#i hope you enjoy seeing the process of this ^^

[novthirty]

🐦‍⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [chapter four]

synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”

pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader

tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn, grief, mourning, loss

a/n — we have finally reached the long awaited reader crashout and are nearing the end… i hope you all enjoy! this chapter was fucking with me for so long and i wanted to take my time rather than under deliver. this story means a lot to me and i’m trying my best to make sure it pays off well<33 but still, 18k words was not easy to edit so please don't mind any slight errors 😓 also, caleb came home in 30 pulls so do expect a birthday fic coming soon ~ (whether it'll be on time for his birthday is the question...)

ao3 | masterlist | series masterlist | part three | part five [coming soon]

chapter four: inevitable — it’s hard to shine when you’re standing between the sun and the moon. wc: 18.6k

The hunter’s arrival is no more than a whisper within the N109 Zone. 

Sylus has kept the truth of her existence under lock and key, hiding his weakness under steel and chainmail. As far as the world knows, his interest lies in the protocore attached to her heart — and he plans to keep it that way. Biding his time, preparing for the day he carefully steps into her life.

But, like the force of nature she was, the hunter manages to find her own way in.

He’s the image of cool confidence as he’s informed of her capture in enemy hands, draping a blazer atop his shoulders and instructing the twins to start the car. “Will you be able to hold the fort on your own?” He asks.

But you can see the barest tremor in his hands, the tension in his shoulders, the rising fear of losing her before he even gets to see her with his own two eyes.

“You can count on me.”

This is the only peace you can offer him in the midst of this chaos. 

His eyes continue to linger, as if time wasn’t of the essence. Little words have been exchanged between the two of you since the hunter came into the picture. And for a moment, you think he might say something (please, say something). But all he does is grip your shoulder as if to ground himself, nodding in a silent ‘thank you’ before he leaves. 

The door shuts behind him. 

You know how this story goes. It was only a matter of time before he reunited with his lover in this life, before the story would continue along its tracks and catch you in the crossfire. 

Your search for a way home had become painfully futile. You’d think a world altered by the discovery of the Deepspace Tunnel would have more answers to the truth of your presence here, but your search had dug up nothing. Wormholes, dimensional travel, transmigration; from the philosophical to the scientific, all paths led to dead ends. 

You sit listless in your chair, fiddling with the necklace Sylus gave you as you wait for your life to be thrown into chaos. 

Staring into the metropolitan abyss of the N109 Zone, you sometimes like to imagine what sylus sees. An ant-like web of crimes and deceit, of power-hungry folks looking to get ahead and eat each other alive in the process. But all you ever see is a world beyond your understanding. And here, you wonder where you fit in this ecosystem; what your presence has done to change the story. 

You burst into terrible, broken laughter.

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. 

You were but a drop of water in the ocean. There was nothing that you, with no worth or significance to your name, could do to make more than a solitary ripple.

And so, you keep your longings locked and your love as just thoughts, as you wait in bated breath for the story and their fated reunion to begin.

—————————————————————

“Where are you taking me?” Her voice is biting as the twins bring her to the room you’ve prepared. Ornate, spacious, and windowless, just as Sylus asked. A gilded cage with an open door. You don’t see her but her rage rings through the corridors, something that feels almost like a hallucination after having stepped in her shoes, reading the story you once adored.

Her arrival is a marker of the story catching up to you, of time catching up to you. A reminder that you do not belong in this world. 

In the next few days, you become a quiet observer of this tale, watching their fractured reunion play out.

“What makes you think I'd ever be willing to help you?” She snapped at Sylus after their third failure at resonance, a sad attempt at a threat when she lay exhausted, slumped in the fancy chair in his study.

“You don’t exactly have a choice, sweetie. As you can see —” He gestures to the opulent surroundings, “— you’re in my territory.”

You roll your eyes. Trust Sylus to make a shit first impression, even to the supposed love of his life.

You keep to the sidelines, going about your typical routine. But your curiosity gets the better of you on the second day, when you offer to bring the hunter her food. 

You can’t help but imagine being in her shoes right now; kidnapped by the man she believes to have destroyed her home and killed her family. To an extent, you think it might not be so different to how you felt, first arriving here.

So, you decide to reach out. Maybe gain her trust and coax her into eating and regaining her strength. Food is the way to the heart, after all. At dinner time, you bring a tray to her room, knocking on the door and calling her name.

“Who's there?” She asks from the other side of the door, wariness lacing her voice. 

You introduce yourself, “It’s me, Sylus's secretary. Aren’t you hungry?” You soften your voice, treating her with the gentleness you would a cornered animal, but you’re met with silence. Concern gnaws at you, “You haven’t eaten in twenty four hours.”

She scoffs, the sound muffled by the barrier between you two. “What, isn’t that your plan? Starve me til’ I’m too weak to escape and resist Sylus's demands?”

You stop in your tracks, puzzled. “Escape? You know you can leave, right? No one’s going to stop you.” Even the door was unlocked. But you believed knocking was a basic form of respect, unwilling visitor or not.

She stays tight-lipped for the next few moments, so you continue, “Not that you’d get any further than a couple blocks, what with vultures hanging around the compound at all hours of the day—” Your spiel is cut off as she suddenly swings the door open, doing a double take at the sight of you.

It’s clear she sees the resemblance just as you had, her face contorting from defensiveness to stunned confusion. But for you, seeing her in the flesh only refuted any idea of similarity between the two of you.

Haggard and bruised, the hunter still manages to shine in the gritty underbelly of the N109 Zone.

When you first saw her face projected in the hologram, the likeness was unmistakable. The shape of your eyes, the slope of your nose, and the barely-there difference in the color of your hair and complexion. Anyone could have mistaken the two of you as cousins, maybe even siblings. But standing in front of her now, the difference has become clear as day.

You can’t help but understand how so many have fallen head over heels, enthralled by her and her character. In the shadow of her energy and vivacious presence, you could only look dim in comparison. Standing beside Sylus was no small feat — one that you’d failed to live up to, looking nondescript and ordinary at the side of the most powerful man in the N109 Zone. 

But of course, she fits like the missing piece to his puzzle. The dragon and the sorceress, now the criminal and the hunter. You try not to feel inferior, tamping down the jealousy and pettiness festering within you, but it’s hard to shine when you’re standing between the sun and the moon.

The initial surprise dissipates, and she eyes you with the mistrust expected of a kidnapee twice-over. You extend the tray towards her as a sign of good will, “Eat it while it’s still hot.”

“...How do I know it’s not poisoned?”

You huff, taking a quick bite. “Happy now?” 

She snatches the tray and slams the door behind her in one quick motion. You click your tongue; so much for gaining her trust. 

—————————————————————

Time had dulled your memory of how awful their first meeting truly was. 

Really, what was Sylus thinking? You wonder as he treats his treasured soulmate so… menacingly. 

You’ve become a bystander to the motions of the story you’re familiar with; the failed resonance, her disdain for him, and his absolute lack of tact in interacting with her. With his every word coated in menace and veiled threats, you’re wondering if Sylus was even thinking at all. Was he like this when you two first met? You try to recall as you get the ick from his unexpected hostility.

You want to know what’s running through his mind, what possessed him to think this was the appropriate way to go about this. But since the hunter’s arrival, your time with him had become even more scarce, any moment together cut off by his work or your urgency to leave. 

Guilt washes over you each time you see his face drop, when you make another hasty escape from facing him. But you cling on to the belief that this was necessary, to give you both space to adjust to the hunter’s presence, and for you to learn to live with the fact that he was not yours.

The two return from the workshop, and you stride into the office to give your daily secretarial report — only to find him hunched at his desk with a glass of wine, staring vacantly into the skyline of the N109 Zone.

In the dimly lit office, his eyes, shrouded by the shadows, give away nothing. But you catch the way his shoulders tense, his fingers clenching the stem of the glass. 

“Sylus?” You call out gently, announcing your presence with audible footsteps as you approach him, breaking your internal promise to keep your distance. But you could only hold out this one-sided silence for so long, weak in the face of his vulnerability. 

He calls your name with a weary tone, “Do me a favor and tell the informant I won't be meeting him today.”

“Are you okay? What happened?” You take slow steps in approaching him.

He fiddles with the stem of his wine glass as he releases a low, bitter laugh, “Well… it seems that our dearest hunter fears me. It was not any bodily dysfunction or injury that was preventing us from resonating, but rather her disgust.”

She captured his heart, bound his soul to hers, and now has no recollection of any of it. Detests him to the point her evol rejects his. 

You feign ignorance to the story beats you remember, “Well, it’s only been so long since you’ve met her again… If she’s still the same person, her memories of you are still there, deep down.”

“As if the world hasn’t made me wait long enough.” 

You don’t know what to say to that — heart torn between feeling bruised and feeling sadness for him.

“I'd like to be alone.” He takes a deep breath, a subtle command as returns his gaze to the skyline, guarding his vulnerability, unwilling to bare more of his weaknesses than he already has.

The world sees Sylus as an unstoppable force, as the supreme authority in the criminal underworld. But though the dragon may be fierce and capable, the human underneath was just that — a human. One that got frustrated, whose skin bruised, who had weaknesses that he guarded with veiled ferocity. But somehow, somewhere along the way, he’d chosen to strip the curtains of that vulnerability to you.

Maybe in another world, you would have taken him into your arms, refused to leave him as he quietly fell apart. But in this reality, it was no longer your place to do so. As it was, he had promised his heart to another, leaving yours too tender to comfort his.

The only peace you could offer him now was the privacy to crumble in solitude.

Still, you couldn’t bear to leave him so quietly. “You’re not a hard person to love. You know that, right?” You whisper, a quiet admission of your feelings. For all his gruff and intimidating nature, it was not his power, money, or looks that earned him your affection. But rather, all the softness he guards from the harsh world he lives in.

You shut the door before he can acknowledge you, trying to wipe the mental image of his conflicted expression. You mute his email for the next hour, redirecting it to your inbox, offering him a brief moment of peace to ruminate in his thoughts.

You laugh silently, bitterly to yourself, for giving so much of yourself for a man who was devoted to another. Despite having been set aside, you still can’t help but show your love for him in the only way you know how. (In the only way you can).

And you wonder to yourself: could you ever touch the part of him that hurts? One of the most powerful men in this world, having his world shaken by the hunter’s disdain. If it were your spite, your hurt that he faced, would it even feel close to the gravity he feels now? 

You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. 

You had found yourself in the deep end, and it was high time to swim back to shore, to back out of this one-sided race. Because you may have received his affection, but you will never receive the depth of his devotion.

—————————————————————

Hostility melts into mischievous affection as the hunter’s dynamic with Sylus takes a sudden pivot into unfamiliar territory. The visit to the shopkeeper marked a turning point in their relationship as Sylus came to his senses, and their relationship evolved for the better. The truth to their tied souls, you think, as you bear witness to the connection quickly blossoming between them.

You’re fine. Really, you are. 

(At least, that’s what you tell yourself each time you see the soft smile on his face, melting in adoration for the hunter.)

You stop avoiding him, after catching a glimpse of the vulnerability he attempts to hide. His face lights up whenever you approach him, breaking the silence you kept for so long. And not for the first time, you feel guilt wash over you for how you added to his existing turmoil.

But still, you’re left wondering about your place in his life now that the hunter has arrived. 

The pages turn one after another as the two of you fall back into old routines, nurturing the friendship and camaraderie you built over the past year. But not everything stays the same.

You maintain your boundaries, keeping your nightmares and worries to yourself — settling for long, lonely nights, when the alternative is setting yourself up for a painful road. 

One night, you find a rare moment of peace in the recent chaos. The two of you battle over this world’s version of Monopoly in a high-stakes, cutthroat bet to determine who will have the first taste of Luke and Kieran’s slightly… dubious creation in the kitchen.  

They had taken up a class in baking after catching you one too many times in the dead of the night, making midnight snacks. A fact which warmed your heart, at first, until you realized that neither twin has ever touched a stove in their lives. The clanging of pots and shouts coming from the kitchen only serve to fill you with dread. 

You try your best, but eventually resign yourself to your fate. You know a lost cause when you see it. You didn’t exactly expect death by food poisoning, but when you think about it, it wasn’t a bad way to go.

“Can’t you let this poor salaryman pass through? Just this once?” You pout on the second hour of playing this stupid board game, putting on your best puppy eyes as you implore him to pity your little player.

“That wouldn’t be fair to you, sweetie.” He smiles as you begrudgingly hand over the play money for landing on his property.

His attention is focused solely on you, a rarity since the hunter’s arrival. But even with the scarce time you’ve spent together, you can’t pretend not to have noticed the growing bags under his eyes, the constant furrow in his brow. He’s handled the chaos in the N109 Zone with the stride of a man who knows his word is law; but at the expense of his own health and rest.

In perfect timing, the game ends just as the twins exit the kitchen, dressed in matching aprons and holding a plate of mini strawberry shortcakes. You end up losing, as expected, but Sylus is a good sport — taking a bite right alongside you. 

It’s… not bad at all, especially for a beginner. A little wonky and undercooked in the middle, the edges slightly burnt. But it’s edible. “Not bad,” You say — and immediately correct yourself, “Not that I thought it would be! But it’s good. Better than my first go at it, at least.” You leave out the age you were when you first touched an oven — all worth it to see their eyes shining from your praise.

”Awe, thanks, Miss Secretary! It was all in a day’s work,” Luke grins as he fixes his crooked apron. 

Of course, Sylus is Sylus. Eliciting his praise is like pulling out teeth. “It’s… acceptable, I’ll admit,” He says with a satisfied hum. 

Still, it’s enough for the twins to celebrate with a high five, “Hell yeah!”

The four of you clear half the tray, before bidding the twins good night, the two  suddenly tired from the sugar crash. “Amateurs,” You tease. They probably kept taste-testing the ingredients.

“I hadn't expected baking to become such an… outlet of energy for them.” Sylus comments, stealing a strawberry from your piece. You retaliate by getting a scoop of his whipped cream. 

“Well, most people I know started baking as some sort of distraction or stress relief,” You eat a forkful of cake and nod in approval. Every storm in your life has been followed by the creation of more pastries than you could possibly eat. “If it distracts them from the pranks, then I wholeheartedly approve!” You cheerily stake your fork into the air.

“Knowing the twins, they’ll just find a way to incorporate it,” He eyes the kitchen doors skeptically, not wanting their mischief to bleed into the food they eat.

With all the sugar you just consumed, it was clear you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. “Wanna clear this batch with me? Before they go and stock the fridge with the rest of their projects.”

“I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check on that,” He says as he puts on his blazer again, standing up from the dining table.

“Hm? But there wasn’t anything on the calendar, last I checked. Did I miss —”

You’ve already brought out your phone to view the shared calendar when he explains, “I’ll be meeting with the hunter regarding a little… deal, that she’s brokered.” He leans down to match your height and ruffles your hair. “Don’t worry, Miss Secretary. Your schedule’s still intact.”

You roll your eyes, trying to muster a smile as you remind him, “Be nice.”

He raises an eyebrow, “When am I not?” Tch. When is he ever? 

Soon, you settle in the silence of an empty kitchen — and the thought of more cake doesn’t sound so appealing anymore. It’s never easy hearing of the two spending time together, much less seeing them in the penthouse everyday. But you’d rather have a friendship with Sylus than nothing at all. And you can only hope that with time, one day, it won’t hurt at all anymore. 

For a brief period of time, you have hope of that possibility. You think if you hold these boundaries in place and protect your friendship, things might just return to normal. Even if it means the end to anything more.  

That is, until the arrival of the auction.

The Solon Hotel celebrates its 15th annual auction, a Myriad of Nights. The crinkled invitation has been pinned to your corkboard for months, a dreaded reminder of all the preparations you needed to make.

The event has kept you on your toes; dutifully studying the list of guests, keeping an eye on keen bidders and Onychinus rivals. This auction is one of the N109 Zone’s most important events of the year, with the grossly rich and the violently powerful alike having a stake in this auction.

One week before the auction, Sylus strolls into the office, a sly smile plastered on his face, “I come bearing good news.”

You roll out your chair to face him. Without missing a beat, you ask, “A raise? World peace? Luke and Kieran outgrowing their terrible twos?”

“I'm not a miracle worker,” He smirks at that last one. “No, I've come to tell you that you’ve been granted a night off on the 17th.” 

“The 17th?” You question — and he amusedly spins your chair before striding over to his desk, ready to start the work day. But you’re left dazed, stopping the wheel as you pull up the shared digital calendar, confirming your suspicions. “But that’s the night of the auction.”

“Miss Hunter will be covering for you.”

“Oh?” Your face falls in an obvious dismay you can’t hide. 

The auction. Like many things from the story that have become hazy over time, the auction had slipped your mind. With how far back preparations had started, you completely overlooked its connection with the hunter’s arrival.

“She has her own agenda for the night,” He continues, “One that promises bloodshed. So, I want you to rest easy for the night. Take a well deserved break.”

By all accounts, you should be glad. You can’t blame him for making this decision, as you vocally detest going to these events. It’s easily the least enjoyable part of your job. But even with the foreknowledge you had, the thought of her taking your place weighs like a heavy brick in your stomach.

He realizes you’re not exactly pleased. “You can still come if you’d like to, of course,” He’s quick to assure you. “I thought you might enjoy the night off since you despise dealing with these affairs. I didn’t take you for being such a workaholic,” He chuckles affectionately, motioning to ruffle your hair — but you pull away, a little too abruptly.

You see his face fall, and you quickly brush it off and pretend to be unaffected, “Ah, ah, ah — no can do, slave driver!” You dramatically make a letter X with your arms. “You can’t take away a day off once you’ve given it.”

He rolls his eyes, but the concern doesn’t leave his face as he tries to coax you into opening up, eyes filled with a quiet honesty, “There’s no need to pretend like you’re not bothered by this. I know you’ve worked hard for this event.”

“Sylus, you don’t need to worry about me. You have bigger fish to fry. Besides, why would I be bothered by a day off?” You try to play it off. 

He sighs, accepting that you’re not going to talk about this any further. “Well, you know that there’s no one who can do your job better, right?” He places a hand on your shoulder, “I just don’t want you getting caught in the trouble that’s bound to ensue.”

You muster a smile, “Of course. After all, what would you do without your dearest secretary?”

He smirks, mind flashing to a night that now feels further than the sun. “Descend into chaos, no doubt.”

As though you were a scorned lover, you watch them from the mezzanine of the penthouse, dressed in your frilly pajamas and sipping a hot mug of tea as they leave dressed to the nines. The criminal and the hunter, two souls cut from the same cloth.

As much as it hurts you to stay behind, there was no way you would be able to stomach the picture perfect image of them together.

“Ready?” He offers his arm with the mannerisms of a perfect escort.

“It's showtime.”

“You lovebirds leaving without me?” You can’t help but be a little dramatic and interrupt their moment — though, Sylus definitely sensed your presence long before they entered. “Could’ve saved me a dance, at least.”

The hunter’s face scrunches in disdain at the mention of lovebirds, but she quickly recovers. “Oh, I think there’ll be more than just dancing, Miss Secretary,” She cheekily lifts the slit of her dress, showing a peek of the pistol strapped to her thigh. 

Despite already knowing they’ll have a safe return, your brows knit in worry, “Stay safe out there, you two.”

“You know we can’t promise that — but we’ll make a good effort,” Sylus smirks at you, a hint of concern in his eyes at the idea of leaving you behind.

You nod, a silent way of saying you’ll be okay. You wave goodbye and the hunter returns it eagerly, having warmed up to you in the past week. But the concerned, knowing look never leaves Sylus's face until they depart. 

The elevator doors slide shut, and it feels like a coffin closing over your heart. 

You laugh at how dramatic you’re being as you hold back a slight tear. It’s just an auction, you keep telling yourself. But it’s not the auction, isn’t it? It was seeing her take your place, and knowing this won’t be the last time.

You pick yourself back up, resolving to make the most of your night off. You make yourself comfortable in the living room, blanket and couch all to yourself, a movie running as background noise as you try to distract yourself with all sorts of hobbies. But you find yourself listless, unable to keep your mind focused on one thing.

The movie ends, and it becomes quiet.

With Sylus gone and the twins on a mission, the silence becomes all consuming. You leave a light on for when they return, trekking through opulent hallways until you reach your room, where once again, you stare into the city skyline stretching out into the distance. 

There’s rarely ever an opportunity to be alone in the Onychinus base. But when you are, it never ends well. You used to be able to appreciate solitude in your old world, but maybe you’ve become a little spoiled here, in receiving the constant companionship you had once lived without as a student living away from home. 

Here, solitude is when the lines between your dreams and reality begin to blur. Hours dazed in the possibilities of the past, the possibilities of a world where you had stayed. Graduated, diploma in hand as your family stands proudly at your side. Starting your career, devoting your passion to the field you love.

In comparison, this place feels like a lovely yet imprisoning dream. You’re fascinated by the wonders of the world you live in now, but each day that passes is a reminder of your place — or rather, lack thereof — in this world. A reminder of losses beyond comprehension. The loss of chance. The loss of possibility. No opportunity for you to grow, no winding path to change and evolve. And you ask yourself: are you even living?

This world feels like dreaming in a far-too-long nap. And not for the first time, you want to wake up from it.

It's currently March, the last of the winter chill before the snow melts, marking more than a year since your arrival. You feel like a broken record, looping back to the same hurts in an endless loop of grief; your doomed love, severed home, rootless soul. You can no longer fool yourself into thinking you can continue like this. You can no longer pretend to have a reason to stay.

You need to spare yourself from this grief, before it consumes you. 

—————————————————————

The auction reaches a chaotic conclusion, one that is whispered about through the N109 Zone for weeks after. You feel the ripples of their actions even from the safety of your office. Luke and Kieran are sent to clean house at The Nest. Meanwhile, you’re swamped with associates from Onychinus’s complex web of loyalties, scrambling to reclaim their spot in Sylus's good graces in light of the recent power struggle. 

Eventually, the dust settles. The pages of the calendar turn as the snow melts and warmth pours into the Onychinus base. And alongside the sunshine is Miss Hunter, whose presence becomes a permanent fixture in the penthouse.

It has only been a year since your arrival in this world, but your life has been completely upended, you think. From being a broke, burned out college student, to a tired secretary and mother of three. 

Who were those three children, one may ask?

“Miss Secretary!” You poke your head out to see what the fuss was all about, hearing the twins snickering not too far away. The hunter stomps her way to your room, face cringed and seething in disgust. “Luke and Kieran gave me a cookie filled with toothpaste!”

“Ah — see, your first mistake there was trusting anything they gave you.”

Luke and Kieran warmed up extremely quickly to the hunter, as they did in the story. They enjoyed her presence around the base, but you couldn’t tell if it was more for her personality or the fact they had a new target for their trickery. A part of you was relieved; it meant you were no longer on their roster of victims (not that they particularly like pranking you, as you stare them down in disappointment each time). But their determination to mess with the hunter was going to send you into an early grave. 

“I didn't even know they could feed themselves, let alone bake,” She pouted, crossing her arms. “In fact, they told me you made them!”

Ah. “Well… there may be some truth to that…” Your voice descends in volume to hide your guilt, but the hunter manages to hear quite clearly. 

“You knew about it, and you didn’t tell me?” She gasps, face contorting into mock betrayal. “I can't believe you had it in you to be this… deceitful!”

In your defense, they had only asked you for baking lessons on how to make a cookie sandwich. You had no part in the actual crime. (Though, you may have turned a blind eye at them squeezing toothpaste in the frosting bag. Your patience can only go so far.)

As penance and apology, you promise to bake her actual, edible cookies in return for the monstrosity she just ingested, when you suddenly have a stroke of genius. “I wonder if they have any left.” Your face contorts into a shit-eating grin, “Don’t you think Sylus would appreciate a sweet treat right about now?”

