the memory of that note resurfaced, slicing through your chest all over again. You threw your hands in the air, dropping them by your aside, “You left a fucking note and ran off like a fucking pussy.”

Vi flinched at that, but her defences were back up in an instant. “You don’t get it,” she said, her voice lower now, simmering with frustration. “I felt like I was losing myself. Like I was letting both of you down—Powder and you. I thought leaving was the only way to fix it.”

Her being vulnerable made you even angrier. You had thought you were prepared, that magically you’d be able to have a civil conversation that settled the matter in a way that left you with your pride intact and Vi still being the heartless bitch you remembered her as (which you knew was not true at all, but lately you only had that note to remember her by tied with whatever Powder would tell you).

Clearly, you’ve miscalculated.

“You were wrong.”

“I know.”

“And stupid.”

“I get it.”

You took a breath. “I just... I hope we can be civil. For Powder. I’m here because of her. For her. She’s the only reason I came back.”

Vi looked away.

“Goodnight, Violet,” you muttered, brushing past her before she could try to stop you again.

You didn’t think you could love anyone more than you loved Powder.

Powder wasn’t just your best friend; she was your gravity, the one who kept you tethered to the earth when everything else threatened to spin out of control. She was the ink blot in the centre of every map you’d ever drawn, the beginning and end of every plan. By the time you were fourteen, the bond between you felt indestructible, like it was woven from a thread that the universe had spun just for the two of you.

You were partners in crime, yes, but also in something deeper: a shared wonder at the world, a refusal to accept its boundaries. Together, you didn’t just dream—you built those dreams. With your hands, your voices, your endless supply of hope, you created things no one else dared to imagine. There were nights when you’d sit under the dim glow of a streetlamp, her head resting on your shoulder, as the two of you scribbled on scraps of stolen paper . Plans for impossible inventions, designs that were part genius, part disaster, but always wholly yours.

It wasn’t just that you loved Powder. It was that she was a part of you. Her laughter lived in your bones, her worries haunted your heart, and her victories felt like your own . She had a way of looking at you, wide-eyed and trusting, that made you believe you could do anything, so long as you did it together.

You both made a mess of things sometimes—scraped knees, singed eyebrows, stolen goods that were more trouble than they were worth. But those moments became stories to tell and retell, memories you carried like talismans against the dark. Because no matter how wild things got, no matter how many alleyways you ran through or rooftops you scrambled over, you always knew Powder would be there at the end of it , laughing, breathless, and shining like the only light you’d ever need.

If there were such a thing as soulmates, you were certain Powder was yours. Not in the way people whispered about under the glow of moonlight—not romantic, not fleeting. But something ancient, bone-deep, like the kind of love that could outlast wars, loss, even time itself. If the world ended, you were sure the two of you would still find a way to survive, together, cobbling something beautiful out of the ruins.

She was your compass, your north star, your reason for believing that things could get better. And you would have done anything for her.

Her room was your second home (much like your own was hers), a chaotic mess of everything that made Powder Powder . The walls were covered in scrawled blueprints pinned up with mismatched tacks, paper edges curling from the humidity of the Lanes.

Above her bed, a row of old family pictures was strung like fairy lights, clipped onto twine with tiny clothespins. The images were faded but warm—Powder as a baby, Powder with Mylo and Claggor, Violet grinning with her arm around a much smaller Powder, Vander and Silco somewhere in the background, a recent one with you and Ekko at each of her sides.

Her desk was a cluttered battleground of unfinished gadgets, scattered tools, and school assignments half-completed and half-forgotten. A worn, stuffed bunny sat propped against one of the desk legs, its button eyes long since replaced with mismatched screws.

On the floor next to the bed, your backpack sat half-open, spilling its contents onto a pile of Powder’s clothes that might as well have been yours by now. The two of you had shared so many hoodies and t-shirts that you barely knew whose was whose anymore.

You were perched on Powder’s bed, the mattress lumpy but familiar, as the sharp scent of nail polish filled the air. Powder’s fingers were smudged with blue from a bottle that had tipped over earlier, and she was trying to paint your nails without dripping polish all over the blanket between you.

“Hold still,” she muttered, her tongue poking out as she concentrated.

“You’re the one making a mess,” you shot back, laughing as you pulled your hand away to examine the streak of polish running down your finger. “This looks awful, Pow. You should’ve let me do this.”

She snatched your hand back with a huff, “Fuck off. It’s not my fault you have twitchy hands.”

With her exaggerated movement, she knocked over the bottle again. Blue polish spilled onto the blanket, spreading in a small puddle.

“Powder!” you exclaimed, though you couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling out of you.

“Oops,” she said with a shrug, clearly not sorry, as she grabbed a rag to clean it up.

The two of you burst into laughter, leaning against each other for balance, the kind that made your ribs ache and your cheeks hurt.

Scattered across the bed were the sketches for her latest invention—a spring-loaded trap designed to “keep Mylo out of my room.” You’d been helping her refine the design all evening, pointing out where the gears might jam or how to reinforce the springs so they wouldn’t snap.

“You think this will actually work?” you asked, picking up one of the schematics and holding it up to the light.

“It’ll work,” Powder said with complete confidence, leaning over to add a few more messy lines to the paper. “It has to... or, y’know, boom.” She grinned like that was the best possible outcome.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help grinning back.

You started to climb out of the bed, shifting carefully so you didn’t disturb the scattered nail polish bottles or the sketches on the blanket. Before you could get your balance, Powder jabbed a foot into your side with a mischievous grin, sending you sprawling onto the floor with a loud thud .

“Powder!” you groaned, rubbing your arm where you landed on the corner of a notebook.

Her response was to double over with laughter, the sound light and uncontrollable. “Sorry, sorry,” she wheezed, though the glint in her eye said otherwise. “You made it too easy!”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at her, hitting her square in the face. Powder let out a dramatic gasp, clutching the pillow as it had wounded her. “Oh, you bitch!” she declared, launching herself off the bed and tackling you back onto the floor.

The two of you wrestled in a storm of laughter and flailing limbs, your voices loud enough to rattle the pictures on her wall. At some point, she managed to pin you down, her blue-stained fingers triumphantly waving the pillow above her head.

A sharp bang came from the wall, followed by Mylo’s muffled voice. “Shut the fuck up! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

You both froze for a moment before bursting into another fit of uncontrollable giggles, clutching your stomachs as you rolled away from each other.

“I can’t breathe,” you gasped, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

Powder flopped onto her back, still giggling. “Mylo’s such a loser.”

When the laughter finally began to subside, your stomach growled loud enough for her to hear. You groaned in embarrassment while Powder perked up, her expression instantly brightening.

“Thank god,” she said, leaping to her feet and tossing the pillow onto the bed. “I’m starving.”

She bounded toward the door, knocking over a sketchbook you were sure belonged to Ekko and a bottle of glitter glue on her way. You sat up, still catching your breath, and watched as she paused at the doorframe, turning back to wave you over.

“C’mon, slowpoke,” she teased. “Don’t make me eat by myself.”

The promise of food was enough to spur you into action. You scrambled to your feet, brushing off the stray bits of blanket fuzz clinging to your pyjamas, and followed her out.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights outside filtering through cracked blinds. The air smelled faintly of Vander’s cigars mixed with the tantalizing aroma of whatever takeout Claggor ordered was waiting downstairs. Powder’s footsteps were quick and uneven as she hopped down the stairs two at a time, her voice echoing back to you.

“What d’you think they got? Noodles? Oh, maybe dumplings! Or those buns—what’re they called? The ones with the pork inside?”

“Bao?” you offered, gripping the railing to keep from tripping over a stray shoe someone had left on the stairs.

“Yeah, those!” she called over her shoulder.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, the smell of food was stronger, warm and savoury, wrapping around you like a hug. Powder darted into the living room ahead of you, but you stopped in your tracks as soon as you rounded the corner.

Violet was sprawled across the couch, her legs up on the armrest. Her boots were still on, the scuffed soles pressed into the worn cushions. Pink hair tumbled loosely around her face, half-obscuring her sharp features as she leaned back with a dumpling poised between her fingers. Her eyes flicked to yours mid-bite, and her smirk was immediate.

Beside her, Caitlyn sat upright, a contrast to Vi’s casual sprawl on her lap. Caitlyn’s dark hair was neatly tied back, and she rested one hand lightly on Vi’s hair. Together, they looked so at ease, so entwined in their quiet dynamic that it made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t quite understand—or didn’t want to.

“Well, well,” Vi drawled, her voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt. “Look who decided to join the party.” Her eyes roamed over you and Powder, and her grin widened, sharp and almost playful.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You had seen them together before, but there was something about seeing them like this—so comfortable, so casual—that left you rooted to the spot. You glanced at Powder, silently begging for an anchor, but she was already tearing into the takeout bags on the table.

“Finally!” Powder exclaimed, holding up a box of noodles like it was treasure. She dropped to the floor without hesitation, crossing her legs and pulling the box into her lap.

She glanced pointedly at Vi and Caitlyn, rolling her eyes. “Are you two gonna take that upstairs, or do we have to suffer through whatever this is during our dinner?” She gestured vaguely at the space (or lack of) between them, nose scrunching in disgust.

Vi scoffed, stuffing the rest of the dumpling into her mouth. “We were here first,” she said, words slightly muffled.

“I don’t care.”

Vi leaned back further into the couch, looking entirely unbothered. “We’re not moving, Pow.”

You tried to ignore the way your chest tightened as you shuffled closer to Powder, grabbing the first takeout box your hand landed on. Powder nudged you with her elbow, grinning conspiratorially. “Ignore them,” she whispered, her tone light and dismissive.

And you did.

You ignored them for months, maybe even years. You ignored the way your stomach twisted itself into knots every time Vi was near. You ignored the lingering glances, the lazy smirks, and the moments that felt too heavy for what they were.

You ignored her when she stopped calling you “Powder’s friend” and started using your name instead—when she started seeing you not as an extension of her sister, but as your own person.

Maybe it was better off when she never saw you as such.

You figured (because you didn’t know how to act around Violet without wanting to scream and tear your own hair out) that the best way to be civil was to fall back on old habits. Childish habits, sure, but perhaps the most mature option available—given that talking about feelings had not worked out the way you’d hoped. For now, ignoring Vi entirely seemed like the safest bet.

When she walked into a room, you made it a point to walk out into another. If leaving wasn’t an option, you buried your nose further into whatever book was in your hands. Maybe Vander needed help in the kitchen, or Powder needed a hand with one of her endless projects. Claggor’s choice of movie—one you’d initially deemed boring—suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world.

It was a tactic you’d mastered as a kid. And if you were being honest, you blamed Powder for it. She’d started this habit of avoiding Vi, and it had rubbed off on you. Whenever a flash of pink hair crossed the corner of your vision, you’d instinctively turn the other way.

Back then, the reason was simple: Powder hated Caitlyn. Vi never seemed to go anywhere without her, so to show her disapproval, Powder avoided her sister like the plague and gave her the silent treatment for weeks—months, even. Naturally, being attached at the hip with Powder meant you also ignored Vi with just as much vigour. Though, of course, your reasons had always been different. They still were.

You were reminded of those days the next morning when you and Claggor exchanged knowing glances, your silent conversation punctuated by the sound of yelling from upstairs. Over the hum of the television, you could just barely make out Vi and Powder arguing about something as ridiculous as “ my jacket! ” and “ it’s not yours! ”

It is not exactly an uncommon occurrence in the household. Powder and Vi fought over stupid things all the time, and you inevitably got dragged into the middle of it.

Before long, Powder stomped down the stairs, rubbing at her eyes and grumbling under her breath. Spotting you on the couch, her expression brightened, a mischievous glint lighting up her tired face. “Wanna get out of here for a bit? See if any shops are still open? Or just... walk around?”

You opened your mouth, ready to point out that it was freezing outside, that the snow had to be inches high by now—but you caught the desperate edge in her tone, the almost pleading look in her eyes, and swallowed the protest.

“Sure,” you said instead, pushing yourself off the couch.

Getting ready was quick enough, though you couldn’t resist giving Ekko a side-eye as he sprawled across Powder’s bed, snoring lightly with one arm draped lazily over his face. You were lacing up your boots when the door swung open, and Vi appeared in the frame.

She froze for a moment when she saw you sitting at Powder’s desk instead of her sister. Her eyes flicked across the room, taking in the scene—the absence of Powder, the half-packed bag on the bed.

“Where’s—?”

“Bathroom,” you replied curtly, not bothering to turn fully around.

“Right.”

You expected her to leave after that. But as you turned back to the mirror over Powder’s vanity, adjusting your scarf, you caught Vi lingering in the doorway in your reflection.

It was so reminiscent of when you were kids that it made your chest ache. Back then, you ignored her when she barged into Powder’s room during your sleepovers, teasing her little sister with her typical swagger and throwing offhand comments that always seemed to be aimed at you.

Powder, immune to Vi’s antics, would roll her eyes and brush her off. You, on the other hand, weren’t so lucky. Heat would creep up your neck, and you’d stumble over your words when Vi’s gaze lingered on you for just a second too long.

Now, Vi’s presence was quieter, more uncertain. She didn’t tease like she used to, but her lingering still made your heart stutter.

“You guys going out?”

“Yeah.”

You fell back into the old routine more smoothly than you’d anticipated, and a small, self-satisfied part of you almost wanted to pat yourself on the back. It was easier this way—one-word answers, your refusal to meet her gaze, to acknowledge her properly.

For a moment, you wondered if she noticed.

“Where you going?”

“Dunno.”

“Not many places open. ’Cause of the snow.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah, might start snowing again tonight, too.”

“ Cool .”

It was a rhythm you knew well, a game of evasion and clipped responses that kept you safely guarded. But then she threw you off balance.

“Do you need a ride?”

That made you pause. The unexpected question broke the rhythm, and your routine faltered. Against your better judgment, you glanced at her—just briefly—from the mirror. A mistake. She was still in her pyjamas, red plaid pants slung low on her hips, and a worn tank that clung to her in a way that made your breath hitch. You stared longer than you should have, breaking one of your unspoken rules.

Her smirk, subtle but unmistakable, told you she noticed.

You scowled, turning your eyes back to the mirror. “Ask Powder,” you muttered. “I don’t know where we’re going.”

You hated how your voice betrayed you, a little too soft, a little too unsure.

“We’re taking Isha skating,” Powder chimed in as she walked into the room, her tone matter-of-fact.

Isha followed close behind, bundled in layers with a stride full of swagger and a bright scarf hanging loosely around her neck. She walked straight up to Vi, a grin lighting up her face, and promptly took off her own hat, stretching onto her toes to jump and plop it onto Vi’s head.

Vi froze for a moment, surprised, before reaching up to adjust the too-small hat, her fingers brushing against the wool. “Thanks, squirt,” she murmured, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

Isha just smirked, stepping back and crossing her arms with a triumphant air, clearly pleased with herself.

Powder barely spared her older sister another glance as she sauntered further in, kicking Ekko’s side as she passed. “Wake up, lazy,” she grumbled.

Ekko jolted awake with a groan, rubbing his face as Isha launched herself onto the bed. Her delighted squeal filled the room as she climbed over Ekko, her tiny hands tugging at his shirt to get his attention.

Meanwhile, Powder turned to Vi, hands on her hips, her expression unreadable. “You can come if you want,” she said with a shrug, her voice casual but edged with something more.

It was her way of forgiving her—or maybe apologizing. You could never quite tell. You hadn’t caught enough of their fight to figure out who’d been in the wrong this time.

Vi seemed to hesitate, her gaze flickering between you, Powder, and Isha, who was now giggling uncontrollably as Ekko tried to tickle her.

You sighed quietly to yourself. Skating sounded like a good escape. You loved it, always had, and the thought of gliding across the ice under the open sky was tempting. But the whole point of agreeing to Powder’s idea was to avoid Violet—not to end up skating in circles around her.

It was hard to ignore Vi the spring she got her first tattoo.

It was a simple design that spiralled around the back of her forearm. It was understated but bold, much like Vi herself. For weeks after, more tattoos appeared—on her shoulders, the side of her neck, her back. Piercings too. The ink seemed to mark milestones in her life that you weren’t a part of, reminders of how much she’d changed while you’d stayed tethered to the same place.

When your parents invited Powder’s family over for a barbecue and swim by the time summer came around, you tried your hardest to ignore her there too.

It wasn’t easy with the way the sunlight glinted off the ink on her shoulders, the intricate patterns shifting and coming alive whenever she moved. Her back muscles flexed when she leaned over to grab a drink from the cooler, her damp hair sticking to her neck in a way that made your stomach twist—a sleeveless shirt and boy shorts that showed off the tattoos snaking along her arms and neck.

And then there was Caitlyn.

She arrived with Vi, stepping out of the same car with a soft laugh that carried across the yard. Tall, composed, and impossibly pretty, Caitlyn’s presence lit up the space in a way that felt both magnetic and infuriating. Her fitted sundress swayed as she walked, fuck she was so perfect.

You liked Caitlyn.

She was kind, posh in that way that only people from richer side of the city seemed to be, and, sure, a little ignorant at times—but she had an earnestness about her that made it hard to hold it against her. She listened, really listened. She was understanding, and she was considerate.

She’d never given you a reason not to like her. Well, Powder might have a list if you asked her—snide little remarks about her polished accent or her insistence on “doing things properly.” But Powder’s grievances never carried any real weight, not to you. Caitlyn wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t trying to be, and that made it easier to like her.

You liked the way she did her makeup. When you mentioned it once, offhandedly, she lit up like you’d given her the highest compliment. “I could teach you, if you’d like,” she’d offered, her voice soft and a little shy, as if she wasn’t sure you’d accept.

Whenever she slept over at Powder’s house, she’d take you by the hand, leading you to the cramped little bathroom with its flickering bulb and streaky mirror (which Silco had fixed now). Out came her makeup bag, an immaculate little case filled with powders and brushes that looked impossibly fancy.

“Close your eyes,” she’d say, her tone somewhere between playful and professional.

You already knew how to do your own makeup—of course you did—but there was something comforting in the way Caitlyn worked. The gentle pressure of her fingers tilting your chin, the soft brushes grazing your skin, the quiet hum of concentration she always had. Her style never quite suited your face the way it suited hers but you didn’t mind. You liked the ritual of it, the way it felt like a secret just for the two of you.

More than that, you liked the way she tried. She tried to know you , to understand the patchwork family Powder had built around herself. She made the effort in ways that felt deliberate, and thoughtful, and it was hard not to respect that.

You liked to think she was your friend.

Caitlyn looped her arm casually through Vi’s, leaning in to whisper something that made Vi chuckle—a rare, unguarded sound that carried over the backyard.

Powder, bobbing beside you in the pool, nudged your shoulder with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

“Oh, there they go again,” she scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain.

You tried not to react, forcing your gaze away from Vi and Caitlyn. Instead, you focused on the sunlight dancing across the water’s surface, glinting like shards of glass as it clung to your skin. “What?” you muttered, keeping your tone as flat as possible .

Powder tilted her head toward the scene. “I wish they’d get a room or something. It’s fucking disgusting.”

“Come on, Pow, they’re just talking,” Ekko chimed in, sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet submerged in the water. He leaned back lazily, his sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Talking leads to cuddling,” Powder grumbled, crossing her arms as she floated beside you. “And cuddling leads to kissing. And we all know where that leads to.”

“Gross,” you muttered under your breath before splashing her, the water catching her square in the face.

“I’m just saying,” she shot back, blinking water from her lashes. “They’re gross.”

“You’re her sister, of course you’re gonna find it gross,” Ekko reminded her.

Powder huffed, her brow furrowing. “No, it’s gross because I don’t think Caitlyn’s good for her.”

“And you know who’s good for Vi?”

“Of course I do,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone so self-assured it nearly made you laugh. “Just like I know Gert’s good for Mylo if he’d stop being a little pussy about it.”

You followed her gaze to where Mylo stood by Claggor near the grill, the two of them peering into the barbecue. Mylo was trying (and failing) to sneak a piece of food before it was ready.

“I love your way with words,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

“Thank you,” Powder replied brightly, poking your side. Then her grin faltered, and she sighed. “But seriously. It’s like I have to wrestle her for Vi’s attention. And it’s annoying.”

You’d tied your skates too tight. Not intentionally—at least, that’s what you told yourself—but enough that your feet screamed. The blinding ache radiated up your calves, sharp and unrelenting, and you welcomed it. Maybe if you focused on the pain, it could drown out the storm brewing in your chest, the bitterness, the ache of everything else you didn’t want to feel. Maybe even how fucking cold it was outside.

Every step sent a throb through your legs, forcing you to clench your jaw until your teeth ground together. Ahead, Powder and Ekko laughed as they circled the rink, Isha wedged between them, tugging at their hands to keep herself upright. Her gleeful giggles floated back to you, light and carefree.

You stumbled again, catching your balance just in time to avoid another fall. That was the third time in the past ten minutes. The third damn time. You weren’t bad at skating—far from it, actually. Normally, you glide over the ice with ease, cutting through the rink like a blade. But today, the weight of your mood clung to you like lead, pulling you down, making you clumsier with every step.

You tried to focus on the cold air biting at your cheeks, on the blinding sunlight against the white snow, the rhythmic scrape of skates against the ice, but it did nothing to shake the sourness coiling tighter and tighter in your gut.

You were mid-stumble, arms flailing slightly as you tried to catch yourself again when the faintest whiff of something familiar hit you—cologne, earthy and faintly sweet. And then, beside you, came the sound of old, busted hockey skates carving through the ice.

Of all the bad luck…

“Hey,” came Vi’s voice, “you okay?”

You didn’t turn to look at her. Barely spared her a glance out of the corner of your eye.

“Fine.”