The two of you cackle and rope the twins into it, sending Miss Hunter as the messenger. (He sees right through your ploy, but still takes a bite because she’s the one offering.)

So maybe you’re not as mature as you preach to be. However, your headaches aren’t exclusive to the humans in the penthouse. 

Mephisto's permanent return to the base was a spark of joy in the bleak few months you’ve had, as he’s released from the duty of monitoring the hunter 24/7. It surprised you how much you missed the crow, realizing you’d taken his presence as one of your constant companions for granted.

The first week after his return, he sticks to your side like glue. Displeased at the hunter’s continued presence, continuing to report about her to you. Each time he catches her with Sylus he goes to show you the footage — almost like a son tattling on his father’s misdeeds. It’s a sweet gesture; clearly he’s smarter than given credit for, enough to decipher why you’ve been so downtrodden in the recent weeks. But as much as you appreciate his concern, you’re also not a masochist.

“What is it, Mephie?” You groan, abruptly woken after three grueling hours of trying to fall asleep. You would have thrown hands had you not discovered Mephisto, flapping his wings urgently.

He pecks at your cheek, showing you a hologram of Sylus and the hunter in his room, shoulders pressed together in a close proximity you were not prepared to see. “What, you want me to do something about it?” He flaps his wings in earnest, and you promptly turn around to bury your head in the pillow.

“It's none of my business!” You stubbornly burrow yourself under the blanket as he continues to squawk, “I don't want to know about the time they spend together, okay? It’s just rubbing salt into the wound.” You groggily explain, voice muffled by the pillow.

You didn’t need Mephisto to report on them — you already knew Sylus spent all his free time with her. As recalling her memories was a long shot, he turned his efforts to slowly build up their relationship again. What were once free slots in his calendar are suddenly blocked with the simple notes of ‘Miss Hunter.’ Your work dynamic has never been more out of sync, with his adjustments to the hunter’s daytime schedule after you had originally adjusted to his nights. Gone are the nights you could find him downstairs, spending the night chatting away your fears. Now, all you find are the lights turned off and a motorcycle gone from the garage.

Your voice must have taken a sad turn as the crow whimpers, nuzzling his beak into your neck to comfort you, almost like an apology. “It's okay, I know you just wanted to help.”

You let him roost on your bedside drawers, watching as he mechanically shuts down to rest. Mephisto's presence usually helps you fall asleep but tonight, you sigh as you resign yourself to a night of overthinking.

For a while, you thought that Mephie’s grudge against the hunter was one-sided. A rebellious phase, like a son’s poor reaction to his father’s new partner. So imagine your surprise when you realized she returned the sentiment.

You’re knitting on the couch, nodding along and reacting accordingly to Mephie’s squawks and accusatory pointing of his wings to the disgruntled hunter across the room.  

“She said that? Oh, I’m so sorry you had to hear that…” You dramatically cater to the crow’s concerns, “I'll talk to her for you, don’t you worry.”

“Sylus should’ve fed him to the wolves,” The hunter pokes her tongue out at the crow, who squawks in horror. “Of all the adorable, fluffy, non-feathered pets he could’ve had —”

“Ah, ah, he’s not a pet,” You correct her to appease the bird who looks as if steam is about to leave his butt. “He’s the best reconnaissance agent we have at Onychinus. Aren’t you, Mephie?” You coo at him and he flaps his wings in agreement. 

But of all the changes the hunter’s arrival brought to your life, the most unexpected development was your friendship with her.

In hindsight, it was no surprise. She may be a hunter — cutthroat and fearless, storming into the N109 Zone, wreaking havoc in the city’s most powerful crime syndicate — but you find there’s a certain bond between all freshly graduated college students. A little burned out, a little lost in life. Your similarities run deeper than your appearances, finding common ground in interests and life experiences despite having come from two different worlds.

She turns to you as a refuge within Onychinus, and in the process, she becomes yours. 

Although you loved your newfound family, a year spent with only them had perhaps led you to become a little stir crazy. You almost forgot how it was to interact with normal people your age, as your current situation and job didn’t leave you with a lot of room to feel carefree. But the hunter steps in as a breath of fresh air, taking you along on her various escapades.

“What, leaving without me?” Sylus asks with a touch of playful offense, when the hunter arrives at the Onychinus headquarters — not for him, but for you, to his comical surprise. You can see the silent question in his eyes as they flit between the two of you, and you shrug.

“Yes, now go shoo,” The hunter flicks her wrist, motioning for him to leave as she grins and slings an arm over your shoulder. “It's just me and Miss Secretary today.” 

This had all began when the hunter had been rambling about Kitty Cards, and you had stupidly made the off-hand comment, “Oh yeah, I’ve never played that before.” 

It wasn’t a lie; the real life edition of the game would be a vastly different experience to the virtual one. But the appalled look on her face sent waves of regret coursing through you, as she immediately booked a session at her favorite cat cafe.

Of course, Sylus still manages to pull one on you as you’re promptly greeted by two bodyguards from the pool of new initiates.

Your jaw drops as you turn to him, “Excuse me, do you not trust me to go out on my own?” 

“It's not you that I don't trust,” His gaze drifts over to the hunter, who glares at him in offense. “Our dear hunter, on the other hand, has a talent for finding trouble.” 

The hunter in question scoffs, “Well, why else do you think I keep you around?” She tilts her head cheekily at him, as he rolls his eyes, breathing an affectionate sigh.

Like always, it’s a casual punch to the gut. 

His gaze travels to you (almost knowing, you think) but you brush it aside and keep the neutral expression on your face. “Let’s wrap it up, you two.” You walk forward, lightly shoving your shoulder against Sylus’s, interrupting their moment. A rare moment of pettiness from you, but you think you’re entitled to it every now and then. “Shall we go? I’d like to see the Linkon sun before nightfall.”

You spend the day in Linkon where she crushes your ass repeatedly, and you’re not even offended. You were only here to see the cats, after all. It’s the perfect duo; she’s way too competitive and you don’t care about winning at all — the best of both worlds as you share the winnings, anyway, at the badge counter.

In your small world consisting of your newfound family at Onychinus, you appreciate the new friend you’ve made. An appreciation that surpasses any of the petty jealousy you may have. Time spent with the hunter means the opportunity to be a little less mature, to be silly in a way you haven’t been in a long time. You appreciate the brief reprieve, as this world has forced you to remain at 100% — keeping you at constant guard in the wake of your transmigration. 

Alongside kitty cards, she introduces you to the pop culture in this world, something you were never given a glimpse of in the game. One afternoon, you two decide to steal a set of speakers from Sylus’s study, putting on a playlist she made after learning how little you knew of mainstream music.

You’re sitting on the floor of your room, surrounded by papers as she switches the song to a soft acoustic track. “I like this one,” you comment, making a mental note to add the artist to your own playlist. 

“You don’t know them? Huh, I guess I shouldn't be surprised since you didn’t know any of the fifteen others before this…” You laugh awkwardly as she sends you the link, murmuring a soft thanks. “Did you grow up under a rock?”

“Something like that. I grew up really far from Linkon, it’s like an entirely different world there.” It wasn’t a lie. 

She never questions you further than that, to your relief. “You know, three months ago I wouldn't have dared to step into sylus’s study unless my life was at stake,” The hunter reminisces, sprawled out on your bed. “But here we are, committing casual theft.”

“You’ll learn over time he’s not as scary as he thinks he is. Especially when it comes to you. You could — I don’t know, spill your coffee on his desk, or stage a revolt against him in Onychinus, and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.”

She rolls her eyes, but you can see the faint blush coating her cheeks. “You’re exaggerating. Honestly, I was scared shitless when I first met him. Don’t tell him that,” She stares you down, and you motion to zip your mouth closed. “But I guess he’s not that bad, the more I get to know him…” 

You smile, partly out of affection and partly out of bitterness. The hunter is so obviously smitten, and you know it’s only a matter of time before she opens her heart to him.

By all means, you should be happy for them. You should be happy that your dearest friend in this world is finally getting the love and happiness he desires, that he deserves. You promised to back out of this unspoken race and let the story continue as intended — but here and now, fiddling with the beautiful necklace given to you many moons ago, you realize you have a habit of clutching onto things for far too long.

Long after the hunter leaves, you shuffle papers and calendars around to an unnecessary degree of perfection, lingering on these thoughts. Your friends, your family, your dreams, had made up the beautiful, imperfect mess that was your life. But here, beyond the walls of this place, the sad reality was there was little reason for you to stay. Little reason for you to live.

And you wonder, when she finally takes the place you hold in Sylus’s life, in Onychinus — what will be left for you in this world? 

—————————————————————

Early April showers take over the dark skies of the N109 Zone, a soft drizzle pattering against the windows of Sylus’s main office. It's a slow day, spring taking its course as Onychinus returns to a new normal with the hunter.

Stoic and focused he may seem, but Sylus’s mind is anywhere but work, drifting to the hunter and their blossoming relationship. He’s taken any and all opportunities to spend time with her. His schedule — once filled with free nights and weekends spent cozily in the penthouse — are booked back to back in any free moment he and the hunter can spare. His text messages, typically relegated to his work, become full of silly little moments as she continues to take a larger place in his life.

It’s what he wanted, isn’t it? 

So why does he feel his heart fall every time he sees the distance that’s grown between you two?

It's the 17th of April, and despite the little time you’ve spent together, he knows you already have something planned for his birthday. You haven’t breathed a word about it, but he knows that you would refuse to let it go uncelebrated, if the twins’ hushed scheming around him isn’t enough to go by.

He rests his chin on his hand, scrutinizing you, as if he could read your mind if he tried hard enough. You type away on your computer like a machine, so focused that it takes an awfully time before your eyes drift over to him, a bit alarmed at the intensity of his staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason at all,” He barely holds back the smirk threatening to curl at his lips. 

He can practically see the thoughts running through your head. Is he mad? Is he planning something? Can he read my mind? Until you finally look away with a resigned sigh. 

He chuckles under his breath, thinking he’s ready for whatever you have planned, when the door swings open, revealing the hunter — who was supposedly busy with work today — on a surprise visit.

“Knock knock!” She raps her knuckles against the open door, “Good evening, Miss Secretary! Or — good morning, I guess, for the both of you?”

“Did I say you could come in?” Sylus asks with his typical drawled snark.

She scoffs, throwing a smile at you before occupying his visitor’s chair, crossing her legs and making herself comfortable. “Is that any way to greet your favorite hunter, who’s so kindly come to you since you’ve been busy all week?”

He narrows his eyes, “You want something from me.” A statement, not a question. 

She sticks her tongue out at him, having clocked her immediately before she even got a word in. “A little birdie may have told me that you own an RX–116 —”

“You’re not riding it.” The answer comes automatically, eyes mechanically returning to the paperwork he’d been previously neglecting. 

“You haven’t even let me explain why…!”

“Alright, tell me. Why should I let you take Treasure — my most cherished motorcycle — out on a reckless joyride into the N109 Zone?” He crosses his arms, patiently waiting for her answer.

“Because you’re a fun–loving soul at heart, who values the happiness of his friends?” Her tone is light, fingers crossed, only to receive his deadpan stare. She huffs, “Oh, come on. I promise I'll be careful. What if you drive? If Miss Secretary can survive it, I definitely could!”

His eyes drift over to you, and you barely glance up from your screen, deigning him with a shrug. “Sorry, she asked.” He continues to stare intently at you, a silent plea he hopes you’d understand if only you’d just look up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“…No meetings? Deadlines? Overdue paperwork? Tell me what’s on my schedule today.”

You grant him an almost knowing smile, rolling your eyes. “Since when have you cared about paperwork?” Still, you flick through the digital calendar, lazily pretending to indulge his request. “No, there’s nothing keeping you. You’re free from the clutches of work. For today,” You emphasize that last part as a subtle threat.

Still, he continues to look at you skeptically — it’s almost like he wants you to hand him more work. “I mean it, go have fun. Take a break. Since when did you care so much about skipping work?” He can almost hear you muttering, “The privileges of being a rich bastard…” as you breathe a tired sigh. 

It's true that Sylus's position affords him the privilege of passing up on the workday for his whims. Whether it be upgrading Mephisto, waiting on online auctions for vintage records, or in this case, a day out with the hunter.

It unnerves him, this side of you. Despite the stark gap in power between you, you’ve never failed to scold and banter with him, thumping him on the head more than a few times after he’d neglected the calendar. But lately, you’ve been almost… complacent with him, as if you’ve accepted something inevitable.

It's a jarring realization when he thinks about how little time he’s spent with you since the hunter’s return. Especially considering how close you had grown, how you’d spent almost every free moment with him before. A part of him knows that for one reason or another, you’ve kept your distance, and he hates it — but at the same time, the hunter was slowly opening her heart to him.

But were you really going to let him go this easily, on the eve of his birthday, when you clearly had something planned already? It was moments like these that made him wish for things to return to normal. (That made him wish to see the side of you that cared.)

“Fine,” He gives into the pleading eyes of the hunter, who cheers as he tosses her the keys. “Meet me in the garage. Careful not to go too wild, kitten.”

He shakes his head as she skips out of the room, catching one last look at you before muttering, “You two will be the death of me…” He leaves the office without looking back. 

The evening is spent racing through the outskirts of the N109 Zone, wind and rain rushing past them as Sylus takes the opportunity to show off the motor’s maximum speed. She screams, and it echoes through the empty roads. Joyously carefree, still carrying the same fire and spirit she once held in their previous lives.

But, not everything was the same. The hunter’s life was by no means easy, but she grew up in a much kinder world than the sorceress, untouched by the horrors that he and her previous iteration were irrevocably changed by. Does he even want her to remember? Would it still be love if he forced her to relive those horrors? 

His devotion to the sorceress has always been overwhelming, all-consuming. But in this life, he does not feel the same intense love, but more so a quiet affection, a desire to protect. And so, he’d rather the hunter live in peace. Never knowing the horrors of their past, even if it means that he’ll be forgotten, as well.

She urges him, “Go faster!” and he obliges with a smirk, revving up the engine to go at maximum speed. She cackles, letting go of his waist and letting her arms caress the midnight breeze. He can’t help but breathe an affectionate sigh — her dauntless, the opposite to your wariness on this very motorcycle. 

Miss Secretary. His thoughts have once again spiralled back to you, a habit that’s slipped out of his control. He's always been unwavering in his desires, but your arrival had upended his world and the foundations of what he knew about himself. And now, he no longer knows where his heart lies.

He knows it’s not fair to either of you. He feels guilty for the hunter’s oblivious nature — clueless to what almost was (what could still be) between you and him. And for you, you have done your utmost best to keep the boundaries he wasn’t strong enough to. 

He's a shameless man who’s never been afraid to take and take. But every time he sees the pain that his indecision — his choice — has caused you, he can’t help but tread carefully, wary of hurting you any more than he already has.

The clock strikes twelve, marking the beginning of April 18th. They return to a base shrouded in darkness, where they stumble around for the lights, only to be greeted by a garishly decorated living room and the twins dressed in red and black. 

“Happy birthday, boss!” The twins blow party poppers as he walks into the living room, “Didn’t expect this, did ‘ya?”

He’d been so conflicted at leaving before his birthday, when little did he know, it was all an elaborate ruse to distract him while you and the twins decorated.

“…It seems I've been deceived.” This is the first time you have ever left him truly dumbfounded.

“Surprise!” The hunter slaps him on the back, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Did you really think I was bugging you for a ride out for nothing?”

“Well, not nothing, considering you commandeered the vehicle halfway through.” She swats at him playfully in response. 

His eyes search for you, and just in time, you carefully step out of the kitchen, holding a two-tiered cake with a candle lit atop. What ensues is an off-tune rendition of happy birthday, as you step closer, careful not to extinguish the flames, “Make a wish, Sylus.” You smile. 

Since the tragic end to his life as a dragon, he’s only ever had one wish. But this year, he hesitates.

For the first time, he wishes for something else. Something new and precious. 

The flames dance in the wind before being snuffed with a single breath, smoke trailing with the promises of what’s to come.

Once again, you‘ve planned an elaborate celebration, just as you did the previous year. Something simple here at the base, but still catering to his preferences. From the tasteful red, black, and gold decorations, his favorite meals laid out on the dining table, and a pile of presents wrapped in a mishmash of patterns and ribbons.

When he takes the first bite of the cake, he lets out a hum of satisfaction, immediately noticing the gleam in the twins’ eyes.

“What, did you like it?” You smile at him cheekily, chewing through your own bite. “Luke and Kieran baked it, red velvet cheesecake with a bourbon coating.” 

The hunter scowls, still not over their previous attack on her taste buds. “Oh, so Sylus gets a fancy, artisanal cake and I get toothpaste cookies?”

Kieran grins, lightly punching her shoulder, “Don’t worry, Miss Hunter. Just wait til’ it’s your birthday.”

”Yeah! We’re more than ready to top the last one," Luke chimes in, a sinister promise no one wants to hear.

Sylus's gaze follows the hunter throughout the night. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to closure, he thinks, seeing her slot into his close circle (family) like a perfect puzzle piece, celebrating a day that never mattered to him until they made it matter. In their previous life, they had never been afforded the time or peace to celebrate these mundane milestones.

But despite the jovial atmosphere, his eyes can’t stray from your strange mood. You do a good job of pretending that everything is alright, going about the motions and matching the merry of the occasion. But though you may be able to fool others, you can’t fool him. After the party has come to an end, he doesn’t leave your side — determined to know what’s been bothering you. 

“Hey, no cleaning for the birthday celebrant!” You lightly shoo him away with the broom as he tries to take over cleaning the living room.

“Oh? I say the birthday celebrant gets to decide that for himself,” He easily swipes the broom from your hands, and you huff, relegated to picking up the wrapping paper strewn about the floor.

“Stubborn bastard,” You mutter under your breath. 

“A little louder, dear. I couldn't hear you.” You scowl at him and he laughs, “I can't let you do all the work, no? What kind of boss would I be, then? Tsk, if only you had just left it to the cleaners like I told you to.”

Still, you resolve to finish cleaning. It’s a bit comical seeing him with a broom and dustpan, and on his birthday, of all days. Still, you assert that it would be too rude to leave all this work for the cleaners’ shift come morning. With the two of you working at it, by the time the hour’s up you wouldn’t have been able to tell a celebration occurred.

“Let's go to the rooftop,” Sylus suggests, after taking out the trash. “I feel like taking a breath of fresh air.”

The two of you walk up the familiar staircase to the rooftop, the highest point in the N109 Zone, where you’ve spent many nights deprived of sleep and spilling your deepest fears and nightmares. 

“Watch your head.”

“What are you— ow!” You bump your head on a new exit sign that hadn’t been there the last time you came.

He laughs breathily, rubbing your forehead with his thumb after he perfectly ducks under the sign. “I did warn you.” 

“It feels like forever since we’ve been up here.”

“It's also been quite a while since I’ve seen you.”

You laugh shakily, “What are you talking about? We’re in the office every day…”

“Don’t act like you don’t understand, it’s unbecoming of your intelligence,” He brushes a stray hair from your face.

“Well, what can I say? We’ve all been so busy lately… But you seem happy, though.” He remains silent, so you continue, “You’ve waited so long to reunite with her. I've never believed in soulmates or anything like that, but for you two, I just might. I’m happy for you,” A timid smile paints your face, and he can’t tell if it’s out of bitterness or soft appreciation. 

He doesn’t know how to feel, receiving your approval — feigned as it may be. “If that's so, do you believe it for yourself?” You look at him strangely. “Do you think you could have a soulmate?”

The question seems to weigh heavily on your mind as you look away, dangling your feet aimlessly, “Maybe so… But I like to think that love is a choice. Something that’s earned, built up over time. That's the kind of love that I want, at least.”

His heart has been conflicted for so long — but all of a sudden, you feel unreachable, slipping from his grasp into a territory uncharted. (All of a sudden, he wants to give you everything you wish for.)

“It's been a while since we’ve talked like this. It’s nice being able to spend time with you again.” You stand up, brushing non-existent dirt off your thighs. “But I better head to bed.” 

It’s a lie, you both know you’ll spend the night tossing and turning into the hours of the night; so he tries to push at the walls you’ve put up. “Come on, dear. It's my birthday. Just grace me with your presence for a few more minutes…”

He tries not to sound desperate, but all he wants to do is reverse time, to return to a period where you weren’t wary of spending time with him. He'd been spoiled by the affection and friendship you once offered so freely, and now he couldn’t bear this distance you stubbornly held in place. 

He reaches to grab your hand, but you pull yours away. 

You hesitate before turning around, “I'm sorry, Sylus. But maybe another night.” Your voice is soft as you say good night, his eyes stuck on the image of you walking further away until you disappear from sight. 

He wants so badly to pull you back, yearns to grab your hand once again, to feel the warmth of your palm against his. But he knows he has no right to. The presence of the hunter a few doors over says it all, says his choice. He can’t bear to hurt you any more than he already has. But at the same time, he can’t bear to lose you.

So instead, he watches you walk away, knowing that he’s chosen the hunter, his soulmate. But a part of his heart continues to yell at him, telling him he’s making a grave mistake. 

—————————————————————

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the overstimulating atmosphere of the underground ring. The flashing lights, the all-consuming noise in the hours before a match starts. It's been months since you’ve been here, but it’s clear that anticipation runs high in the crowds, with this being Sylus's first game since last year’s loss. 

You sniffle, holding back a sneeze as you approach the ring with a bouquet of flowers, waiting patiently for Sylus to break from his pre-game focus as the coach gives him a last minute pep talk.

His eyes eventually drift over to you as he takes a sip of water, “Oh? Look who showed up." He smirks at you, arms leaning against the barrier, “And here I thought you’d be a no-show after last year’s disappointment.”

“What can I say? It’s a crime to pass up on an easy bet.” 

“I'm touched by your faith in me,” Unlike his words, his tone is deadpan.  

You mockingly scoff, “Who said I placed my bets on you?” You say this, but both of you know who you’re rooting for. “I just thought I might as well wish you good luck, considering I used my PTO on this.”

“Trust me, dear.” His smirk is one of confidence, as he leans past the barrier, face inching towards yours. “By the end of the night, there’ll be a new champion reigning this ring.”

A sudden screech comes from behind — some sort of ongoing venue prep — and your face scrunches up, another headache coursing through you. 

“Are you okay?” His brows furrow as he calls your name, concerned at the deep circles under your eyes, the pale sheen to your face. “Maybe you should sit down. You don’t look well.”

“I'll be fine,” You wave him off, “It’s just a headache. I can champ through it.” 

“But is it wise for you to stand in these crowds?” He removes his glove, pressing a hand against your forehead. “Go sit down in the locker room, they’ll be airing the match inside. I don't need you in the stands to know you’re supporting me.” 

The increasing dizziness you feel is the only reason why you nod, picking up your things and doing as told without so much as a fight. His eyes follow your sluggish form until you make it past his sight, settling inside the rundown locker room to watch alongside other competitors and coaches.

Even though you’ve been continuously sneezing and feel like knocking out, you’re on your toes the entire match, even from the low quality screen delegated to the locker room. The crowd is just as enthusiastic, roaring for his revenge match. You know nothing about boxing, but even you can tell from the first few minutes alone that he’s doing well, performing better than he ever was as the cheers of the crowd pound through to the walls of this secluded room. The camera shifts as he overtakes his opponent — and that’s when you see it, a glimpse of the hunter cheering at the front row. 

You already expected her presence, was anticipating to sit by her side as the both of you cheered Sylus on. But a part of you feels sick, lightheaded, progressively dizzier as the match continues. Not just because of the hunter’s arrival, or the anxiety of seeing Sylus getting socked in the face — you realize as you feel the bile rising up your throat. 

The match ends as you walk out of the bathroom, contents of your stomach flushed down the toilet. You missed the final blow, the crowning moment, the television having switched to an interview. His voice fills the room, the audio muffled and crackly, “Someone came all the way here to watch me. Said she didn’t want to see me lose.” 

You recognize that look of adoration, reserved only for the hunter. And once again, you feel your stomach lurch. 

It's a weak moment for you — you want to stay, to cheer him on as his friend and supporter (the only things you were and would ever be to him). But it was too much for you, seeing her take the place that maybe, in another life, could have been yours.

You guiltily leave the bouquet in the locker rooms, slipping away easily into the swarm of crowds leaving the venue. You pass by the ring as you make your way to the exit, seeing him at the edge of the barricade, swarmed by reporters.

In the ring, he shines like a star far out of your reach.

Was this penance for your pride? For believing you could take the spot of someone who was long destined to be by his side? The last image you see is of his arm wrapped around her waist, lips pressed to her forehead — his attention, his gravity, tethered to her. 

You leave the underground stadium guilt-free, feeling a little silly for having doubts about your departure affecting him. You realize that no matter what you do, he’ll be fine.

He has the hunter now.

—————————————————————

The moment he steps out of the ring, lights flashing and reporters crowding to get his interview — the first thing he sees is the hunter, standing front row in the bleachers, cheering him on with her fist in the air. His arm stays around her waist as they celebrate his win, answering nosy interviewers and being crowned with the champion’s ring.

He should be filled with nothing but happiness, satisfaction. But right now, all he could think of was finding you.

He fiddles with the champion’s ring, a nervous tic he’d never dare show to the naked eye as he makes his way to the locker room, where he finds an intricate bouquet of flowers and a congratulatory note, written in your familiar penmanship. 

It seems his greed had become far too overwhelming. 

Faced with all his wishes coming true, he still yearns for more. Everything he ever wanted was coming together, but none of it felt right — not with your absence creating a gaping void in a picture perfect image. 

Disheartened by your absence, the dim mood follows him as he returns to a quiet home. He carefully steps inside, your snores filling the space as he finds you sprawled on the living room couch, still dressed in your outside clothes, skin dull and face tightened in discomfort. 

He lifts you up, beginning the trek to your bedroom to let you sleep away the rest of the night, only for you to stir awake in his arms. “Sylus?” You peek at him through bleary eyes, “You’re home…”

He places the back of his hand against your forehead, “You’re burning up. Did you take any medicine before falling asleep?” 

“I'm sorry I couldn’t stay for the match…” In your drowsy state, you don’t hear his question, instead nuzzling your head into his chest. He savors the feeling of your warmth. “Did you get my flowers?”

“I did. They were a beautiful choice.”

“That's good. You deserve only the best, after all.” Your voice is a little breathy, soft and tender in ways you never reveal to him anymore — and he couldn’t help but be a little lovestruck. 

“You know just how to flatter me, don’t you?” He lays you down gently, tucking the covers over your form, as he musters the courage to follow through with his thoughts. “But since you brought me flowers, I should give something in thanks.” 

He slides the champion’s ring off his finger, delicately placing it in your palm, closing your fingers over it. “I believe this should be yours.”

“Sylus, what is this?” Your face is still unnaturally pale, but you seem more lucid now, staring at the ring with an unreadable expression on your face.

“There's only one reason I left as a champion today, and she’s standing right in front of me.” His eyes are glued intently to yours, water still streaking from his hair after the quick shower he took before leaving. “Last year’s match was a blow to my pride, I'll admit. But how could I ever stay down with you by my side?”

It’s rare for him to display his fondness on a silver platter — not painted in wit or banter, but with the clarity of an open window into his heart. But something about you wills him to take steps he never has before.

You stay silent for an unnerving amount of time, turning away from him, overwhelmed by the depth of his gaze. Your face contorts into a fractured smile, “I think we both know who you should really give this to.

He stares at the ring, refusing to take it from your outstretched hand. a strained laugh leaves his lips. He gently grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him once again, “You won’t even accept gifts from me, now? How much will you pull away from me before you’re satisfied?” 

“I can't accept this, and you know why.”

He knows. Just like he knows why you stray from his touch, why you avoid his gaze. He knows, but he refuses to accept it. 

“I went into this match for you. I won it for you, not the hunter.” A frantic sort of grief fills his features, imploring you to open your heart to him. “So why is it that you keep telling me to run to her? What makes you believe you’re undeserving?” 

“Because it shouldn’t be me. I just—” The words fail to form on your tongue, twisting and turning until the intention is lost. “Please, sylus. I can't do this right now.” 

“I didn't think your cowardice was stronger than our friendship.” 

You come to an abrupt still, your eyes glazing over in stifled shock. “Well, I'm sorry to have disappointed you.” 

Regret immediately courses through him as he realizes the harshness of his words, and the guardedness of your tone. He hates causing you hurt or pain, but he can no longer bear to ignore the distance that's grown between you. (But does he even have the right to confront you about it? When he knows his actions are the root cause.) 

“We can't hide from this forever, so why won’t you just talk to me?” He's just about ready to beg for you to look at him again, to talk to him again, without the inhibitions that separate you now. 

You take a deep breath, a hundred thoughts running through your mind before you settle on simple words, “Because things can’t go back to normal, and I don't know if they ever will.” You turn around, effectively ending the conversation and drawing that dreaded line. “I'd like to be alone now, please.” 

It’s not irreparable; at least, you don’t think so. But regardless of the place the hunter now holds in your life, you had crossed a turning point in your relationship, one that made it impossible to turn back. This was the price of his choice; he couldn’t have his cake and eat it, too.

Despite how much he wants to confront you, more than anything he wants to respect the boundaries you’ve set in place. And so, Sylus is left to stew in his thoughts in the living room, fiddling with the ring and wondering why he wouldn’t just give the ring to the hunter. Why he caused all of this mess. (He knows exactly why.)

The bond he had with the hunter transcended lifetimes, giving his soul a first taste of human connection and love. He grasped at the seams of that bond, holding on for dear life and desperately seeking the peace they were never afforded. But your arrival broke the monotony of his days, and in the process, treated him to that connection, that genuine acceptance and care so freely. You easily slotted into his life, and now that you were trying to walk away — he couldn’t just bear to let you go.

He may have fallen in love with the sorceress in their previous life, but now, it was time to face his current reality. 

In this world, his heart had chosen you. 

—————————————————————

You feel like you're being replaced, being pushed out of the picture you were never meant to be captured in.

For the longest time, you’ve felt the petty urge to hate the hunter. To pick out her flaws and shortcomings to make yourself feel better. But that wouldn’t be fair to her, who’s done nothing but unknowingly capture Sylus's heart. And it would only fan the flames of bitterness and hurt that were already burning inside you.

You stomp at the petty jealousy taking root in your heart — because what right do you have to feel that way? What right do you have to mourn a love that was never yours to begin with? 

You feel rather foolish. You thought you knew what his affection felt like, but it was nothing compared to seeing his devotion. You never believed in soulmates — but how could you deny the cosmic connection before your very eyes? Like a planet and its moon, they orbit each other — his harsh edges softening in her presence.

Sylus gave you hope for a future in this world. But to him, you must be just one of many, a buffer while he waits for his lover to finally come along in this life. He was someone who had never known peace, never known the warmth of love before he met her. In the grand scheme of things, what was your rust to her gold? 

These fantasies have become fatal, cutting open old wounds and deeply hidden thoughts. Never have you felt so untethered. No place where you belonged, no place to call home, no connection that was meant to be truly yours. Your world had been shrouded in static in the wake of losing your loved ones, life becoming grainy and distant in your grief. The loneliness had been dampened by new connections, by a blossoming love, but was now coming back in full force as you watch the image of how it should be, without you.

You were never meant to be here. 

(Thus, it was only right to return things to how they should be.)

—————————————————————

Thunder rolls in, casting gloomy skies over the N109 Zone. it’s one of those days where you can’t muster up the energy to do anything but curl up on the couch with a blanket, paperwork left forgotten on the coffee table, watching raindrops dart against the tall windows overlooking the city. 

The twins are similarly sprawled across the living room floor. With Sylus and Mephisto out on a mission, it’s just the three of you in the penthouse, spending the last of the spring showers working by the warmth of the fireplace, before humid summer storms take over. 

The dreary atmosphere did nothing to quell the persistent grief that weighed heavily in your chest. Not even the comforting presence of Luke and Kieran could muster a smile on your face, these days. 

Your eyelids start to flutter, the movie and the twins’ chatter becoming hazy as you drift into slumber, where once again, you dream of home.

You find yourself thinking about home much more, nowadays. You miss the sun, you miss the food, the warmth of company (the lack of doubt of your belongingness). But as always, you wake up to the cars and gunshots typical of the N109 Zone, the rain having slowed to a soft drizzle, pattering against the window. 

You spend a little while with your eyes closed, savoring the taste of home only a dream can capture, a feeling that slips through your fingers before you can truly grasp it. And once again, you wish for a clue, a hint, an answer to a way back home. 

Little did you know how soon this wish would be granted.

You stretch your arms out, coming to a slow rise from the couch, remembering the pile of paperwork that awaited you on the coffee table. You sigh as you see the other half; it seems the twins hadn’t gotten much done either, their papers getting mixed up with yours during your short nap. you take quick, mindless glances at the papers — your events and supply documentation, the twins’ mission reports — as you sort through them. 

One in particular slides out from the pile, and you pick it up, intending to place it on their side of the table — only to stop in your tracks, catching a single phrase. Dimensional travel. 

You shouldn’t be snooping. As Sylus's secretary, you’re already privy to most of the ongoings in Onychinus. You know that if something’s been kept from you, it’s for a reason. But as your mind flits over all the dead ends you’ve run into in your search to go home, you think — what’s the harm in taking a look?

Your blood stills. 

What greets you is the twins’ hasty scrawl, recounting their findings as they led a reconnaissance mission at an EVER lab on the outskirts of the N109 Zone. Test subjects who were found in public, on the brink of death. Who spoke of “other worlds.” Unfortunate individuals who were found somewhere more public, deemed a nutcase, and left vulnerable to the hands of EVER. In Kieran’s more formal penmanship are the words, “These findings are supported by the classified dimensional travel studies at Prestara University…”

And when you see the date of the mission — it’s from the previous year.

Why did no one tell you about this? 

All of you were smart enough to connect the dots. Near-death experiences, tales of other worlds. Here you were, searching on what seemed to be a fool’s errand, when the people you slept under the same roof with held the very answers you’d been so desperately seeking.

An eerie feeling settles over you (you don’t want to name it as betrayal) as you look over the papers, reading them over and over, thinking there’s no way this had been just out of reach, all these months.

On the dot, the twins return to the living room with bags of snacks in their arms, Luke with his typical cheer as Kieran stills, seeing the papers in your hand. “Miss Secretary, you’re finally awake. Do you want a snack —” 

“What is this?” You cut him off, uncharacteristically stoic as you raise up the stapled reports, still reeling from shock at the words you’ve just read. “Your mission reports… These are from a year ago. Why didn’t I know about this? 

The two worriedly look at each other in silent communication, before you ask again, fed up with the lies and secrecy. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

“Luke, she read the reports. She knows.”

“But the boss said — Fine. But don’t blame me when this ends badly.” He sighs before giving in, turning to look you in the eye. “I think it’s better if we show you. But… Please don’t be mad at the boss.” 

“No  more than you already are,” Kieran adds, and you look at him skeptically. “We know you two are fighting. It’s been torture seeing you guys mope! The boss has been burying everyone in work and you… You’ve been a shell of yourself.”

You open your mouth, ready to spout excuses, but he interrupts you. “Don’t deny it, we can see it for ourselves. Especially with the way the boss has been grovelling.” 

“Sylus has not been grovelling. He has better things to do with his time.” You roll your eyes, but they continue to stare at you in doubt, until you sigh and let up.

“Alright. so we may have had a… slight disagreement. But really, I've just been in a funk. A little homesick, and a little actually sick. That's all. But you know what will help me?” You raise up the reports once again, flipping to the research page. “Show me these case studies. Show me everything there is to know about this.” 

“Well, we tried.” Kieran lets out a tired exhale, “If knowing this will help you, then we’ll do it.”

The twins lead you into their wing of the penthouse, a territory you never dared to venture unless it was dire circumstances— which it very well feels like it is now.

“Welcome to our little abode!” Luke cheers as he swings the doors open. 

“Oh, how… charming.” 

You tiptoe around the communal living area, unable to distinguish what is a weapon for Onychinus and a personal invention they’ve made for an elaborate prank. Frankly, it’s a mess. Apparently teenage boys are the same type of disgusting in any universe, you cringe as you find a smelly article of clothing on his desk that's definitely overdue for a wash. Only the promise of answers holds back your urge to hand these kids a broom and force them to clean.

“Over here’s my desk. Go wild, I guess. I'll be in the other room if you need anything.” 

Your heart races as you’re left to your own devices, inputting the related mission code — and there it is. A wealth of information answering the questions you’ve had. 

You skim over the articles, all from the same research team, studying the phenomenon of dimensional travelers, as they’ve so aptly put it, and their possible connection to the Deepspace Tunnel.

But the most damning implication of them all, was that there was a way for you to return home. The researchers are positive they’re close to a breakthrough, they write, as they cite the commonalities between these travelers. If a close encounter with death is what brought them all here, then it only makes sense it can bring them back. 

But this is where the trail ends. The last article ends with the researchers discussing potential experimentation — the risks of being lost in the unknown boundary between worlds, ripped to shreds by the force of gravity, or better yet — just dying. With it, your hope dims. 

But it’s something. Nothing concrete, but enough to prove you weren’t crazy. Enough to have hope. Enough to try.

But the question remains… how could this have possibly slipped past you? You’ve researched every corner of info available to you in the Onychinus database. 

As Sylus's secretary, you’re granted the privileges to access almost everything in Onychinus, including the information databases which contain a wealth of information from various sources (legally and illegally obtained, many inaccessible to the public yet). And when you check the status of the articles — you see that your access has been blacklisted.

As it was, there was only one person in Onychinus with the power to do this. 

“Sylus put you up to this, didn’t he?” When your eyes turn to Luke in question, he only nods grimly in confirmation. 

“The boss asked us to keep it from you,” He almost looks like a sad puppy wagging his tail, trying to appease your increasingly irate mood. “He was only worried about what you might do if you found out about this.” 

“He should’ve worried about what I’d do if you kept this from me.” You spat bitterly, and immediately, guilt coils through you for misplacing this anger on Luke. The twins might have been in on it, but despite all their mischief, they would never have had the heart to lie to you. No, this was all Sylus's doing.

You walk away, as overwhelming waves of betrayal course through you. You don’t want to make assumptions, but there is no other possible truth. It’s almost uncharacteristic of him, you think. He's always supported whatever you wanted to do. So why would he do this now? 

Why hide the answers that would lead you back home? 

And if he hid this from you, what else could he be hiding? 

These thoughts continue to plague you into the late hours of the night. Hours of tossing and turning in the sheets, before giving up on slumber entirely. Before, you would tiptoe in the marbled halls in search of laughter and company. But things were no longer the same. Now, you lock yourself in silence, refusing to bare any more of your heart.

But there still comes some nights such as now, when you can’t stifle the dark creeping in. Like a sheep heading into the wolves’ den, you tiptoe out of your bedroom, making your way to the kitchen where you cope as you always have: by baking. 

As you pull out the ingredients, Sylus eventually comes strolling in, as if he had a sixth sense to your presence. 

“Can’t sleep again?” He asks groggily. Hair mussed and robe crumpled, it was clear he had already been in bed. His tone is careful, still tiptoeing around you after the mess of a conversation you last had after the match.

You nod tiredly, “Too much to think about.” You’re being uncharacteristically cold to him, not even turning around or looking at him in acknowledgement. But if he notices, he doesn’t show it. 

All you want is a moment alone. But already, he’s coming far too close to you — invading your space like he’s entitled to it, when all you want is to be as far away from him as possible. 

“Let me help you.” He says, grabbing the bowl from behind you and rolling a whisk in his other hand. “It'll just be like old times, don’t you think? Miss Baker, with her apprentice running the ovens.” 

You can’t help the anger simmering beneath you as you slam the cupboards closed, alarming him. Can you not get one moment of peace in this fucking household? “You know what? I think I'll just go to bed, actually.”

He lets out a breath of frustration. "Alright, it’s clear that there’s a problem here.” He grabs your hand to stop you from leaving, only for you to rip it from his grasp. He steps back, “I admit that I said some hurtful things before, and I'd like to apologize properly. But can we sit down and talk about this like civilized people?”

You know it’s wrong to lash out like this, but this betrayal had you reeling and acting out impulsively. A crash-out long in the works, tipped over by your recent revelation. “Always one to ask forgiveness rather than permission, aren’t you?”

“What?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, utterly confused. “I don't know why you continually insist on shutting me out — but I assure you, nothing productive will come out of this.” 

A bitter laugh escapes you, “Well, I don’t know why you insist on lying to me. But I'm not the one asking questions here.”

“What are you talking about?” His blood runs cold, gaze steely as he begins to tread carefully through this volley of words. 

“Did you think I'd never find out about the information you hid from me? That you ordered Luke and Kieran to lie to me about? How much have you hidden from me?” You seethe, the words spilling out of you like an overflowing kettle. 

His silence says it all. 

“Gosh, I guess it figures.” You don’t know whether to laugh in irony or cry in defeat. “The one person I trusted the most turned out to be a lying bastard… I don't know why I expected any better from you.” 

Sometimes you forget the person Sylus truly is, beyond the softness he’s shown to you in confidence. He may be flowing with unspoken affection for those he cares for, but in the end, he was still a criminal. The leader of the world’s most notorious crime syndicate, gifted in the art of deceit.  

But despite this, Sylus was still the person who took you in when you had nowhere else to go. The one person you trusted more than anyone in this world. Although his blossoming relationship with the hunter sprouted thorns over your friendship, you thought that you’d at least have total honesty. 

But your expectations crumble into disappointment. 

Sylus treats this exchange flippantly, at first, trying to stave off a fight he doesn’t want to have. But you’re so frustrated, you can’t even look him in the eye. Though his face gives away nothing, a storm was brewing inside as the consequences of his actions dawned on him.

And so, he decides to tell you the truth. 

He whispers your name carefully, like an apology in itself. “I'm sorry I lied to you. It was never my intention to deceive you, or to hold you back from finding answers — but I know I've hurt you nonetheless. But please, let’s not fight about this. Let me explain myself, first.”

You turn to him, waiting for an answer that will resolve the hurt in your heart. 

He doesn't know where to begin, so he starts with an explanation. 

When you first arrived, Sylus had done the research. Tried to find a way to send you — this anomaly who’d landed in his backyard — back to where she belonged. But all he could find were dead ends. As far as he knew, there was no way to send you back. You, this stranger, who he wanted out of his life. (Oh, how the thought hurts him now.)

Almost a year later, when the dimensional travel research came in — he immediately marked it as classified. A spur of the moment decision, where he blocked off your access to these files in fear of you discovering them. He excuses it as the danger, the potential recklessness that might possess you in the face of this revelation.

But the truth was: you were no longer just a stranger, you were Miss Secretary. A core part of his life, regardless of the short time you’d been here. Maybe if he was less in-deep, if the reality of you slipping from his grasp wasn’t so tangible, he wouldn’t have resorted to deceit.  But as it was, there was no way he was letting you go now. 

After all, the fear of lying to you was nothing compared to the fear of losing you forever. (But now, he may just lose you because of it.)

His explanations ring through your head, but all you hear are excuses. You fire back, words slow and tense like a string stretched thin. “You think you’re always right, but you’re not. That's not an excuse to withhold this from me. Living in the N109 Zone is a danger in itself, so what’s so different about this?” 

He scoffs, “The difference is that here, you are by my side. Do you think I can't protect you?”

“It's not your responsibility to protect me. In fact, I've long overstayed my welcome here.”

“Says who?” His eyes stare intently into yours, as he opens his arms, “Look around, dear. The only person who wants you to leave is you.”

He shakes his head, frustrated, “Do you even understand what could happen to you if you pursue this path? This not only blurs the boundary between our worlds, but the boundary between life and death. You could die before ever seeing a glimpse of your old world,” A frantic panic shadows his eyes as he moves forward, shaking you by the shoulders, almost begging you not to do this.

“At least I'd finally have some peace!” You spat out like a bullet that’s been lodged in your chest, a truth so hard to bear. Every day in this world has been an uphill battle, and no connection — whether familial or romantic — could make up for everything you had lost, or the closure you had seeked.

“You don’t mean that.” He murmurs in disbelief, the broken look on his face enough to have your shoulders slumped in guilt.

He tries — you know he does — to close the distance that you have placed. But a sadistic part of you likes to see him hurt, likes to see him struggle to repair what he unintentionally broke. But the other part of you just wants to spare yourself from any more hurt. 

You’ve never been the type to cling to your pride, but not even you can acquiesce to this when you feel so wronged.

“Do you even understand what this information means to me?” Your voice trembles in desperation, “You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything. I cared about my life. I had dreams, I had plans! My family and friends, they all probably think I’m missing or dead — when I'm just here, trying to get back to them. Yet you have the audacity to pretend like you did this for my sake?”

To him, your arrival was a miracle. Another surprise fate had thrown his way, something he was determined not to let slip from his grasp this time around.

But to you, your arrival in this world was your greatest tragedy.

In spite of it all, he puts his foot down, refusing to put your life on the line. “No, this is where I draw the line. You will not be pursuing this — this death wish, and that’s final.” He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s gripped your shoulders until he steps back from the sheer betrayal in your eyes. 

For the first time, you look at him as if he were no more than a stranger. Like you didn’t know him, hadn’t held him in your arms in his lowest moments. He could handle the hunter’s anger and distrust, your distance and aloofness. But your fear? It breaks him. 

Still, he swallows this heartbreak in favor of your safety. “Ignore me, hate me — I'm willing to put up with all of it so long as you don’t hurt yourself.” 

“Well, what fucking choice do I have when you control everything in this goddamned place?” You close your eyes and laugh bitterly, whispering, “I guess I never knew you as well as I thought I did.”

You walk away, and he knows better than to chase you. 

All this time, you had felt guilty for hurting him with your distance, for being an obstacle in the space that was meant for the hunter. Meanwhile, he had been the one barricading you from going back. But why? You cannot comprehend as to why he would be selfish enough to try and keep you here, not when he has everything he’s ever wanted.

Your thoughts continue to spiral as you return to your room– and for the first time, you feel more peace in the silence than in his company.

—————————————————————

He sits in the kitchen until early noon, stewing in disappointment and anger towards himself. 

Sylus is hailed for his ability to read people. His target’s desires, his enemy’s weaknesses, his loved ones’ needs. Yet when it comes to you, he finds himself lost at sea, in conflict with himself in a way he hasn’t been since he was unused to the world and its dangers. 

For the past millennia, he’d had a clear focus, a clear goal — until you strolled in and completely upended his world and everything he thought he knew. 

And what’s worse? He would let you do it as many times as you wanted. 

He knows this won’t be resolved so easily. Both of you are the type whose true feelings cannot be encapsulated by mere words. And when the storm inevitably rolls in, he’s afraid of what might be lost in the collateral. Because now, he was far too gone. 

Losing the sorceress had nearly broken him once, sent him on a search that had clouded his realization of the place you’d taken in his heart. The realization that he couldn’t bear to live without those mundane moments with you.

He knows, here and now, that he needs to fix this. Right his wrongs, clear things with the hunter, and maybe beg at your feet for you to look at him kindly again, after all he’s done to push you away. Before it's too late and he lets love slip from his grasp once again. 

—————————————————————

The ballroom is lit under the warm glow of the numerous chandeliers, casting light over your stone cold face. The opulent celebration — a business partner’s 40th wedding anniversary — was a complete juxtaposition to the storm raging inside you, uncaring to be approachable as you swirl your wine. 

In a twist of cruel irony, another event had delegated Sylus to bring a partner for the evening.