She didn’t leave. Of course, she didn’t. Instead, she lingered, her presence as irritating as the ache in your feet.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, skating closer, her voice quieter now but still persistent.

You sighed heavily, exasperated. “My feet hurt.”

“You wanna sit?”

“No.”

She let out a breath—sharp, annoyed, and entirely too familiar. “Fine.”

She didn’t skate away, though. She stayed right where she was, matching your pace despite the wobble in your steps. Her silence gnawed at you, scraping at the edges of your resolve like sandpaper.

You tightened your grip on the thought—the hope—that she’d eventually leave, that she’d get bored and skate off to join Powder or Isha. But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed, her presence an infuriating reminder of everything you were trying to forget.

You clenched your jaw and pushed forward, ignoring the sting in your feet, ignoring her, ignoring everything except the dull thud of your skates against the ice.

But then your skate caught on a groove in the ice, a small imperfection that sent you lurching forward. Your heart jumped into your throat as your arms flailed for balance.

Before you could hit the ice, a hand shot out, firm and steady, catching your elbow. Vi steadied you without a word, her grip warm and grounding even through the layers of your jacket.

“Thanks,” you muttered, pulling your arm away as if her touch burned.

She gave a faint nod, her expression unreadable, her eyes flickering to you before glancing ahead. You opened your mouth to speak, to say something—anything—but the words twisted up inside you, tangling with the bitterness that had settled in your chest.

You wanted to talk to her. You really did. But what would you even say? You’d already tried last night, hadn’t you? Tried to bridge the gap, to ask questions you weren’t ready to hear the answers to. And it had all fallen flat.

You wanted to hate her, too, to let the anger you’d buried beneath your sadness take root and keep you standing tall. But then she went and did this—acting all nice, like nothing had happened. Like you were still just Powder’s best friend, and by extension, her friend too. Like you hadn’t been broken by her absence, her coldness, her silence.

Your mind betrayed you, slipping back to the moments you wished you could share. You wanted to tell her about college. About the awkward first dates Powder still teased you about, the bad ones you couldn’t even laugh about yet. Maybe you even wanted her to tease you, to laugh along, like she used to.

But the thought of wanting that, of still wanting her, stung.

“You sure you’re fine?” she asked, her voice cutting through the haze in your head. It was softer this time, almost tender, and it sent a pang through your chest.

“Just thinking…” you replied, your words trailing off.

“About?”

You .

The thought alone made your jaw tighten and your scowl to deepen, the bitter ache winding tighter around your ribs. Why couldn’t you let it go? Why couldn’t you just move on? You’d told yourself you had. But now, here you were, on this damn rink, feeling every fracture of what had once been, with Vi skating beside you as if she had no idea. She must know.

She must know.

Why was she being so nice? Why was she looking at you like that? Like she cared? She didn’t, not really. If she did, why did she leave? Why did she care so much about what someone else had to say?

Maybe you shouldn’t have come back. Maybe you should’ve stayed with your parents for Christmas. Maybe you should’ve gone to some sunny, beach-side retreat and pretended to enjoy the holidays while being surrounded by strangers.

Shit, maybe you were the problem.

You blinked, startled back to reality by a kid skating too close and brushing against your arm. The rink was alive with motion—kids wobbling precariously as parents held their hands, teenagers zipping by in pairs, the sound of laughter mingling with the scrape of skates on ice. The faint, frosty smell of winter mingled with the warmth of spiced cocoa from the rink’s concession stand.

You took a sharp breath, your focus shifting to Vi, who was already watching you. Her brows were furrowed, a small line forming between them, her concern evident.

As if she cared.

Did she? Could she?

You clenched your fists, willing yourself not to scowl again, not to let her see the turmoil you were struggling to keep buried. You tried to be mature, to play it cool, to remind yourself you were over this. Over her.

“Nothin’,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Vi didn’t press. She just nodded slightly and kept skating beside you, her presence steady but silent.

Ahead, Powder waved with both hands, her grin stretching wide as Isha spun in a shaky circle beside her. Powder’s voice carried over the cold air, calling your names.

You didn’t wave back. You couldn’t. The weight in your chest held you down, rooted you to the ice even as your skates moved forward.

But Vi didn’t leave. She stayed right there, keeping pace with you, her quiet persistence chipping away at the edges of your resolve.

You wonder if you did the same for her.

The music was loud—too loud—but that was part of the charm. The thumping bass rattled through your ribcage, shaking you from the inside out, while the floor beneath you trembled with the rhythm of countless feet jumping in sync. You could feel the music in your blood, like a heartbeat that wasn’t your own, each beat pushing you higher, pulling you deeper into the chaos.

You loved to party with Powder.

Her hand was a lifeline, gripping yours tightly as the two of you wove through the throng of swaying bodies, your drinks sloshing in red solo cups that were more a suggestion of something to hold than something to drink. The cheap alcohol inside had long since gone warm, sticky trails of it slipping down your wrists every time you threw your hands up or spun around.

Your hair clung to your damp forehead, strands sticking to the sweat glistening on your skin. Powder looked no different—her eyeliner smeared into dark, uneven crescents beneath her eyes, like war paint after a battle. But she was radiant, her laughter sharp and wild, cutting through the pulsing music like a flash of neon.

“C’mon!” she yelled, tugging you toward the centre of the room where the crowd was thickest. Her grin was wide and manic, a spark of mischief in her eyes that made your chest ache with affection. You couldn’t say no to her, not when she looked like that—like the world couldn’t touch her.

The room itself was a haze of sweat, smoke, and bad decisions waiting to happen. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spilled beer, cheap cologne, and something acrid that burned your nose when you passed too close to certain groups. A strobe light pulsed erratically from one corner, painting everything in flashes of harsh white and deep shadow. It made the room feel surreal, like a dream you’d barely remember in the morning.

The house was somebody’s cousin’s or older sibling’s—or maybe it belonged to no one at all . You didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were here.

She bumped her shoulder into yours, almost sending you stumbling. “You’re not drinking!” she teased, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the music.

You raised your cup in mock defence. “You’re spilling half of mine!”

“Then drink faster!” she shot back, her grin turning sly.

You rolled your eyes but took a chug at it anyway, grimacing at the taste. Powder just laughed, tugging you further into the chaos, her energy infectious even as you tried to keep up.

There was a moment where you’d lost her—not that you minded much. You knew she’d find her way back to you eventually. She always did.

Besides, you’d gotten a little distracted under the gaze of someone across the room. You couldn’t even remember how it started—just a fleeting glance that turned into a shared smile, which turned into them crossing the room and you deciding, what the hell, sure.

They weren’t anyone special. Someone from another school, maybe, or a senior you’d seen hanging around but never talked to. The details didn’t matter. What mattered was that their attention was fixed on you, their grin lazy and inviting as they leaned in, a hand brushing against your arm.

It was messy and awkward in the way these things always are , their mouth too eager, your coordination not quite up to par. The taste of cheap beer and stale cigarettes lingered in the kiss, and you couldn’t decide if it was your inexperience or theirs that made it feel more like bumping noses than anything romantic.

Powder would tease you mercilessly—she always did—and you’d roll your eyes and swear her to secrecy after you told her. But in the moment, you let yourself get caught up in it. The noise of the party faded to a dull hum, the kind that thrummed in the back of your head, as their hands slid to your waist.

They leaned in close, the alcohol on their breath mingling with yours as they bridged the gap, their lips brushing against yours hesitantly at first. You weren’t sure who moved first, whether it was them pulling you closer or you tilting your head to meet them. Either way, the kiss deepened quickly—too quickly—teeth clinking awkwardly at one point before you adjusted.

Their mouth was warm but clumsy, lips pressing against yours with more enthusiasm than skill, and you could feel their inexperience mirrored in your own. Their hands fumbled a little at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like they weren’t quite sure what to do next. You tried to follow their lead, letting your hands rise to their shoulders, but your grip felt unsure, awkward.

When they tilted their head, the kiss became messier, more eager than graceful. Their lips parted against yours, warm and a little too wet, and you tried to keep up, to mimic the movements, but there was no rhythm to it—just the reckless energy of two people who didn’t know what they were doing but were too stubborn to stop.

“Really?”

The voice cut through the haze like a slap, sharp and incredulous. You broke apart immediately, turning to find Powder standing a few feet away, hands on her hips and an expression caught between disbelief and amusement.

“This is what you’re doing?” she asked, gesturing vaguely at the two of you. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Your face flushed, embarrassment flaring hot under your skin as you stepped back, mumbling some excuse that you knew Powder wouldn’t buy. The person you’d been kissing looked equally mortified, scratching the back of their neck and mumbling a quick, “Uh, yeah, I’ll, um… see you around?” before disappearing into the crowd.

Powder’s grin widened, a strange gleam in her eyes as she sauntered up to you. “You’re so bad at that.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, pushing past her, but she caught your arm and spun you back around.

“I was serious ,” she said, her tone softening just a fraction . “Vi’s here.”

The words hit like a splash of cold water, dousing the buzz that had been warming your limbs. Your stomach dropped, and suddenly you were all too aware of the sticky heat lingering on your skin—the faint smudge of spit at the corners of your mouth, the raw sting of bites pressed too hard against your neck.

“She’s back?”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

You swiped at your lips with the back of your hand, a frantic, clumsy motion like you could erase the evidence before anyone else noticed.

Powder didn’t seem to catch you, or if she did, she didn’t comment. She just grabbed your hand and started dragging you toward the front of the house. “C’mon, we gotta go before she murders half the party looking for us.”

And murder she might. Maybe.

You could already picture her at the door, arms crossed, her expression equal parts exasperation and thinly veiled amusement. Vi had always been good at the whole “annoyed older sibling” act.

But when you saw her standing there, one shoulder propped against the doorframe, your breath caught anyway.

Vi had this way of looking like she didn’t belong anywhere but still owned the space around her. Even in the dim light of the doorway, she seemed to cut through the haze of the party with ease. The leather jacket in her hands hung loose and effortless, but it was her—bigger somehow, more solid—that made your pulse quicken. Her pink hair was shorter, darker, sharper, and something else about her seemed...different. More tattoos? A new piercing glinted on her nose, catching the light briefly before she turned her head, scanning the crowd.

She looked so good it hurt.

Or maybe you were still flustered from before. An ache was pounding deep in your stomach.

You tightened your grip on Powder’s hand, steadying yourself as you stumbled along, her swaying weight leaning into yours. The two of you were a mess—heels clicking unevenly on the tiled floor, shoulders bumping into strangers as you made your way to her. Powder looked ready to pass out, her pale green complexion doing nothing to hide the fact she’d be sick before the night was through.

Vi’s sharp gaze locked onto you both the second you came into view, her face twisting briefly in what could only be described as relief, followed quickly by annoyance. Of course, she was annoyed. She hadn’t come home from college to spend her nights wrangling her little sister and her drunk best friend from parties.

It wasn’t the first time Vi had been the one to pull you both out of the fire, though. Not even close. She had always been the responsible one—or, at least, more responsible than the rest of you. Vander’s wrath or your parents’ disappointment might’ve been enough to scare Powder and you straight for a few days, but Vi had a knack for showing up just in time to spare you from both.

Her boots crunched against the gravel outside as she walked you to the car, her jacket already draped over your shoulders by the time you made it to the front step. You always forgot yours, and she always remembered. The leather was heavy and warm, carrying the faint, clean scent of cologne mixed with something distinctly hers.

Powder, ever the louder of the two of you when drunk, sprawled across the back seat with an arm flung dramatically over her face, slurring about something neither of you could make out. Meanwhile, you sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the blurred glow of streetlights streaked across the glass.

“Thanks for getting us,” you mumbled because Powder would never say it.

Vi glanced at you briefly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Don’t mention it.”

And that was it. The way she said it—the casual ease, the softness that bled through despite herself— it left something twisting inside you.

The first time Vi had done this, you’d only felt gratitude. But as the late-night drives stacked up, the weight of her jacket around your shoulders or the faint, grounding pressure of her hand at your back as she helped you to the car had begun to feel...different.

Powder had caught on quicker than you had. One night, lying sprawled in the back seat as she giggled into the darkness, she slurred, “You know, she only comes to get us so she can see you.”

Vi scoffed, her knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. “Yeah, because I’m the only one responsible enough to drive your drunk asses home.”

But Powder’s teasing tone, the slight hitch in Vi’s voice, the way her hands flexed against the leather—it all stuck with you. You weren’t sure if it had been real or just the alcohol messing with your head.

Still, every time she came for you, it left another mark—a small, invisible stain that you couldn’t quite scrub clean.

You jumped a little when the basement door swung open, hitting the wall with a sharp thud. The footsteps that followed were loud, purposeful, and unmistakable.

Claggor sighed and paused his game, tugging his headphones down around his neck as he turned in his seat. You let your phone fall to your chest, craning your neck to glance over the back of the couch.

“Asshole,” Mylo muttered under his breath, not even bothering to look up. That was all the confirmation you needed to know who had just come downstairs.

Sure enough, Vi appeared, rounding the corner with a smirk that screamed trouble. On her way to the couch, she casually tugged at Mylo’s hair, earning a sharp “Hey!” as she passed. She didn’t even glance back, instead zeroing in on you and Claggor.

She stood in front of you both, her hair a bit of a mess, likely from the hat she’d been wearing earlier. You could still see the faint pink in her cheeks from the cold.

“Be honest,” she said abruptly, scissors in one hand and the other running through her tangled strands. “Should I cut my hair short again?”

You blinked, thrown off. “What?”

Her eyes stayed on you, wide and expectant, and for a moment, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

You glanced at Claggor for backup, but he was already turning back to his game. “She’s been going on about this for weeks,” he muttered.

“Why cut it?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you looked back at her.

“It’s getting too long. Too much work,” she said, almost defensively, her fingers combing through her hair as if to prove her point.

“More like half the work,” Mylo quipped from his corner, barely hiding his smirk. “Get it? Because half your head is shaved?”

Vi shot him a glare. “Hilarious.”

You could tell she was trying not to let him derail the conversation, her attention snapping back to you. “What do you think?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. The scissors in her hand didn’t help; it made the question feel oddly burdened, like your opinion actually mattered more than it should.

Your mind briefly wandered to earlier that afternoon, in the front seat of Vi’s car after Powder claimed the back with her usual cheeky grin. You’d avoided looking directly at Vi, whose raised eyebrows had been impossible to ignore as she glanced at you, then at Powder. Even in that moment, you couldn’t shake the strange awareness of how close you were when she turned the heat up too high.

It was strange, wasn’t it? How she could act so normal, so at ease, while you felt like you were constantly trying to tread water, pretending not to notice the things that lingered between you. Or the things that didn’t.

“I mean… if you want it shorter, just cut it,” you said.

Her lips twitched, not quite a smirk, not quite a frown. “But will I still look good?”

“Since when do you care about that?” Claggor snorted, shaking his head.

“I’ve always cared,” Vi shot back, a hint of indignation in her voice.

“Sure,” Mylo said, not looking up from his snack. “And that whole ‘I just rolled out of bed’ look? Totally intentional, right?”

“ Mylo ,” Vi said sharply, her tone cutting through the banter.

The way she turned back to you felt purposeful, like she was waiting for your response specifically. You felt the weight of her stare, the way her gaze seemed to linger just a second too long.

“I mean…” You shrugged, hoping to brush off the tension. “You’d probably still look good with a buzzcut.”

Vi snorted, finally cracking a grin. “Now that’s an idea.”

“You’re joking, right?” Claggor said, casting a side-eye glance her way.

“Maybe.” She twirled the scissors once before dropping them onto the coffee table with a clatter. Then, to your surprise, she plopped down next to you, stretching her legs out and leaning back against the couch.

Her knee bumped yours lightly, whether by accident or on purpose, you couldn’t tell.

“You’re so weird,” you muttered under your breath, trying to refocus on your phone. But there was a lump in your throat, and the videos on your screen blurred in your mind.

Even as you kept your eyes down, the heat of her presence next to you was impossible to ignore. It felt too close. Too casual. Like none of it ever mattered to her at all.

You tried to ignore the way your stomach twisted—half guilt, half elation—when you heard the news. It was petty, and you hated yourself for it. The announcement had come casually, as most bombshells from Powder did, dropped without ceremony in the middle of an otherwise uneventful afternoon.

“Yeah, Vi and Caitlyn called it quits,” Powder said, her voice muffled as she rummaged through your bag in search of snacks.

You froze mid-sentence, your pencil hovering above the textbook you were pretending to study. The words didn’t register at first, too surreal to process. “What? Why?”

Powder shrugged, unbothered. “Something about Vi not being ‘present.’ Caitlyn said they’re too different.”

She popped a piece of candy into her mouth and moved on, oblivious to the way her words had ignited a storm inside you. Your heart raced, an uncontrollable, traitorous thing, and hope flickered somewhere deep in your chest.

It burned too bright and too fast, like a spark catching dry kindling. You tried to snuff it out before it could grow. It wasn’t fair—least of all to Vi.

But it was hard. Harder still when you saw Vi after you heard the news. She was different then. Softer in some ways, quieter. The razor-sharp edge you remembered had dulled, replaced by a weight she carried in her eyes and the tension she held in her shoulders.

She’d laugh and talk with Vander, Mylo, and Claggor, her walls momentarily lowered in the safety of family. You’d catch glimpses of the old Vi then, the one who teased Powder mercilessly and made terrible puns at the dinner table.

On rare occasions, she’d join you, Ekko and Powder in the living room. Powder had a knack for pulling everyone together, dragging you into the fray whether you wanted to be there or not . The four of you would sprawl across the faded, mismatched couches, watching movies or swapping stories like you used to.

Vi usually lingered on the edges, her presence quiet but unmistakable. She didn’t say much, but her gaze would wander, drifting to you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. It was subtle at first —a flicker of her eyes when you laughed too loudly or wrinkled your nose at one of Ekko’s awful jokes. But once you noticed, you couldn’t unsee it.

Sometimes, during movie nights, the couch would become too crowded, and her leg would press against yours. The warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of your jeans would send your mind spiralling, no matter how hard you tried to tell yourself it meant nothing. She was just sitting there, just existing beside you.

But you knew better. You knew because her faint smile when she caught you snorting at something ridiculous lingered too long. Because the way her eyes softened when Powder teased you felt too deliberate. Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that she didn’t mean anything, it was a lie you could never fully believe.

And you hated yourself for it.

But more than that, you hated the way you couldn’t stop hoping.

You liked to think you were a handy person—decent with a wrench, quick to come up with ideas—but in comparison to Powder, you didn’t stand much of a chance. She wasn’t just handy; she was an artist with gears and circuits. You’d sketch out a vague plan, and she’d take it, run with it, and create something brilliant. That was why the two of you worked so well together: you dreamed, and she built.

The garage smelled like metal and grease, the air cold enough to make your breath fog. You tugged your sleeves down over your hands, shivering slightly as you handed Powder the screwdriver she’d been reaching for.

“Thanks,” she said without looking up, her blue hair glowing faintly under the harsh light of the overhead lamp. She was hunched over her latest college project—a tangle of wires and gears that looked more like a puzzle than a machine.

You scribbled something in your notebook, half notes and half doodles, glancing up every so often to watch her work. This was how most of your “girls’ nights” went: sitting in the garage, Powder building something while you brainstormed or provided moral support. It was the most comfortable kind of silence.

“What is this thing supposed to do again?” you asked, leaning closer to inspect her progress.

“It’s, uh... complicated,” Powder replied, biting her lip as she fiddled with a circuit board. “Basically, it’s gonna make stuff explode, but, like, in a controlled way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Controlled explosions. Totally safe.”

She laughed, “Don’t worry, I’m a professional. Sort of.”

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm—her working, you passing tools or holding pieces in place when she needed an extra set of hands. It felt good to have something to focus on, something to do with your hands to keep them from trembling.

But as the minutes ticked by, the silence started to stretch, your thoughts creeping in to fill the gaps. You glanced at Powder, her face scrunched in concentration and felt the words bubbling up before you could stop them.

“Powder,” you said hesitantly.

“Mm?” She didn’t look up, her hands steady as she twisted a screw into place.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something...”

She finally glanced at you, her wide eyes curious. “Yeah? What’s up?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “It’s about Vi.”

“Oh.” Powder’s expression shifted into something wary, but she still looked amused. “I think I might know where this is going.”

“You do?”

“You’ve noticed she’s been a real dick lately, yeah?”

You want to nod but Vi has always been a real pain in the ass.

“It’s because she’s been hanging out with Caitlyn again.”

That was nowhere near what you were expecting to hear.

“What?”

“Yeah, something about Caitlyn helping her find a new job or something.”

“Oh,” you said, your throat tightening. “That’s... nice of her.”

“I guess. But you know I’ve never liked her much. She makes Vi act out all the time. It’s weird. You know what she said to me the other day? She said I should focus on stuff that matters, like my ‘actual life,’ whatever that means.” Powder rolled her eyes, her voice taking on a mocking tone. “‘Stop blowing things up, Powder. Stop wasting your time, Powder.’ Something about me being worth more than that or whatever. Like she’s one to talk.”

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “She’s just worried about you.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got a crappy way of showing it.” Powder’s hands stilled for a moment, her expression clouding over. “She doesn’t even tell me what’s going on with her anymore. She just... disappears, and when she does show up, she acts like she’s got everything figured out. It’s so annoying. I mean, yeah, they ended on good terms or whatever, but she’s just... spreading a bad vibe around.”

You smiled weakly. “Bad vibe?”

“You know the vibe. It’s obviously bothering you since you brought it up.”

You didn’t stop to tell her that wasn’t what you’d meant.

“Oh, my god,” she added, setting down her tools. “And did you know Caitlyn’s with Maddie now?”

“Maddie? From fucking high school?”

“Yeah, isn’t that crazy?”

“What the hell?”

“Right? That’s what I said! And Vi’s been all moody about it too. See what I mean? Caitlyn brings nothing but trouble.”

You couldn’t help but wonder how much Powder knew about what was going on with Vi. There had been so many blanks in the last few months that you were struggling to put everything together.

“I think Vi’s just mad that her sorry ass got dumped,” Powder added, shrugging.

“What?”

“You never heard this from me though. Vi would kill me if she found out I kill you of all people but... she was seeing someone last summer—she didn’t tell me who—and then it just stopped. She’s been an asshole since. A bigger asshole than she used to be. Serves her right.” Powder grinned, her tone light despite the sting of her words. “And yeah, it’s harsh, but I can say it because she’s my sister.”

You looked away, guilt clawing at your insides. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Powder glanced back at you. “Anyway, did you want to tell me something?”

Your heart stuttered, the weight of your unspoken thoughts pressing down on you like a heavy hand. You opened your mouth, the words trembling on the tip of your tongue, a silent dare you couldn’t quite take. What if this moment shattered, splintered into something jagged and irreparable?

“Uh, yeah,” you said finally, your voice more breathless than you intended. “Just wanted to say thanks for inviting me for the holidays.”

Powder frowned, turning to you fully, “What are you talking about? You always spend Christmas with us.”

You forced a laugh, scratching the back of your neck. “I know. I know, it’s just...” The words tangle themselves in your throat. You screw your eyes shut for a moment, decided to be honest at least. She deserved at least that. “Ever since college started, I feel like I haven’t been the greatest friend in the world.”

“What are y—”

“You know it’s true,” you interrupted, the words rushing out in a jumble as if you might lose the courage to say them if you hesitated. “I haven’t called half as much, and I keep making excuses. It’s not that I don’t want to see you, it’s just... I don’t know.”

Powder set the screwdriver down, her blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not ,” you insisted, the crack in your voice betraying the guilt you’d carried for so long.

“It is ,” she said firmly, her voice taking on the same determined edge she used when defending her inventions from criticism. “Don’t you remember how I used to lash out when high school started? You put up with so much shit from me back then.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the turn in the conversation. “Yeah.”

“Man, I was fucking psycho,” she continued with a wry grin, leaning back on her hands.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you replied, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips.

“I would,” she said, laughing softly. “I’m surprised you’re still friends with me after all that. I would’ve dumped me in a heartbeat.”

“Of course I’m still friends with you,” you said. “I love you, Pow.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening into something warm and familiar. “Love you too.”

For a moment, the weight in your chest eased, the tension unravelling as her laughter echoed through the garage. Maybe someday, you’d find the right moment to tell her the rest of it—the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say now. Maybe after a drink or two for courage, when the words wouldn’t stick so hard in your throat, you’d tell her everything. And maybe she’d laugh, the same bright, fearless laugh that always pulled you back from the edge.

But not now. Not yet.

part two

1K notes · View notes

lola-writes · 7 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐈 ║ I. Adonis ║ Marcus Acacius x Hanno's sister!reader

➣ Deliciae Imperii -> Delights of the Empire

➣ Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Ao3 | Ko-Fi

➣ Chapter II. | Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2,9k

Synopsis: As an esteemed warrior of the Numidian army, your world turns on its axis when you’re taken prisoner by the Romans. Ever since your stealth attack that nearly cost the General of the Roman army, Marcus Acacius, his life, he appears to have taken a special interest in you. Under his tutelage of swordplay and carnal things, you delve deeper into the heart of the Roman Empire, uncovering its instability, and Acacius’ true intentions with you…

Chapter Themes & Warnings: POV first person, use of y/n, blood, detailed descriptions of violence, terms of endearment (anaticula, Adonis), slavery, Roman history, vomiting, angst, swearing. See series masterlist for full themes & warnings!

Song: Fight for Survival – Klergy

a/n: The original plan was for this to be a oneshot, but in the end it seemed impossible. I've got a lot planned for this story. Hope you stay tuned! 🥰

Anaticula (duckling), Adonis (god of beauty and desire)

Poem by @fairytalesques

Enjoy the read!

Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

I am a rose unfurling, winter’s bloom. Poison dripping down my throat and out of my bladed fingers. I spin stars into black holes, drive monsters to extinction in the dead heat of summer. You ever stop to think what life could have been if the poison had been potent? A lifeline in the carnage. A blessing or a curse? The flower is now festering like a disease but with Adonis I’ll be safe, he keeps the antidote.

The metallic tang of blood, thick and cloying, hung heavy in the humid air, a shroud of death as thick as smoke. It was a symphony of war, conducted by the piercing shrieks of the wounded and the barked commands of the officers. A cacophony that blurred my senses as I moved with deadly precision through a haze of silver and red.

I fought with the savage efficiency of a wild animal, yet my kills were clean and quiet, each motion honed by years of training under Hanno's tutelage. My vision tunneled to a singular, deadly focus – the annhilation of the Roman usurpers by any means necessary. In this moment, I was a force of nature, an instrument of retribution. I would purge the land of their corrupted touch if I were to die trying.

The enemy pressed on, a relentless tide. For every ten I felled, another twenty rose to take their place. Yet somehow, the more I fought, the stronger I became, as though the adrenaline that infiltrated my every tissue contained a potent elixir that invigorated my muscles and dulled their exertion.

Clashing blades rang in the air. Our two armies mingled near indistinguishably; clanging, crunshing and screaming. It would be difficult to tell friend from foe, if it weren’t for the Romans distinctive galeas, the red fur frilling atop the silver helms like beckoning targets.

Just then, the crowd parted like clouds from the sun, unveiling a figure descending the battlement steps, a silhouette of lethal grace. Donning a sable breast plate emblazoned by Sol, sprawling across his chest with a douzen golden rays, he moved with the effortless grace of a dancer, his blade a blur of silver death, his countenance molded into a rigid canvas of authority. A retinue of red fringed galeas encircled him, their bodies his shields, their presence a testament to his rank.

My gaze fixed him through the crowd as the next wave of men in their peculiar-looking helmets came charging at me. I ducked, slicing open the patellas of the first two, making them buckle in the sand. The third I dodged, sidestepping before plunging my blade into his brachial plexus. The fourth I parried, our blades screeching in unison, before I kicked under his flared skirt. There wasn’t much fight left in him after that.

Jubartha’s words echoed in my mind as I tracked the approaching entourage, “Take out the leader of your enemy, and it matters not how much blood stains your sword.”

He moved fluidly like a windless sea. His spatha whipped around him, trailing shadows in the dust-ridden air, splattering the sand with blood. His expression was a paradox. As though he would not rest until Rome had pocketed another conquest, while simultaneously longing for a different fate entirely.

Crimson trailed around him like crushed punica granatum. None breached the shield of bodies surrounding him, and those who tried did not emerge alive, like prey entering a lion’s den.

I caught a glimpse of Hanno and Jubartha atop the parapet, fending off the ruthless wave from the assaulting sea. The walls had been breached, our numbers were dwindling. A sense of desperation seized me, a reckless courage driving me forward.

There was but one choice at my disposal.

I sprinted up the steps of the opposite parapet, scaling the heights with desperate urgency. Ducking behind a wooden pole, I dashed across the platform until I reached its bosom. I leaned out over its edifice, where down below, a second protective roof had been built. I started the climb downward, the splintering wood tearing at my hands like an angry cat. I landed on the roof with a thud and crouched towards the edge. Our men were still charging through the opening of the parapet, but before I knew it, they began to slow, getting knocked back by the shield wall of fearsome Roman guards. I rose to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, adrenaline surging through my bloodstream. My hand found the hilt of my sword and clasped it into place. For what I was about to do, risking becoming unarmed was to invite my doom.

The chaotic shadowy flare of guards flanking the steady shadow of an unyielding assassin grew in the sand below. I filled my lungs, washing out the biting fear of death creeping around the edges.

A warrior’s oath echoed in my mind: I am Numidia.

I dipped, toes to the edge. A head of dark and silver emerged below.

What could go wrong?

I leapt.

The fall felt decelerated, as if in a dream, and all surrounding noise faded underwater. My feet met his back, and a heavy grunt of startlement escaped him as he fell forward. His body broke my fall, and I rolled with the force of the impact, swiftly regaining my footing as I turned to face him. Dazed for but a second, his face dusted with sand, he grappled for his sword. But before he managed to get a proper grasp of the hilt, I pressed my boot atop his knuckles. He groaned in frustration behind gritted teeth. The next second, my one hand had clasped the knife from my boot, while the other had gathered a fistful of his hair and snatched him backward.

In the third second, my blade was poised at his throat, ready to claim his life when, for reasons unexplained, the edge paused in his skin.

In the fourth second, I had met his eyes, and an unfamilliar current passed down my spine. They were big, and brown, and full of contradictions, staring up at me with equal surprise, malice, and admiration. But no fear. His chest was heaving. His hair was a full, tangled mess of black and silver beneath my fingers, textured from the unsettled sand. The strands of silver had leaked into his beard which covered his dark, dirt-and blood-spattered complexion. His nose was sharp, angled like the limb of a bow, and his lips were slightly parted from gnashed teeth. The wound I had inflicted seemed to defy the vision of him I had before me, bleeding red but ichor.

In the fifth second his resistance faltered, his head growing heavy against me. But before I could savour my victory, a sharp blow clattered my teeth, and suddenly my body was not my own. My vision blurred, my ears buzzed, and my fingers loosened the grip of the knife, no matter how hard I fought against it.

In the sixth second, I was laying in the sand, grasping for consciousness. I thought I could hear Hanno screaming in the distance, but it was just beneath the surface. Gathering the last ounces of strength I had left I reached for the blade laying inches away. The contours of Adonis hovered over me, as one of the guards kicked my weapon out of reach. My other hand dragged itself to my waist, half-limb, seeking to undo the clasp to my sword.

“Tsk tsk tsk...” Adonis clicked his tongue. I winced as his boot came down on my hand, pressing down. “You have some fight in you, anaticula,” his voice, laced with what I would percieve as… concern, circulated around my head like a distant echo. “Grab her.” The words consumed me, nuzzling my cognisance like a warm blanket, and as I lifted off the ground, I faded into oblivion.

Vae victis. Woe to the vanquished.

The declaration travelled with me between the realms of my unconsciousness, followed by the distant wails of bereaved mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters.

I awoke to the comforting crackle of the fire we used to cook our supper. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fish, and the vague neigh of my stallion drifted in from outside. I sighed, nuzzling my face into the pillow, and was captivated by the unfamiliar softness of it. Something was different. The ground beneath me seemed to shift and sway, and as I opened my eyes, the pillow under my cheek was foreign to me – vibrant with patterns winding around the fabric like climbing vines.

Reality slowly dawned. I was not home. And the crackle of the fire and the neighing from my stallion was in fact the creaking and squeaking of ship timbers.

I groaned as a sharp pain lanced through my skull. Everything came back to me. The Roman invasion. The battle. The blow to the head. Adonis …

My breath stilled when I met his gaze across the room. Clad in the same sable armor and a royal scarlet cape, he was seated at the head of a table bedecked in plates of fish, cheese, fruit and caraffes of wine. He held my stare with a distant look of interest, rolling a purple grape between his fingers before plopping it into his mouth, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

The throbbing pain pulsed in my temple in tune with my heart as I sat up on the setee. Sludge stuck to my thoughts and it felt as though my center of gravity was off the way the room kept rocking.

“Easy,” came his voice, a low rumble. His chewing ceased, his movements stilled, as if ready to rise in haste.

The ship’s rhythmic rocking intensified, the sound of waves lapping against the hull growing louder. A cold sweat broke out on my brow. My breathing surged and grew ragged, trying to subdue the rolling sense of nausea consuming me.

But it was futile.

With a violent shudder, I retched, the contents of my stomach emptying onto the wooden planks.

I stared blankly at my mess, a strange blend of satisfaction and shame washing over me. Relishing at the thought of having defiled the ship of the Roman usurpers, I was humbled by doing so in front of the man who I failed to kill. My guts were ready to spill again at the very thought.

His chair creaked against the floor as he rose. I only saw his legs as he approached, dropping to his haunches in front of me – in my vomit, and I recoiled, equally to his sudden advance as to the indignity of it. He moved with intent, the scarlet cape pooled around him, and I could not help but feel intimidated. It was like he didn’t know what he was standing in. Or rather, didn’t care. Furthermore, based off his attire alone, he was too high in station to be on his knees for a commoner like me. Even less, kneeling in a commoner’s bodily fluid.

He was so cool and calculated, from how he moved to how his gaze settled on mine, though something alive played in his dark brown eyes. Something that could snap at any second. His complexion was still riddled with dried dirt and blood from the battle, and the cut in his neck had leaked down his throat like spilt ink.

I knew not if it was the sudden uprising of nerves, his closeness, or a result of the blow to my head, but the words slipped past my lips without thought. “You’re a truly terrible commander.” I dried the dribble off my chin with the back of my hand.

A furrow etched between his brows and genuine concern flickered in his eyes, like he was contemplating whether it might be true. “I conquered your city,” he parried.

“I nearly killed you,” I retorted.

A hint of malice clouded his features. “Nearly.” His tone of voice gathered timber; that the word came off as a threat.

He stared at me. The urge to look away was so strong it itched beneath my skin. He expected me to. Though something foreign and astute made me persevere. Holding eye contact with him felt like a deadly game. But it also evoked a whisper of adrenaline, as warm as spiced wine.

Finally, his eyes drifted downward to the pool of vomit at his feet. “I’ll have someone clean this up,” he said, before leaning forward and putting his arms around me.

Adrenaline shot through me like a violent storm, and I pushed him away instinctively. His face was a mask of indifference, and he reached for me again, and this time he didn’t let go, no matter how hard I fought him. He carried me up off the settee as I kicked, squealed, grunted and clawed. My mind raced with the thoughts of what he might do to me. His breast plate was ice cold against my skin, but I was too frantic to notice. I came to my senses once he dropped me down in a chair next to the table. He glared at me, clearly unimpressed by my defiance, before grabbing a plate off the table, methodically filling it with a chaotic assortment.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, breaking off a twig of grapes as a final touch before serving it to me, rounding the table to seat himself.

I simply gaped at him, too bewildered to respond. My chest heaved from exertion, my tense body clutching onto the wood of the chair, trembling slightly from the waning adrenaline spike.

“You need not fear me, anaticula,” he soothed. His voice was a strange blend of velvet and steel, a combination I believed to be uniquely his; calming and unsettling me in equal measure. And despite the ingrained hatred I harbored towards his people, an inexplicable, vexing trust for him began to bloom within me.

“I am General Marcus Acacius,” he boomed, as though I would have trouble hearing him from across the table. Where he came from, I’d wager men stood to attention at the mere mention of him, but I remained indifferent. Belittling him was all the power I had.

His name grew heavy in the air, silence stretching. I’d expected him to explain my fate next. That I would be sold as a slave for men to plunder as they wished, or perhaps executed for having his life at my disposal. Perhaps he’d do it himself.

“What do I call you?” he asked finally.

“Whyever does that matter?” I snapped.

“Is it so strange to wish to know the name of the woman who nearly killed me?” His voice dipped at the very mention of it.

“I’ll be dead soon enough,” I said with feigned indifference. Acacius stiffened, watching me carefully. “Or if you do not kill me, I’d kill myself before I ever become a slave.” I watched him relax slightly and continue his meal.

“That’s not going to happen,” he muttered inbetween chews.

My gut flared with anticipation, “Which part?” I demanded.

He looked up at me. “What’s your name?” he asked, deliberately ignoring my question.

“Y/N,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

He repeated my name, the sound rolling off his tongue like honey while he fixed me with his eyes dark like amber. I grew strangely warm and restless, and a sudden urge to flee seized me, a wild beast gnawing at my nerves.

“Where is my brother?” I blurted out, rather raggedly, a note of desperation creeping in, but as I did, I recalled I had not seen Hanno since the start of the battle. Was he even alive?

“Your brother?” he asked, like the notion I’d have a family was aberrant to him, a fleeting spark of uncertainty passing through his eyes. He swallowed sharply, picking at the salted fish on his plate. “With the other prisoners,” he muttered.

“So,” I began, molding myself out of the rigid posture I had assumed, and leaned forward. “Why am I here?” I asked, casting a disapproving look around his opulent cabin.

He stopped and fixed me with a gaze ice-cold. “For safe keeping,” he said sternly. “You nearly killed me today, Y/N. I wouldn’t want to find out what else you’re capable of.”

Vague images flickered before my eyes – chaos, then darkness. “You talk as if it’s some big feat,” I scoffed.

His eyes, twin pools of lethal venom, bored into me. “I assure you,” he hissed, resting his bracers against the edge of the table, a hint of admonition lingering in his voice, “It is.”

My face heated at the thought of having impressed him, but the word ‘nearly’ was a nettlesome creature.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” I said, the words bitter on my tongue.

Acacius cocked his brows in recognition and poured wine. “Why didn’t you?” he asked, raising the cup to his lips.

The question caught me off guard, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. I recalled myself hesitating. I had the blade at his throat. I could have ended the battle there and then, declared Numidia victorious against the power of Rome. But I couldn’t do it.

“I-,” I don’t know, I thought.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the silence, and a sentry entered the room, bowing slightly. “General Acacius,” he spoke, his voice laced with duty and reverence. “Rome awaits.”

Chapter II. | Series Masterlist | Chapter III

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Text

j.hermoso II jesus (18+)

j.hermoso II jesus (18+) this is basically just smut with a hint of a plot since i am disgustingly down bad for ms hermoso at the moment, minors DNI.

from the moment you met jenni, you knew she was something special.

you'd been introduced at a going away dinner for one of your school friends who jenni apparently now played football with. it was safe to say sports had never been your thing, and despite the fact you grew up in a football mad household you couldn't have cared less.

but that all changed when you met jenni, much to the ongoing teasing from a few of your friends who also played whose games you'd been invited to and no showed at for years.

which is how you found yourself screaming your lungs out in a barcelona jersey, a constant source of amusement for your friends as you tried desperately to follow along with the rules and failed miserably despite your girlfriends dedication to teaching you.

"thats not a free kick, thats offside!" you yelled as your girlfriend was booked, your best friend pulling you to sit down. "yeah it was. jenni was offside and a foul means a free kick, we've been over this!" carmen laughed shaking her head as your face warmed and you buried it in your hands.

"you'll get it one day. just probably after your girlfriends retired and you don't have to go and watch anymore." the girl rubbed your back reassuringly as you shot her a playful glare and shoved her lightly.

"duty calls!" carmen teased as the game had finished and jenni waved her hands around to capture your attention, gesturing for you to meet her down at the barrier. "wait you're not coming?" you frowned as your friend made no move to follow you.

"surprised you even noticed, the moment you're within five feet of her you get those little lovesick tunnel vision puppy dog eyes." carmen grinned as you scoffed. "i do not!" you crossed your arms over your chest with a frown.

"oh but you do. but its fine go see your girl amiga, i'll call you later!" and with that you both exchanged hugs, her heading off one direction as you went the other. "hola princesa." jenni beamed the moment she spotted you, her grabby hands making you laugh as she helped you over the barrier.

"hola, goal scorer." you grinned, relaxing the moment her toned tattooed arms wrapped tightly around you. "oh those? they were nothing!" jenni waved off making you roll your eyes in amusement.

"so modest mi amor." you patted her shoulder, squealing as she spun you around and pecked your lips repeatedly. "jen people will take photos." you cautioned softly, squeezing her bicep in warning as she pulled away.

"a quién le importa? let them, let everyone know you are mine." the taller girl smiled charmingly, pearly whites and bright eyes having your knees buckle a little. "such a gentlewoman." you chuckled, leaning up to peck her lips a few times making her grin widen.

"you should agree with her that the goals were nothing chica, if her head gets much bigger she will not fit through the change room door!" leila teased clearly having overheard your previous conversation, shoving your girlfriends forehead as she passed, sprinting away with a laugh as jenni lunged for her.

"corre rápido idiota!" jenni yelled after her with a roll of her eyes, flipping her off as you pushed down her hand and reminded her again of the multitude of phone cameras currently present.

"qué estás haciendo?" the brunette frowned as you closed one eye and pressed your fingers against her forehead.

"just measuring mi vida, have to make sure you still fit through my door."

as much as you were nothing but content in your relationship with jenni you'd only been seeing one another for a few months and it was far too soon to have moved in, so you spent a few nights a week together at either her place or yours.

another thing you knew to be certain about the spanish striker was that nothing got her going like the thrill of a big win when she'd scored the goals, so it wasn't a surprise that the moment you crossed the threshold of your apartment her hands were wandering.

"do you not want dinner? if you don't keep these to yourself hermoso you won't be getting it!" you warned with a smile, smacking away her hands where they sat on your hips and toyed with the hem of your shirt as you stood trying to chop vegetables.

"no i'm hungry for something else." she purred suggestively, plucking the knife from your hand and spinning you so your back was pressed lightly against the counter, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"so needy jennifer." you teased, leaning up to kiss her but stopping right as your lips ghosted hers and twisted up into a grin, a perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in your direction.

"me? oh no mi amor, that is all you. or it will be in about...ten minutes." she pretended to check a watch as you rolled your eyes, hand coming up to cup the back of her neck and pulling her down closer to you.

"you need that long? you're losing your edge baby." you tutted teasingly, watching as something shifted in her gaze, the playful twinkle that always burned brightly dimming a little replaced with something slightly more lustful, even predatory.

"that sounds like a challenge guapa."

you squealed as suddenly your legs were wrapped around her waist and you were carried off into the bedroom by the footballer, wasting no time kissing at her neck now you had the opportunity.