“We'll be leaving at 8 o’clock. Use my card for the dress — and treat yourself, while you’re at it.” He informed you, placing one of his cards on your desk along with the invitation. You raised an eyebrow in skepticism, he never spared time for frivolous events such as anniversaries, especially for people he barely knew.

“What, the hunter wasn’t free this time around?” You can’t help but ask, the snark evident in your tone.

He sighs and walks away, not even deigning that with a response. “Don’t be late.”

You shove the invite into a drawer, fully intent on ditching him. But alas — he added it to the calendar himself.

You were expecting him to hand you another half-hearted apology, to add to the growing pile that was already accumulating. Apology flowers left at your desk, paperwork submitted on time, deliveries of chocolates and your favorite food at the office, as his eyes suspiciously don’t meet yours. 

“If you think you can bribe me with material things, then you don’t know me very well,” You bitterly threw these words at him then, before clocking out for the day. But Sylus was never one to give up easily. 

Throughout the night, you feel the constant prickle of eyes on your back. At first, you assume it’s because of past events, people’s curiosity towards the secretary Sylus was so quick to defend. Your insecurity has you turning around each time — only to meet your employer’s gaze across the room, his eyes lingering on you even with the conversation in front of him. You scoff and look away.

Eventually, he approaches you with your coat in hand, “I believe it’s time to take our leave.”

“So early?” You reply, your words short and cutting when it's necessary to speak. 

“This night has already proven to be a disappointment. No reason to waste any more of our time.”

“I'll call for the driver then,” You’re about to dial when he plucks your phone out of your hand. 

“No need, I've already given him the night off. I'll be the one driving us home.” You squawk in indignance. Once again, this man has managed to corner you into a situation where you can’t escape him. “But, dinner first, shall we?” He extends a hand, which you resolutely walk past.

This seething ignorance follows him the whole way to the restaurant, into the dimly lit private room where the two of you are seated. Had it been any other occasion, you would’ve taken the time to appreciate the florals adorning the tables, the band playing jazz in the corner, and the delicious food. But your anger clouds your enjoyment, as you channel your frustrations into blindly ordering the most expensive items on the menu. 

It isn’t until you’re about halfway through the meal and down one bottle of wine when he finally gets you to speak up, “You can’t stay mad at me forever, darling.”

You take a heavy breath through your nose, “Maybe not, but I can certainly try.” You take another sip of your wine, burying your hurt and sorrow into another bottle. 

“You should realize that I'll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness.” 

“You broke my trust. You lied by omission, letting me continue on a wild goose chase when you were withholding the answers. Pretty words and extravagant gifts aren’t enough to earn my trust again.”

He gently reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “I know that, and I'm willing to do it all to earn your forgiveness. Not only for my deception, but all your hurts that have gone unnoticed.”

It’s too much, your chest feels too heavy with all that’s bearing down on you. Your voice takes a shaky note, “Sylus, all I want is to go home. That’s it.”

You put up the boundaries he never had the heart to, kept your heart at bay for both of your sakes. But now, he wants to pry open your walls, to reveal the fears that plague you at night.  

“I know, dear. I know. And if that’s what you truly want, then I promise to do everything in my power to help you —- so long as it doesn’t result in you getting hurt.” He looks into your eyes, grasping your hand tightly, “All I want is for you to feel safe in confiding in me again — to share your worries, your fears, as you once did. Allow me to carry the weight of your grief with you.”

He knows how much your arrival in this world hurt you, and he carries the guilt of being selfish enough to keep you here despite that.

“I can't anymore. It hurts too much to confide in you, to have a taste of what I know I'll never have. What we’ll never be.” You don’t know what possesses you to admit this yearning. Maybe the intoxication from the wine. Maybe his pleading eyes, or his sweet talk, saying all the right words you’ve wanted to hear for the longest time. But you don’t have any fight left in you to keep your distance. 

“What you can’t have? Darling, I would lay the world at your feet, if that was your wish,” He strokes your cheek with an intimacy surpassing friendship — but you haven’t been just friends in a while, have you? 

Maybe you both drank a little too much, scooted a little too close in the booth, got too caught up in each other's presence (something you've both been starved of for a while). You don’t know who moved first — but one of you ends up breaking. 

You share a starved kiss, hidden under the privacy of dim lights. All at once, the chatter of the restaurant and the rushing of cars dissipate, and all that's left in this universe is you and him and cosmic dust, orbiting around each other.

He explores your mouth, brows furrowed, hands gripping your waist and pulling you to his lap — as if he could meld the two of you by the flesh. It’s like a taste of heaven on your lips, tasting what you had yearned for, denied yourself for so long.

And for a moment you think: what was stopping you from being together? What was so wrong with this connection — so powerful that it wracked your body with shivers and tethered your soul to his presence? 

And then you remember: the hunter.

The reality of what's happening dawns on you, your eyes widening mid-kiss as you abruptly push him away, leaving him stunned; his tie crooked, lipstick staining the corner of his lips. 

Your hands tremble, still hazy from that searing kiss as you try to hold back the tears welling at your eyes, “Sylus —” You choke on your tears, unable to form the words. 

He grasps your face, breathing your name, trying to make sense of what just happened. 

“Sylus, oh god, what did we just do? I — fuck, what about the hunter?”

You run outside the private room, the voices of the restaurant and servers fading in the distance as you hastily escape from the implications of what you’ve just done. You try to hail a taxi when he catches up to you, calling your name.

He may be in front of you but all you see is the hunter, her face riddled with betrayal and hurt. Unlabeled as their relationship may be, she’s just spent the past few weeks opening her heart to someone only for it to be betrayed. By a new friend, at that.

You don’t know what possessed you to kiss him back, to deepen it and lose yourself in his lips. Love struck your head, ridding you of logic. Made you give in to the sin of yearning for something that isn’t yours. And now, you were facing the guilty consequences. 

“Sylus, we’ve done enough. Please, let’s just forget that any of this ever happened —-”

You’re cut off by his hollow laugh, his chin tilting down for his eyes to stare directly into yours. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“This is gonna ruin everything you’ve wished for, don’t you see?” You’re desperate for him to see the wrongdoing in your actions. 

“No, it’s you who doesn’t see what’s in front of you.” He grasps your wrist, pressing it to his chest, gentle in a way that doesn’t match the fire in his eyes. “Do you feel this heart? It races in your presence, melts at your touch — and if you disappeared? Well, it would simply stop beating.”

His other hand rests on your clavicle, fiddling with the necklace that has remained on your neck since the night of your birthday. He's a man who never says please, but for you he’ll get on his knees and plead.

His words, such heartfelt words that want to make you give in to all of his wishes are one thing. But his actions are another. You’ve witnessed firsthand the way he looks at her, melts in her presence. And you’re not ignorant to how she feels for him now, once heated frustration turning into the adoration she feels now. 

“How could I ever believe what you’re saying?” You feel almost hysterical, with the weight of your emotions crashing down on you. “You’re telling me that you’ve waited hundreds of years for the love of your life, the person bonded to your soul, and you’re going to push it all away for some fleeting connection?”

“Don’t reduce it to something as frivolous as that,” His face darkens, and he grips your hand tighter. “You know that what we have runs deeper than both of us can describe.”

”But what is it to a soulmate?” Your voice is despondent, resigned, “What is this compared to a bond transcending time and space? I know that regardless of what happens here, you’ll choose her. I know that very well, Sylus.” Your voice breaks as you reach your tipping point. 

His heart stills, because he himself doesn’t know what he can say to prove himself.

“Please don’t cry,” His voice softens at the sight of tears welling in your eyes, becoming all but putty in your hands. As of this moment, he knows there’s no convincing you, no making you believe that his words ring sincere and true. But he still can’t help but motion to wipe your tears, until you harshly block his hand.

The sorceress and the traveler, Miss Hunter and Miss Secretary. The dragon resting inside of him couldn’t bear to let go of his mate — after all, what was a centuries-old love compared to a new, fleeting connection? But the threads of fate had woven together to bring you to him, and the man he was now couldn’t bear to cut those ties.

You swallow the hurt, trying to put into words the burden that’s been weighing on you for so long, “I don't want to live in her shadow. I don't want to see this through when I know that one day, you’ll regret what you’ve lost.”

His face falls, and you feel a bit of satisfaction in seeing him carry even a smidgen of the hurt you’ve felt. But for the most part, it just hurts you to see him in pain. 

”You think so lowly of me, as if I don't have the autonomy to make my own decisions. But you need to face the facts, dear —- the only one holding back is you.” He’s laid his heart on a silver platter. The only obstacle here was your own doubts, your own insecurities.

You reel back as he steps closer, “So tell me, why do you prevent us from having what we both want?” He brushes his hand gently against your cheek.

You take a deep breath to say the words you know will end this for good. “Because I deserve better than to settle for second place in your heart.” You give him no time to refute before you turn around, heart bruised and battered. “Please, just leave. Don’t follow me. I don't wanna speak to you anymore, not tonight.”

“I’m not leaving you alone in this city —”

“I'll call someone.”

And that’s how it ends. 

You walk away, deciding to call Kieran to pick you up. You can’t bring yourself to be in close proximity with Sylus right now. You know he hasn’t actually left, hearing the conspicuous whirring of his motorcycle in the distance, engine alerting you to his presence from a mile away. In the corner of your eye, you can see Mephisto's red, beady eyes from the pedestrian light across the road, watching you. 

Still, you continue to walk aimlessly in this false notion of solitude, carrying your heels as you wait for Kieran to arrive. Now that the haze of alcohol has cleared, and you’ve let out all that was building up since the hunter’s arrival, you can’t help but feel hollow. Completely drained of all the anger and sorrow that you’d been carrying in the past few weeks. 

The streetlights cast these roads in an artificial light, the moonless sky and desolate streets feeling emptier under its warm glow. Midsummer was fast approaching, a period once marked by sunshine and cicadas. The N109 Zone was the antithesis to everything you’d ever known and cherished — and for a while, you thought that maybe it could be enough. 

But now, you yearn for the sun to rise after the long night you’ve endured. 

A familiar car eventually pulls up, the window rolled down for you to see the concern on Kieran’s face. But he says nothing as you enter, haggard and spent, with no energy to hide your woes or muster up small conversation. The lights of the city dissipate as you head into the outskirts of the N109 Zone, and you can only hope the darkness is enough to shroud the silent tears streaming down your face.

Kieran says nothing as you silently cry in the backseat, offering you the grace of asking no questions. 

—————————————————————

Sylus watches painfully as you walk away, ashamed by this seemingly forbidden act — when all he wants to do is pull you in for more. 

For the longest time, he'd been in this foolish delusion that things could be the same between him and the hunter. If he got her to remember, if he got her to open up. But the truth was, it’ll never be the same. Both of them were two entirely different people in this life, and now… now there was you. 

He had been desperately latching on to the love that was robbed from him centuries ago, and blinded himself to the way you’d fully taken root in his heart. 

Now, he needed to cut off these loose ends and find a way to make up for his mistakes, his indecision — and only then, could he even try to give you the love that you deserve. 

But the next few days prove to be a trial as the world seems keen on keeping the two of you apart. You have a talent for avoiding him, finding increasingly elaborate ways not to cross paths with him. And when an important mission arises, requiring him to go into the field himself, it felt like fate conspiring against him.

He finishes the mission in record time, completing it in detached efficiency as he ponders how to go about speaking with you — something he plans to do as soon as he returns home. But as he nears the entrance to the Onychinus headquarters, he can immediately sense that something is wrong.

A flash of light strikes through the heart of the N109 Zone — devoid of the accompanying rumble of thunder to be lightning — when dread fills his bones. He realizes he's seen this before. 

On the day that you arrived.

He rushes into the building, immediately approached by his lackeys reporting of traitors lurking in Onychinus, who thought it wise to attack the base in his absence. But all he can think about is finding you. 

He rushes to his office, finding the twins equally distressed, after they’d cleared the floor for traitors. “Boss, she’s gone.” 

“Explain it to me clearly. Who's gone?” His heart is racing — struck by horror at the blood pooling at your desk. He knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to confront the devastation about to tip over. 

“Miss Secretary. We apprehended the traitor, but there was a stray bullet and then — she just vanished.” 

Rage blinds him. Suddenly he wants vengeance, retribution, ordering his men to apprehend the shooter. All he can do is imprison and torture the man who dared shoot at the woman he loves, making him suffer for what he’s taken from you. 

But it's not nearly enough. Not when your absence is so palpable, not when you’ve left his life as easily as you entered it. 

In the end, your departure is but a whisper in the N109 Zone, leaving behind nothing but a pool of blood and a mark on his heart.

—————————————————————

are we gonna talk about the way it took me a whole car crash, the national elections, and a loved one's terminal illness to finally finish this chapter? maybe another day. but for now i'm going to play death and rebirth (i didn't let myself until i finished this LOL) i'll see you all on the next chapter where we pick up where this chapter left off and (maybe) see things from sylus’s perspective!

some things i’d like to share since i took off for a month

i've started a new term with new professors — and one of them is literally named GOJO??? my class calls him “professor gojo uwu~” behind his back its hilarious

hot chocolate does not mix well with vodka (don’t ask me how i know)

filipino lads artists are goated and i spend more money on their merch than on the actual game

i fear i’ve become too delusional because why does my dad’s doctor look like ZAYNE —

p.s. if any of you are interested, i've linked the playlist i made for this fic in the series masterlist :>

taglist — @mangooes @mentaltrouble2201 @animegamerfox @crazy-ink-artist @phisen @jeondyy @t4naiis @wifunozomi @munimunni @blessdunrest @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @paintedperidot @mansonofmadness @pillarofsnow @sylususeyourevolonmepls @angelichiaro @mephisto-with-a-knife @crimsonmarabou @hikaru-sama @flamedancer13 @tati-the-fangirl @ameili @poptrim @caramelizedpopcirn @cupid-gene @vvonunie @lunia-likes-pomegranet @iamawkwardandshy @tinyweebsstuff @astolary @vyntheria @theloveofnagiseishiroslife @velourmobius @beaconsxd @hon3yydew @kira-loves0905 @codedove @that-lost-one @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @kaiii07 @bohoooitsme @everythingistaken00 @rmjace @red-raf-sy @goddexxluv @seris-the-amious @stellisangelicus-world @alhaith4ms @young-adult-summer @junrui

feel free to dm/comment on the series masterlist if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist 💕comment and reblog if you enjoyed!

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: forced to attend a charity gala for val, you and bucky navigate a new life in the spotlight. the only caveat is, he’s pining for you — and he’s pining hard.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: (post-tb*) bucky barnes x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.0K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: light nsfw, very mild smut, friends to lovers, yearning bucky, confession of feelings, bucky is silly & charming, lots of fluff, heavy making out, neck kissing, sexual tension, body worship, light dry humping, groping & lots of touching, really sweet ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this might be one of my favorite fics I’ve written lately ngl :’) I just adore a softer side to Bucky where he’s happy. If enough people like this fic, I have a part 2 planned! ❤️ I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Frivolous events have never been your forte.

Thousands of crystals dangle from a gaudy chandelier, hanging high from a scaling ceiling in the middle of the ballroom. Light dances in luminescent refraction, spilling onto the pale marble below.

It’s mesmerizing, a worthwhile distraction that effectively silences the hum of conversation buzzing around you. Excitement blankets the air, teeming with business disguised as laughter.

In the space for reflection, you find yourself more discomforted by your dress than the atmosphere. Philanthropists, chairmen, politicians — it all felt exceedingly ‘larger-than-life’ for you.

The New Avengers Foundation Gala was the solution to a cut in funding Valentina had experienced in the wake of O.X.E Group’s dismantlement.

In the upper wings of the hall, were showrooms dedicated to the new mightiest heroes of a futuristic generation. It was all too polished, too modernized, too corporate — it was somewhat soulless, each of you washed down to a mere moniker.

Attendees, patrons, and donors alike were thoroughly engrossed with Valentina’s peacocking display — and the press loved it, too.

Banners hung from the rafters, bearing a glamour shot of each member of the team, all wearing new gear that held an exaggerated flair. It was strange, seeing your face plastered there — haunting, really.

Unfortunately for the team, you were all along for the ride; a tumultuous, unpredictable ride that left you feeling mildly uncomfortable.

It was as if you were living in a skin that didn’t belong to you, catering to people who saw you as an accessory, a curiosity.

Indigo silk barely touched the floor beneath you, off-the-shoulder sleeves accentuating your neckline as if you had something to show. The wardrobe wasn’t something you’d selected; Val chose it.

Constricted within your fabric coffin, you continued to marvel at the general splendor of the pavilion, cradling a half-drank glass of champagne.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky Barnes’s eyes had followed you across the room for the past hour, his gaze disarmingly soft. It was to check in on you, he’d told himself, but it extended beyond that.

To any outsider, he resembled a man yearning for someone who didn’t have a clue, wistful and contemplative. Friends don’t look at one another in the way Bucky looks at you.

Discomfort rippled from you in waves, slithering like some fever over your skin, tugging at the corners of your thoughts.

Whenever you took a step, you felt as if you might collapse from the pressure, or simply from the balancing act on stilettos.

From afar, Bucky was deliberating going to you, noticing the way Valentina had swarmed in with calculated, measured steps. She was dangerous, even still; and he didn’t trust her with you.

“God, you do clean up nicely,” Valentina’s biting tone sank into you like teeth, spiking your nervous system. “You know, I started to think you might’ve been a little hopeless.” She chimes, champagne in-hand.

Swiveling, you’re faced with your boss, the corner of her mouth pulled into a half-smirk. After everything, you’re still wary of her, never fully bringing your guard down in the process.

“Thanks,” With a low mumble, you can’t quite decipher if she’s paying you a compliment or mocking you — maybe it’s somewhere in between. “I’m not used to this.” You confessed, fingers tense around your glass.

“You’ll have to work on your posture,” She chided, clicking her tongue with faux disapproval. “Looks bad in the pictures.”

It was all optics with her — a team of government rejects rebranded as the new face of heroism, rebuilding the legacy left behind by shoes too big to fill. Admittedly, she made you nervous; too sharp, too clever, a well-dressed viper.

Withholding the urge to retort with a quip of your own, you forced a smile, noticing photographers swimming in your peripheral like sharks.

“Turn around and give them a smile, yeah?” Valentina uttered, low enough for only you to hear. A hand fell flat against the back of your arm, turning you just in time to be bombarded by flashes of light and camera clicks.

With pearlescent teeth and a wolfish smile, she stood firmly beside you, guiding you through it. Your own smile was threadbare and pensive, as if it pained you to play along.

It all seemed scripted, rehearsed, fake. Everything lacked authenticity, and it grated on you through the photographs.

Bucky was already in-motion, weaving through the gathering crowd, departing a conversation with an investor mid-sentence. He wouldn’t call it a rescue mission, but he knew you, knew how anxious it made you.

His brief stint in Washington as a congressman afforded him time in the spotlight, pressed beneath mountains of questions and constant prying.

Quietly, he slipped in from the fringes, coming to stand beside you. Valentina noticed, but made no motion to dismiss him, allowing the press to make a frenzy of it all.

Vibranium graced the small of your back, a kiss of ice through the silk that clung to you, the gesture comforting. Realizing that Bucky had joined you, you began to relax, anchoring yourself to his presence.

When the cameras receded, the weight within your chest had lifted, replaced by relief as you turned to Bucky. “Thank you,” You murmured, appreciative. “Don’t go anywhere.” It was a soft plea, one that he heeded.

“Mr. Barnes,” Valentina spoke as if he’d irked her in some regard, polished nails tapping against her champagne glass. “Suit’s a little outdated, but we can work with that.” She remarked condescendingly.

Bucky huffed, hovering near your right side, one hand shoved into his pocket. “Yeah, well,” He shrugged, nonchalant. “I’m a little old-fashioned.” His own wry joke prompted him to smile.

With a snarky hum, Valentina dismissed his jest, peering over her shoulder as an older man approached, a New Avengers pin on his lapel. “Ah, Senator Locke. It’s a pleasure to have you at our little event.”

Involuntarily, you stayed close to Bucky, glued to his hip whenever the crowds grew thick. Even with his newfound status as an Avenger, many people still saw the Winter Soldier, a Soviet machine, capable of such destruction.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Ms. Fontaine. You’ve done excellent work, keeping Americans safe with the team you’ve assembled.” He chimed, gaze flickering toward you and Bucky; you, in particular.

“The safety and security of our citizens is our highest priority. The Avengers work with that at the forefront of their mission,” Smooth, calculated and completely fake. “Your contribution is appreciated.”

Bucky bristled, holding back a scoff as he attempted to maintain some level of cordiality. A majority of the people in-attendance held Valentina in some high regard.

Every syllable that dripped from Valentina was steeped by a facade of altruism — she was purely in this for personal gain.

Senator Locke glanced at you, perhaps for too long, prompting you to shift your weight. The stilettos dug into your heels, feet aching as you cleared your throat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss. You’re certainly much prettier in-person than on a television screen.” Locke nodded, hand outstretched for a shake. Knowing that you’re left without options, you keep the gesture brief.

Through a clenched jaw and furrowed brows, Bucky bites his tongue, keeping himself in-check when the Senator brazenly remarks about your appearance. He was the essence of ire, stewing quietly beside you, digits clenched into his pocket.

“Oh,” It was all you could muster before Valentina shot you a pointed glare through gritted teeth. “Thank you, Senator. I suppose I wanted the world to see a new side of me.” God, it sounded so ridiculous.

“I would like to speak to you further about your involvement with the Avengers. Have you been to Washington?” He continued, and Valentina seemed poised to interject, capitalizing on the opportunity — in her own way.

“Senator, my team is incredibly busy with global threats and outreach efforts,” With another pensive, venomous smile, she tapped her now-empty glass. “Though, I’m certain she’d entertain a dance.”

The more he spoke, the more livid Bucky became, silently seething as he prepared for a scare tactic. He turned around, and one swipe of his phone had told him where Senator Locke’s address was.

As the proposition of a dance was placed into the open, you gawked, jaw unhinged as you closed your mouth. Unfortunately, you couldn’t object — you were playing the part, catering to strangers for funding.

Waved over by another gaggle of shareholders, Valentina hummed, heels clicking over polished marble. “Senator, if you’ll excuse me.”

As she departed, you were left with Locke and Bucky. However, Bucky had a scheme of his own, throwing on a charming smile, maliciously deceptive as he cleared his throat.

“So, about Washington …” Locke began, but not before Bucky could interject.

He leaned down, low and calculating, murmuring something indecipherable into the Senator’s ear. You couldn’t quite discern what was being exchanged between the two, but Locke’s face had turned as white as a sheet.

“I deeply apologize for the offense, M—Mr. Barnes, I …” As pale as a ghost, the man hastily nodded several times over, swallowing the lump within his throat before stepping away. “Pardon me.”

Bewildered, you watched in stunned silence as the Senator quickly retreated, weaving back through the sea of patrons to find Valentina.

It left you shocked, brows creased in confusion, craning to glance at Bucky with a hint of amusement. “What was that all about? You looked like you scared him into an early grave.” You mused, head cocked to one side.

A hint of smugness crept onto his features, turning to look at you, visibly playful. “Told him that I knew his address and how to track him.” Bucky chimed, gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

“Bucky, you didn’t!” With a conspiratorial gasp, you were swift to follow, abandoning your lukewarm glass of champagne on the table behind you. “How did you know where he lived, anyway?”

“Google.” Holding up his phone from the confines of his pocket, his tone held a charming lilt, more upbeat now that Locke and Valentina were gone.

Smooth jazz reverberated from the ballroom, a live band dresses in finely-tailored suits situated in one corner. There were plenty of people dancing already, a good place to assimilate and disappear from prying senators.

With a bubbly laugh, you slipped inside with him, heartbeat beginning to settle, anxiousness receding altogether. Having him by your side seemed to ease whatever discomfort you’d experienced before.