"hey no you're the winner here mi amor, let me take care of you for once." you tried to climb on top of her as your back hit the mattress of your bed, pushed back down as your girlfriend hovered over you with a shake of her head.

"no i know what i want my reward to be princesa, so let me have it." pearly white teeth bore down on you in a wolfish grin as your lips tugged into a smile.

"and you know you want me." and there it was, the relentlessly cocky confident smirk that admittedly had you swooning not that you tried to let her know that, leila wasn't wrong about her head growing as her ego swelled.

"do i need to measure your head again?" you snickered, teasingly holding a hand up as she swatted it away and tutted. "well should we see if it still fits between your legs mi niña?" the striked purred, effectively silencing you as your cheeks flushed red.

"so cute when you blush princesa, nothing else to say mm?" her grin grew, your eyes fluttering shut and a hand coming to tangle in her head as her lips peppered your neck with butterfly kisses.

slender tattooed fingers slid slowly up your bare legs, coming to rest just beneath the hem of your her shorts.

your breath hitched as jenni's strong hands slowly moved even higher up your thighs, going as far as to teasingly flick the top string of your underwear causing the lace to snap back against your hips.

"shut up." you exhaled, gaining a burst of confidence to push her off of you, catching the older girl off guard as you moved now on top of her, tugging your shirt off and feeling your own ego swell as you tossed it over your shoulder and her darkened gaze dropped right to your bare chest.

"my eyes are up here." you mocked with a grin, jenni letting out a small chuckle. "wasn't your eyes I intended to look at anyway." the striker bit back, one hand gripping the back of your neck and pulling your mouth down to meet hers again.

the kiss was passionate as always but now far less sweet than all those shared earlier on the drive home from the game. "off." you mumbled against your girlfriends lips, pulling at the hem of her own shirt.

"no." she smiled into the kiss, feeling you huff shortly after but you knew better than to try and take it off yourself. instead your hands tangled themselves in jenni's hair which was out for once, nails scraping gently down the thick base of her neck and back up again, tugging gently at the jet black strands.

your bucked a little on top of her, her feather light touch slowly trailing to rest just above your shorts, pointer finger tracing shapes on the warm skin of your lower stomach.

"jenni." you breathed out shakily as the older girls hand slid into your shorts, slender fingers pressing teasingly against your underwear as her lips moved to pay some attention to your neck.

"mm?" the striker hummed, not wasting anytime before her teeth nipped at the sweet spot of your neck just below your ear she knew all too well, sucking harshly of course leaving a bright red hickey as they pulled away with a small pop and you couldn't help but moan.

"better mi amor, not so quiet now hm?" her breath was warm as she chuckled, nose tucking into your collar bone and before you could even blink suddenly you were beneath her once more, raven hair falling around you both like a curtain.

"venga princesa, let me hear those pretty little noises." jenni cooed, hand still down your shorts but touching everywhere except for where you really needed her, a sharp pinch to your inner thigh having your head pressed back into the pillow with a whine.

"jódeme!" you moaned quietly, this time into her mouth as the word was swallowed by the strikers skillful tongue licking filthily against the roof of your mouth as your hips bucked, pushed back down into the mattress by her hand which moved to sit on your lower stomach.

"i'm trying, be patient bebita."

"please hurry up!" you exhaled needily, your hand knocking against hers trying to push it back where you needed her. "oh no no no mi amor, you do not tell me what to do. remember your place." her tone shifted into something more authoritative which made your head spin.

"but since you said please." your hands flew to grip jenni's shoulders as the older girl slid two fingers inside you without warning, moving around in teasingly small circles.

"jenni!" you whined, a slight wince from the striker as your nails dug into her skin, creating moon shaped dents in the tanned flesh. "mi niña buena." the girl praised, free hand coming to caress your cheek.

"mierda!" you moaned louder this time, hips bucking as her fingers pistoned in and out of you picking up place now, slender and skillful as she knew exactly what to do to manipulate your body into giving her the reaction and validation she craved that she was making you feel good.

"you're so tight amor, are you close? don't lie to me." her breath was warm as it ghosted your ear, her teeth tugging at your ear lobe making you push your head back into the pillow with a nod.

"no no no jenni please." you whined as right as you neared your peak her strokes slowed, causing a frustrated groan to fall from your lips now as they stopped all together.

"remember princesa? patience. trust me, you know i make you feel good."

you didn't even have time to utter a word as you felt jenni shift on top of you, weight moving as she slid down the bed a little more, lips kissing their way down your body agonizingly slow.

hands pulled your shorts and underwear in one move as your hips bucked again at the feeling of cool air blowing against you. you reached down and tangled a hand in jenni's hair again as the girl settled between your legs with a wink that almost had you moaning again.

still teasingly slow she peppered butterfly kisses up the inside of your thighs before her teeth grazed the skin with a nip, pushing your legs apart again as you clenched them together with need.

"jen please!" you just managed to breath out as the striker gently blew air along the fresh hickies now littering your inner thighs that you knew you'd be complaining about later, voice cracking with your words.

jenni didn't even need to say a word as her gaze flicked up to meet yours, moving to press a kiss on your lower stomach, hazel eyes alight with lust, confidence only growing as she saw the need clearly reflected on your face.

"qué? use your words cariño." the girl teased, softly kissing your stomach again as her thumbs traced circles into your hips. though right as you tried to tell her exactly what you wanted they dissipated into a moan as her tongue pressed flat against your centre.

"jesus jenni!" you exhaled, hips pinned to the bed by her large hands as you squirmed, sensitive from the bleeding remnants of your destroyed orgasm earlier.

"jesus!" you repeated louder this time, tugging on her hair which spurred her own further, her lips wrapping around your bud and sucking sending your head pushing back into the pillow with a whine, body pinned flat to the mattress as you continued to squirm.

"sí amor! sí sí sí." you chanted feeling the pressure rise again, the coil in your stomach tightening hard and fast as her tongue skillfully flicked and pressed seemingly everywhere all at once.

though right before you could come, again any trace of jenni disappeared and your eyes widened in disbelief as the older girl sat up, simply staring down at you wordlessly with a cocky smile, raven hair pushed messily to one side of her head.

"jenni are you fucking serio-" you began to tell her off with a growl, far from appreciating this ongoing teasing, your words cut off by fingers suddenly replacing her tongue as jenni laid down and pressed your bodies together again, tasting yourself on your girlfriends lips as they moved against yours swallowing your anger in a sloppy kiss.

"jesus faster!" you moaned into her mouth, the girl only slowing her pace in response causing you to drag your nails down her back in frustration as jenni smirked, ego ablaze right now feeling you buck and squirm under her.

the feeling of knowing you needed her, made jenni drunker with power than any alcohol could ever dream.

finally her fingers curled, hitting exactly where you needed her to and the striker made no move to slow down this time, your chants spurring her on, hissing as you pulled away and bit down on her shoulder which was still covered with a thin t-shirt.

"jesus jesus jesus jenni!" you cried out as finally you hit your peak, body bucking and squirming as the orgasm you'd been denied washed over you, jenni murmuring sweet nothings into your ears as she helped you ride it out.

gently she pulled her fingers away and shifted off of you as your arm came to cover your face which was burning bright red, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

"hola hermosa, estás bien?" jenni softly pushed your arm away, fingers moving a few strands of hair which clung to your sweat dampened forehead behind your ears, genuine care in her features as you nodded, still lost for words as you leaned up to peck her lips a few times.

as the taller girl laid back down you moved to tuck yourself into her arms, her hand moving softly up and down your back as you continued to bring yourself back down to earth.

"well princesa, that was less than ten minutes no?" "jenni you are so unromantic."

if there was something you knew you could count on with your girlfriend, it was that if that there was an opportunity to tease you she would take it.

despite being older by a few years your friends would all agree you were the more mature of the pair, your girlfriends sense of humor not dissimilar to that of a teenage boy experiencing puberty.

something you had no issues reminding her of time and time again or that she had no worries solidifying to be true over and over.

you set down her breakfast that next morning, kissing her softly and shooting her a playful glare as her hand collected your ass in a silent thank you, a wink the only response you got as she cut into her eggs.

plating up your own food you gave her a strange look as she moaned loudly at the first bite, lips tugging into an amused smile at the childish behavior. "jesus!" jenni moaned again, licking the tips of her fingers happily.

you hadn't quite caught onto her just yet.

"its good then?" you chuckled with a shake of your head, your girlfriend nodding with a happy hum before shoveling several more large forkfuls into her mouth as you winced.

"don't choke." you mumbled under your breath, grabbing your own plate and joining her at the table, the two of you eating in a comfortable silence, the news playing on the tv in the background.

"tan bueno mi princesa. jesus!" jenni moaned a few minutes later, pushing her empty plate away with a content sigh as you sent her a funny look then caught the slight smirk in her features.

then it clicked.

"are you mocking me?" you realized with a small gasp, dropping your fork as your eyes narrowed into a glare, crossing your arms across your chest. "me? amor no no i would never. god i am just so tired this morning, jesus!" she moaned once more as she stretched and your jaw clenched.

"you are so-" you inhaled sharply, unable to find the right word as you stood, grabbing your plate and leaving her to deal with hers. "irresistible?" she hummed, body pressed against yours from behind as you rinsed your plate in the sink.

"irritating." you scoffed, pushing back and sending her stumbling as you headed off for a shower, jenni stopped from following after you as the doorbell rang.

"gracias." you heard her thank whoever was there as you grabbed out a clean towel, leaving it in the bathroom as she called for you. you sent a polite smile to the postman lingering in the doorframe, a package tucked under your girlfriends arm as his clipboard was in her hand.

"amor can you just check i have signed this correctly?" jenni asked showing you the paper as you frowned, eyes scanning over her signature. "what is the second j for?" you asked confused, jenni handing the man his clipboard back with a nod.

"jesus jennifer hermoso, i think i might get it legally changed." your girlfriend replied nonchalantly as your eyes widened and cheeks grew pink with embarrassment, hurrying to almost slam the front door closed behind the confused looking delivery man.

"you are-" again you struggled to come up with the right words, the striker rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet with a cheeky grin, wiggling her eyebrows at your lack of response.

you could only huff, pushing at her chest and stalking off to the bathroom, hearing her hurry to put the package down and come after you, foot jammed in the door before you could shut it on her, slipping her body inside.

"now now mi amor don't be mad." jenni cooed, hands grabbing your face and pecking your lips repeatedly as you really hated how you couldn't stay mad at her, far too used to her annoyingly charming behaviour.

"would it make you feel better if we showered together and i helped you say you prayers?"

#woso community #jenni hermoso x reader #jenni hermoso #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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heartbreakgrill · 2 years ago

Text

happen: sleep token (vessel).

a/n: we pretend we don’t see my unfinished fics, okay? also we pretend we don’t see my spelling and grammar and plot mistakes in this, okay? okay. enjoy :)

"your paint is smeared."

vessel looked up from his piano, first meeting my eyes, then following where my finger pointed to.

"shit," his accent stuck out like a sore thumb, elongating the i in the cuss word.

vessel wiped a finger across the paint in an attempt to blend it in. it didn't do much.

"i think you might be making it worse," i commented with a smug smile.

vessel met my sneering gaze. he was unphased by the sarcasm on my tongue. he reached a blackened hand forward as he tried to rip the clipboard from my hands. i ducked out of his reach. the piano blocked him from me, but his arms were long enough that he managed to swipe a hand across my stack of papers.

i scoffed, stepping back a few feet, examining the black paint overtop my paperwork. "vess!"

"y/n!" he mocked my tone. he rounded the piano, coming to look down at the paper in my hands. "your paint is smeared, lovey."

i looked at up with an annoyed stare, "fuck off."

vess patted my bare shoulder, sending electrically shocked goosebumps down my clammy skin. i shifted my arms, hoping he wouldn't notice how i shivered under his touch.

"i'll go get some more paint, kay?" i offered with a deep breath.

vessel settled in front of his piano again. he nodded, pressing a few keys, "there's a tube in my dressing room."

"be right back."

i turned on my heel and headed for the stairs. i passed ii, who patted my head, and iv, who made some chirp about me owing him a shot- which just wasn't true.

i reached the dressing room soon enough. i'd been in here- in the other ones- numerous times. we often all hung out as a group between shows, in here or out on the town with various disguises on the boys. i still didn’t know who the guys were outside of those masks and strange nicknames. sam did, of course, because he’d been teching for the boys for years now. plus, they all had a brotherly relationship. they trust him.

for some reason, going in here by myself felt provocative. i kept my vision tunnelled, just in case they left something important out. they were men, after all-messy, sometimes careless, forgetful.

outside clothes, hoodies and sweatpants i recognized, sat strewn across the chairs and couches. their personal cellphones were sat with their things, different from the work phones they had been assigned. i had their work numbers, for professional conversations, for getting bullied by ii and iv in the groupchat. vessel and i talked, sometimes, about new coffee shops in new towns we'd be stopping by, movies we'd need to go see when we had a day off.

personal phone numbers were for the trusted.

i b-lined for vessel's paint and brushes, on the counter beside his phone. as i did, my eyes glossed over a wallet. it wasn’t one that i recognized. but, i knew that it was vessel's. or, whoever he really was. my fingers itched with a curiosity that i could not feed. it was none of my business who they were. if they wanted me to know, they'd tell me. they'd unmask themselves when we're chilling out on the tour bus.

if vessel trusted me, if he felt our silly conversations held any depth like i thought they did, he'd tell me who he was.

no matter that i'd known him for six months and hehad yet to do so. no matter that i thought we might have reached that point. no matter that sometimes, when he looked at me, there was a longing sat right behind his eyes, a wanting that made me feel entrusted, that made me feel like he understood what was bleeding off my skin.

no matter.

i grabbed the paint and headed back for the stage. vessel was sitting on the side of it now, talking to ii about something or the other. i handed the paint off to him. i went to go backstage, heel prepared to turn, when he spoke, "thanks, lovey."

ii followed vessel's gaze up to me. i stood overtop of them. ii's eyes raked up my bare legs, over the little black dress i wore. he met my eyes and nodded. "hey, gorgeous."

ii always enjoyed flirting with me. playfully, of course. vessel rolled his eyes at the usual quip. "here we go..."

"i am going to do my job. see ya later!"

ii reached up and grabbed my hand before i could leave. i jerked back to my spot, brows raised. ii shook my arm around, "go on, darling, give us a strut."

"you're ridiculous," i ripped my hand from his, though i chuckled slightly.

"tell her, vess," ii nudged his bandmate's shoulder with his elbow, "tell her how beautiful she is. she just doesn't believe me!"

i met vessel's eyes. he never joined the boys in their teasing, never flirted like ii did. he was always genuine, kind. our conversations were always full of depth, too. in fact, he never showed much interest in me besides those longing, full glances that i took to heart, that i let create a delusional fantasy land in my head. everytime i thought he might be, when we'd have these great conversations, he'd pull back. like was afraid, or he didn't fully trust me.

so, i shuddered when vessel's eyes drug down my body, over my exposed chest, the barely visible tops of my boobs, the curve of my waist, hugged tight by the dress, and the skin of my thighs and calves, right to the tips of my platform boots.

it was then that i realized today was going to be a very different day.

"you look..." vessel rolled his eyes back up my body, to my own flustered gaze, "good."

i couldn't get away fast enough. i thanked them both, stuttering slightly, before turning on my heel and racing towards backstage. i bumped into iv's shoulder and muttered a half-hearted apology.

i knew that they all were staring at me, analyzing my girlish behavior. i knew they'd talk about it.

and that was embarrassing as fuck.

when the show ended, i was determined to not be anywhere near any of the boys. i escaped to the bus sam, myself, and the other techies slept on. i changed into comfortable clothing and lay in my bunk, willing the blush on my cheeks to finally leave me alone.

this wasn’t supposed to happen. did i long for him to say something like that? duh!

did i actually want it to happen? no, bitch.

because that changed everything for me.

i just needed to hide out here for the night, will my anxiety and the fawn look in my eyes away. tomorrow, i could shift everything back to how it was. tomorrow, he’d probably act the same- passive, uninterested.

even if there was any weight to that entire interaction, it’s not like anything could even happen between us.

management made the band swear off girls for risk of privacy and in order to focus on their work. besides, i worked for the band. i helped run every single show they did. they were my boss’.

and there was that whole issue of him not trusting me. because it was so obvious that he didn’t.

i was letting my brain run around too much.

what snapped me back to reality was the commotion of everyone returning to the bus, excited chatter from the other men on the crew filling the once silent vehicle. sam's voice got closer as he and another techie approached their bunks, across and above from my own. i figured they’d just be grabbing something before everyone headed out to the bar.

but, of course- that wasn’t my luck.

"yoohoo," sam knocked a fist on wall, near my head, "is there a y/n in here?"

i huffed, "what do you want?" i knew they were here to berate me to come out with them. but that would mean seeing the boys- having to confront the issue that was vessel.

"get up, grandma," sam teased me for being in bed so soon, "we're going to the bar."

"i'm tired," i replied, a slight groan in my voice. please just go away.

"that's a load of bull," sam scoffed, "you literally said this morning that you wanted to go out tonight."

i went to reply, but more voices filled the bus, all too familiar ones that made my chest tight.

"what's going on? is y/n okay?" that thick british accent burst through whatever i was gonna say next. iv.

then, another spoke- ii, i was pretty certain. "what? what's happening? aren't you coming out, y/n?”

i shoved my head into my pillow, wanting to scream. the only downside of tour was this obvious lack of privacy. i appreciated that my presence was always wanted by just about anyone i worked with. but, god, can’t a girl daydream and regret her actions in peace?

i pulled open the curtains sheltering my bed, just a fraction, not even trying to mask my annoyed expression. ii, iv, and sam were squatted just outside my bunk. sam wore a cheeky grin, but the others had their outside masks on. i could read their energy well, though.

"i'm fine, guys," i waved them all off, cuddled up under my blankets, "i just wanna chill tonight."

"no! you can't! please! you have to go out with us! you promised last time you would! plus you owe me a shot!" iv whined, head tilted to the left. he really needed to find a new gimmick.

i rolled my eyes, "you're a baby."

"wow, y/n," ii set a comforting hand on iv's shoulder, gasping at my insult, "that's harsh. here i thought we were friends."

sam laughed in response, "yeah, y/n. that was really mean. you hurt iv's feelings." he, also, touched iv’s arm.

i met iv's eyes with pursed lips. his eyes read no signs of offense. we were all always so mean to each other and i knew they’d call me out if i ever took it too far. no, this- this was them bullying me back. trying to get me to come out. they’d probably, eventually, get on me about my flustered escape from earlier. ii nudged iv, and he began to fake cry, head dropped down into his hands.

i rolled my eyes again with an exasperated huff, "oh, my god. here we go."

the bus door swung open, then shut again, as the rest of the band made their way in. i didn't notice, too caught up in the boys' theatrics to get nervous that vessel was in my vicinity. he stood just out of sight, watching all of us.

iv sobbed, shoulders rocking. "i can't believe you'd say that, y/n!"

"whatever. im not coming out, freaks,” i went to shut the curtain, but sam pushed it open all the way.

i dropped my head to my pillow in annoyance. ii spoke now, egging on the situation further. i grew nervous he’d bring up earlier, "there's just one thing you can do to make this up to him."

"let me guess, it tastes like vodka and rhymes with hot?" i murmured as i pressed a stressed hand over my eyes.

ii pried my hands from my head. “actually- tastes like hennessy and rhymes with get the fuck out of bed!" he, then, reached into my bunk and tickled my sides.

i laughed this ugly, wheezing laugh, squirming away from ii's reach. iv's showcase of crying twisted into him falling back onto his ass, laughing with his head thrown back. sam held onto the bunk as he joined. i then heard vessel and iii's laughs, echoing from a bit down the hall. i tried to snap myself out of the situation, insecure by vessel's presence. but, ii just wouldn't stop tickling me.

luckily, he did, leaving my face red, tears spilling out of my eyes, and a newfound energy to get up from my bunk. i didn’t forget that vessel was standing there, watching. and, i knew, i’d have to face the reality of my embarrassment eventually. but, the boys drunk were usually pretty sweet.

"alright," i huffed and shoved the covers off of my body, "let's go, you freaks."

"you'll come?" ii offered me his hand, helping me off of the floor.

"yeah, i'll come," i released his hand, steadied on my feet. i shoved his shoulder as i walked towards the closet at the end of the hall. i pushed past sam and iv to get there. as i searched through my bag, trying to find my dress from earlier, i felt eyes still on me. all the boys had begun moving from the bus, going outside to smoke and wait on me. but, vessel was still there. lingering.

he waved at me as i looked down the hall towards him. my face flushed again and i gave an awkward smile. god, i was not helping the situation. if anything, i was making it worse, making him uncomfortable, ruining everything. he’d never trust me now.

i put back on my little black dress, tights to bear the cold, platform boots. my makeup was still in tact, though i had to clean up a few smudges made by my sweat from the show. i finally met everyone outside the bus, drawing eyes to my body as i bounded down the steps.

"still looking sexy, darling," ii flirted, cheekily, taking my hand and forcing me to do a little spin in front of everyone.

as i faced back to everyone, i pulled my hand from his and shoved him away from me again. "creep- let's go. you owe me a shot."

"um, i think it's the other way around," ii scoffed.

i began walking from the group, towards the bar down the street. i tossed a confused look over my shoulder, "that never happened. you're crazy."

i left behind a trail of laughing men, a stunned ii. they teased me- but i did back just as much.

it was just a five minute walk, and i kept my pace ahead of everyone because i was cold and wanted to get there quicker. i knew someone was watching me- again. i knew the feel of that stare. i knew it was vesel. so, i tried to stay just far enough ahead that he couldn't catch up. i don’t think i could keep up any meaningful conversation when my heart was still beating this quickly.

alas, the over 6' man fell in stride beside me, easily, hands shoved in the pockets of an alpha wolf sweatshirt. he adjusted his sunglasses, inhaling a chilly breath before saying, “why’d you run off earlier? before the show? did i- say something wrong?”

"no reason," i snapped a too-quick response, arms crossed over my chest. my cheeks were reddening again.

he tsked his tongue, “good. shame, though, i didn't get to enjoy this dress for as long as i would have liked to.” i couldn’t see his eyes- but i knew they flicked down over my body. i straightened up under the gaze.

what game was he playing?

maybe he just wanted to hook up. i knew it wasn’t anything serious for him, because it couldn’t be.

i could imagine he and the boys were horny. all the time they’d spent declaring celibacy on this tour must be getting to them. so, i convinced myself that’s what this was. but, i of course didn’t want that.

so, i couldn’t help but feel let down that i had gotten my hopes up. i had thought that maybe, just maybe, he wanted me like i wanted him. that, again, maybe, he trusted me like i wanted him to. like i trusted him.

i looked up at him, head tilted back from his height. i tried to read the air between us, hoping something else was there. but i knew he wore a cheeky grin beneath his mask. i frowned, slightly, a desperate disappointment laying just behind my eyes. my head shook just slightly, "don't."

vessel's shoulders fell. he nodded, just once, before silencing himself.

we walked to the bar in drowning silence. i wanted to stop, to turn to him and ask him a million questions. why didn’t he trust me? why didn’t he want me? why couldn’t we try?

why couldn’t we have met in another lifetime, where he didn’t feel the need to hide behind a mask? where he didn’t have to put his life on the line just to reveal himself to me?

not that would fix anything if he didn’t feel what i felt.

i needed a drink.

when we got to the bar, we got swept up in the excitement from our group, separated from each other. i was grateful for the space. it allowed me to breathe, allowed me to start getting wasted.

ii and iv shoved drink after drink into my hands. we pounded shots off of the wooden counter of the bar. we paid far too much for the shitty jukebox in the corner to play our favorite songs. ii even eventually drug me out to the make-shift dance floor, holding my free hand in his, guiding my hips with his other palm.

i clutched onto my vodka cran, following the rhythm ii was swinging in his hips. we danced to some usher song, sultry and silly. normally, i’d shove him away and cuss him out, make fun of him. but, the alcohol was starting to burn my throat, sending a soothingly loose feeling through my blood. i was relaxed.

the song slowed and we did with it. i rested my heavy body against his, chin on his shoulder. we danced in a circle. i could see vessel, sitting at the bar, burning a hole through ii's head with his eyes. he saw me looking at him and quickly looked away.

i just wanted to walk right up to him and kiss him, mask or no mask. i just wanted him. i didn’t care what he looked like. who he was. because i knew him- i knew him well. i knew when his favorite cat died, i knew that he dropped his sandwich in the first grade and cried on drive home. i knew he preferred tea over coffee, with two sugar cubes, and an exact glug of milk in it.

my mind was racing like crazy. i needed to ground myself or i’d do something i’d regret.

that’s when ii mumbled into my ear, “he wants you so badly.”

i jolted out of my own head space, pulling my chin back from ii’s shoulder to look up at him. “what?”

i was having trouble processing words.

“vess. he’s been pining after you for so long,” ii had a sense of urgency in his eyes. "and he think he's trying to see if he can shoot my head off with his eyes right now."

i peered over his shoulder. vessel was watching us again. he didn’t look away, though i knew he could see.

“fat chance,” i blurted out. “he keeps pushing me away…pining my ass. everytime we have, like, a really good conversations about, like, the stars or some shit, the next day he acts like he barely knows my name.”

ii was patient, just listening as i rambled, surely drunk now. i continued on, “i don’t know, dude. like, if he wanted me he would do something about it, yeah? he’d show me. he’d say something. he’d- he’d just do something. instead he just makes me feel crazy.”

i finished myself off with huff. i downed the rest of my drink and set it on a table close to us. both my fists leaned against ii’s shoulders. i was getting dizzy.

ii squeezed my hip in comfort. he waited a moment, for me to catch my breath, to respond. "it's difficult. being in our position. it's hard to tell who's getting close just to catch a peak. forcing everyone we care about to sign mountains of paperwork just to really know us. to trust that we can stay hidden, though the entire world is just itching to unmask us. i know you know that. i know you understand it. that’s part of the reason why we all get along with you so well. the pressures gone. we can be ourselves- no matter what our names are, what we look like. cause you just don’t care.

“i don’t!” i agreed, punching my fist lazily against ii’s shoulder. “i don’t care who you guys are! because you’re still the same to me. and i trust you. and i love you guys. and i just- but just, why can’t he want me?”

he chuckled, “oh, darling. he does. you know he does. and you know the risk, you know the worry. you push it away because it’s not going to be easy. put your pretty little head to rest. just…let it happen as it happens.”

“i think i’m too drunk to really understand this right now, babe,” i droned on, eyes squinted as if i could understand him better with a blurred gaze.

ii tapped my nose sweetly. he stepped back, glancing over to vessel. “just let it.”

i met vessel’s gaze- invisible to me, but so obvious from the burn on my skin. he stood from his seat, hesitant, yet somehow determined.

i felt my body pulled towards him. we met in the middle. some stupid country song was playing. the bad was emptying. our friends were loud. my breath smelled of alcohol. vessel seemed exhausted.

but, for some reason, this was the night that it would happen.

vessel held out a hand, skin pale yet still stained from the paint. i took it. he waited a moment, as if awaiting my consent. then he guided us to the backdoor of the bar. we were out in an alley, alone.

“i’m sorry, lovey,” he said, once he was settled on his heels in front of me.

i clutched his hand like an anchor. “for what?” my brows furrowed.

he brushed a thumb across my knuckles, “that it’s like this. i…i wish i could love you under different circumstances.”

the word passed by without a second thought, so easily spoken from his lips. i barely noticed it. “it’s okay…it’s-its not your fault, vess.”

“no, it’s just,” he ran his other hand overtop his hat, covering his hair just perfectly. “it’s just that i need you to know that. how i feel about you..” now he danced around the word, “because i need you to know that…but…i can’t go forward with any of it. i can’t follow through with it. and i’m so sorry. i just…can’t.”

i slid my hand up to his cheek. he nearly crumbled under my touch. my fingers touched the edge of his sunglasses. he didn’t move. he didn’t try to stop me as i slid the glasses off his nose. i knew those eyes well- i was grateful to see them, even in this dark lighting. i could read him better, i could see his soul.

“i’ll sign whatever you want me to sign.”

the words lingered between us as he processed them. then, he denied them, “lovey…i-“

“i’ll sign a million nda’s. i’ll sign away my life. i’ll- i’ll delete all of my social media. and i’ll wear a mask, too. i’ll step into the darkness with you, vess. i’d do it. i want to do it.”

“lovey, please, i can’t-“

“i can. if you can’t, i can. i can for the both of us.”

vessel dropped his chin, looking away from me. “i can’t ask you to do that for me. beside, you- you don’t even know what i look like. i’m- i’m probably not what you’d want. you can’t love someone you think is ugly. i don’t know, lovey.”

“i do know, vess,” i quickly replied. “i know. i know you. i know your soul. it doesn’t matter to me what you look like, or who you are. cause i know your heart. and that’s all that matters to me. besides, i can’t go on hiding- knowing that we love each other. i just can’t. i won’t allow it.”

vessel met my eyes again. he removed his hand from my own. his hand hung by his thigh, clenching into a fist. it shook. i was worried he’d walk away.

but, after his hesitation softened, he reached his hands up to his face. he tugged the medical mask off of his ears, revealing his familiar lips and smile to me. his nose was new, a feature i’d never seen. but, it was just a nose.

he took off his hat, too, revealing his entire complexion to me. i grinned in response, barely even getting a good luck at him because i really didn’t care.

“that changed nothing for me,” i grasped at his hands. “i feel the same. i feel- the same. maybe better, knowing that you trust me. but- the same. i still want you- i need you, vess…please. i know you need me, too. i’ve always seen it in your eyes. just…take a chance. come out of the darkness…for me. please.”

vessel slid his hands up my arms, slowly, brushing my hair over my shoulders as he passed. his fingertips tickled my neck, the lobes of my ears, until he cupped my cheeks. i leaned into his touch, eyes alight with abounding adoration. he tilted his head down, brilliantly colored eyes boring into my own.

and then he kissed me.

#sleep token #sleep token x reader #sleep token x you #vessel x reader #sleep token!vessel x reader #fluff

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mysticfalls01 · 2 years ago

Text

Princesa II

(FC Barcelona x reader)

Part 1

Alexia never thought about being a mother as her full focus was on her career however that changed the minute, she met you.

You brought out a side of her that she never imagined tapping out. You brought out her maternal instinct, you brought her joy and a new vision of life.

Not only did you brought out all of that to her, but you also brought out a new light for the team. The team was immediately impacted by your energy, your passion, and your ability to feel. As professional athletes they sometimes forgot that they also were humans, that it was alright to cry, to get frustrated and to be happy.

You were one of the greatest gifts that the team had ever received and they couldn’t wait to see you shine.

The first time your teammates heard you call Alexia mama you immediately became the target of jokes and teasing especially from Claudia and Patri however, they were met with Alexia’s glare as she told them that they were going to do two extra laps. The rest of your teammates immediately stopped as they didn't wanted to be the target of La Reina's rage.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Playing at the Johan was a feeling that you wouldn’t change for anything. The excitement, the fans that had your back and the support of your teammates always made it special.

You and your teammates were preparing for the match against Sevilla. Before leaving the locker room to lineup you heard Frido’s voice.

“Unge come here! You need to put your sunscreen on!”

“Fridoo I already applied on my sunscreen” you said whining.

“Really kid?” She said rising her eyebrow.

“No” you admitted with a defeating voice.

You gave up and walked towards Frido so she could apply her sunscreen on your face.

“Andd it’s done kid, you are free to go” Frido said.

“What do we say frilla?” You herd Alexia’s voice behind you.

“Thank you aunty Frido” you said and gave her a kiss on her cheek

“No problem kid” she answered with a smile.

After that you guys went to the tunnel for the game, you were nervous as it was the first time that you were in the starting 11. Before Alexia reached her spot at the beginning of the line, she quickly hugged you and whispered “Hija, I’m so proud of you. It’s time to show everyone why you are Barcelona’s princess”

“Thank you mama” was all you said before she had to leave.

“Amiga we have your back, so don’t worry and believe it you’ve earned your spot in the team” you heard Aitana say before everyone started walking out.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The game ended 8-0 with you scoring a hat trick in the first half of the game. You were subbed off around the 60th minute, as you were leaving the pitch to give the entrance to your teammate you heard for the first a chant that eventually would become iconic.

“Con la reina de nuestro lado la princesa brillará y nuestro reino blaugrana prevalecerá” (With the queen on our side the princess will shine and our Blaugrana kingdom will prevail)

You gave your teammate a high five so she could enter. You stayed by the line admiring the fans and the chant that they had created for you and Alexia. You always dreamed about having your chant and the culers made that dream come true.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

After joining Barcelona your skills flourished and everyone could notice it.

You were in the locker room playing with Jana and Bruna as the training session had just ended. While you were running around the locker room escaping from Bruna Ingrid’s voice called your attention “Princess! Your phone is ringing.”

After you heard her words, you ran and picked up your phone, you saw that the number calling started with London’s code. Usually, you wouldn’t answer numbers that you don’t have saved however, your instinct told you to answer the call.

“Hi?” you said with a shy voice.

“Hello is this y/n l/n’s number?” the other voice said, you could identify that voice had accent but couldn’t distinguish from where.

“Yes, it is, how can I help you?”

“Perfect! I’m Sarina Wiegman and I wanted to inform you that I want to call you up for the next international break.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. From the other side of the locker room Ale saw your face and she and Mapi approached you.

After processing what you just you answered “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I promise that I will give it my all.”

Sarina laughed at your enthusiasm and spoke “I’m sure that you will! On the next couple of days, you will receive all the information. Can’t wait to meet you y/n!”

After that the call ended and you felt Mapi giving you a hug, you guys separated, and Ale asked with a soft voice “What’s happening hija?”

You looked at her and said “I did it mama, I just spoke with Sarina Wiegman. I’ve been called up for the next international break! I’ve played with the under 19’s team but I didn’t expect to get the call up for the senior team!”

After hearing those words all your teammates that were in the locker room immediately ran to you and hugged you. It wasn’t until you heard AMC jokingly groaning that you separated.

“England is having a friendly against Switzerland. Ohh you’ll be a headache to play against kid”

“Prepare yourself Ana, la princesa is going to score against you” Leila said with a joking tone.

All you did was smile until you remembered something.

“Mama, I must call Ona to tell her about the call up! I’ll be back shortly” you said before leaving the room.

As you left the room all Ale could do was to stare at you with a proud face, she knew that this was only the beginning of your international journey.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Olga and Ale took you to the airport.

“Yes mama, I’ll make sure to call you every day!”

“And?”

“If something is bothering me, I’ll tell you.”

“Perfect hija! When you land send me a text and when you arrive to SGP too!”

“I will!”

As she saw you leave all she could think was that la princesa de Barcelona was about to have her international debut and the other countries won’t know what was about to hit them

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Part 3

#barcelona femeni x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #engwnt x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 6 months ago

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Evolution of a Legend: The Ford GT40's Origins in the Mustang-I

Before partnering with Lola on the GT Mk6 in August 1963, Ford's vision for the GT40 was heavily influenced by the sleek design of the Mustang-I. The prototype Ford GT's exterior was essentially based on the Mustang-I, showcasing a striking resemblance between the two. Notice the date on the picture.

As the project progressed, Ford opted to merge the best of both worlds. They took the redesigned Lola GT Mk6 chassis and wrapped the Mustang-I-inspired body around it, ultimately giving birth to the iconic Ford GT40. This fusion of design and engineering expertise would go on to create a racing legend.

TIMELINE:

October 7, 1962 - Mustang at Watkins Glen

October 20, 1962 - Mustang at Laguna Seca

October 26, 1962 - Lola Mk6 showed up incomplete at the London Car Show

January 1963 - Lola Mk6 first shown at UK Olympia Racing Car Show. Showed up three days late and incomplete

Feb 1963 - Enzo Ferrari sends Ford an offer

May 11, 1963 - The silver Mk6 was the first MK6 GT to be raced, entering two races in May of 1963

May 22, 1963 - Ferrari backed out of deal w/Ford

June 1963 - High Performance and Special Models Operation Unit was formed and a basic design was made

June 12, 1963 - GT Program book, circulated internally on June 12th, just 21 days after Ferrari ended deal

June 19, 1963 - the first GT40 clay model is photographed

July 1963 - Advanced Concept Department- Special Vehicle Activity (SVA) was formed

July 1963 - initially models were wind tunnel tested

July 4, 1963 - HFII was planning to be in Maranello signing a $10 million contract with Enzo Ferrari that would give Ford Motor Co. half the Italian sports car manufacturer

July 12, 1963 - full size clay model is pictured next to Corvette and Jaguar

July 17, 1963 - The decision to go with a european firm was approved

July 1963 - a selection of vendors was made by the end of July

August 1963 - a workshop was established in Broadley’s garage in Bromley, south of London

August 1963 - two Lola Mk6 were tested by Ford till early November

September 1963 - FAV opens in Slough, England

September 1963 - the center of activity was therefo removed from Dearborn to England, together with a nucleus of Ford engineers, car layouts, power pack components and full-size models.

October 4, 1963 - a Ford GT clay model is photographed outside at Ford's Design Studio in Dearborn

Oct 1963 - Design engineers were sent to England in mid October

October 23, 1963 - a Ford GT body is photographed outside with a Ford stripe on the rocker

Nov 1963 - The final shape models were sent to England in early November

Nov 1963 - Component testing was completed by the end of November

March 16, 1964 - first gt40 delivered

April 1st, 1964 the first prototype Ford GT was completed and photographed. The first 12 "prototype" vehicles carried serial numbers GT-101 to GT-112. Production GT40s Mk I and Mk II began with GT40P/1000.

April 15 , 1964 - GT40 time trials in Le Mans in mid-April,

After disappointing race results, the engineering team was moved in 1964 to Dearborn, Michigan, USA, to design and build cars by its advanced developer, Kar Kraft.

#car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #ford #ford gt40 #gt40

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j3suschr111st · 2 months ago

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dolly: chapter ii.

"the observer."

distant mind and gray noise, an isolated doll maker haunted by past choices comes to ablution when he encounters his own prototype. the story of two souls unaware of their beauty.

pairing: perv!san x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut (mdni)

tw: nsfw, gore, violence, not for the fainthearted.

word count: 3.3k

series masterlist. previous chapter. next chapter.

୨୧

bask in the glory of skies clearing up, bent and parted, to bring love together. unplanned silver lining, san looks at you as you walk away absentmindedly to the counter, smiling to himself, he's at peace. like his problems had never existed before, not a worry in the world. the sun now coming in the windows, thrill restored feels like an unexplored sentiment. you're real, you've changed your outfit, you go out, you do stuff, you have a real life. he's completely charmed it could make him cry, but this time, joyful tears would come out. reassured of his planned fate, he nods to himself and walks to the door. side eyeing your friend who's currently way too focused on his phone, there's no space for jealousy right now, he'll give it time.

he wishes he could stay longer with you, he does, he wants to stare at you for twenty four hours, seven days a week, but the rush of the moment, the awkwardness of getting up just to sit back down again pulls him outside. the campus is big enough for him to take a half hour walk around, picturing a scene of you in every corner. his mouth numb from smiling so much, he kneels under the bright sky, sunflowers around him. he takes note of the baby blue dress you were wearing, grateful to whoever crafted the red lipstick you donned, defining your natural pout.

roaming around between the pressured students, thinking of all the stories you would tell him if you were giving him a tour right now, the moment to turn back to the cafeteria came. he saw you leaving your friend with a hug, relieved to not witness any mouth-to-mouth action, and if you were to have a boyfriend, he sensed he wouldn't allow you to have a male friend, too much beauty around would be dangerous and any man would understand, elucidated availability to him, well, not that he cared. you look like a cloud, a symphony of destruction won't matter to him as long as you're the pied piper. your steps lead him to a nearby park, where you settle against a tree to revise. he questions whether he should come up to you, but what should he say? he's terrible with words, terrible with women, and he does not want to mess up with you, not of all people in the whole entire world, he'd rather die than to make a terrible first impression on you. you, the most perfect girl he's ever seen.

so at first, he decides he'll be just an observer. study what you like in a man and become that, study your needs and wants, then pretend it's all actually him so you'd fall for him, easy. carefully angling his phone towards you, annoyed at the lack of privacy and limited variations, he captures your essence, concentrated eyes, thighs showing, biting into your pen, inspiration sparks into him, angel sight.

mentally kissing you goodbye, hating to see your figure get smaller and smaller, he walks into his car with butterflies in his stomach. today he met excitement again, lighten ideas and whet fashions.

he grabs his latest work, a doll that's meant to look exactly like you, same hair and colours. he spends the whole day painting her to sublimity, an honoring manifestation. he usually takes the weekends off, but she needed her baby blue dress, so with tunnel vision focus, a boiling course through his body, he sews her little clothes at it's most accuracy.

his penis perked up and wet, out of boxers he's been owning for five years now, aching for the sweetness of your lips. "my y/n, you looked so fucking beautiful in that dress", he holds up his latest masterpiece, plain replica of you. "oh? you wore it just for me? that's my girl, mine, mine only." with his other hand, he starts to please himself, as always, thinking of you. "hm baby, just like that." shaky breaths, cyan silk, moving his hand up and down his shaft as he made your replication stare, slowly bringing her lower and lower to his member.

he never did this to his dolls, a self declared gentleman and caretaker would never disrespect his mini ladies, but it was you who enticed a flame into him. the way your hips swayed as you walked in front of him, how you occasionally sucked on the folds of your fingers, the wind blowing your hair back making your neck look even more appetizing to him. his pace fastened, miserable moans heard until his white release covered her solid face, dripping into her newly sewn dress, claimed in mad wonder. "you did so good my love."

the next day arrived, pilates monday it is. he found the studio you mentioned on his phone and checked their schedule, you must be from group d. this time he remembers to shower, thinking he could get used to this new routine, as previously when he saw himself obliged to go out, he wouldn't even bother to even look at himself in the mirror, black hoodie, sweatpants and a mask made justice for him. his mirrors now free from sheets, forcing him to face the loathe of his life: himself.

"are you an artist?" the smiling red haired cashier asked as she scanned the human anatomy book.

"no" san simply murmured.

"well you have the look, uhm... it'll be $14,34" he eyed the stairs right in the corner, where you could be walking in any minute, or maybe you did and he stupidly missed you as he was browsing the library. "here you go sir, have a ni-" approaching the stairs rapidly, he'd been too patient, he needed to see you now.

he found himself in a monochrome corridor with three doors on each side, the three rooms in the left with big windows half covered by curtains and an old water dispenser at the end of the hall. currently the second room was the noisiest, as he got closer he saw all the feminine bodies, laughing and chatting while they stretched, huff, none of them pretty enough.

for a second he wondered if you could be sick, the class was already starting and you weren't present, did he get the wrong time? had they rescheduled? maybe he could find out where you lived, bring you some tea and look after you so you can cuddle at night?.

"it's starting oh my god we're so stupid."

"this is so embarrassing," as you run up the stairs with karina, you slipped on one of the steps and she pulled you up by your inner elbow. "shit i almost fell."