“Thank you for that,” A sigh of relief escaped you, hands twisting together, fingers locked before your navel. “I don’t like being here, and I don’t …” Trailing off, you felt Bucky’s gaze shift to you.

A tender stare settled over your countenance, openly admiring your beauty; it was involuntary, revolving around you as if you were the sun itself. “It’s alright.” He murmured, able to understand your frustration.

Pushing a tremulous exhale through your nose, you mustered up a smile, palm running over the underside of your forearm. “Sometimes I miss the way things were before we became Avengers.”

Valentina would’ve labeled you ungrateful, shaming you for being apprehensive at the opportunity presented to you. Maybe you should’ve been happy about it all, but the public light wasn’t for you.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, lips pulling into a half-smile, placating. “Me too.” Despite his short-lived career as a congressman, the current limelight made him miss it; just a little bit.

The friendship you formed with Bucky was meaningful to you, but some sliver wanted more, craved something else. It whispered between stolen glances, hands brushing but never firm, eyes following one another around a room.

Between rooms of shareholders, media, and senators, he was the prettiest thing here — the only thing interesting enough to keep you grounded.

Broad shoulders were accentuated by the fit of his blazer, white dress shirt complete with a bowtie; so handsome that it made you pause. Bucky was always attractive, but more so now, inches apart and smiling.

“Before he comes back, interested in a dance?” Bucky propositions, his question seemingly innocuous. He narrowly avoided dancing at a previous Congress gala, but this seemed as good a time as any.

Smitten, you attempt to swallow the twinge of nervousness that pools within your belly, still rubbing at your arm. “I might step on you, if that’s okay with you. These heels are killing me.”

Bucky chuckles, unperturbed by the idea of being stepped on mid-sway. “I think I can handle it.” He offers a hand, metallic palm shimmering beneath the crystalline glow, visibly reassuring.

Steeling yourself, flesh slips into icy metal, soothing the heat that’s made residence in your skin. Slowly, the both of you step out onto the ballroom floor, over sparkling tile, intermingling amongst the crowds.

Some time ago, he was somewhat adverse to touch — felt undeserving, felt as if he’d ruin something good. When your hand slipped into his, he found himself craving it, but only if it came from you.

There were plenty of fleeting moments; moments that still whispered from the recesses of his mind, bright spots slipping through the dark. You grounded him; you were a sanctuary.

A slow jazz ballad blankets the room, chandelier glistening overhead, idle chatter humming in the spaces between. Gently, Bucky’s hand finds your waist, digits slipping over satiny, azure fabric, the texture soft.

It was muscle memory for him, lamenting over memories from nearly a century ago; for you, it was somewhat awkward. Joined hands drift to your sides in a classic waltz, something slow and idle.

Baccarat Rouge 540 — it’s Bucky’s cologne, an amalgamation of woodsy scents, imbued with strains of amber and a spice of something floral. It’s rich, a smell that you commit to memory, being this close together.

As you slowly turn about the floor, you decide to shatter the silence, gaze fluttering toward the stubbled slope of his jaw. “You’re really good at this,” You muse, hushed. “Very smooth.”

A bemused huff escaped him, accompanied by a glint of pearlescent teeth. “It’s been a long time,” He confessed, keeping you close. “You haven’t stepped on me yet.” Bucky remarks teasingly.

“We just started, there’s still plenty of time,” Playful, you return his quip with one of your own, minding his feet as you shift to the right. “Hopefully Valentina isn’t upset about the Senator thing.”

“She’ll live,” Bucky murmured, still sore about the entire ordeal. She was vicious, calculating; there was always an ulterior motive with her, wreathed in shadows. “I don’t trust her with you.”

While you were flattered by his concern, you felt that you could handle yourself, despite the uncertainty. “I’ll be alright, Buck. I think she took advantage of my discomfort, that’s all.”

“That’s my point. She’s dangerous.” Through pinched brows, his gaze fell to you, wrought with something incendiary. He was protective over you for a multitude of reasons. “I want to keep you safe.”

His cadence softened to a gentle lull, one that filled your stomach with butterflies. The way he stared at you — it didn’t seem strictly platonic, but maybe you were reading into it too much.

“Thanks.” Little more than a mere whisper, you danced with him still, swaying to the melodramatic hum of the music. The both of you seemed to settle, enjoying the presence of one another; he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

The heel of your stiletto happened to wobble, but he was swift in steadying you, hand tight around your waist. “Easy,” Bucky murmured, a brief chuckle bubbling from his throat. “I’ve got you, doll.”

It was an innocuous nickname, sweet; Bucky had called you it only on a handful of occasions, and all of them were typically playful.

The way he said it this time almost held a weight to it, as if there were underlying implications.

“Still haven’t stepped on you,” Teasingly, you muster up a smile, one that makes Bucky’s heart stop. It’s accompanied by a flutter of lashes, a soft laugh, a gaze tender enough to melt through him. “Yet.”

Bucky huffed, giving you a look as he drew you closer, involuntarily. The distance between bodies had grown thin, breath hitching within your throat when you realized it.

Shy, your hand came to perch against his chest, digits brushing over his bowtie, throat stirring with a low hum. Silence settled in between, a tenuous pause full of unspoken feelings, thoughts left unsaid.

Through parted lips, Bucky decided to break the ice, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes. Jazz continued to fill the ballroom with the croon of trumpets and gentle piano, the both of you waltzing in tentative steps.

“You look really beautiful.” Bucky murmured, swallowing the growing lump within his throat. It wasn’t often that he paid compliments like these, but his charm was still perfectly intact, albeit rusty.

He’d been on a handful of dates after the coding in his brain had been broken; none of them were fulfilling. There was a lack of true understanding, a baseless connection.

Until he met you, and he found himself fearful — you were something to lose. You left him feeling seen in ways he didn’t think possible, comfortable to be himself, just Bucky Barnes, the rawest iteration of his heart.

Flustered, you smiled at him, attempting to keep your heartbeat from teetering off of the edge. “Thank you, Buck,” Smiling still, you mustered the courage to look at him fully. “You … You look really handsome, too.”

Bucky chuckled as if you’d said something humorous, vibranium palm cold over yours, thumb lightly tracing your knuckles. “It’s the bowtie, isn’t it?” He mused, wisps of dark hair framing his countenance.

“Mm-hm,” Dimples formed at either corner of your mouth, gaze softening as he gently spun you around. “It ties everything together.” Your tongue-and-cheek joke almost made you cringe, nose wrinkling.

“Funny. Did you mean to make that joke?” He teases, and you feel heat warm your features, smitten as you look elsewhere. God, you were perfect — beautiful beyond comprehension.

“Accidental,” With a soft huff, you clear your throat, deciding to press the matter further and be serious. “Really, Bucky. You look wonderful.” The tender cadence of your tone had magnetized him.

“I don’t hold a candle to you,” Bucky utters, voice thick with a pleasant husk, one that itches at the back of your mind. “Nobody in here does.” It’s that soft admittance that makes you shiver from delight.

His eyes never leave you, and suddenly, everything feels too real, too close; the flush of his lips entice you, and you’re left wanting.

Stunned speechless, you quiet, stewing within the tension that brews between the both of you. It’s been simmering for months — part of you wondered when to let it snap, but you’re afraid of the consequences.

Bucky deliberates on what to do next, what to say; your mouth is dangerously close, lips parted, gaze innocuously doe-eyed. He’s imagined it often, what it might’ve been like to kiss you — and it’s always the sweetest fantasy.

“Bucky,” Words hang heavy within your throat, confession sizzling away like floating ash. There’s so much left unsaid — he knows it, and so do you. “Do you really mean that?” Serious, you let your voice hush.

The both of you have danced around the burning flame smoldering between you for a long while, now. It was beginning to reach out, take you both, and Bucky found himself preparing to take that plunge with enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” He says it softly, as if it’s reserved only for you, and he feels nervous. You make him want more, more than he ever thought possible. “I mean it, doll.” Bucky utters, and he’s a second away from bridging the gap.

In a room full of people, you’re comfortable enough to simply exist, fading into the background, and he fades with you.

It’s as if time slows, suspended in the moment — you want to live in it, blinking in sluggish flickers of your eyelashes. The erratic hum of your heartbeat sings a melody beneath your chest, hand absently clenching around his metal one.

He’s thinking of kissing you — any unsteadiness shifts into certainty, and the longer he stares at you, the more his resolve crumbles. Bucky tilts closer, enough for you to feel his breath feather over your mouth.

“Kiss me, Bucky.”

That’s all it takes — it’s his name on your tongue, spoken with such tenderness that he fears he’ll fall apart in front of you, unraveling.

A hitch forms within the bottom of his throat, and he’s moving inward, lips a mere breadth apart. His mouth is almost on yours, disarmingly gentle, and then it’s all ripped away.

“Bucky!”

Congressman Gary’s voice pierces through the tension, deflating it entirely, and the tension slithers away into a state of dormancy. The music begins to come to a close, a sense of finality present as you recoil, features burning with heat.

When he realizes how close you were, he’s left frustrated, noticing that you’ve already receded. Soured, his gaze floats past your shoulder and toward Gary, who seems eager to speak with him.

The smile you give him is cordial, a kindly facade that does little to mask your true feelings. He can see it, lingering beneath your eyes — you’re disappointed, but you smother it anyway.

“Sorry about that.” Bucky mumbles a grousing apology, but you’re quick to dismiss it. He tries to turn on the practiced politician’s charm — but it falters when he thinks about kissing you.

“It’s okay,” Reassuring, you squeeze his metal hand and step away, allowing him space to speak with Gary. “I’m going to find Yelena.” You nod, and he’s reluctant to let you go, but he does anyway.

With a soft nod, Bucky watches you go, slipping away through the crowd in your indigo gown. He’s cursing himself, left sorely shattered in the wake of it all, his head swimming, thoughts scrambled entirely.

He doesn’t register whatever jargon Gary throws his way — something about shareholders, but Bucky is too preoccupied with watching you leave to care.

Your feet are killing you — a raw blister has rubbed into your heel, splitting skin, pangs of a dull ache shooting into your legs. As soon as you cross the threshold into the Watchtower, you’re discarding the stilettos, bare feet crossing over cold tile.

For the duration of the gala, you avoided Valentina, speaking cordially with those who approached, but it was exceedingly difficult.

Bucky hadn’t left your mind — he’d invaded it, a feverish haze that you didn’t want to escape from. The dance left you wrought with exhilaration, wondering if whatever you felt wasn’t misinterpreted like you thought.

The team disperses not long after arrival, a mutual exhaustion from an evening of prying eyes, camera flashes, and being brandished like a polished accessory.

In the inky gloom that pools through tinted window panes, moonlight catches over dark flooring, the night unobstructed by clouds. A pair of stilettos dangles from your hand, footsteps light as you stop to lean against the island.

Relief washes through you as you rock the balls of your feet against the tile, happy to be rid of your high-heels. It’s quiet — too quiet, save for the sound of footsteps behind you.

“Kicked the heels off quick.” Bucky’s timbre cuts through the hush, warm and amiable as he makes a round to the refrigerator.

His bowtie is loosened, first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, blazer draped in a pleated heap over one shoulder. The sight is devastatingly handsome, causing your breath to hitch within your throat.

“My feet are already thanking me,” You remark, leaning against the dark, polished granite. Bucky takes a swig of water, vibranium hand closed around a cool glass. “How was your talk with Gary?”

He was still feeling the stinging disappointment of not being able to kiss you at the gala. Bucky was attempting to discern how to broach the topic with you, or at the very least, come clean about how he felt.

It was easier said than done, wanting someone that he thought he was entirely undeserving of. The way you stared at him, leaned in, said his name — it was all he could think about, consuming every waking thought.

“Nothing important,” Bucky shrugs, ogling you from over the rim of his glass. “Could’ve sent a text.” He muses, body jostling with a soft scoff.

“Oh.” You hum, your tone sounding somewhat awkward. Whatever happened at the gala was something you were desperate to talk about, addressing unspoken feelings.

That’s all you can muster, a meager ‘oh’ as you fumble about. Swallowing the lump within your throat, a gap of silence settles between, thick with a cloud of tension.

Bucky deliberates, still clutching onto his glass as if it’s anchoring him to reality. It begins to splinter beneath the pressure of vibranium.

“Well, I … I think I’m going to go change and lay down. I’m eager to get out of this dress,” Sheepishly, you shuffle around the island and slowly begin to make your way towards the corridor. “Goodnight, Buck.”

As you awkwardly make for the mouth of the hallway, Bucky calmly places his glass into the sink, bristling with a newfound determination. He makes the choice to go after you, finish what began at the gala.

With measured strides, he’s following after you. He watched you leave once already tonight without kissing you — he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

“Wait.” He stops you, a gentle palm on your waist, cadence laced with a thinly-veiled want. “You’re gonna run off on me like that, doll?”

Listening to the pace behind you climb in intensity, you whirl around, nearly colliding into Bucky as he plants a chaste kiss against your mouth.

It’s disarming, but fleeting, brief — he’s wading into your waters. “Bucky, what …” You whisper, doe-eyed and awestruck.

Exhilarated and breathless, you’re stunned when his stubbled mouth fans over yours, and the contact is too hurried, too hasty. Yet, he burns your lips with the kiss, and you’re left wanting more.

“I should’ve done that sooner.” He confesses, tone dropping to a warm timbre that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies. Your breath hitches, gaze wide-eyed and wanton.

“You should’ve.” Breathless, you concur, lashes fluttering as they kiss the skin beneath your eyes. Fingers tense around the backs of your stilettos, and you’re waiting.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, blue eyes burning as he peers down at you — azure dress, dazzling eyes, taking his breath away.

He exhales; the sound is sharp, poignant, excited — his gaze traces over your countenance, across delicate features and the curve of your mouth.

His body is close, chests nearly brushing, hand still hovering around your waist. “May I?” Bucky’s tone softens, a humming purr that makes your knees wobble.

“Please, Buck.” Lips parted, and you’re careening up on your toes to meet him halfway. He dips down, mouth clamoring for yours, lips brushing in a heated swarm.

Stifling a gasp, your hand drops your stilettos as if they’re a meaningless thing, listening to them clatter against the tile. They both gather against his chest, muscle firm beneath your palms.

Passion bleeds through his lips, certain and steady, vibranium hand shifting to cup your jaw. You shiver from the contact, icy metal sweeping over burning skin, other hand holding your hips.

It’s fireworks — months of pining, of dancing around smothered feelings, only to explode to the surface. Satisfaction ripples through you, a warm elation that curls around your bones.

Wisps of brunette tickle your cheeks, his hair soft as it brushes over your face. The pleasant scratch of his beard grounds you, a reminder that all of this is real, visceral — not a fantasy.

There’s a lull in the kiss as you draw away, chest constricting with soft, excitable sighs. “I’ve been waiting on you, Bucky Barnes.” You whisper, unable to keep yourself from beaming, teeth and all.

“Wish I got the hint,” Bucky grumbles, his metal thumb circling over the soft flesh beneath your jaw, pressing a kiss to your crown. “You’re beautiful.” He murmurs, appreciative as he cups your face.

“I wasn’t very good at dropping hints,” The softness of your confession pulls a chuckle from him, arm still caging you against his body. “I just — You’re incredible, Bucky.” Your words come as a surprise, but aren’t unwanted.

A rosy pallor clings to his features, slipping beneath his beard as he plants another kiss to your forehead, gaze warm as it follows the curve of your mouth. “I don’t know about that, sweetheart.” He admires your sentiment, nonetheless.

“I know,” Insistent, you gently tap his chest, fingertips hovering above his collarbone. “I know that I adore you just the way you are.” Affection curled within your tone, sweet and tender.

Bucky paused, a slow smile spreading over his features, lashes fluttering a time or two. There was something raw about the way he stared at you, as if you were the thing he lived for, breathed for.

A comfortable bout of silence slipped between, his hand still stroking over your jaw, fingertips circling your cheekbone. “I think you’re perfect.” He stated, as if it were fact.

A hitch formed within your throat, taken aback by the sincerity of his words. His stare never wavered, exceedingly soft as you coaxed him in for another kiss; and he didn’t protest.

It was soft, wrought with ardor, something that stole every wisp of air from your lungs. Bucky only craved your touch — you were what he wanted, everything he wanted.

Physical intimacy wasn’t something he’d experienced for years; between HYDRA, the ice, scrambled memories, on the run … It never allowed him time to let it sink in, that he could be desirable.

The way your hands caressed over his chest pulled a low grunt from his mouth, lost within entangled lips as he reciprocated.

“Do you …” Murmuring against his mouth, Bucky stilled, lashes fluttering in rapid succession. “Do you want to come to my room?” You asked, insides stirring with butterflies.

A brief pause settled between the two of you, the idea being turned over within his mind. The implications were there — what you wanted, what he wanted.

“I’ll follow you, doll.” Bucky murmured, cadence low and warm as it curled around you, eliciting a brief shiver. His vibranium hand smoothed over the small of your back, and he stooped to retrieve your shoes, too.

Hushed, the both of you strolled for your room, at the very end of the main level. It was a corridor you shared with Bob and Ava, typically quiet with minimal disturbances.

The rhythm of your heart had kicked into a gallop, slamming beneath your breast as you traipsed barefoot over cold tile, Bucky sticking close to your side.

He was smiling, and so were you; anticipation hung heavy, a subtle expectancy that you were eager to entertain. As you came up to your door, you pressed the button, letting it open with a soft hiss.

The room you’d concocted for yourself was home — warm and comely, surrounded by all facets of your personality, vibrant with color. It was very lived-in, bed partially made, items scattered over your vanity.

Bucky had been inside a handful of times, drinking in the details when he slipped inside behind you. He placed your stilettos down, pacing forward with a tender gaze.

“Always thought you had a knack for decorating,” He teased, cadence disarmingly gentle, little more than a soft husk. “Smells good in here, too.” It’s all you — floral scents, sweeter aromas that he’s associated with you.

“It’s a mess of colors,” You muse, nose wrinkling as he moves to sit down on the edge of your bed, forearms resting against his knees. “It’s the honeycomb lavender scent, if you’re interested.”

Bucky chuckles, flashing a glimpse of pearlescent teeth, canting his head to one side. “Yeah?” He muses, gaze boring into you like fire, melting right through you with ease.

“Mm-hm, I can get you a bottle.” Playful, you step closer, lingering within arm’s reach. Being around him like this still feels surreal, as if reality hasn’t fully settled in.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, coaxing you closer until you’re standing in-between his legs. “Might take you up on that.” He utters, palms settling over your hips, thumbs tracing circles over your dress.

Soft fingertips shift to caress over his hairline, carding into brunette tresses. It pulls a low, content sigh from his lips, mouth still upturned into a light smile, gaze tracing across your figure.

He holds you tightly when you dip down to kiss him, lips flush, colliding in a passionate kiss. Hands trace reverently along your sides, and you shiver beneath the gentle contact.

Metal fingertips find the zipper at the middle of your spine, hesitant; he looks to you for consent, and you’re quick to nod.

“Let me.” In a hushed tone, you gently tug at your dress, unraveling azure fabric from your body. Bucky unzips you with care, dragging it down until it kisses the small of your back.

The dress piles in a heap at your feet, leaving you in your undergarments, eliciting a sigh from his mouth. He appraises you with rapture, metal palm akin to a touch of ice to your hip.

“You’re gorgeous.” Bucky huffs, mesmerized and awestruck as he coaxes you into his lap. Your knees come to squeeze at either side of his hips, sweet breath feathering over his face.

“Thanks,” Flustered, you accept his compliment without protest, hands loosely gathering over the bowtie that he’s partially undone. “So are you.”

He cracks a smile, a brief chuckle splitting through his chest as he plants a kiss to your jaw. “Hm,” He hums, low and content, hands caressing over your hips. “You mind if I …”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck.” Through fluttering lashes and another dizzying, pretty smile, he leans forward to kiss you, mouths connecting in a flurry of passion. He’s tender, but not excessively so.

Mouths mold together, his stubble scraping over your maw, a reminder that this is all real. Your breath hitches, excitement pooling within your belly.

His kiss makes your legs quiver, fingers gingerly shifting towards the buttons still holding his dress shirt together.

Digits tense over his sternum, each action marked by a gentle affection that Bucky craves. His hands leave your hips, moving to tug his bowtie off, encouraging you to remove his shirt.

It’s sluggish, meant to savor — he’s still kissing you even as you’re untethering each button, pushing the white fabric off of him.

Bucky exhales, a contented noise that drags through his chest, steady and sure, throat bobbing as he swallows. He finds a purpose with you; something clean, something gentle.

A flicker of nervousness stirs within him; he hasn’t had something like this in decades. You’re something sacred, something to lose, and he looks at you like you’re the sun, as if he hasn’t felt warmth in years.

He’s still in a white, sleeveless undershirt, material stretched snugly over his burly musculature. The silvery glint of dog-tags sparkles beneath the dim lighting of your bedroom.

A tangle of now-faded scars sits at the divide where vibranium kisses flesh, drawing your gaze there, oozing with empathy.

Lips collide, and collide again — a tangle of heat and brewing desire. He kisses you as if you might slip right through his fingers, stopping only to let his mouth press over your throat.

“Bucky.” You sigh, feeling his hand settle over your hip, the other slipping to stroke over your ribs. Metal smooths across your body, caressing until he cups your breast.

Soft fingertips trace over his chest, moving to gently grasp at the nape of his neck, threading over his hair. He continues to lavish your neck in sweet, lingering kisses, kneading at your clothed chest.

Desire pulls at the fringes of your mind, creeping in like some haze. His mouth peppers a trail, from beneath your jaw to your collar, and back up again. He repeats it a time or two, stroking your hip.

His mouth works at you still, drifting from your jaw to the silky expanse of your throat, scruffy beard scratching pleasantly against your skin.

One of your palms settles over his vibranium bicep, firm and icy underneath your flesh. Bucky shudders as if it’s a phantom sensation, lips parting with surprise.

Your embrace is fearless, and you touch his arm as if it’s just that, just him; not an instrument of destruction like he used to believe. His mouth finds yours again, bleeding passion.

Quiet, he grips you tightly before standing, ensuring that one of your legs settles over his hip. Bucky moves you back into your pillows, pressed further into the mattress, lips still joined.

He settles between your legs, pulling a soft moan from your mouth, noses brushing over one another. Your hand idly drags along his metal forearm, the other gliding beneath his undershirt, feeling along his abdomen.

Your fingertips are like kisses of silk — affectionate, tender, and delicate. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this, as if he were something to covet, someone worth loving.

Coming to rest on either side of him, your knees idly squeeze at his ribs, hand continuing to ascend. Bucky indulges you, using one arm to tug off his undershirt, dog-tags dangling toward your collar.

Something incendiary resides within his gaze, warm and smoldering intermingled with adoration. Through a momentary gap, you exhale, warm breath pluming over his lips before you resume the kiss.

With a soft sigh, you’re turning into him, chest brushing against his, other hand drifting to grasp at his bicep. His mouth is ceaseless, constant — you’re lost within his lips.

The warm flesh of his hand returns to knead at your breast, rolling over flesh, tingles of bliss shooting through your body.

Bodies bump together, flush; Bucky shivers when your hips seem to grind against his own, producing a friction that nearly shatters his resolve. He wants to; he thinks about it often.

He’s deliberate, attentive; Bucky kisses you as if you’re the center of everything, tender as it stretches on for several moments.

Kisses edge with something desirous, and you withdraw to catch your breath, visibly smitten. He moves toward your throat again, dipping further until he finds your collarbone.

“Bucky,” Another low, pleading moan ripples through your chest, a sound that he’s desperate to hear more of. “Bucky, please.” You sigh, satisfied and yearning for more.

There’s a moment of him continuing — metal fingers fisting into the sheets, walking the fine line of restraint. Desire rages between the both of you like a burning wildfire.