"dumbass, go go go."

it was like a flash. once again you didn't even look his way, which he was thankful for as you would've found him in a dumbfounded state, appealing disadvantage on his side. doted on your laugh, your big smile and your thight clothes. you were wearing all black today and it almost sent him into cardiac arrest, he leaned against the wall, you were gonna be the death of him.

san had declared this his luckiest day as his figure could be safely covered by the curtain, and as your tardiness made you take the space closer to the door, he had a perfect view of you. you seemed nervous around the new group of people, he only wanted to come in and give you an encouraging hug.

cobra pose, downward dog and his favorite, cat cow. san watched you attentively as he filmed with his phone, allowing his mind to decorate your image at the latest hours, in his bed, pounding on y...

"hey boy," the janitor decided to appear "you waitin' for someone?." san didn't reply, taken back by the old man just trying to do his job "go sit in the back, would ya?." the man continued swiping the floor, shaking his head at the young man who secretly aimed him a middle finger.

one thing san had always been consistent with is his job, making dolls for 10 years easily became his whole lifestyle. every month he had at least five new models and the incoming orders offering big amounts of payment were enough encouragement. he never took vacations, what could he do anyway? he didn't know anything else, or anyone else, no friends, no family, might as well just keep doing the only thing he knows how to do. but that was until you came up in his life. this sudden obsession, he craved you more than anything and looking at you for only 10 minutes was just not enough. so he had no other choice but to miss work hours and follow you home, already claimed as his so might as well.

in the meantime, he checked the location on his social media and, rhythm startled, was jumpscared to find a mirror selfie your friend and you had just taken a minute ago, your tagged account being completely public, bingo.

"you sure you don't wanna go?" karina looked down at you packing your stuff.

"no i'm good, i got stuff to catch up on, haven't properly cleaned my home in like a week you know," you both got out of the room walking downstairs. "plus i still have that pizza from saturday."

"we really thought we could eat three pizzas in one night."

"yeah, can't let it go to waste."

"why won't you invite jacob over to help you? he needs the carbs," she nudged your shoulder teasingly.

"oh my god, will you stop with that?" you blushed at the mention of jacob, a much taller guy from your history class, a jock if you will. maybe you do have a teeny tiny crush on him, i mean, who wouldn't? he's manly, confident, a gentleman, always opening the door for women, and he's one of the most ambitious people you've met.

"he likes you, i'm telling you, you've gotta give him a chance."

"you know i can't," karina rolled her eyes as you both repeated the same phrase "my gap year to paris."

"your gap year to paris, listen, you're not gonna be gone forever are you?" she grabbed your shoulders as of trying to snap you into the obvious. "and you can still text."

"i don't know, he's just... too perfect, he wouldn't look my way."

"girl, i saw the way he was looking at you at the hills, literally eating you with his eyes," karina playfully fake ate your hand and you both exited the building in a puddle of laughs. san was horrified, he could almost throw up at the savagery his ears just caught on, sick and twisted.

"i'll see you tomorrow," you hugged your friend. you'd only met karina a couple months ago, when she transferred to your small town and instantly became close friends, a free fall of care and friendship, she was like an older sister to you, even if you were of the same age.

"see you babes, and don't miss your chance with jake, i'm telling you."

"yeah whatever, take care."

"love you." you put on your headphones and disassociate your walk home. you've tried to get your license before but honestly, you preferred the fresh air, thankful for the privilege of sidewalks and security around, hearts of guardian angels and trust.

it's been almost two years since you moved out, your studio apartment might be small, old and scratched up, but you're happy to finally get the fridge space all to yourself, to decorate with all the books and vintage ornaments you wanted and have your own solo parties to the type of music you pleased.

pages scattered, unfolded bedsheets, glasses from evenings of unanswered phone calls. you've talked it out many times before, but such upbringing stays a fog. paying no deserved mind, you spent the whole day deep cleaning your beloved home, ashamed box hidden under your wardrobe, kicked and out of sight. you could do anything and chose to lay in your couch, loaded melancholy. another lonely weight reminded you of your earlier conversation, what if jacob really had feelings for you? a perilous shot to be stained, you opened your chat with him trying to come up with an excuse of conversation, only to keep deleting it before being sent, cursing a rue. you curled up in your blanket, better safe than sorry, a lament lullaby.

as you (unknowingly) guided san towards your street, he found the hotel in front of your building at light, requesting the room right in front of the balcony he spotted on a selfie you posted a while ago. candled plush sitting at dawn, he found comfort at the window frame, tied by rouse. your shadow moving around out of reach, in his eyes, he's not over.

one night turns into four, then five, then two weeks, commissions closed, disused residency and terminating restraint. he followed you almost every single day, stalked your social media to obsession and daily masturbated to your figure on the curtain. he memorized your work days and classes. he noticed your favorite pilates positions (and took notes). he learned your favorite music, using your public playlist and the songs you blasted at night as an idea. he learned your favorite foods, as you had your breakfast in your balcony and through the discarded envelopes he found in your trash. he learned the size of your bras and your preferred model of panties as he stands in the middle of your room, dim and silent.

"gill from nemo? are you kidding me?" you'd asked ally to help you grocery shop earlier today, then somehow ended discussing about your innocent youth and what you used to like.

"you said you wouldn't judge," ally looked down ashamed.

"ok sorry i wasn't expecting your childhood crush to be a fucking fish."

"a moorish idol mind you."

"oh so now you're a fish expert?" you grabbed some butter.

"he's giving dilf," she shrugged.

"gross."

"you haven't told me yours, go on."

"i don't know, a normal one?" you pretended to think. "ooh, remember peter pan from the live action?"

"of course, he was everyone's crush," ally nodded in agreement.

"i know! i used to leave my window open at night so he would come in," you mentally slapped yourself at your confession.

"oh to be as hopeful as when we were kids."

"you said it."

little did she know you still did that, occasionally, the need of hope was heavy. this morning's class was dismissed for unclarified reasons, but since you couldn't go back to sleep, you decided to watch your favorite childhood movies, peter pan (2003) directed by pj hogan happened to be one of them. as tears fell down your cheeks, the ending credits rolled down the screen and you don't know if your nostalgic crying is a happy one or not. thinking of the time you secretly watched this movie for the first time, an instant calm, a moment where you could relax and mentally escape. you imagined a prince rescuing you many times, taking you to neverland and never seeing anyone ever again. those were the sparks of spirits you clinged to rather than the overcasted childhood you deemed lost.

you wiped your tears, feeling silly and glad that no one could see you in this state, walked to the window of your room and opened it, breeze on your face, but you didn't mind, the rush of adrenaline was worth it. you felt like looking at a 7 year old in the mirror again and although your crushing gaze shifted to captain hook this time, the feeling of childish desire gave you comfort.

as your multiple tote bags hang from your shoulders, you walked to ally's car, talking to her absentmindedly about a game you used to play until she suddenly stops in her tracks, frowning at the phone in her hand. "thank you for driving me by the way, so lucky that classes were cancelled today" you look at her skin quickly turning pale "i do need to get the dairies home but i'll be quick and then we can pick up karina..." used to her dramatic behavior, you gave yourself a moment to release the heaviness of the bags, the amount of large peanut butter jars should be the main concern right now, but when you noticed the whites of eyes widening, face still in shock, you slowly walked back to her.

"is everything alright?" you leaned over to look at her, then at her phone.

"it's mr. perez..." she scrolled back up to show you the title of the article she'd d been sent, bold in big letters.

'college professor stabbed to death, no suspects found at the scene.'

san knew you never missed your little stretching sessions, but he didn't expect you to leave so early and although he's curious to know where exactly you went, he can't help but notice that unlike most days, your window was left open. the risk of midday was pronounced but so was the dread of his hotel guest days ending, having to turn back home to his 'normal' habits, far from you. dark clouds painted the sky, strong breezes tasting of liquid alarms, the streets cleared of people who'd rather stay home, he took advantage from emptiness and ran to the emergency stairs before he could be seen. years of training in his private gym allowed him to manoeuvre himself to your balcony, heavy breathing, into your window.

he took in the scene, the smell, your essence. the strawberry cake diffuser decorated the air, pink accents and teddy bears made his heart flutter and the bra hanging from your headboard sent a pulse through his body. he can't help but wonder if you'd ever touched yourself, how many times and when. if you would ever touch yourself to the thought of him like he does. your bed an unmade poem he's willing to rewrite, he lets his instincts take over and slowly presses his pelvis against the mattress with the deepest whine of release. he recognizes your nightstand from the picture you posted in march where it casted a golden hour. now things were a little scattered, used and lived. he looks around, understanding the intensiveness of your decorations, but soon enough he'll spoil you he thinks, you won't have to work a day in your life, his parents' inheritance is more than enough for both of you to live together happily ever after.

he knows he's doing what's right, that it's meant to be, that your future together is closer than ever and him breaking into your home won't interfere your faith. that's why when he takes one of your used panties from the laundry basket and presses it to his nose, a yearning emotion overwhelms him to tears. he's in love with you and having you this close will only push him forward. he doesn't exactly know the cause of his wept, drowned in pressure and a bit of eagerness. on a remnant note, your apartment is now seen blurred. he cries and cries pathetically, sorrow impatient nauseous him to a deep breath. he dries his face with the soaked white undergarment and leaves it where he found it, thinking it all away. he looks at the time, you must be beginning your class right now, so he'll have to leave in about an hour to catch you, in case you got plans after. laying down on your bed, eyes closed to reach nirvana, to reach ecstasy far from the obscurity of his head.

announced by your wind chime and shaky windows, it eventually starts to rain. the impact on the surface of your balcony travel a gentle patter to his ears. your name a soft chant, his hands on his crotch. watered leaves and the jingle of keys, right outside your door.

୨୧

next chapter.

#choi san x reader #choi san angst #choi san smut #choi san fic #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez smut #ateez fic

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pomefioredove · 10 months ago

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Noble Bell ; Book One, Part II ; The King of Truands

what if you were sent to Noble Bell College instead?

type of post: series characters: rollo, original characters (pierrot, bou, phoenix, clo!) additional info: reader is gender neutral, this is mostly my own vision, influenced by Disney's Hunchback, the 1939 movie, and the original novel word count: 3.4k

prologue | the king of truands, 1 | the king of truands, 2 |

Chapter Nine

The stairs are narrow and slippery, wet with what you can only hope is rainwater. The further you go, the less sure you are of that.

You and Hugo, who has been eerily quiet so far, descend into a large, tall chamber, much wider than the halls you’d been wandering in earlier. The floor is hidden under a shallow covering of grimy water, and the walls are…

“What were you saying about cadavers, earlier?”

Thousands of eyeless sockets watch the two of you descend into the earth, not unlike themselves. If not for the delicate arches of the stonework, you would have thought the entire passage was made of bone.

“Is this the Miracle Court?” you ask, looking from side to side as a thousand toothy grins smile back.

Hugo bleats and shakes the murky water off his coat. “I’d say it’s more like the court of ankle-deep sewage,”

“Cheerful place,” you murmur.

“I remember hearing about the ancient tunnels under the city, but…” Hugo pauses, side-eyeing an armor-clad skeleton, crumpled in a dark corner.

“...This isn’t what I was picturing.”

Condensation on the arched ceiling drips into the ankle-deep waters below, conducting an orchestra of plops. You can’t help but feel grateful for the noise.

You can’t imagine what it would be like if the only sound were your footsteps.

“We must be under the river,” you say, looking overhead. “It’s so…”

“Disgusting?”

“I was going to say damp, but yes,”

You can feel the stone floor dipping into the earth below your feet, and you give Hugo an anxious glance. You’re going deeper.

Each slosh, each wet footstep, every drip of river water from the ceiling echoes off the stone walls, making a melody out of the tedious journey towards the center of the earth, or Hell, you’re still not quite sure yet.

And, even with Hugo, even with the river, the water, the thousands of smiles surrounding you, this is, perhaps, the first time since you'd arrived that you felt truly alone.

It’s scary how comforting the feeling is.

In the absence of the looming dread that had been following you since this morning, you could have a moment to breathe, and to think. How long this day had felt…

Something, then, stops you in your tracks.

Hugo takes a few more steps before turning. “Whatsit?”

Your eyes widen. “There’s…”

There’s a little sun, a breath of warmth, a faint, teasing orange glow, like the light at dawn, like the flames of a candle, just behind you and to your left. You had caught it as you passed it by, and, within that millisecond, it consumed your entire being.

Hugo seems to notice it, too. Or maybe not. “...You think there’s people down there?”

You don't respond. It calls to you. It cuts through the sound of water, breathing, and Hugo’s voice, parting it like the sea, and beckoning you into its depths. The longer you stare, the warmer it becomes, its edges red, its light racing to you like fingers, and-

The illusion of loneliness is shattered into pieces, the sound of laughter filling the cracks. You and Hugo share a careful look, and then move towards the cheers, leaving the glow behind as you drag your feet through the murky water.

Then, there's light.

The floor rises from under your feet, the passage narrows, the water becomes lower and lower until you’re walking on dry stone, the smell of mildew becomes bread and fire, and, suddenly, there’s an opening in the wall, from which the sounds and smells and yellow light are coming.

“We have good noose tonight, everybody!”

Your steps slow, and you hold a finger to your lips, shushing Hugo.

Peering over the high threshold of the carved door, it’s as if you’re looking into an entirely different place.

Over the threshold, the catacombs expand into a wide, vaulted hall, lined with fine furniture, cushions, pillows, tapestries and blankets of every color and pattern hanging from the walls and ceilings, garlands of flowers and vine, candles suspended in air and in alcoves in the walls showering the chamber in warm, inviting light.

Unlike the mossy and mildewed stone of the passage, the walls, floor, and ceilings are impeccably well-kept and clean. The smell of something baking is enough for you to imagine more rooms, more passages, beyond.

What concerns you is not the state of the hall, though, nor is it the dozen-or-so students, dressed in a variety of colors, from a variety of backgrounds, each speaking their own language…

On the contrary, it is the drably-dressed rather boring boy on a gallows at one end of the hall. He’s sickly pale, and seems to be in a heated argument with a man in an executioner’s outfit beside him.

“Pierrot,” you whisper to Hugo. He coughs.

“Again!” Pierrot says, eyes wide. “You know me! I am the author, Pierrot Gregoire!”

The boy beside him adjusts his black cap, checks himself in the reflection of a guillotine blade beside them, and then hums.

“Hmhmhm… No, doesn’t ring a bell,”

“Clodio! We have drama club together! I saw you less than two hours ago!”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s what they all say,”

The crowd that had gathered beneath the gallows laughs and claps along. You and Hugo share a glance, and when you look back, the boy- Clodio- is dressed in a long robe, not unlike the Noble Bell uniform, is wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and holding a puppet…

You narrow your eyes. “How did he-”

“Now that we have seen all the evidence- wait, I object!” says the puppet, “Overruled! But I object! Quiet!”

Hugo makes a face, and you share the look. When you look back, Clodio is dressed as an executioner… again.

“Ahem. Now that we’ve seen all the evidence, we find you completely and utterly normal… which is the worst crime of all! Thou shalt be hanged!”

“Wait!”

You gasp, stumbling out of the opening in the wall and into the warm, well-lit chamber. Pierrot sighs in relief, “There you are-”

Clodio shushes him, and turns to you. “Ah… how timely! We were wondering when you would come!”

You climb the ladder to the gallows, noting the good condition of it, and hurry to Pierrot’s side.

“Your friend?” Clodio asks, grinning and leaning against the lever that would have sent Pierrot to his… is that plastic?

Pierrot’s eyes turn to you.

“...Yes,” you finally say, throwing the noose off of him. He sighs, and his knees give out.

“How unfortunate…” Clodio says, rubbing his chin. “But, I dare say, that was my best performance yet!”

The little group of bystanders hoots and hollers, and he gives a bow. When he stands upright, his outfit has, again, changed entirely. Now, he’s dressed in a dark blue, pinstripe shirt, with a lavender vest and a large, almost obnoxiously so, golden-hued bowtie. He snaps a pair of white gloves over his hands, and bows to you.

“Welcome to our court. You are permitted, with the highest honor, to call me by the name of Clo, Clodio Lefou, or, should it agree with you, the King of Truands. Now, make yourself comfortable- have you eaten yet?”

You give him an odd look. “Um…”

Clo stands. His bowtie is now a white straight tie. Matching bows and magenta feathers in his hair, which is dark, and pulled into a short, messy ponytail, and a single golden earring have also accented his person.

“No, of course not… Well, let’s eat. Can’t have you going hungry, now, can I? What sort of leader would I be, hm? Come along- you can bring your friend, too,”

You glance towards Pierrot, who’s just now getting off the floor. A single bleat, muffled by the tapestries on the stone, comes from behind, and Hugo leaps over the opening and into the hall.

“Ah, and your goat,” Clo says. “Don’t worry, I get along well with kids. Pets, too.”

Hugo nips at him. “Who’re you calling a pet?”

“Ah, my deepest apologies. Now, come along,”

---

You follow the self-proclaimed “King of Truands” into another hall of the Miracle Court, a smaller room with a single, long, scuffed table going down the belly of it. On it- bread, butter, meats and cheeses of every kind, grapes and apples…

The group of students sits around it, passing plates and chatting amongst themselves. Pierrot’s hands are still shaking as he accepts a platter of cured meats.

“I’m afraid you caught us in the middle of a rehearsal,” Clo says, piling your plate with bread and cheese before you can refuse.

“Awfully realistic…” Pierrot murmurs, wrapping his hand around his neck with a sickened expression.

“Thank you!”

You glance between the two.

“...What is this place…?”

Clo spreads a thin layer of goat cheese over a slice of bread for you, and sets it on your plate.

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t know the story. You’re in our Miracle Court… well… something of it. Long ago, during the time of the Righteous Judge, there was a safe haven for all outcasts under the streets of Fleur City, a home where they could seek sanctuary, community…

…Its original place remains somewhat of a mystery. What you see is only an abandoned waterway under Noble Bell College. What we have made it…”

As he speaks, you’re drawn to the people sitting around the table. They’re all quite different, from their appearances to their accents to their mannerisms. Some boys, some girls, some are older, some younger, some you’re not even sure are students at all…

“Consider us a… fourth dorm, if you will,” Clo says.

“Outcasted, rejected, by the upstanding man, the scholar of Noble Bell-” he says, puffing out his chest for emphasis, his outfit changing back to the uniform you’d become so accustomed to, and then back to his suit.

“-We’ve become a family of our own.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Pierrot says, narrowing his eyes. “-I’m just as much of an outcast as any of you! I also lost my scholarship! I was also thrown from my dorm! I’ve been living in the old cemetery all year, and half of last!”

Clo wags his finger. “Nonsense. Just this morning, as I was method acting, I saw you in the dining hall, your plate stacked to the roof!”

Pierrot’s mouth gapes, and then he shuts it.

You lean into the conversation, separating the two. “...That may have been my fault. I let him have my breakfast,”

“Ahh… now, that would make sense. I didn’t see you eat a thing,” Clo hums. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I did say so!”

Now, another thought is occurring to you, one that sends a shiver of hope up your spine. You can't help but- “It was you who was following me all day,”

Both Hugo and Pierrot give you a questioning look, but you don't have the mind to answer them now. Clo hums.

“...I suppose I was. I had to be sure of you, of course- an invitation to our little court of miracles is special,”

It was only him.

You let go of yourself, exhaling, losing your tension, sedated with a powerful dose of relief. Of course, of course. You had worried yourself about nothing.

The uneasy feeling lingers, though. You tell yourself it's only stress.

“...I appreciate it. But if anyone deserves a spot in your court, it’s Pierrot. He’s rather unlucky,”

Pierrot hangs his head, as if purposefully looking for sympathy. “It’s true…”

Clo glances between the pathetic sight, and yourself, his eyes narrowing.

“Don’t excuse yourself so soon. Scholarship or not, you are an outcast. You may not think so yet, but Noble Bell has a way of reminding you when you don’t belong…”

Pierrot glares at him, and then turns to you, his voice softening. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an actor,”

“Says the poet!”

“AND PROUD OF IT!”

Clo bursts into a fit of giggles, clearly enjoying the company. Someone passes him a bottle and he pours more grape juice into your glass.

“If you would like to join my court, you ought to be nicer to me. I am the king, after all,”

You tilt your head. “What does that mean? The King of Truands?”

“Well,” he says, rubbing his gloved hands together. “It is my part. That is to say, my role, my muse, my character! I wrote the part myself, too-”

Pierrot rolls his eyes.

“-Based on the legendary king of beggars himself, who ruled the Court of Miracles, just as the Righteous Judge watched over The City, the Knight of the Sun protected The Ville, and The Curious Scholar led L'Universite…”

You glance towards Hugo, sitting under the table at your feet, and he mouths "explain later."

“Yes, yes, we’ve all heard the story,” Pierrot grumbles, crossing his arms and pouting like a child.

“You never play any of my characters with such enthusiasm.”

“Your heroes are lukewarm and your villains are predictable- and I do bore of playing villains…” Clo sighs.

“...But, putting aside our artistic differences, I see it only right to invite you to join our dorm, in the spirit of the King himself. And you-” he smiles at you. “...Should you ever need it, our doors remain open to you.”

Pierrot sighs, but accepts the offer with a little nod. You follow suit.

“It beats having to sleep in a grave,” Hugo grumbles. “Where’d you get all this stuff, anyway?”

“Made, donated, shared…” Clo shrugs. “The food comes from the flour mill outside of town- the miller is a sympathetic man.”

“Most ‘a the people in this city are,” the goat says. “I cut it good here. All I have to do is walk around a market looking all cute and sad until someone feels bad and tosses me their scraps.”

“Funny, I do the same thing,” Pierrot says through a mouthful.

Clo laughs, and even you smile.

You know you can’t stay here.

You’ll just end up attracting more attention than you already have, and by the looks of this room- the rejected would-be-students, the eccentric theatre actor, the rebellious writer- standing out at Noble Bell is anything but good.