Again, he lavishes kisses over your chest, trailing towards the soft juncture between your shoulder and throat. After leaving his mark there, he finds your mouth once more, and kisses hard.

Reciprocating, the heat of entangled mouths lasts for what feels like a lifetime; it’s like fireworks dancing in your belly, nerves electrified, and you’re soaring, floating.

It slows to a crawl when he draws away, settled comfortably between your thighs. “I want to do this the right way.” He drawls, hot breath feathering over your visage.

“What’s wrong?” Thinking it was something to do with you, the sudden pause in your heated proclivities struck you as concerning.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bucky doesn’t stray far, still hovering above you, propped up on one arm. The other moves to cup your jaw, warm and soothing. “You deserve a first date before all of this.” He muses, a twinkle in his eye.

Relieved, you can’t help but smile, flustered and completely enamored with him. “For a second, I thought I’d scared you off.” You murmur, sweet and playful as you trace your fingers over his chest.

“Not in the slightest,” He utters, and for a second, he looks razed. “You’ve got any idea what you do to me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s tone drops to a husky purr, and it makes your head spin.

“I have an inkling,” Through an excitable sigh, you relax when his lips press against your jaw, lingering and affectionate. “You might have to show me.”

Bucky huffs, gaze somewhat half-lidded, eclipsed by both ardor and desire. You can tell he wants you, but he wants to show a little chivalry; it’s ridiculously attractive.

“I want to show you, believe me,” He assures, lips still climbing over your cheek, sealing beside the corner of your mouth. “I want to take you out first, that’s all.”

“When are you taking me out?” You muse, lips still tugged into a smile. The fact that he cares enough for this means the world to you, and to him.

Bucky couldn’t recall the last time he’d really taken a girl out, and meant it. The look on your face was enchanting, full of mirth and delight as you caressed his collarbone.

“After recon in Kaunas,” He chuckles, moving to lay down beside you. Still, he doesn’t go anywhere, drawing you right into the warmth of his chest, hand holding tightly to your hip. “Gives me time to figure out how to impress you.”

The laughter that tumbled from your lips made him feel alive; it got a faint smile out of him, mouth crinkling at either corner. “You don’t need to impress me,” You assure. “I just want to be with you.”

With a nonplussed hum, his brows furrowed together, chest falling as he exhaled. “You’re perfect,” Bucky murmured, planting a kiss against your crown. “Me too, doll.”

Exhaustion began to creep up, and you were too tired to throw your pajamas on, comfortably curled into his side. He continued to caress from your hip to your spine, his breathing evening out.

“Don’t go anywhere, Buck.” Through a soft whisper, your tone is fringed with grogginess, as if you’re actively staving off sleep. He huffs, with no intention of leaving you anytime soon; or forever, if you wanted that.

“I’m not,” He presses a kiss against your forehead when you begin to succumb to sleep, lightly tugging your sheets around your body. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[webslinger-holland]

heyyyy, i love your work! could you do all of the thunderbolts reacting to you wearing their clothing! tysmm!

Prompt: The Thunderbolts react to you wearing their clothes

Warning: NSFW 18+ minors DNI, suggestive and sexual themes, flirting and innuendos, light dom/sub undertones, some sexual tension, and a somewhat lack of clothing ironically

Note: I took a much more flirty approach to this without crossing any lines. Hope you enjoy!!!

Yelena: Getting prepped for another mission with the team, you spent a good deal of time getting into your gear. You zipped up your suit and turned to leave only to spot a familiar looking tactical vest draped across the back of a nearby chair.

You quickly take a glance at your surroundings, checking to see if anyone was watching you. When the coast was clear, you grabbed the vest that had so many pockets and slipped it over your shoulders. You made some adjustments to how it laid on you.

You liked the weight of it, the worn leather, the faint scent of her perfume mixed with gunpowder. You didn't notice the moment she came into view and stopped mid-stride.

“What the hell?" Yelena was taken back. She gestures at you with both hands, but can't hide the smile on her face. “That’s mine.”

You raise a brow. “And?”

“And you look insufferably hot in it, so now I can’t yell at you.” She makes it sound dramatic and playful at the same time.

She storms closer dramatically, tugging at the lapels like she’s going to reclaim it—but doesn’t. She looks at you skeptically.

“You’re keeping it, aren’t you?” Yelena asked.

"Maybe," you shrug.

"You can't keep it, it's my favorite." Yelena sports a clear pout on her lips. She tugs on it again. "Look at how many pockets it has!"

"Just let me wear it for the day," you plead with her and you knew she'd cave because you were giving her that look. You even put your hands together in a silent plea. "Pretty please?"

“Fine. I’ll just steal something of yours. Like your favorite hoodie. And then we’ll be even.”

You go to kiss her cheek affectionally and she pretends to not care by wiping it away with the back of her hand. "You're the best! Thank you!"

Bucky: It’s a lazy afternoon. You’re curled up on the couch in Bucky’s dark red Henley (the one from Civil War). The fabric warm against your skin and worn soft to the touch. You didn't even bother wearing anything underneath it because it fell past mid-thigh.

When Bucky walks in from a run and sees you, he actually stops in his tracks. He's sweaty and breathless. And his brows scrunch together in slight confusion.

“You—uh—what are you wearing?” Bucky's chest heaves as he attempts to regain his breath.

"Your shirt," you shrug carelessly.

You stretch out like a cat with your arms held way above your head. The said shirt, in the process, rides up along your thigh to expose just a little more skin. Bucky's gaze flickers down.

"Figured you wouldn't mind." You caught him staring and smirk teasingly.

“No,” he mutters and sets his gear down on a nearby chair. “No, just… wasn’t expecting to see that the moment I walked in.”

“Why? You’ve seen me wear less.” You tease.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t trying to be good then.” Bucky emphasizes and can't hide the growing smirk from gracing his lips.

He walks over slowly, kneels beside the couch, and lets his hand settle on your bare thigh where the hem rides high. Now, it's your turn for your gaze to flicker down to where his hand lay.

“You know this was my favorite shirt?” Bucky's fingers start to dip beneath the hem, drawing dangerously close to your heat.

“It still can be,” you say. Your fingers weave into his hair gently.

"You like messing with me?" Bucky beams at you.

“Maybe. You gonna do something about it?” You asks. Your legs part ever so slightly like it's an invitation.

“Not unless you ask real nice.” His lips ghost over your knee. And when you shift toward him, he smirks.

John: You were hanging out in the kitchen, sitting perfectly perched on the counter with a cup of coffee in hand. You were sporting John's West Point t-shirt and nothing else but socks. It hangs mid-thigh, swallowing your frame and the socks come up to your knee. You hear the front door creak open and a familiar bootstep on the tile.

“Huh,” John drawls having just come back from a workout. “Didn’t realize we were sharing closets now.”

“You leave your clothes around. I consider that an invitation.” You mumble and peer over the rim of your mug.

“Yeah? What else you think is an invitation?” John quirks an eyebrow at you in challenge.

"You tell me, Walker."

He steps into the kitchen fully with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes scanning you with slow heat. You set down the mug and lean back, keeping yourself propped up with your hands behind you.

"That shirt looks better on you, I’ll admit,” John nods. His tongue wets his bottom lip. “But I’d rather see it on my floor.”

"Then you better do something about that," you replied. You uncrossed your legs slowly and deliberately, just to push him.

“Oh, I will." John takes long strides to meet you and cages you in with hands on either sides of your hips.

You said nothing, but looked up at him with sultry eyes. He leaned closer. The heat of his body pushed against yours. His breath hit your lips.

The two of you were teetering on the edge of caving into your desires. It was only when his fingers slid under the hem of the shirt and brushed the bare skin of your thigh that you nearly lost all composure.

“No panties?” John sounded surprised. His hand flexing. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip. He looked like he might snap.

"But you should know, sweetheart, you wear my name like that again?” He leans close, voice low, teasing your lips with his. “I’m not just taking the shirt. I’m making sure everyone hears who you belong to.”

Ava: You stood in front of the mirror wearing Ava’s signature black leather jacket which was open over a low-cut tank. You turn slightly to admire it from another angle because it really was a much different look on you. You'd always been more known to wearing softer, lighter things.

Nobody would expect to see you wearing leather, especially not Ava. So when she walks into the room from a mission, Ava stops dead in her tracks. Her expression unreadable behind her usual cool demeanor.

You catch her reaction in the reflection of the mirror. You quickly spin around to face her and show it off a little flirtatiously.

"What do you think?" You inquire.

"I think that's mine," Ava points out.

"Well, yeah." You look down at yourself. "You don't mind, do you?"

“No,” Ava shakes her head, stepping close. “I mind that you look better in it.”

She walks over slowly, eyes on your frame. You expect a snarky comment. Maybe a grumble. But instead, she just stares. She circles you once, fingers brushing over the collar, her tone measured.

“You know what leather means, right?” Ava quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Power. Control. Danger.” You reply.

She leans closer. Her lips barely brush your jaw. “Exactly. And I want all of it back.”

Bob: Being in your own bedroom, you were sitting on top of your bed and mindlessly flipping through an old magazine from your teen years. You recently acquired a particular blue crewneck that certainly didn't belong to you, but you had always been weirdly drawn to it.

It falls nearly to your knees, sleeves swallowing your hands. You bring one sleeve up to your mouth and rub the soft fabric against your lip, taking a moment to breathe in deeply. It still smelled like him—like warm vanilla and cotton. He somehow smelled nostalgic and divine at the same time.

You didn't even hear him when he walked into the room, slightly taken back by seeing you wearing something of his.

“Is that—? That’s mine…” Bob comments, pointing to it.

"I'm sorry," you look up at him innocently. "I got cold."

"Well, you could always start by putting on more layers." Bob notices how you went wearing anything else besides that; his eyes darting to the skin on your legs.

"Where's the fun in that?" You tease and send him a playful wink.

He walks across the room like he's in a trance. He stares down at you and his hand reaches up to brush the side of your face tenderly. You lean into his touch.

"You're dangerous like this," Bob smiles.

"Why? Because I look cute?” You wonder.

“Because you look like you belong to me,” Bob confesses. His eyes looked so soft, but there was an intensity behind them too. “And I don’t think I’m capable of handling that thought right now.”

“You wanna try anyway?” You suggest.

He exhales like it physically hurts not to touch you. He climbs into the bed beside you. You lean against him, and his arm curls around you protectively. His heartbeat pounds in his chest. And the smile that grows on his face is too pure for this world.

[ak319]

Lovesick A.M x f!reader

--★ Rose Hats and Rough Hearts I She wanted Sundays

AN: No, it's not the second part, darlings, but rather an ask based on RHRH oneshot (Reader leaves the camp and Hosea goes to bring her back + lovesick Arthur's reaction) . So enjoyyy! Syno: You've had enough and decide to just...leave. Warnings/MDNI: Age gap (you are in early 20s and Arthur is 30-31), pining, angst, fluff! tag list: @necktattooed @nayykura

┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list + Rose Hats and Rough Hearts ❀

So was that a joke?

You’d rushed through every damn chore like a fool, every errand checked off, every useless task finished, all because he said he’d take you out of camp. And you’d agreed, of course you had. What was there to say no to? Like anyone ever took your no seriously anyway.

You figured you'd at least try to enjoy it. Try to pretend this life wasn’t a cage. Try to smile, and hell, you did smile, just a little, getting ready with a stupid kind of hope rising in your chest.

And then what do you see?

Him.

Walking off.

With shame.

An apologetic look in his eyes and a damn paper in his hand handed to him by Mr. Strauss, of all people.

Of course.

You caught the tail end of the German’s muttering, something smug and useless like, “He’s in the process of moving to another city ---you best hurry, catch the fellow-”

You weren’t interested.

Not anymore.

You weren’t excited now.

You were enraged.

"Didn’t even have the guts to at least apologize before leaving. Spineless bi-"

"(Y/N)."

Oh great. Another sermon.

Hosea stood at the entrance of your tent, arms crossed, disappointment practically radiating off him.

"What did I tell you about-"

"Yeah, yeah. Respect him. Respect others." You threw your hands up. "BUT WHAT ABOUT ME?! Why does no one ever respect ME or my---someone else could have gone in his place but no-"

"He is doing all this for you! And what exactly are you throwing a tantrum about, huh? He’ll be back in a few minutes to take you out. There are hours left in the day."

"It’s not about hours," you snarled, voice sharp with years of swallowed fury. "It’s about priorities, Papa. Not that you’d know much about those. Your only priority is- no, everyone’s only priority is Dutch. Aww, poor baby Dutch. Let’s all tuck him in and tell him he’s doing amazing, sweetie."

"You are impossible!" Hosea barked. "Can’t have one decent conversation with you without you dragging his name or the gang’s through the mud. God--"

He turned and left, muttering and shaking his head like he always did.

Like he has been doing for years.

Now, Arthur breaking his promise? That was a long-forgotten thought.

Now you were angry at everything.

At being treated like some unruly little brat.

'Not mature.'

'Is that any way to speak to your elders?'

"Hosea, come get your girl, she’s off the meter again.'

That’s all your ears ever seemed to catch these days. That, and the way they all looked at you, like you were a problem that needed managing. A spark they were all waiting to smother.

And your father's eyes…

You won’t admit it, but they make you cower. You hate that look. The disappointment. It buries itself under your ribs and gnaws.

It’s better not to be seen at all than seen like that.

"Yeah, well... that’s what I am, I guess." You muttered under your breath, grabbing the mirror with trembling hands, knuckles turning white from the grip.

Disappointment.

Nuisance.

The stupid earrings you’d carefully picked out, the eyeliner smudged from effort, it all looked like a waste now. A joke you’d told yourself.

"No point in staying, then."

❀˖°

Arthur rode hard.

The dust kicking up behind his horse like smoke off a dying fire. He was muttering curses under his breath, hat pushed back, jaw tight. The paper from Strauss still burned in his pocket like a brand , some nonsense errand that should’ve been handled tomorrow. But no, Arthur had said yes, like a damn fool. Like someone who didn’t have a promise to keep.

"Such a damn fool." His horse huffed as if agreeing with him.

But at that moment, some extra cash meant extra things for you. And he couldn't say no. He always wanted to give you tenfold. But of course, you might have ignored that notion in the blindness caused by your frustration.

You were probably waiting. Or, worse.....you weren’t.

He spotted the wildflowers on the side of the trail just past the bend. Simple little things, yellow and pink, no name he could think of, but soft-looking. Pretty. Like you looked this morning, tugging on that shawl and giving him that rare half-smile that haunted him the whole damn ride.

'What am I sayin', she looks prettier by every second.'

But right now, all he could imagine was...you with arms crossed, eyes rolling, that stubborn little scowl he’d memorized like a prayer. He could see you pacing somewhere, cursing under your breath, probably seconds away from flinging a rock at his head or someone else's the second he showed up.

He yanked the reins, brought the horse to a halt, and slid off in a rush. His fingers were clumsy, gloved, too big for something so delicate. He almost tore the stems trying to gather them fast enough.

"Shit," he muttered as one bloom snapped. He tossed it aside and kept grabbing more.

He didn’t know what he was doing. You weren’t the type to swoon over flowers. Hell, you might throw them back in his face. But he had to bring something.

It wasn’t about the flowers. It was about the hours you waited. The silence he left you with. The look you probably gave the sky when he didn’t show up.

But he hoped they’d at least make you pause before yelling at him. Maybe you’d roll your eyes a little softer. Maybe you'd stay long enough to hear him say sorry.

He tucked them carefully under one arm and kicked his horse into motion again, the weight in his chest getting heavier the closer he got.

Please still be there.

Please still be his.

But lo and behold, what does he find?

"Wh--what do you mean gone?" Arthur demands, voice low but sharp.

Lenny shrugs, uneasy. "Oh, you know… another fight, probably. Hosea came ‘round later, asked if we’d seen her."

"And?"

"We didn’t. He left just minutes ago, lookin’ for her."

Arthur’s grip tightens around the flowers. His heart drops.

❀˖°

Hosea, on the brink of losing himself, finally finds you-

There, slumped but defiant in the back of a rattling wagon, wrapped in a rough wool shawl, arms crossed like you own the damn thing.

A group of burly lumberjacks laugh, bickering and talking in the wagon until they notice him and tip their hats.

"Hey, mister-"

"Stop the wagon, please."

"Why would we do that?"

"Because that’s my daughter--(Y/N), GET OFF this instant! What in God’s name were you thinking, running off with strangers?”

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Papa. But you know what? I want Sunday dinners and pearls, not blood and broken spurs. I am tired of everything, of being some--some kind of burden."

Burden...? He heard that correctly, or is it just his age playing silly tricks?

One of the lumberjacks cuts in, grinning, "Sorry to interrupt, but we can’t just let a girl who doesn’t wanna go with you....go."

"That’s right," you grin back. "Finally, some people who understand me, and my choices. We are going to town, and I am starting life on my own terms." You clutched a small bag of clothes you had tighter with your chest, making Hosea roll his eyes.

Right. As if that's easy. Do you even have any idea what kind of people exist out there?

"(Y/N), now’s not the time for taunts or jabs! You know it's dumb! Be sensible! GET. OFF. Before I-"

“Before you what, old man? Lasso her or something? Are you able to do that?" the driver with the brown ponytail chimed in, barely hiding his grin. Helpful as they were, the men were clearly enjoying the family drama, especially the sharp mouth you had on you. Little did they know they were talking to an outlaw---well...more of a father at the moment.

Who was weak.

Weak when it came to you.

'Yeah, I bet I won't be able to do that.' Hosea though.

One of the lumberjacks chuckles, slapping his knee. "Old man, you sound like a bear with a sore paw."

Another lumberjack piped up, grinning wide. "Yeah, maybe you oughta buy her a pie or somethin’, works better than all that hollerin’. "

The joke landed with a laugh from the others, but it sent a cold chill crawling down Hosea’s spine.

He wasn’t going to let you run off like this. Not like this.

And that damn smirk on your face, as if you’d won something, wasn’t evil. No, it was worse.

It was innocent.

So trusting, isn’t she......so full of hope when it comes to achieving what you want.

The thought made his chest tighten.

You let out a dry laugh, arms crossed tighter. "See? Even these fine gentlemen think you’re all bark and no bite."

Hosea bit back the sharp reply rising to his tongue. His horse began to slow as the wagon rolled farther ahead. His heartbeat quickened, not from anger now, but fear.

He could see it, the sadness in your eyes, barely hidden beneath the armor of pride.

And for a moment, it was as if time stopped.

The two of you locked in another silent fight, just like always. That exhausting, endless tug of war neither of you ever seemed to win.

Was this it then?

Why is he frozen...?

Why has your gaze stopped him?

Did you stop to even think about all of them for once?

Then-

Whoosh!

A gust of wind kicked up dust as a rider tore past him, nearly brushing his stirrup.

Hosea’s horse startled and danced sideways.

Arthur.

"Stop the damn wagon."

"Now who are you-"

"ARTHUR, NO! DON'T YOU COME HERE RUINING EVERYTHING!" you shouted, scrambling to your knees in the back. "I am not going back, you hear me?! Don’t you dare stop the wagon, Richie!"

On first-name basis, are we?

Arthur’s jaw ticked. His eyes, dark, unreadable, flicked from you to the driver, then to the other men, and back again. Whatever softness he might’ve had left after a hard day was gone now.

He wasn’t happy.

"What’s with you men chasin’ after her like she’s game?" one of the men asked, narrowing his eyes.

"You better back off before I-"

"Before you what, cowboy?" another scoffed, tightening his grip on the reins.

And in a flash, before anyone could blink, Arthur was off his horse and hauling himself up the side of the wagon like it owed him money.

"ARTHUR! YOU IDIOT!" you shrieked, scooting back, clutching the edge like it’d save you.

"Git!" he hollered at the driver, grabbing his collar. "Off the wagon. Now."

The men flinched.

Even dear, poor Richie.

"Alright, alright--Geez-," one muttered, raising his hands. "We ain’t gettin’ paid enough to wrestle some wild love story."

"You’re all insane," you spat, glaring at Arthur as he jumped down and held a hand out like this was some fairy tale. "I mean it! Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me-"

"I’m takin’ you back," he said, quiet but firm. "Even if you kick, bite, and scream the whole damn ride."

You did all three. And still ended up in his arms.

❀˖°

"You’re insane, Arthur. Insane." You kicked again, lightly this time, the fight wearing off as he settled you sideways in front of him on the saddle.

"I told you I wasn’t coming back-"

"Yeah, well," he muttered, his arms bracketing you tightly, "you’re a damn terrible liar, kid."

How dare he call you that-

"I hate you."

"Shocking."

"You ruined everything."

"You ruined your eyeliner cryin’ behind that wagon. Don’t act like you weren’t waitin’ for me."

"I was not-"

He leaned down, voice low near your ear. "I’ll always chase you. You know that, right?"

You stiffened.

"Wherever you run, I’ll find you. I’ll knock on doors. I’ll yell at wagons. I’ll punch lumberjacks if I have to. even kill if that's what it takes."

"But you didn’t have to haul me like that in front of everyone, you overgrown ox!"

"Could’ve fooled me, the way you were throwin’ a tantrum in that wagon."

"I was riding to town with decent, non-judgmental people."

"Right. Real decent. One of ‘em had a knife up his sleeve."

You blinked. "No he didn’t---wait, did he?"

"Point is," Arthur said, firm, "you don’t go running off without tellin’ someone. I came back and you were just... gone. Like you didn’t care what that’d do to me. Do you know...that makes my heart bleed?"

You looked away, jaw tight. "Maybe I didn’t."

Arthur huffed a bitter laugh. " Oh, I know you don't. You just like makin’ us chase after you. Like a game."

"Well, for starters, I also like not being suffocated and being treated as inferior. But who cares about that, right?"

"And I prefer knowin’ you’re not climbin’ into wagons with strangers like a damn runaway with a death wish."

You growled, trying to elbow him off, but he caught your wrist mid-swing, voice low but trembling with emotion.

"I will always find you. You hear me? You run, I’ll follow. You disappear, I’ll tear the world down ‘til I get you back, darlin'."

You tried to look unaffected, but your breath caught. “Romantic threats. How charming.”

“Not a threat. It’s a promise.”

You let out a scoff, yet again. "You’re still an idiot."

"And you’re still mine."

Hosea followed on his own horse, slumped forward in the saddle like a man ten years older, muttering under his breath.

His horse snorted. He sighed again, watching you and Arthur up ahead, bickering, leaning too close, then arguing again.

I am too old for this shit.

"Hosea, you alright?"

"Hm. You?."

"Better now."

Arthur glanced over, catching the weight in the old man’s expression. He knew, knew damn well, how much your actions had cut Hosea deep. But he wasn’t gonna say anything. Not now. Not when you were already burning hot enough to set the whole camp aflame. He wasn’t about to make you feel worse than you already did, even if you were hiding it behind all that noise. He made a quiet note to talk to Hosea later--when things weren't so... loud.

"I’m gonna head to town with her."

"No, I literally look like I crawl-"

"Hushhh, you look fine, darlin. You always do." A kiss to your crown again.

"Sure. Have a good time." And with that, the white-haired man nudged his horse into a steady trot the other way, clearly choosing peace over whatever hell the two of you had brewing.

Arthur turned his attention to you sitting in front of him, eyes locked on the back of your head.

Menace.

He reached forward and pinched your side, hard enough to make you jump.

"Are you five?!"

He grinned, the picture of smug satisfaction. "Just makin’ sure you hadn’t turned to stone from all that brooding."

You twisted your neck just enough to glare at him. "You ever gonna quit treating me like I belong in a glass box?"

"Not until you quit flingin’ yourself into danger like it’s a damn pastime."

"Maybe I like pastimes."

Arthur grinned. "Then I guess I’m yours, ‘cause chasin’ after you’s a full-time job."

You glanced down at the slightly crushed flowers poking from his saddlebag, your frown softening for half a second.

He noticed, but didn’t say a word.

Instead, he leaned closer, voice quieter now. "I know what you’re runnin’ from, alright? And I know I ain’t perfect. But I’ll always chase you. You run, I follow. That’s the deal now."

"Whatever."

"And sorry...darling. For being late."

"....'s fine." Your childish mumble was caught by him.

Arthur gave a soft, boyish laugh. "Good. Hate when you’re mad at me. Hurts worse than a bullet."

Before you can react, he brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and then his lips are on yours. Gentle, steady. A soft promise in a kiss.

When he pulls back just a little, his eyes search yours, full of something tender and stubborn all at once.

"I’ll always find you, woman," he murmurs, voice rough. "Ain’t no one gonna love you the way I do. Ain’t no fella' stupid enough to even try-"

"Wha-excuse me-"

"You're my trouble. My damn heartbeat too. I don't want peace if it ain't got you in it."

You catch the corner of his mouth twitching, half a smile, half a challenge.

He grins softly. "Not that I’m planning to let you get away anytime soon." He pulls you back tightly to his chest, making the message clear.

"Did those bastards hurt you? Touch you?"

"...No..as if I would allow that." You uttered the words in his neck with a sigh, minutes away from dozing off on his chest, but he wasn't satisfied.

Damn right cuz' if they had, I will turn this horse round' and finish the whole deal.

He pulled you away by the back of your neck, receiving an annoyed grunt from you, his fingers warm against your skin but firm, eyes sweeping over you with barely contained urgency.

"Let me see you," Arthur murmured, voice low and thick with something sharp beneath the softness. His eyes roamed, from your face to your collarbone, down to your arms. Every inch he could see, he checked, like he was memorizing you all over again just to make sure you were still in one piece.

His thumb brushed over a faint red mark on your wrist, from gripping the wagon, maybe, or from bracing yourself too tight.

A shadow crossed his face.

"That from them?" he asked, jaw clenching.

"No. I told you, they didn’t lay a finger on me. Calm down."

Still, he lifted your wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss there. Then the other. Soft, reverent, like the damage done, real or imagined, needed his touch to undo it. Then the other wrist slow, deliberate, like each kiss might erase his worry.

His arms wrapped around you again, tighter this time, his cheek resting against your hair.

His fingers brush your cheek, warm and sure, as if daring you to argue, though you say nothing.

"Runnin’ off like that, ridin’ in wagons with strangers… You tryin’ to age me early, woman."

❀˖°

Arthur doesn’t leave camp for a whole week. Not once. The others start noticing, Susan raises an eyebrow, Dutch gives him a knowing look, but Arthur just shrugs it off. This week is about you. To make you think thrice before running off. To make you forget all the reasons that made you leave in the first place.

Every morning, he’s right there, a quiet presence by your side, ready to pamper you like you’re the queen of the world. He rubs your temples with slow, careful strokes, fingers warm and steady as they work through the knots you didn’t know you had. The same with your feet.

Say farewell to chores. His darling is not even lifting a finger.

"Quit squirming," he says, his voice low and teasing when you try to protest. "You look like you need this more than you think."

You scoff but don’t pull away. He knows exactly how to make you relax, even if you pretend to act annoyed.

He sneaks you wildflowers he picks from the woods, jewels, fresh berries from the camp larder, pastries, feeds you himself and makes little hand-drawn cards with his awkward scrawls that make you roll your eyes and laugh at the same time. Even silly drawings of other members just to hear your cackle.

"You’re such a fool," you tell him as he holds you on top of him, though your playful chuckle softens the sting.

Arthur just grins, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as he cuddles you closer in his cot, perfect enough for you both. "Maybe. But I’m your fool, princess."

Always.

AN: Do comment and lemme know ur thoughts! Don't be a shy reader ;)

[makeyoumine69]

hey! hope this isn't too weird lol but could you write headcanons for how patrick bateman would act if the woman he was dating was ovulating? like would he notice? get weirdly possessive or more obsessive? just curious how that would play out with his whole psycho control thing 👀 thanks!!

Patrick Bateman x Ovulating GF (Headcanons)

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: NSFW, smut, Patrick is an animal.

𝐀/𝐍: Thank you so much for sending me this request! I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading it. Many thanks to my dear @moriohpsyker for proofreading!💕

🪓He would know because he tracks it.

Patrick is a very organized man, and tracking your menstrual cycle is part of his practical nature. He probably has a calendar or spreadsheet of your cycle, but he wouldn't tell you because you might think it's creepy or weird, even though it really is. So he keeps this information to himself. Once he notices the subtle changes in your mood, the way you talk, how flirty and sassy your tone becomes, how wide your smile is, and how you're absolutely radiating from the inside, he'll definitely check the calendar to see if he's right on time. He can practically taste your arousal in the air whenever you’re around, and it drives him insane.

"You're glowing, darling," he murmurs into your ear, burying his nose in your hair and pressing you tight against him.  "And this scent—so sweet. Lemme taste it.”

🪓His attraction would spike, but it would also piss him off.

Basically, I see him being much more aroused than usual because you’re glowing, your smile hits differently(it's more playful in his opinion), and you’re like a gift with a bow on it, walking around him, asking to be unwrapped. Patrick would be bothered by all of this, especially at work when it gives him a boner. He’s already upset that he has to lock himself up  in his office and jerk off to trashy porn magazines instead of eating you out; to settle inside your dripping pussy. The notion that he could impregnate you would rile him up and speed up his orgasm. He'd see it as an obvious con and another reason to complain—you having a special effect on him while you're just living your life. He could blame nature, but it's easier to blame you and fuck you harder as punishment.

"Shit, I couldn't stop thinking about fucking you all day long," he'd whisper into your parted mouth while doing you missionary style with your legs looped around his lower back. The curve of his cock would massage the front wall of your throbbing pussy so fuckin' perfectly. Patrick would groan, grabbing both your wrists with one hand and pinning them over your head. He'd slam deeper, his hips grinding against yours with the lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh. "Hey, don't close your eyes, honey. I want you to see the things you’re doing to me.”

🪓The potential of breeding you? What if he has a breeding kink?

Okay, but what if the two of you were actually planning for a baby? That would change everything, since this man would take days off from work to have sex with you throughout your ovulation period. He'd be so genuine about it. He'd be dedicated as hell. Patrick would find ways to impress or shock you with his "absolutely normal" ideas.

One day, he'll suggest filming the conception process so he can rewatch it later. When he notices your face going blank, he'll raise his eyebrows and ask, "What's wrong with that, baby?"

Even if you say no, he’ll drill a goddamn hole in your brain with his whining and preaching about how he wants to memorize your perfect body when he manages to pump you full of his cum; and how he’d spread your legs wide open on camera to show it leaking down your thighs. No, there’s nothing depraved about it. Patrick will wait and let you simmer. He'll persistently feed you pieces of his twisted fantasy, like a demon sitting on your shoulder and buzzing in your ear, until you surrender.

And he eventually, of course, gets everything he wants. 

He'll dress you in pretty pastel lingerie because he wants you to look soft and innocent for the video, to make it look like something that was made in heaven. First, he’ll make you suck him off before delving between your legs. After he’s sure the camera is recording, he’ll feast on your succulent pussy as if it were his last meal. Of course, he'd do it with the wettest, filthiest, slurpiest sounds to gratify his own desires while also humiliating you further. For the sex position, he’d debate between mating press and the prone bone only to try them both.

Then, Patrick will break you in half, with your legs splayed open and pulled up at your knees. He'll drape them over his broad shoulders and squat down so intensely that his heavy balls will slap your ass. God, he'll definitely jerk off to your moans while watching this recording on the days when the doctor forbids you to have sex.

🪓The opposite side of his hyperfixation over your ovulation would be his jealousy.

Patrick would be extremely jealous and territorial on the days when you’re ovulating. He’d be on edge, and even just a small smile given to a waiter, passerby, or anyone else would instantly set him off. He would lose his mind, and he hates it, but he hates other men staring at what's his even more, so you better not provoke him. If you do, be ready for revenge.

"We're leaving," he would hiss, annoyed and spitting venom. "This place is so fucking overrated. The alcohol they're serving here is pure garbage.”

He definitely wasn't acting like that just because you thanked a random guy for helping you pick up a napkin you dropped.

What a tragedy.

Yeah, Patrick is unhealthily possessive, especially when you’re vulnerable and blossoming like this. He’ll see every man as a potential threat if they dare try to get too close to you.

Thank you for the reading!🖤 [MAIN M-LIST]🪓[KO-FI]

[all4yoi]

𝓛overs 𝓓on't 𝓛ast (𝓦e 𝓓id 𝓞nce)

𝓳ake x fem!reader 🪷 cw ໒꒱ 4.4k word count. exes to lovers angst !! angst ?? 2nd chance romance, mild profanity, yearning, silent longing, did i say yearning? confrontation under the rain!! the rain!! tiny bit of jealousy, eventual fluff, there is like a duet scene but trust me on this!! hear me out ok.. lmk if i missed anything else, mentions of enhypen characters and 2 ocs, not proofread 💔

synopsis ໒꒱ They were lovers once.. quiet, constant, and inseparable, until love slipped through the cracks of silence and unsaid words.

When Y/N agrees to join a weekend getaway with old friends, she expects campfires, lake swims, and group games. Not Jake, the boy she once called home. The boy who drifted away without a storm, just a soft fading into silence. Now, in the cozy confines of a remote cabin, with nowhere to run and too many memories between them—they’re forced to coexist for five days of shared meals, fun activities, and lingering glances.

But as buried feelings resurface and conversations tiptoe into vulnerability, the question isn’t just "what went wrong?" it’s "is there still something worth fighting for?"

notes ໒꒱ i drafted this spontaneously after i heard lovers by anna of the north xd! anyway, it was supposed to be sunghoon but i was like.. nah jake would fit sm better so heres another full fic for jake grah.. also like finished this in one seating i think i write better with music motivation dude anyway, i hope you all enjoy as much as i did while writing!!

"You've been locking yourself up for God knows how long, just come with and unwind." the voice of your best friend Aina whined through your phone.

It has been exactly three days since your friends have been calling you nonstop trying to convince you to join their getaway somewhere in the woods in between mountains.

"It's just for five days, please Y/N.. just, think about it, okay?"

That's exactly why you're now here, in the middle of the woods with your big friend group. Looking around, you spot their respective cars parked near the big cabin, you felt your chest tighten at the familiar black honda civic with a bumper sticker that said "my dog is cooler than your boyfriend" that you remember buying two years ago.

"Y/N! Oh my gosh you actually made it!" you felt the arms engulfing your body before you could process who's voice it belonged. Momentarily forgetting what you've seen, you wrapped your arms around Aina, smiling against her hair.

She pulled away with a big smile before her brows furrowed slightly.

"Look, I didn't know he was coming okay? If I'd have known, I would've told you." she said with guilt, following your gaze towards the black car. You shook your head, waving her off telling her it was fine and that you've moved on.

You didn't know if you were assuring her or yourself.

-

"There she is!" "You cut your hair?!" "I thought you died, lowkey." were your friends' words to you as you entered the cabin with Aina. One by one, they gave you tight hugs, muttering how much they've missed you and asking if you were fine now.

While everyone was gathered around you, eager to see you again after so many months, one person remained seated on the couch his eyes softly trained to your figure as if he was trying to memorize you again.

"Y/N, we're sharing rooms. Alright with you?" you looked back towards the voice and accidentally looked at him.

Jake.

Jake in all his glory, his hair was still fluffy, long sleeves instead of a shirt, his chunky shoes and ripped jeans. He was still the same. He was still Jake, just not yours anymore.

Your eyes met and he sent you a small polite smile, his smile faltered when he saw your face fall. Guilt spreading all over his body and face.

"Y/N?" Sunoo's voice brought you back to reality, finally breaking the awkward interaction with Jake.

"Ah, yeah. No problem, Sun."

"Gotcha!"

-

The sun is setting and everyone is at the back of the cabin, others were coming in and out from the back door bringing food, blankets, and utensils out.

Heeseung came marching holding a cup with sticks in it.

"Okay, listen up! Everyone's going to pick a stick and the two who gets the shortest ones will be the one grilling. Fair?!" everyone agreed. Others were rubbing their hands, some wanting to grill and others just wanting to relax near the bonfire beside the pool.

Everytime someone pulled a long stick, everyone either cheered or groaned.

"Ah, well shit." you heard Jake from beside Sunghoon who laughed out loud. Turns out, Jake got a very short stick, meaning out of the two sticks in Heeseung's cup is short as well.

You and Ni-ki stared at each other before lunging towards Heeseung who stumbled back with a laugh, everyone watching in anticipation.

Ni-ki laughed in triumph upon seeing the length of his stick.

You stared at your ridiculously short stick, raising a brow at Heeseung who put his hands up in mock surrender. "Don't blame me, blame fate." he snickered as he walked away, patting Jake's back.

Everyone 'ooh-ed' in realization. You playfully rolled your eyes while successfully avoiding Jake's gaze, walking towards the grill silently and turning it on.

You could feel your heart beating faster than normal when you felt his body heat to your left. He rubbed his nape in embarrassment but said nothing. He kept glancing at you while also flipping off the boys behind him when they would teasingly pinch his side making him stumble closer to you.

"Sorry. It's- you know how they are.." he muttered once, only receiving a tight lipped smile from you. You both cooked silently, you placed the raw beef and pork, while he was in charge in plating them and delivering it to your friends.

As you finally wiped your hands with paper towel, Jake spoke beside you. "Hey.. uh, you look nice." he silently whispered.

You stared at him, first in shock then disbelief. You scoffed, brushing past him and seating beside Aina. Jake was left standing there in front of the grill, lowering his head and turning to look at you at the table.

You were so near yet so far, but he had no right to yearn for you back when he was the first one to pull away.. right?

-

"So, Y/N. How's nursing school?" Nari, another girl friend, asked from beside Jungwon who nodded at the question.

"Yeah, you like totally ghosted us after you and Jake- ah!" Ni-ki was quickly silenced by Jay who kicked his shin from under the table. "Oh, right. Sorry." the youngest whispered before stuffing his face with more beef.

Jake hung his head low across you, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

"Uh.. um. It's fine, hard. But I'm managing, I have to." you awkwardly laughed before putting another piece of pork in your mouth.

Heeseung noticing the tense tension spoke.

"Come on, Y/N didn't ghost us, she was just busy. You know how nursing school can get..." everyone stayed silent, at another attempt to bring the mood back, he asked. "Uh- Anyway, anyone up for some karaoke?" his question definitely broke the tension as everyone except for two people agreed loudly, jumping from their seat.

You sighed, standing up and beginning to clean up the table, deciding that you'd join karaoke later. Jake silently helped, he wiped the table clean and threw the trash while you washed the dishes.

You didn't even notice your hands were shaking until Jake held your wrist gently, his thumb rubbing lightly on your skin, grounding but too familiar. "Hey, relax. Come on, let me do it." he said it in that soft, affectionate way only he could, the tenderness in his tone that made your chest ache.

"What are you doing, Jake?" you shakily asked, staring at his fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

"Just trying to help, Y/N."

You finally looked up at him, eyes glassy while his were filled with concern and guilt. "Well, I don't-" your voice cracked, "I don't need your help. Not anymore, okay?"

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers detaching from your wrist as he nodded. "Okay.. got it."

-

You exhaled through your nose, hearing the laughter and lyrics being yelled in the living room, and just as you had entered, Ni-ki pointed at you in glee.

"Just in time! Y/N and Jake, you're next!" your brows shot up in surprise, confusion and nervousness snaking up your spine as a tipsy Nari pulled you beside her while Jake was pulled beside Heeseung.

Before you could protest, two mics were shoved into your hands. Jake gripped his a little too tightly.

"I haven't sang in 2 years-"

"So what?! This isn't a competition, just have fun!"

You looked towards the TV, the words Just Give Me A Reason by Pink and Nate Ruess making your heart beat faster.

Of course, they'd pick this out of everything.

"You both- killed! and I mean, killed it! Last time we had karaoke. We had to hear it again." a clearly drunk Sunghoon exclaimed as he sat cross legged on the carpet, looking at both you and Jake as if this was a concert he was attending.

You sighed, but lifted the mic anyway—heart hammering, throat dry, forcing yourself to sing. You didn't glance at Jake. Not when he sang his part, not even when the room erupted in cheers.

Then came his voice. Lower, quieter, and so full of something you tried to ignore.

"I've never stopped, you're still written in the scars on my heart.." he sang deeply, his eyes locked on your face before looking down at the floor once realization dawned onto him that you were not looking anytime soon.

"Everyone shut up! The bridge is coming. Stand up, stand up." Aina shouted, urging you to stand while Jake did the same while singing his line.

"Oh, tears ducts and rust, I'll fix it for us.."

"We're collecting dust but our love's enough."

"You're holding it in, you're pouring a drink."

"No, nothing is as bad as it seems."

"We'll come clean."

Each lyrics were sang with something heavy and deep, emotions seeping through the microphones but no one seemed to notice except you both.

As the final lyric was sang, everyone drunkenly cheered, hooting for you both, oblivious to the war in your chest. You laughed awkwardly and coughed before excusing yourself in the kitchen.

You suddenly remembered two years ago, when you last sang that song with him. You had both pretended to break up with each other so that you and him "channel the pain" into the duet, and aftering singing, you'd both hug and kiss each other.

"That was the worse two minutes of my life." he'd say, kissing you softly and smiling in it while he held you close, ignoring your friends' protest on the pda.

It was something to be laughed about in your relationship back then, and now, you just sang it with him but there were no hugs after it.

No kisses.

No hugs.

No soft teasing from your friends.

Just silence.

You flinched when someone slid a glass of water beside you. Jake opened his mouth but decided against it, remembering your words from a while ago.

"I don't need your help anymore."

He pursed his lips before he walked away but without a last glance at your slumped figure on the kitchen counter, alone.

-

You didn't know what time everyone decided to retreat to their respective rooms. Sunoo was passed out beside you, his limbs sprawled in uncomfortable positions yet he snored soundly.

But your eyes stayed open.

You kept replaying everything that happened tonight. Jake's car in the driveway with the stupid bumper sticker you bought him, the two of you cooking, eating across from each other, God, you even sang together. Yet, you still felt empty. The lingering question in your chest threatening to come out.

"Was I not worth fighting for?"

You could remember vividly the silent apartment. Two people, one couple, yet it was so silent. It had been weeks since you have spoken properly with your boyfriend. Weeks since the last shared kiss, the last meal shared, everything.

"Are we okay?" you had asked him one night on your shared bed, his back towards you. Your voice silent, cautious and afraid.

He sighed, replying with a silent "yeah."

"It doesn't feel like it."

Jake sat up, brushing a hand through his hair.

"It's just- maybe we're just tired. Maybe we need space." and after weeks of longing, he had finally looked at you in the eye, but he wasn't saying what you had thought he'd say when he finally looks at you.

"Space?" a whisper. "Or a way out?"

"I don't want to hurt you more than I already have."

Then that was it. No one shouted, no one begged, no one cried. Just silence and the sound of your heart breaking softly.

You nodded, getting up from the bed before you left and never came back ever again.

Sometimes you had thoughts, if you have not asked him that night, would the both of you still be together?

You would've willingly accepted his silence, just the mere presence of his warmth was enough, but you respected yourself and didn't want to be selfish.

If you had not asked, would he have fought? Would he have stayed? Would he have chosen you, even quietly?

-

Morning came quickly, the sun peeking through the drawn curtains. Sunoo was still knocked out beside you, his sleep shirt riding up due to his constant moving. You carefully slid it back down before leaving the room.

The cabin was quiet, each room's door was still closed. Everyone was asleep still, or so you thought.

You heard him before you saw him.

"Fuck." Jake sleepily cursed at himself, hurriedly washing his hand on the sink as he weakly stomped his barefoot on the wooden floors.

You watched him silently, slipping beside him and grabbed a mug from the cabinets. He looked at you sheepishly, his pale hand turning red.

"Good morning." he greeted silently, turning the faucet off and carefully dabbing his reddened hand with a hand towel.

"Morning," you whispered back, your eyes still trained to his hand. "You 'kay?" his eyes widened at the question, gulping before nodding.

"Yeah, totally- um. You know, just accidentally spilled boiling water on me, nothing bad haha.." he cleared his throat, mentally slapping himself for how much he rambled. He noticed the corners of your mouth twitch, and he smiled.

A genuine Sim Jaeyun smile. Not an awkward or forced smile. Just him.

"You were always bad at handling burns." you said softly, placing your mug down before opening the cabinet below the counter and taking the first aid kit you spotted yesterday.

Jake blinked. "You remember that?"

"You cried over a curling iron once."

Jake choked before laughing. "That was scalding! You said it was on low!"

You nodded your head mockingly with a soft smile on your lips, putting your hand out, waiting for him to place his injured hand on yours.

He let you treat him in silence, eyes following every movement you made. Your delicate fingers rubbing a soothing cream on the red spot on his hand. It was still soft and light, still so you.

His eyes trained over your face, memorizing every feature.

"Thanks.." he muttered.

You hummed, putting everything back on the cabinet. "You should keep it dry." you said, patting his now bandaged hand. He begrudgingly took it back from your warm hands.

"Yes ma'am." he said in a light teasing tone, testing the waters if you'd respond to his humor.

You didn't respond, merely smiled and went back to making coffee. There was a pause, the air suddenly tensing. Then he spoke.

"I missed this." he said quietly, as if he had not intended to say it out loud.

You froze, hand stilling from mixing your coffee. "Sorry?"

Jake shook his head, smiling hesitantly as he gestured to the both of you. "This. You. Talking, laughing over stupid stuff," a slight pause, then, "Everything, really."

He scratched his nape with his unharmed hand, "I didn't realize how quiet things got when you left."

You resumed in stirring, not sparing him a glance.

"I didn't think you noticed."

"I notice everything."

Silence. Then footsteps from the stairs.

"Uh- breakfast." you said quickly, brushing past him to go over the fridge. Jake deflated but kept it to himself, knowing he had no right to feel this way when he was the one who let you go.

"Right, let me help."

-

Breakfast was surprisingly light. For the first time since the trip started, it actually felt like a vacation. There were no awkward silence or dead air like yesterday. Everyone joked about their hangovers, inside jokes were thrown.

"So, Jake and Y/N cooked breakfast?" Jay, who was the last one to wake up suddenly exclaimed from the stairs, walking towards the crowded dining table.

Ni-ki paused, "Wait, Jake," he pointed at the said man who raised a brow and had a strawberry on his mouth. "Made these pancakes?" he pointed towards the overflowing pancakes on his plate.

"I did Ni-ki, don't worry." you said lightheartedly, your brows quirking at him, playful and knowing.

The youngest visibly sighed in relief before he stuffed his mouth with the pancakes. Jake took offense and raised his arms.

"So what if I made the pancakes? Does it make it taste different?" he defensively asked making everyone stare at him in disbelief.

There was a beat of silence before everyone spoke over the other.

"Seriously?" "It's like he's not ashamed at all." "Just eat, Jake."

"Last time you tried cooking pancakes for everyone, you gave everyone food poisoning." you spoke, pointing at him then everyone else with your fork. Someone choked, either from holding back a laugh or the way you said it.

Jake's jaw dropped, putting a hand over his chest. "Slightly undercooked doesn't count as food poisoning! No one even threw up!"

Sunoo snorted and Jungwon raised a brow before nodding towards the youngest. "Ni-ki literally cried."

"Ni-ki threw up." you corrected, a brow raised as you kept your eyes on Jake who was fighting back a smile.

Breakfast was chaotic but fun. That morning, before you stepped out, you decided to push back every hard feelings you carried. Your friends planned everything and wanted to enjoy their small break. You didn't want to ruin the atmosphere by constantly being a moping cow, so even if it did hurt throwing jokes here and there with the person who broke your heart, you'd bear with it for the sake of your friends' happiness.