You’ll go back to the bell tower. You have to.

Before that…

“Oh, right,” you say, taking something out of your pocket and holding it up to the light. “This was on the back of the letter you sent. But I have no idea what it means.”

Clo blinks at the sparkly pendant, and then grins.

“It’s a popular emblem of Fleur City. Consider it a symbol of our acceptance,” he says.

“But what does it mean?”

He shrugs. “No one truly knows. Nothing, probably- but there is a saying that goes along with it, though. When you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand. Fun, no?”

An inexplicable sense of disappointment makes itself a home in you, and you hold the pendant closer to yourself, cradling it in your palm.

The sounds of the conversation around you become distant. You run your fingers over the twine, the many colors of it, the small cross in the middle, and the smaller stone at its heart. Strange...

Against all reason, it’s caught your interest between its woven bands, and you can’t help but feel that it means something.

“It’s getting late,” you say, excusing yourself from the table, and the conversation, which had turned to Pierrot and Clo bickering about the realism of the prop gallows.

Pierrot looks up. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? At least for the night- it’s much cleaner here than it is in the bell tower,”

You shake your head, and Clo abruptly jumps from the seat beside you, pointing a finger directly at Pierrot.

“Speaking of! Let’s hose him down- he smells!”

The students cheer, chanting "he smells! he smells!", and Pierrot goes pale as his chair is lifted and he’s carried off. You wave goodbye, and turn to leave from the way you came.

Chapter Ten

Alone.

Without Hugo, the passage back to the school feels thrice as dark, and much tighter. Besides the way from which you came, every door you pass, every opening, even the windows in the walls are guarded by thick iron bars. Yet, still, you can’t help but wonder what lies beyond…

At least it makes finding your way back easy enough.

Noble Bell has a way of telling you that you don’t belong…

Clo’s words dance around your thoughts, haunting you, leading you deeper into the abyssal pits.

The water is up to your knees now. The river must rise and fall like the tide… perhaps it’s raining. The thought offers little comfort.

You turn a corner, and then hesitate. To your right, now, is the thin passage where the orange glow had come from. The sun, the flame, the dawn. How you wished you could have cupped it in your hands…

You peer through the wrought-iron bars of the opening.

No light. No glow. The water is thinner here, though no less dark. There’s only a thin, black stem reaching out of the depths, though it appears as if its flower had been torn off.

By what, you wonder.

it doesn't matter. The glow is gone. You are alone again.

Then...

“Hey! What are you doing down here?”

Again, the door to your prison of mind is thrown open, and you whirl around to see…

“You again?” you ask, taking a step back through the inky water. How strange. You didn’t even feel him coming.

Phoenix puts his hands on his hips. “I thought I’d told you. It’s unsafe down here. You’re really not supposed to be…”

“Did you follow me?”

He hesitates, his brow turning up, the stern expression on his face becoming confused. “I was going to ask if you had followed me. I’m on student council business,”

“Under the school,” you say. “...Again?”

“I was given orders. No one is to be in the waterways unattended,”

Your rational mind, the one that had, unfortunately, come with you when you woke up in this strange place, wants you to explain. Your gut resists.

Some things are just better off as secrets, after all.

“I got… lost again,”

For a moment, it seems as if Phoenix has something stuck in his throat. Then, he coughs, then, he laughs.

“Oh, right. You’re pretty ditzy, aren’t you? Here, let me take you back,”

You grimace. You don’t appreciate his choice of words, but… he bought the excuse. Perhaps you’d picked up a thing or two about acting from Clodio Lefou.

You still have much to learn.

Chapter Eleven

Phoenix blazes ahead, cutting a path through the sewer with the confidence of a man much wiser than him.

You keep to yourself. It’s a long walk back to the surface, and you’re not in the mood to chat. You’re tired, wet, smell of sewage, and have been going in circles about what turned out to be a curious theater kid all day.

Silly, silly…

You scold yourself. This place will drive you mad if you’re not careful…

You’ve had enough of secrets and mysteries for a lifetime, and it’s only been a day.

Phoenix is some ways ahead of you, talking to himself about some silly thing or another, answering his own echo. As if you’re not even there.

People here seldom look at you.

And yet, you can’t help but-

...

Your feet suddenly refuse to move.

You stop in place, letting Phoenix’s voice get further and further from you, until you can’t hear him at all. Just the drip, drip, drip of the catacombs, the sound of your heart...

And the footsteps behind you.

You want to believe it’s Clo, it's someone from the court, the one you’d left behind some time ago, but you know it isn’t. You always knew it wasn't.

It’s coming from one of the iron-guarded gates. You can feel eyes on your back. Behind you, to your left.

It breathes.

This time, you can’t even shout.

“Hey,” the light returns to you, Phoenix and his flashlight.

“You okay?”

His tone is soft. Gentle, almost, which is strange for him, and must mean you look as scared as you feel.

He comes over to you, loops your arm around his, and continues walking you out of the catacomb, practically dragging you behind him. The feeling of being watched, the lingering, sticky, suffocating fear, vanishes behind you.

But you know it’ll be back.

Phoenix brings you to the surface, lifting you from perdition with a strength you couldn’t have guessed from his height and soft features.

“Alllmost there,” he keeps saying that, quietly, all the way up to the bell tower, as if reassuring you.

It works… a little.

He says good night, and leaves you there.

There are very few things you understand about this world, its people, its history,

Its magic.

But as the door to the bell tower closes, trapping you inside, just as much a prisoner as you were before, alone but safe, you understand this:

There is a monster inside Noble Bell College.

And only you know it's there.

#noble bell #noble bell college #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #glorious masquerade #yah I'll tag that since it's rerun time

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scribbledghost · 2 months ago

Text

The Visitor - Part VII

Pairing: Vessel x Fem!Reader (Vessel the character, not the real man behind the mask)

Rating: G

Word count: 1,813

Summary: The vessels convene to discuss a certain someone.

Notes: 3rd person POV, use of she/her pronouns for reader. Hi I'm back for more :) Part six can be found here. || Part eight can be found here.

You are doing so well, my vessel.

The words hang thickly in Vessel’s skull, a sick sense of unease taking root in his chest.

She trusts you, Sleep says. She will heed your words when the time comes.

He turns to his visitor as the two of them wander through the domain, hand-in-hand. The visions have been light lately, surely a ploy on Sleep’s part to make the woman associate Vessel with an ease in her pain. To add to it, Sleep has not called Vessel away in some time, which in the past would have been most unusual.

It appears Sleep has decided that Vessel has more important business to attend to; namely, manipulating the woman next to him.

However, as Sleep seems to be in a jovial mood at present, Vessel decides to play his luck.

I wish to commune with the others, he says. Privately, should you see fit.

Sleep becomes apprehensive.

I am certain I will need their aid to convince her to convert, he explains. I would like to discuss… strategies.

And is there a reason why you must do so in private?

Merely to lessen the chance of her overhearing. She would not be able to follow us into the red forest.

Sleep is skeptical, of that much Vessel is certain. At first, he is worried it will refuse, that it will force him to convene with the others and discuss how to manipulate the woman in the open.

But just this once, fate seems to smile upon him.

Your request is granted, Sleep says. Leave her at the entrance. No harm will come to her while you gather.

You have my eternal thanks, Vessel grovels.

With that, he senses Sleep sending out a signal to the others, instructing them to meet Vessel. He leads his visitor to an opening in the world, framed by red moss that leads to a tunnel. Beyond it is a forest, full of red trees like the one he plucked the white ribbon around her wrist from.

It is the one place in existence in which Sleep cannot hear nor see what transpires. If he is to bring the others into his fold, it will have to be done here.

“I will not be long,” Vessel assures her, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “All you must do is wait here. Sleep has assured me that you will be safe.”

“And you… trust Sleep?” she asks, clearly unsure.

“I do,” Vessel replies, using every bit of power he has to seem convincing.

This seems to placate her, and he makes his way through the tunnel and into the forest.

He climbs over moss-covered rocks, through red branches, and towards the heart of the foliage. He wishes to hold this meeting in the deepest parts of the woods, hopefully as far away from Sleep’s prying eyes as he can manage. He waits for a moment, sitting alone with his thoughts until he hears footsteps come to join him.

“This is about the woman, isn’t it?” III says as he emerges through the trees.

“It is.”

“Sleep wants her for itself,” II interjects, following close behind. IV is the last to arrive, though not much later.

“So I take it we’re here to discuss how to get her to convert?” IV asks.

Vessel remains silent for a beat.

“No.”

Three sets of eyes turn to him. More silence falls, this time an uncomfortable one.

Slowly, Vessel begins to explain the situation to them. He explains how Sleep does want him to ensure she converts, but he is determined to see her home. The others share looks of uncertainty and concern, but make no move to stop Vessel as he explains his desires.

“Ves…” II says slowly when he finishes. “Do you really think you can overcome Sleep itself?”

“With aid, yes,” Vessel says. “I know it is only a matter of time before Sleep summons her to offer her a place here. And I am sure we will all be in attendance when it does so. If we unite on this front and protect her, surely she will refuse to convert. If she refuses, then Sleep will have no choice but to return her to her own time and place.”

“Do you not worry for her safety?” II asks.

“It cannot harm her the way it can harm me,” Vessel replies. “As she is mortal, Sleep has less power over her. It can use her to harm me, it can mimic her screams, but in the end, it cannot physically harm her.”

“And what about us?” IV asks. “Surely Sleep will destroy us along with you if we interfere.”

Vessel pauses.

“I wish to… discuss something with all of you. A very important fact that, over the many eons I have resided her as a vessel for Sleep, I had forgotten.”

The others patiently wait for him to continue.

“Sleep cannot exist without a vessel.”

A look is sent around the group.

“Should we all relinquish its grasp at the same time, it will have no power over us. If each of us rebel at the same time, perhaps we can overcome it.”

“And if it’s not enough?” III asks.

“...I am not saying it is without risk,” Vessel says. “But I trust each of you implicitly, and if it does succeed… we may all be able to be free of Sleep’s control.”

More silence falls as the others contemplate their decisions. It is a momentous decision to make, one that is fraught with danger and uncertainty. The stakes are enormous, and the price of failure is steeper than any of them can imagine. No creature in living memory has ever attempted to fight against Sleep at all, let alone attempt to overcome it altogether. There is no precedent for this, and Vessel knows this well.

“I need time to consider,” II says.

Vessel nods.

“Of course. I cannot stay here much longer, I must return. But each of you are free to make your decision. When you have done so, bring me a ribbon. White for yes, black for no. I will ask no questions. And no matter your decision, I will bear no ill will.”

“Simple enough,” III says.

With that, the group adjourns, and Vessel leaves them to discuss his proposition among themselves. He has no need to stay and attempt to persuade them one way or another; there is little he could say to sway them in either direction. Added to the fact that he has long since made up his mind, and it results in him simply not needing to be present.

As he makes his way back towards the mossy tunnel, however, Vessel falters.

What if any of them decline? What if any one of them offer him a black ribbon in the coming days? He is all but certain his plan will fail without all of them on one united front.

No, he mustn't allow himself to doubt them. He knows all of them are just as eager to be free of Sleep’s grip as he is – surely they will join him.

They must. Or all of this will be for naught.

He returns his thoughts to more neutral ground as he exits the tunnel, relieved to find his visitor patiently waiting where he had left her. She smiles brightly at him.

“Where are the others?” she asks as she stands.

“They remained behind,” Vessel says, placing a hand on her lower back to guide her away from the red moss. “There were some things they needed to discuss.”

Thankfully she accepts this answer, and allows him to lead her through the hues of gray that surrounds them. He brings her back to the red ribbon tree, bringing her to sit with him beneath its branches. She curls into his side as if she has made a home there, and Vessel softly kisses the crown of her head as she rests against him.

They fall into pleasant conversation, Vessel telling her the stories of the realm’s various creatures and talking of the upcoming musical ritual that she is to attend. In turn, she regales him with stories of her life outside of the domain, causing Vessel’s chest to ache. The way she speaks indicates she has much to life for – many things and people and places she longs to return to.

She is very different from how Vessel was when he had first arrived in Sleep’s realm, alone and resigned and defeated. Sleep tends to prey on the most vulnerable. So why had it chosen someone who had anything worth returning for?

The break is sweeter when it is fought for, my vessel.

He could vomit.

The woman next to him senses the shift in his demeanor, for she falls quiet as she turns to look at him.

“You okay?”

He returns her gaze, his features softening as he leans in to kiss her.

“I am fine, beloved,” he says softly. “Simply thinking, that is all.”

“About what?”

“Many things. Things you need not be concerned about.”

“You seem awfully concerned about them,” she teases.

“Ah, feeling mischievous, are we?” he says with a smile, reaching over to poke at her sides. “Even a bit nosy, perhaps?”

He continues to poke at her, basking in the glow of her giggles and laughter a he does so. He hopes his actions will be enough to steer her mind away from what plagues him.

Time passes and the two of them end up entwined beneath the ribbon tree, both of them laughing softly as they enjoy each other’s presence. They shift slowly down, from sitting positions to laying as Vessel wraps her in his arms. His lips find hers, his hand resting against her cheek as his thumb gently caresses the skin there.

Vessel is unsure of how much time passes in this moment; it could be minutes, or it could be hours. Either way, when he finally pulls away just far enough to rest his forehead against hers, he hears footsteps approach from behind the tree.

Slowly extracting himself from her, he sits up, following the sound until II appears from around the gargantuan trunk. He approaches silently, both fists closed, and stops in front of Vessel. By this time, the woman has sat up beside him, curiously looking between the two of them.

After a moment’s silence, II reaches a hand out, offering Vessel something. When Vessel raises an open palm, II opens his own hand and places it upon Vessel’s. When he retracts it, he closes Vessel’s hand into a fist.

He says no words, instead opting to simply nod before making his way into the monotone ether.

The woman beside him gives him a questioning look as he brings his hand down and opens it.

There in his palm lay a white ribbon.

#vessel x reader #sleep token #sleep token x reader #ghost scribbles #fem reader

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scaredpigeons · 1 year ago

Text

More than you can chew. II: those damned flowers.

Previous // Next

Elirah (genshin impact OC) x 4ggravate (Alhaitham, Kaveh, Cyno & Tighnari)

Word count: 5.3k

WARNING: NSFW 18+ MDNI. This fic contains smut between literally all the characters, the only two who don’t really fuck is ‘Haitham and Cyno cuz they’re the only ones unaffected by the aphrodisiac lol. Dubcon only because of the aphrodisiac, but come on, they’d all fuck regardless, so it should be fiiine.

CW: aphrodisiacs, sex, oral sex, (m and f receiving) handjobs, pussyjob, Tighnari knots Elirah, creampies, talk of impregnating Eli, but it’s okay she’s on birth control cuz girl don’t play around like that, dirty talk, Alhaitham and Cyno banter (sexually charged banter) anal sex (Tighnari rec), haikaveh and Cynonari content, multiple orgasms, Tighnari bites Eli.

Authors Note: I figured I’d post this while y’all wait for the Neuvi smut. It’s coming along, but slowly. I had to take a break bc I run the risk of carpal tunnel at this point, so I gotta be careful lol. I know this isn’t x reader, but I’d really love it if y’all gave elirah some of your time, she means a lot to me. There’s plenty more where this came from, and im working on more smutty continuations of part 1 so keep an eye out! :)

————————————

Hot. Everything was hot.

She gripped the edge of the reservoir, her vision darkening at the edges, fuzzy and strange.

A wave of pure, nauseating need pulsed through her. She groaned, doubling over herself.

“Eli!” Kaveh moved through the water towards her, resting a hand on the small of her back. “A-are you..?”

She moaned his name, the heat from his palm radiating through her clothes.

“Be careful, Kaveh,” Alhaitham said, still standing in the entrance, deathly still. “You might actually want to get out of the water, it affects women and Valuka Shuna more intensely than men.”

“I—“ Kaveh doubled over into himself a bit, clutching his abdomen while he instinctually moved closer to her. “All the more reason I shouldn’t leave them!”

Elirah turned, clutching to Kaveh’s front, pressing herself against him.

“Hot,” she whimpered into his chest. “It’s so hot.”

“H-how do you…” Kaveh groaned, holding her closer as she rubbed against him. “How do you know s-so much about… hah.”

Elirah couldn’t control herself, everything in her screamed Kaveh, Kaveh, Kaveh.

He was so warm, his skin felt so good. She ground her hips against him, seeking relief from the erection straining in his trousers.

“Coolielust lotus was an extremely popular aphrodisiac in ancient societies.” Alhaitham said, almost hesitant as he watched Elirah push herself into Kaveh further, eyeing the way his knee ran between her thighs as she ground herself down on it. “It came up within my studies quite often at the akademiya, and if you read some decent historical texts every once in a while I’m sure you’d know of it too…”

Kaveh’s hands found the plush of Elirah’s ass as he helped her grind into him, his eyes rolling back.

Cyno stepped forward as if he meant to reach out to Tighnari, who was still clutching the edge of the reservoir as if he would otherwise float away from it.

Alhaitham shot his arm out, blocking the smaller man from moving any closer.

“Don’t.” He said. “They’re not in their right minds, Cyno.”

“But…” the general Mahamatra looked back and forth between his lover and Alhaitham, eyes pleading.

Elirah whined, reaching out behind her at the forest watcher. “N-nari…”

Tighnari moved faster than he should’ve been able to in the water, his hands latching onto Elirah’s waist as he ground himself into her from behind, pushing her further into Kaveh and causing all three of them to let out the most obscene moans.

Tighnari’s teeth pulled at the high collar of Elirah’s bodysuit, and his mouth latched onto the soft skin on the side of her throat when it was exposed to him.

“N-Nari.” She moaned. “C-cure?” She was surprised she could push the words from her lips, let alone think them. All she wanted was for this aching heat to be over.

“Orgasms.” He growled into her skin. “So many fucking orgasms.”

She moaned again, throwing her head back onto his shoulder as he and Kaveh moved in tandem against her, grinding themselves desperately into her back and front.

Tighnari pushed her down further into Kavehs waiting thigh, moving her himself now as he ground against her ass.

“Ah!” Elirah squealed, a sudden and unexpected high falling over her senses. “I’m gonna—!”

“Cum.” Tighnari growled into her shoulder before licking his way up the side of her throat. “Cum all over him, ‘Lirah.”

And she did, it blossomed from her aching clit throughout her whole body, somehow soaking the crotch of her shorts even further, despite the sloshing water still surrounding them. Her legs buckled as she cried out, body going limp as both Kaveh and Tighnari pushed and pulled at her body for their own pleasures.

“This is…” Cyno shifted, hands coming to re-situate himself in the front of his shorts as his widened eyes watched his three friends writhe in the water below. “This is so wrong.”

Alhaitham wasn’t faring any better, but kept his mouth shut and his arms folded firmly across his chest. He was a grown man, a renowned scholar, and he prided himself on his impeccable self control.

Kaveh unzipped the front of Elirahs bodysuit, pulling her breasts free as he leaned down to pop a pert, rosy nipple into his mouth— moaning and clutching her further into him.

“Fuck…” Alhaitham groaned under his breath, feeling himself twitch against his thigh. It was unfortunate that the two people who tested his self control the most were two of the people in front of him, giving he and Cyno the show of a lifetime.

“Off.” Tighnari growled, pulling at Elirahs remaining clothes. “Off, now.”

Alhaitham watched with hesitant eyes as Tighnari and Kaveh worked to pull the back lacings of Elirahs corset before shucking it and her bodysuit down her body, throwing them on the bed of the water without a second thought.

Elirah pulled at her gloves, flinging them away as she pulled at Kaveh’s clothes.

“Need…” she gasped as Tighnari’s gloved hands pulled at her ribcage, growling posessively into the skin of her shoulder. “Need to touch.”

“Alhaitham…” Cyno said hesitantly. “I don’t know if Kaveh being in there with them is a good idea…”

Alhaitham struggled to pull his eyes away. “Why do you say that?”

“Tighnari… he can get possessive. I’ve only seen him act like this during his ruts… mating season can get… rough.”

Alhaithams brow furrowed as he watched Tighnari’s hands get rougher and more persistent, and the low growls in the back of the fox’s throat grew deeper and louder as Kaveh continued sucking and pulling on Elirahs breasts.

“Fuck.” Alhaitham cussed under his breath. “Fuck, fuck.”

He walked to the water's edge, holding his hand out to Kaveh.

“Come on, out you get,”

Kaveh whined, pulling himself closer to Eli with no regard for the way Tighnari growled, the way he glared at him.

“N-need,” Kaveh stuttered, pulling at the front of his pants.

“I’ll take care of you, Kaveh, but you need to get out before Tighnari ends up hurting you, or even Elirah.”

Alhaitham couldn’t tell if the prospect of him being the one to take care of Kaveh was what made the man so eager, or the possibility of he or Eli being hurt, but either way his eyes widened as he quickly slipped from Eli’s grasp and out of the water.

“He runs less of a risk of hurting her if there's no immediate threats to him, he should be…” Cyno trailed off as Alhaitham pulled a needy Kaveh from the water, who immediately jumped into the scribe's arms, locking himself to his lips and grinding incessantly where his legs wrapped around his waist.

His eyes fluttered back to the pool as Elirah whined, only to watch as Tighnari pushed her against the edge, bending her over before roughly pulling at the front of his shorts, pulling them down and entering her in one swift motion.

Alhaitham sat down, pulling Kaveh’s back to rest against his chest, facing the other two in the pool before them. He pulled at the architect's pants, freeing his leaking erection with firm hands.

Kaveh writhed in his grip, gasping, hands grabbing whatever part of Alhaitham he could.

“Shhh,” Alhaitham hushed him. “I’ll take care of you Kaveh, you’re fine.”

His moral compass was skewed now, watching Tighnari thrust roughly into Elirah, watching her face twist in pure relief and pleasure as she white knuckled the rocky waters edge.

Alhaitham kissed Kaveh’s neck, rough hand pulling at his cock as he brought his other hand to shove two fingers into Kavehs panting mouth.

“That’s good,” Alhaitham murmured in his ear. “Suck on my fingers, I’ve got you.”

Tighnari continued his rough pace, gloved hands gripping Elirahs pale skin as they both whined and cried out in the water.

Cyno pulled his eyes away from the two on the ground, creeping forward slowly towards the water.

Tighnari’s ears perked up, and he brought his teeth down onto the muscle connecting Elirahs neck and shoulder as he growled at Cyno.

She cried out, body shaking as another orgasm ripped through her, Tighnari’s pace never faltering.

“Nari, baby.” Cyno said, voice small and soothing. “I’m not gonna take her from you.”

“Mine.” Tighnari growled, hips rutting harder, deeper.

“Yours,” Cyno nodded. “Right Eli?”

Her eyes were glazed over, but she managed to grasp a hand around Tighnari’s where it rested on her hip, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Y-yours, Nari.” She moaned, eyes rolling back once more as the fox purred into her skin. “…’m all yours.”

Cyno cautiously moved and sat at the edge of the pool, his hand hesitantly reaching out before brushing along Tighnari’s ear, making the fox growl, then whine out as he realized who was touching him.

“Are you sure you wanna knot her, baby? You can always come out, I’ll take care of you.” Cyno said, slowly, without any pressure.

Tighnari shook his head aggressively, mouthing at the bite mark on Elirahs shoulder.

“No, no.” He whined low in his throat before it turned into a growl. “Gonna fill her up, give her my pups.”

Cyno turned to Alhaitham, who was mouthing at Kaveh’s earlobe, still stroking the blond's cock as he writhed against him.

Alhaitham must’ve been listening in over Kaveh’s whines. “She’s on birth control, it should be fine.” He murmured, eyes flitting between his hand stroking Kaveh and the scene before him.

Cyno nodded, and continued to brush his fingers along Tighnari’s ears.

“It’s gonna be a lot Elirah,” he said, though his eyes never left Tighnari, hoping to not spark up his possessive nature any more than it already was. “The first time taking a knot is… a lot. If you don’t think you can…”

“No, I want it!” She cried out, meeting Tighnari’s thrusts. “Want your pups ‘Nari, please!”

“Wet,” Tighnari breathed. “So wet, warm. Perfect to take my knot. Perfect for my pups. Perfect.”

Elirah had never felt so wet before, he was right. Slick seemed to pool from her in droves, coating his cock and dripping down their thighs as he pounded it into her, his thrusts losing rhythm.

“Baby, I’m gonna help her through it, okay?” Cyno asked cautiously.

“Take it,” Tighnari huffed, voice raising in pitch and hips stuttering. “Take it.”

Cyno cupped Elirahs face, thumbing the tears that started to form as Tighnari’s knot began to expand, and he pushed it through the tight ring of her entrance.

Elirah clamped down on him, cumming with him as the first spurts of his seed painted her warmth in white.

“Good, good girl.” Cyno cooed, wiping the saliva dribbling from her mouth. “Stay nice and still for him.”

Tighnari grinded himself against her, knot locking his cock and cum deep inside her, moaning and gasping at how her walls twitched and pulled at him with every slow spurt of cum shot within.

Kaveh keened, body vibrating as he watched with heavy lids.

“Look at him fill up our girl, Kaveh,” Alhaitham breathed. “Look at how pretty she looks while she cums.”

And he did, he watched her, and suddenly Alhaithams hands became too much, his body burned where it touched his, and the cord inside him snapped, cumming all over Alhaitham’s hand in pretty white ropes.

Alhaitham may have had some objections to getting involved in the recovery process before, but watching Cyno lean down to kiss Elirah sweetly on the lips before he pressed a kiss to Tighnari’s forehead only helped sway him in the opposite direction.

The quicker they can get this out of their systems, the better.

“More,” Kaveh whined in his grasp, cock still leaking and jumping in his hand. “Haitham… need more.”

Alhaitham looked to Cyno. “How long does that usually last?” He watched as Elirah continued to flinch, her body vibrating at Tighnari’s cock jumped with more spurts of cum every few moments.

“About 15 minutes, though sometimes longer.” Cyno eyed the pair in front of them. “It’s worse if he doesn’t relax.”

Alhaitham glared, suddenly feeling a spark of possession himself, wanting Elirah in his arms, wanting to be the one to take care of her. “Then make him relax.”

Cyno seemed like he wanted to protest, but saw the way Tighnari still rutted his hips, shoulders tense and mouth still latched onto Elirah’s shoulder.

He sighed, slipping into the water and moving behind Tighnari.

The fox growled as Cyno pushed his shorts further down his legs, reaching to rub soothing circles on his thighs.

Tighnari relaxed, but only enough to soothe the growl in the back of his throat.

Cyno dipped his fingers between Tighnari’s legs, coating them in the loose mixture of arousals soaking Tighnari’s pelvis and thighs.

He brought them back behind, circling a gentle finger on Tighnari’s rim, making the fox jump in pleasure.

“Shh, baby.” Cyno pressed himself closer. “Relax for me, I’ll take care of you.”

Elirah moaned shakily, the knot inside her deflating ever so slightly, only enough for a rush of cum to flow out the space created, but still not enough for it to come out completely.

“Won’t that just make it worse?” Alhaitham asked, attitude peaking through.

“Once his knot is formed, it automatically starts the come down process, and it takes a decent while to be able to pump back up, only able to do so after it’s completely come down.” Cyno said, though he was focused on his fingers tracing and prodding at Tighnari’s ass. “The more relaxed he is, the quicker it deflates, and he loves this, loves having his ass played with, don’t you, pup.”

Tighnari whines, squirming a bit but otherwise still holding tightly to Elirah.

“And he’s trained so well,” Cyno says, a bit condescending, not really speaking to Alhaitham anymore. “He knows to relax when I’m back here, otherwise I won’t be able to fit my cock in his pretty little hole.”

Tighnari’s knot loses more mass, and a large rush of thick, pearly cum comes flowing out of Elirah, before she clenches down, inadvertently pushing Tighnari the rest of the way out with a wince and a whine at the stretch.

His cock falls out, twitching and jumping as he watches his cum flow uncontrollably from Elirahs still clenching hole.

He whines, reaching to shove his cock back inside, to keep the rest of his seed from falling out, wasted in the water; but Cyno grabs his arms and pulls him back, flush against his chest.

“Nuh uh,” he tuts against Tighnari’s cheek. “You need to get out of this water, then we can keep going.”

Tighnari whined and thrashed, but otherwise let Cyno pull him back, his more submissive nature being pulled from him by the General.

“Alhaitham, come get her.” Cyno said, pulling Tighnari out of the water.

Elirah was still bent over the edge of the reservoir, the naturally smoothed stone rubbing deliciously against her aching nipples. She shook, feeling cum flow out of her still clenching hole, moaning at the warmth of it.

“Sit tight, beautiful,” Alhaitham whispered just low enough for Kaveh to hear. “I’ll be right back.”

Alhaitham waded into the water behind Elirah, soothing warm hands up her spine.

“How are you feeling?” He murmured, bringing a hand to cup some water before pouring it down the backs of her thighs, washing away the cum that had dripped down that far.

“H-hot,” she stuttered, shivering as his hands moved higher to wash her leaking core. “It’s a burning f-feeling… inside…” she cried out as his fingers prodded at her entrance, pulling at what was left of the fox’s cum from within her.

“Still?” He questioned. “Three wasn’t enough?”

She shook her head, pushing back into his fingers as he cleaned her out. “More,” she moaned.

Their attention snapped upwards as a low groan from Cyno rang throughout the cavern, and they watched as both Tighnari and Kaveh knelt at the general's feet, kissing and suckling at his jumping cock between them.

“I thought I told you to stay where you were, Kaveh?” Alhaitham huffed.

Cyno’s face burned a deep shade of red as he covered the lower half of it with his hands in shame.

“Tighnari just… a-and then he…” he groaned, watching the fox and the blond make out over the crown of him, their tongues swirling against one another while slurping up the obscene amount of pre leaking from the tip.

Alhaitham pulled Elirah from the water, laying his cloak out on the rock before putting her down on it.

“You seem to have that plenty under control, General,” Alhaitham quipped, a light smirk forming across his lips as he watched Cyno struggle to remain standing with the attention he was receiving. “I’ll be just a moment.”

He leaned down, pulling Elirah towards him by her hips before diving in between her legs to mouth at her core.

She cried out, pulling at his hair and writhing in his grasp as he licked and sucked at her clit, moaning slightly at the slick that was still pooling from her.

It didn’t particularly matter to him at the moment whether it was Tighnari’s, her own, or a mixture of both their fluids; all that really mattered to him in that moment was helping to ease the discomfort Elirah was feeling, and he knew the only way to do so was to fuck orgasm after orgasm out of her until the drug was out of her system.

“Haitham,” she breathed, chest heavy with the weight of her impending high. “H-how are you so… good…”

“I’m a quick learner, Elirah,” he murmured, slurping against her clit. “You knew this the other night when you let me crawl between your legs the first time.” His devious grin was infectious, and through the fog she threw her head back and smiled at the memory.

“And the second time,” he flicked his tongue against her in steady strokes now. “And the third.”

Her hands gripped his hair hard as she shattered in his mouth, back arching off the cloak covered stone as she came and came and came, seemingly never ending as he worked her through it.

“AH!” She squealed, kicking her feet where they rested on her shoulders. “T-too much!”

“Really?” He smirked, it was small and soaked in her juices. “Because to me, it’s never enough.” He whispered.

He continued to lick at her until the air pushed from her lungs in a dry squeal, and then he pulled away, admiring his handiwork.

Elirah’s exposed chest heaved with her breaths of recovery, still glistening with water, although he supposed it could be sweat as well, a common symptom of the drug was a rising body temperature.

He felt a pull in the pit of his stomach to lean down and lick it from the valley between her breasts, and almost succeeded in denying it, but she whined, staring at him through heavy lids as if she still wasn’t done.

“Fucking hells…” he cussed, leaning in to drag his tongue flat across her perspirating skin. She tasted sweet, delicate and floral, and he didn’t have the heart to think his way around why exactly she tasted so good. He just knew he enjoyed it, so Alhaitham allowed himself to give a couple more licks before he stopped.

“Fuck!” Cyno exclaimed, still dealing with Tighnari and Kaveh a few meters away.

Kaveh was pantsless now, pulling at his own cock while he mouthed at Tighnari’s jawline. The fox was jerking the General off like a madman, holding out his tongue, waiting and drooling for Cynos release.

The pair of them staring up at him like that must’ve been too much, because Cyno bit down on his knuckles and came hard, coating both Tighnari and Kaveh in long white ropes with every stutter of his hips.

Tighnari swallowed what he’d managed to catch in his mouth and leaned to lick the remaining mess from Kaveh’s face and chest. Kaveh keened, his hand stroking himself faster as Tighnari nibbled over his nipples, and Elirah shuddered beneath Alhaitham as they watched Tighnari bite over the marks already lingering there.

“You like watching him, don’t you?” Alhaitham whispered, sitting her up and putting her in his lap, just as he had with Kaveh moments earlier.

She whined, nodding and watching the blond shiver and pull at his own cock more aggressively.

“Cyno,” Kaveh begged. “Cyno, kiss me.”

The general smiled, a little more calm now that his orgasm had faded, and leaned down to do just that.

Kaveh moaned into his mouth, whining desperately as Tighnari continued to suck and nip at him, making more marks across his pretty chest.

Elirah shuddered again as she watched the moment where Cyno bit at Kaveh’s lower lip, and the blond cried out, his hips jumping as he spilled into his hand and along Tighnari’s lap, who purred lavishly at the feeling of it, his cock still hard and throbbing, knot fully deflated.

“Good boy, Kaveh.” Cyno petted his hair, running his fingers through it affectionately. “You did so good, but I think someone’s waiting for you.”

Cyno’s eyes trailed behind him, and Kaveh turned and watched as Alhaitham hoisted Elirahs knees up to her chest, exposing her glistening core to the cavern.

Kaveh nearly drooled as he scrambled over, brain foggy and cock still throbbing with need.

Cyno busied himself with ridding Tighnari of his clothes, bending him over in the pile to work his fingers back into his ass as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him.

Alhaitham hooked Elirah’s knees over his arms as he reached forward for Kaveh, grabbing his cock and dragging it through her folds, shivering at the way they both keened in his control.

“Please,” Kaveh pushed at her core, and Alhaitham let go of his cock in favor of grabbing his hips to still them.

“Do you think you deserve it?” Alhaitham teased, pushing and pulling at his hips, dragging his aching cock across Elirah, her juices only aiding in the slide.

“I didn’t take you for a sadist, Alhaitham.” Cyno grinned, thrusting a third finger into Tighnari and watching darkly as the fox shuddered and squealed.

“Really?” Alhaitham huffed, his own small grin forming once more. “Because I read you as a brat tamer from day one, yet yours seems to be rather spoiled.”

“What can I say?” Cyno sighed, pulling his fingers from Tighnari. The fox whined, and then mewled as the General pressed the blunt head of his cock against his well prepared entrance. “He behaves more when he’s kept well fed.”

Cyno pushes his cock into Tighnari in one stroke, and the fox cries out, eyes bulging in their sockets. The general sets a brutal pace right away, slamming into the forest watcher with reckless abandon.

Alhaithams eyes watch darkly for a moment before he returns to his torturing of the two in his lap. He pulls at Kaveh faster, effectively forcing what he’s heard called a ‘pussyjob’ onto the blond.

Elirah cries out in his hold, Kaveh’s blunt cockhead pressing against her clit, making it throb and building her next release with each stroke.

“You're gonna make her cum again, Kaveh. How kind of you,” Alhaitham breathed, teasing the both of them. He was sure Elirah could feel his erection straining against his pants, but he could honestly care less about it, watching the two of them writhe in his hold was gratifying enough for now.

Kaveh whined, and the slaps of skin and cries from Tighnari grew, pulling the blond’s attention away.

Alhaitham moved a hand to grab Kaveh’s chin, pulling his gaze back in front of him. “You’ll look at her when she cums, Kaveh. Don’t be rude,” he demanded.

“Ahh,” Kaveh groaned, watching the way his straining cock slid between her folds with sloppy, imprecise thrusts.

“I’m…” Elirah whined. “I’m gonna…!”

Alhaitham watched as she jerked in his hold, his grip on Kaveh’s hips getting tighter as he stroked the blond through Elirahs orgasm, watching as he shuddered and his cock twitched and swelled.

Just as Elirah’s hit her peak, bordering into overstimulation, he pulled Kaveh back and angled his hips just a bit lower, making him enter her in one fluid motion.

They both squealed, and Elirah shuddered with a dull internal orgasm, her body so sensitive from the external orgasm she just went through.

Alhaitham guided Kaveh’s hips to rock in and out of her, and the blond gasped as he too came upon entry, his straining cock jumping as he pumped her full of his seed.

“Good,” Alhaitham breathed. “Keep going.”

They both whined, long and strained, but Kaveh’s hips began to rock on their own, and Elirah’s whine turned into a groan as their shared juices frothed in a messy ring at the base of Kaveh’s cock.

Cyno continued battering poor Tighnari’s ass with powerful thrusts, and Alhaitham noticed the pool of cum on the pile of clothes beneath Tighnari’s knees, and his already deflating knot.

He mentally noted Cynos impressive stamina, though he didn’t really want to think more on why he did that.

Cyno pulled Tighnari upright by the hair, and pressed his chest to the foxes back as he continued his pace.

“I’ll make you cum so hard you won’t have a single drop of it left in your system, Nari.”

The general reached around and squeezed at the remaining knot from Tighnari’s second orgasm, making the archer cry out pitifully.

“I’ll milk you fucking dry and then carry you home when your legs refuse to carry you themselves.” Cyno growled.

Kaveh shuddered in Alhaithams hold once more, his hips picking up their pace.

“Oh?” Alhaitham gripped his hips harder, making the blond moan out. “You like hearing them, don’t you, Kaveh?”

Alhaitham grinned over the blond’s shoulder at Cyno, who smiled and nipped at Tighnari’s jawline from behind. “Hear that Nari? Our audience loves to hear how much of a slut you are for me.”

Elirah cried out as Kaveh’s cock jumped inside her, his hips stuttering as his pace grew more sloppy.

“Kaveh’s just weak for anyone who talks filthy in his presence.” Alhaitham teased. “Doesn’t even have to be directed at him and he’s weak in the knees, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” Kaveh nodded frantically, “p-please— ‘haitham.”

“Oh?” Alhaitham hummed, teasing him more. “I thought it was Cyno’s words you were enjoying. Why don’t you beg him some more?”

Cyno laughed, picked up Tighnari and walked them to lay him down beside Elirah, who was still folded in half in Alhaithams lap, legs still draped over his arms as she took Kaveh’s thrusts with weak yet satisfied moans.

Cyno pulled out of Tighnari, flipping him and laying him on his back on the rock, entering him with a smooth thrust once more. Tighnari mewled once more, reaching out and grabbing at Alhaithams thigh before his hand found Elirahs, squeezing it tightly as Cyno returned to his relentless pace.

“C-Cyno…” Kaveh whined, looking embarrassed to even be speaking his name, even though he’d been sucking off the General but moments ago.

Cyno continued his thrusts, keeping one hand on Tighnari’s hip but reaching the other out to tuck a strand of hair behind Kaveh’s ear.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this Kaveh, you know that?” Cyno murmurs.

A shiver racks through the architect, and he keens, hips sputtering into Elirah once more.

Alhaitham grins wide now—a rare sight—watching it all with rapt attention, loving the way Kaveh melts into his grip, hips keeping in rhythm with his pushing and pulling.

Tighnari continued to moan and clutch at Elirah’s hand as if his life depended on it. Cyno kept fucking him with deep, powerful strokes as he murmured filthy nothings at Kaveh.

Kaveh cried out one final time, his hips stilling as he filled Eli once more, the feeling driving her towards another peak for herself.

She writhed in Alhaitham’s grasp, weak cries pulled pitifully from her chest as she gushed. The sight of both her and Kaveh must’ve set Tighnari off, because he too cried out, a particularly deep thrust of Cyno’s causing him to spray a weak splattering of cum all over his pale chest. His knot swelled half heartedly, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he seemed to lose consciousness for a moment.

Cyno groaned as he watched it all happen, and with a final deep thrust inside his partner he climaxed. He tried to bite back his sounds, but the deeply satisfied moans were still audible even through clenched teeth.

Kaveh collapsed onto Elirah, who weakly groaned as his softening cock slipped from her and their combined fluids rushed out of her and down her skin. Alhaitham released his hold on her, and watched affectionately as they both relaxed, the tension easing from their bodies as well as it could while they were still naked on his lap and the cold rock.

“Does Tighnari still have that really quick carrier bird?” Alhaitham said, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Cyno looked at him inquisitively, but nodded nonetheless.

Alhaitham nodded in satisfaction. “Good. I need to send a message.”

—

The moon was just peeking over the horizon as Aether found the cave. The message on Tighnari’s carrier bird was hastily written and contained just enough information to get him concerned enough to come right away.

He’d elected to leave Paimon behind at the inn, the letter seemed like some discretion was needed, and Paimon wasn’t exactly known for her closed mouth.

He ducked his way into the cave, following the sound of soft voices and a dull pink light to guide him.

The scene in front of him was… a lot, to say the least.

Kaveh laid flat on his back with his arms spread wide, shirtless in seemingly damp pants, his hair completely disheveled and stuck up in odd places.

Tighnari was curled up in a ball in the General Mahamatra’s lap, his shorts and undershirt clinging to his damp body as he shivered, yet seemed a lot more relaxed than Kaveh.

What really surprised him though, was the sight of Elirah being held bridal style in Alhaitham’s lap, her corset, gloves and boots piled neatly beside them as he wrapped her in his cloak, petting her hair and speaking in low tones to her. Though her eyes were closed, she had a delicate smile on her face, and Aether thought she looked rather peaceful.

Alhaitham noticed his presence at the mouth of the cavern, and nodded him over. Aether was surprised that he didn’t shove Elirah away in order to maintain their seemingly tumultuous relationship status from outsider eyes, but he supposed that something must have changed since the last time he saw them.

“You have the ability to use those ancient teleport waypoints, correct?” Alhaitham asked softly, as if not to wake Elirah. Aether initially thought she was just relaxing, but the steady rise and fall of her chest and slow heart rate were clear indicators that she was out cold.

“Yes, of course.” The traveler nodded.

“Can you, with the utmost discretion, get us to where we need to be? I’ll compensate you fairly in the morning, we just really need to get these three back to my house.”

Aether looked at the group again, and it wasn’t just Elirah who was asleep. Kaveh looked as though his life force had been drained from him, and his eyes rolled around as he stared up at the ceiling. Tighnari was out cold like Eli, purring softly in Cyno’s arms even as he shivered every few moments.

“Can I… can I ask what happened?” Aether blinked in the pale glow of the flowers, looking to Alhaitham for an explanation.

“You see those flowers?” Alhaitham pointed to the soft, glowing plants behind them.

“Don’t ever touch them. Ever. If they happen to get you with their pollen, you find one of us, or someone else you’d trust with your life and dignity, yes?”

Aether scrunched his brow, but nodded.

Alhaitham sighed. “I’ll explain more when we get to my house, but for now, we should really move.”

“Alright.” Aether moved to hoist Kaveh up. “Let’s get moving then.”

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