-

Once everyone was full and energized, you all gathered in the living room again. Nari had invited everyone for truth or dare to pass time.

You all sat in a circle in the middle of the living room, suddenly feeling like middle schoolers again. An empty coke bottle sat on the middle before it was spun by Heeseung.

"Okay! Sunghoon, truth or dare!" Heeseung exclaimed when the bottle stopped and pointed at Sunghoon. Said man groaned but picked truth anyway.

"Kiss, marry, kill, Aina, Nari, and Y/N go!" you audibly laughed while the two other girls made face.

"Obviously marry Y/N, kiss Nari and I'd kill Aina." there was a roar of laughter after he answered, Aina loudly complaining on why'd she be killed.

Jake furrowed his brows, his grip on the throw pillow on his lap tightening. "Obviously?" he whispered to himself but unfortunately, Sunoo heard.

"What? Jealous?"

Everyone 'oohs' awaiting his response. Jake shook his head, laughing slightly. "Of Sunghoon? Come on."

Sunghoon cackled but pointed at him anyway, "'Kay big boy, truth or dare?"

"Truth." everyone groaned, someone calling him a coward, someone saying two truths in a row was boring but he didn't care.

"Oh wait! I have one!" Ni-ki exclaimed, mischievous smile on his face. "Shoot." Jake nodded at him.

"What happened to the girl you were hanging out with in the city? Mira, was her name?" the room oohs, not noticing the way you subtly froze.

Jake stiffens, his gaze turning towards your uninterested figure. You were biting your lip, playing with the rim of your glass filled with juice.

He laughed hesitantly. "I was just walking her to class. Nothing happened, we're just groupmates."

Jake's eyes danced from your figure who remained still, to Ni-ki, to Aina who was now looking at him with furrowed brows, to everyone else who was now silent.

You looked to your left and see Jungwon's half filled bottle. Grabbing that opportunity, you snatched it from him and stood up.

"I'll get you your refill." and before he could stop you, you were already up your feet and left the living room.

"Nice going, she was actually starting to opening up more." Nari said, sparing a single glance at Jake and Ni-ki before standing up and following you.

Jake sighed, "Dude, seriously?"

Ni-ki sat back in guilt. "Sorry, I thought she's moved on."

"Okay, only a stupid person would think that." Jay said exasperated.

"Can we stop talking about this without her here? Seriously." Aina yelled, eyeing everyone with a hard gaze.

Heeseung stood up from his position and straightened his shirt. "I'm going to my room and coming out once the tension has cleared."

Jake watched as everyone left the living room, he could hear the faucet in the kitchen and faint murmuring from Nari. The room was silent but his heartbeat stayed loud. He needed to talk to you. Before the silence between you grew too loud to fix.

-

You kept your head low as you refilled Jungwon's glass, Nari standing beside you with her arms crossed over her chest.

"You don't have to pretend with me, you know?" she said softly, stepping closer. You nodded absentmindedly, screwing the lid back on the juice and tucking it back in the fridge.

"I'm not pretending."

"Come on, Y/N. Who are you fooling? You laughed when Sunghoon said he'd marry you, but Jake? One mention of a girl you don't know and you bolted." she whispered yelled, not wanting to be overheard by anyone.

You let out a sharp breath and messed your hair. "I'm just tired, Nari."

Nari's eyes softened, "You can talk to me, to anyone. We're your friends."

"I.. I think it was a bad idea, coming to this trip, I just-" you sighed, pulling the hem of your hoodie lower as if it would protect you from everything you were feeling. "I need a breather."

Nari didn't stop you but she watched as you walked away, biting her lip in worry and concern.

You hugged yourself tightly as you walked over the dock while the wind danced with your hair. You sat at the edge of the wooden platform, thoughts spiraling in your head.

Were you that easy to replace? But you couldn't blame him, it's been two years and he can date whoever he wants, but the unanswered questions still lingered.

Was I not enough? Did I give him too little? Maybe I was too clingy? Was I too pushy? Did I annoy him?

Did he fall out of love because he's seen everything you lacked with someone else?

You were so deep in thought you hadn't even realized the cold pattering of the rain dropping on your cheek. Just as you looked up in the dark sky, the rain poured, as if the world was crying for you.

The universe was crying for your pain, as if it could feel what you carried. And at some point, you didn't know anymore if the liquid dripping down your cheeks were your tears or the salty rain.

"Y/N!" you ignored his voice, choosing peace with the world who shared your pain. "What are you doing?! You're gonna catch a cold!" you were abruptly pulled up by your forearm but you snatched it away from his grip.

"Since when did you care, Jake?" you questioned, voice finally firm but shaking still. Jake's breathing was heavy, from the running or the question, you don't know.

"Since always. I've cared since always!" He screamed through the loud thunder, looking at your soaked figure. Your hair sticking to your face, your hoodie getting soaked, and yet, you were still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"I'm telling the truth, nothing ever happened to me and that girl. She was a groupmate, nothing else." he added, desperation slipping through each word he muttered.

You laughed. "It doesn't matter, Jake. I don't need your explanation, we aren't together anymore."

He didn't know his heart could break all over again. His breath stuttered, his eyes blinking rapidly. "I thought.. I thought we were getting better." he murmured.

"So did I." you smiled, but broken. "But maybe that was stupid of me, really."

Jake shook his head, stepping closer and his arms hovering over you as he hesitated whether he should hold you or not. "No, don't say that." his voice cracked. "I'm just- God, I'm trying not to mess this up all over again. Please just hear me out."

You looked at him in confusion and disbelief. "Why now, Jake? Why now that I'm finally building myself back up, now that I'm finally learning how to live without you?" your voice shook, sadness, anger, confusion. You didn't know anymore but you wanted it to stop.

"Because I still love you." he paused, his voice cracking. "I loved you then, I love you now, especially now." he whined, tears falling from his eyes.

"That's.. you-" your scoffed out a short laugh with a tear falling. "That's not fair, Jake."

"I waited months for you to reach out. I walked away, expecting, hoping that you'd follow me and tell me you still loved me." you cried, your fist clenched at your side. "But you didn't.. Jake.. you didn't fight for me, for us."

Jake hesitantly brought you to his arms, melting in you when you didn't pull away. His neck was wet, with the rain and your tears but he didn't care. You were shivering and crying and he desperately needed you warm.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't know how to, we were young." he whispered in your soaked hair. "But now I do. I'll fight now, for you, for us."

You shake your head against his neck, sobbing harder.

And somehow, the words you've been meaning to hear were finally uttered. Under the pouring rain while the world weeped with you in the arms of the boy you never really unloved.

EPILOGUE (One Year Later)

"Baby, seriously it's not that serious." you deadpan at your sulking boyfriend, his body was on top of yours, his weight crushing you comfortably.

He exhaled against the crook of your neck and you whined with a chuckle at the ticklish feeling. "It is serious. That lego set was the final piece for my collection," he pulled away, not all the way but just enough to look at you.

"I already had it in my hand, but boom! The kid gets it 'cause he's younger? What kind of policy is that?" he whined again, dropping his face back into your neck.

You chuckled at your boyfriend's whining, playing with his hair while he continued to ramble on how he deserved it better.

The journey to this relationship wasn't smooth, there were times you hesitated, scared that whatever happened then would happen again, but he always reassured you.

There were also times where he'd get overwhelmed but instead of pulling away, he'd talk to you with that cute eyes of his, asking for comfort and just talk, and you both did, for hours until he felt better.

No one pulled away anymore, no one was going to walk away anytime soon.

"I deserved it better, right baby?" he sulked, puckering his lips as he looked at you.

"Yes, you big baby. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"What does that even meannn." he grumbled into your shoulder.

Your relationship with Jake wasn't perfect, but what's a real relationship without imperfections?

You were lovers once, you are still, and until evermore.

(fin.)

[angstyhikka]

- TW ARTIST'S RANT -

You have no idea how disgustingly long this commission sat rotting in my desk, waiting for me to finish it. And god, how I fucking hate drawing backgrounds. What do you mean, "You should spend as much time on the background as the character to make it look good???" 😭

Like, idk, I exhausted myself rearranging shit, trying to make it look like a complete disaster (didn’t work, I think??) while also keeping the composition somewhat decent?? Absolute nightmare. Objectively. Even rendering wasn’t as terrifying as this godforsaken composition.

And that’s not even mentioning the client’s requests for specific items. And like, whatever, the items themselves don’t bother me. What bothers me is that I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW TO RENDER USED CONDOMS AND DILDOS! Bottles? Fine. Dishes? Cool, I put them there myself, I know what to do with them. BUT THIS???

Staring at a pile of condoms for refs like:

How do I draw you how do I draw you—

*Don’t draw me((( *

Yeah, same tbh😔

Oh, and I also tried adding extra fabric to the table… Nope. Gave up and scrapped it.

In the end, this piece took me a whole year of constantly circling back to it. At first, the easiest solution was to just hide the background and only draw the character. But nooo, eventually I had to deal with the damn background…

Oh my god, how it terrified me. How I had no clue where to even start. The first sketches were just a mess where you could barely make anything out. Then I tried LINING OUT ELLIPSES AND PERSPECTIVE LIKE A MASOCHIST—disgusting.

Finally, in the next session, I pulled myself together and started working like a normal human being—blocking in shapes first. And it worked! Hallelujah 😭

But then, while discussing with the client, turns out I forgot half the items they wanted me to include. Had to scrap the cake with knives sticking out and the plate of half-eaten ribs and replace them with bottles and dildos 😔😔😔 But oh well, client’s happiness comes first.

Then, rendering the character was hell because the scarf somehow gave me trouble—which is ridiculous considering I’ve been in a fandom full of long-scarf-wearing edgelords for years, you’d think I’d know how they work by now??? Plus, my current rendering style (single layer + textured brushes) just didn’t feel right for the piece???

But thank god, by the third attempt, I pulled it off and it looked… acceptable.

And then came the torturous table rendering, where every single item required hours of ref-hunting. Again. Because the ones I saved last time got lost in the abyss of my gallery. And of course, I kept tweaking and adding things mid-render like an idiot, just fueling my frustration. Dumb move, but what can I do if I wasn’t happy with it? 😩

So MAYBE. Maybe I’m just dumb and should’ve made a clearer thumbnail first. Sketch out the whole layout small, figure out where everything goes, then scale it up. But… well. It is what it is.

BUT STILL. IT’S DONE! I’M SO GLAD IT’S DONE! GOD, I NEVER WANNA SEE THIS PIECE AGAIN! According to my program, I spent a clean 19 hours and 23 minutes on this monstrosity.

Sooo. I don’t usually complain (here) about my drawing process, but this was a special kind of hell and I needed to vent. 😔 Still, I hope someone got something useful out of my whining and avoids my mistakes. Because honestly? If this wasn’t a commission, I’d have dropped it after finishing just the character on a blank background. But hey, at least I have a big completed piece now. And I hope y’all enjoy looking at it—plenty of details to zoom in on, uwu.

That’s all for now! Mwah on the cheek to whoever read this far! Baiiii, till next time ^^

IM DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE OMG THIS COMM WAS SO LOOOONG.

This work was really hard for me because of complexity of the background..

BUT IM VERY HAPPY IM DONE YAYYYYYYY😭😭😭

[kaleidoscopecth]

Pins and Needles

MDNI

pairing: firefighter!ashton x reader

summary: you’re completely over ashton irwin. your life has moved on, and so have you. there is nothing that would ever change your mind about it, not even when he magically shows up to rescue you from a broken elevator. it’s all pins and needles, babe.

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f! receiving), choking, hair pulling, mirror sex, rough ashton, slightly intoxicated sex, mentions of cheating, slight descriptions of a building collapse and hurt + comfort.

word count: 24k (monster blurb ik)

title: pins and needles by nessa barrett

a/n: the story behind this is actually quite funny. i had the song pins and needles by nessa barrett stuck in my head all day, and as i rewatched 9-1-1 i had the idea for this one-shot. this is definitely a beast, but god i am so proud of it. this started off as an idea for a small luke blurb, but @souperbloom has been corrupting me with ashton, and i can’t even blame them. also, did i mention this is a collab with them? AHHH they’ve quickly become one of my favorite people to work with, and her writing is just BEAUTIFUL!!! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did, and you should all watch 9-1-1 and stream pins and needles if you haven’t already!!!

also, thank you ashton for those extra superbloom era pics. i got violently wet. ANYWAY ENJOY

Copyright © 2025 kaleidoscopecth. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The sharp click of your heels echoed through the hallway, each step amplifying the urgency of your pace. You were running late—frustratingly, maddeningly late—as you powered forward, trying to make up for lost time.

Your breath came quick and shallow, each inhale a reminder of the meeting looming ahead. The sketches p tightly against your chest felt heavier with every step, the thought of presenting them making your skin break out in a cold sweat.

Whether it was the weight of the presentation or the caffeine from your third cup of coffee that sent jitters through your body, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was both. Either way, your nerves were on edge, a storm threatening to break inside you.

You let out an annoyed huff, wincing as your new heels pinched at your feet with every step. Damn these shoes. They made you look polished and professional, but they were far from comfortable—and definitely not broken in.

Finally, you reached the elevators, skidding to a stop and allowing yourself a moment to breathe. The faint sting in your feet and the hammering of your heart reminded you to steady yourself. They’re not going to laugh me out of a job… right?

Your hand trembled slightly as you pressed the elevator button, the quiet ding of the arrival chime feeling louder than it should. Watching the numbers tick down, you took a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. The anticipation tightened your chest. It’s going to be fine. It has to be.

When the elevator finally came to a halt at your floor, you didn’t hesitate to step through the eerily empty space. Nervous energy coursed through you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from going over your presentation for the millionth time in your head.

As the elevator door slid shut behind you, you pulled out your phone, scrolling mindlessly to distract yourself. You quickly answered a few messages from Diego, who wished you luck and confirmed you were still on for tonight’s date.

He was the first guy you’d worked up the courage to see—albeit casually. You weren’t exactly in the right headspace to open your heart again, and the thought of letting someone in still felt daunting. Sighing, you pocketed your phone and tilted your chin up, watching as the numbers on the elevator panel continued to rise.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of screeching metal broke through the silence. Before you could process what was happening, the elevator lurched violently, and you were falling. It wasn’t far—only a few floors—but your mind went into overdrive as you instinctively dropped to the ground, covering your head and bracing for impact.

But it didn’t come. The elevator jolted to a stop with a bone-rattling force, and the lights flickered off completely, plunging you into darkness. Your heart hammered in your chest as you lay there, disoriented and trembling. Slowly, you felt along the floor for your phone, your fingers shaking as you finally found it.

You didn’t hesitate to open it, though every nerve in your body screamed at you to stay perfectly still, afraid any movement might trigger another fall. Swallowing hard, you hovered your fingers over the keypad, finally typing the three digits you never thought you’d need.

The line picked up almost immediately.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a calm woman’s voice asked, the faint sound of typing accompanying her words. You could hear a faint accent in her words— maybe Australian?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak through the panic constricting your chest. “Hi, uh, I think the elevator I’m in just fell a few floors—and now I’m stuck.”

“I understand,” the dispatcher said smoothly, her tone steady. “What’s your name?”

Your grip on the phone tightened as you shut your eyes. “Y/N.”

“Got it. Are you hurt, Y/N?”

“No,” you said shakily, “I don’t think so. Just… shaken up.”

The faint sound of rapid typing filled the other end of the line as you fought to focus on her voice rather than the silence around you.

“Okay, you’re doing great. Can I get your location?”

Your mind scrambled to recall the address, your body trembling with a mix of fear and adrenaline. Stammering, you recited the address, silently praying you didn’t get it wrong in your panicked state.

“Alright, I’ve got it,” she said reassuringly. “Now, can you tell me approximately what floor you’re on? Are there any indicators?”

You glanced toward the panel where the floor numbers usually lit up, but it was useless. The screen was dark, just like the rest of the elevator.

“I have no idea,” you admitted, frustration and fear lacing your voice. “I got on at the seventh floor, and it was around the fifteenth when the elevator… dropped.”

More typing came through the line before the dispatcher spoke again. “Understood. Help is on the way. Please stay still, try not to move too much, and keep the line open until they get to you. Can you do that?”

“Yes—yes, thank you,” you gasped, a rush of relief making your head spin as you slumped against the floor. The cool metal pressed against your back as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“Ma’am, are you still with me?” the dispatcher prompted gently, her voice cutting through your haze.

You blinked, jolting out of your trance. “Yes, I’m here,” you murmured, barely recognizing your own voice.

“Is there anyone else in the elevator with you?”

“No,” you replied, glancing around the empty space. “It’s just me.”

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity as you sank further into despair. The dispatcher on the other end of the line did her best to keep you calm, her steady voice a fragile lifeline in the oppressive silence. Of course this would happen to you—especially today, when you had such an important meeting.

Your gaze drifted to your scattered sketches and plans, lying just a few inches away on the elevator floor. At least they were still intact. Maybe, just maybe, if luck was on your side, you’d still have a chance to present your idea.

The dispatcher checked in periodically, asking how you were holding up. You wished you could unload everything onto her—every fear, every frustration, every ounce of emotional baggage that threatened to drown you. But you held back, knowing how frantic and borderline desperate that would sound.

Before you could spiral any further into your thoughts, a muffled voice broke through the suffocating silence, followed by the faint clatter of tools.

“Ma’am, this is the Los Angeles Fire Department. Are you okay?” a man’s voice called from above, it sounded almost familiar.

Relief flooded through you, almost overwhelming in its intensity. You scrambled to respond, your voice trembling. “Yes! I’m okay,” you managed. “Please, just hurry!”

“Hang on tight,” the firefighter said reassuringly. “We’ll have you out in just a moment.”

For the first time since the elevator had stopped, hope blossomed in your chest, fragile but bright. Help was finally here.

The sounds above you grew louder, they were unnerving enough to set your nerves on edge yet again. You could hear voices coordinating, tools working against the metal. It was slightly overwhelming.

You remained frozen on the floor, clutching your sketches tightly to your chest and trying to regulate your breathing. Every muscle in your body felt tense, your grip on your phone firm as if it were the only tether keeping you grounded.

The dispatcher’s voice broke through your thoughts again, calm and steady. “They’re doing their best to get you out, Y/N. Just hang tight and stay as still as you can, okay?”

You huffed quietly, biting back a sarcastic retort. Liz had been nothing but kind and supportive; she didn’t deserve your misplaced frustration. “I’m trying,” you said through gritted teeth, your voice softer but strained.

The elevator shuddered violently, and your breath caught in your throat. “What the hell was that?” you exclaimed, panic spiking again.

“They’re securing the elevator,” Liz reassured, her voice soothing. “It’s normal, I promise. You’re in good hands.”

Your chest rose and fell in rapid breaths as you closed your eyes briefly. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “What’s your name?”

There was a pause on the other end before the dispatcher gave a surprised laugh. “Oh, I’m Liz, honey.”

“Thank you for staying on the line, Liz,” you murmured, trying to focus on her voice instead of the fear clawing at you. “I probably sound so dumb right now—”

“Not at all,” Liz interrupted, her tone firm but kind. “It’s perfectly normal to be scared. This is a terrifying situation, and you’re allowed to feel that way.”

Before you could respond, a faint beam of light broke through a crack above you, and you instinctively squinted as the sudden brightness filled the confined space. The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed as firefighters pried open the emergency hatch.

“Oh, thank God,” you breathed, a nervous laugh escaping as relief flooded through you.

The firefighter’s voice, now much clearer, called down to you. “Ma’am, we’re here. Are you okay?”

You froze as the familiar voice registered. Your head tilted up slowly, your heart skipping a beat. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you recognized the face peering down at you—the warm brown eyes, the tattooed forearms.

“Calum?” you whispered in disbelief, your voice barely audible.

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and his lips curled into a surprised smile. “Oh, hey, Y/N!” he said brightly, as if running into an old friend at a coffee shop instead of in the middle of a rescue. “Fancy seeing you here. You okay?”

Before you could respond, a sinking realization hit you. Calum was never alone—not back in college, not ever. Wherever Calum went, he followed.

But no, it couldn’t be. There was no way.

And just like that, your worst fear materialized as another figure popped up beside Calum, peering through the hatch. Hazel-green eyes met yours, familiar and devastatingly beautiful— the eyes you had dreamed about for half a decade.

“Good God,” Ashton said with a laugh, his grin infuriatingly charming. “If you really wanted to see me that badly, you didn’t have to call 9-1-1.”

Calum shot a look at his best friend, his brows furrowed in mild annoyance. “She doesn’t control who gets sent on calls, Ash. Maybe ease up?”

“She really doesn’t,” Liz interjected from the other end of the line, startling you. You hadn’t realized she could hear everything being said. “Sorry if I’ve put you in an awkward situation, Y/N, but these are good guys. You’re in safe hands. I’ll let you go now.”

You tore your gaze away from Ashton’s infuriatingly familiar green eyes, your frustration bubbling over. “Actually,” you muttered, “is it too late to send another team? Because, honestly, plunging to my death in this elevator sounds kind of appealing right about now.”

Liz laughed, clearly unfazed by your sarcasm. “Definitely too late for that. It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you too,” you grumbled, biting the inside of your cheek as the call disconnected, leaving you alone with your rescuers.

Ashton’s grin widened, his confidence as aggravating as ever. You couldn’t help but notice how much he had changed since the last time you’d seen him—over a year ago. His once sandy blond hair was now jet black, styled effortlessly to frame his face. He’d filled out considerably, his uniform clinging to his broad shoulders and toned arms.

Of course, the universe had to serve this moment to you on a silver platter. As if being trapped in an elevator wasn’t humiliating enough, now you had to contend with him.

Calum rolled his eyes, clapping Ashton on the shoulder as yet another head peeked into the hatch. This one belonged to someone unfamiliar—blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a face that looked significantly younger than the others. “What’s going on here?” the newcomer asked.

Ashton groaned, his tone dripping with irritation. “Mind your business, Probie.”

“Mate, get it together and help her out,” Calum interjected, shaking his head. Turning to you, he added, “I promise he’s not always like this on the job.”

You tightened your jaw, your patience already wearing thin. “No, I’m sure he is,” you snapped, pocketing your phone and grabbing your sketches.

“Alright, Y/N,” Ashton sighed, clearly trying to temper his frustration. “I’m here now. Let me get you out of there, and then you can yell at me all you want.”

Anger flickered in your chest as your gaze locked with Ashton’s. The man standing above you bore no trace of the love you once felt for him—no spark, no butterflies. Just pure, unfiltered irritation.

Calum leaned over, lowering a harness through the hatch. His voice was calm and professional, a sharp contrast to Ashton’s flippancy. “Slip this around your waist. Make sure it’s secure, and we’ll pull you up nice and easy.”

You nodded wordlessly, avoiding Ashton’s penetrating gaze as you secured the harness snugly around your waist.

“I’m good,” you called, looking up to meet Calum’s eyes.

He nodded, his tone steady and reassuring. “Great. We’ll get you out in just a second.”

Ashton leaned over the edge, his smirk softening into something resembling concern. “Are you okay down there, Bambi?”

You froze, your frown deepening. “Don’t call me that.”

Ashton let out a slow exhale, glancing briefly at Calum. “Sorry,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Old habits die hard? You could’ve laughed if the situation weren’t so precarious. It had been over a year since you stormed out of Ashton’s apartment, tears streaming down your face, your heart splintered in ways you didn’t think were possible. Whatever love you had for him was long gone.

Choosing to ignore his comment, you focused on Calum’s steady movements.

“Y/N, are you good?” Ashton pressed, his tone sharp and impatient.

Your patience snapped. “Oh, now you care how I’m doing? That’s some interesting character development, Irwin.”

Calum winced, visibly uncomfortable as he turned back to the two of you. “Here we go again…”

He had been there by Ashton’s side for every single one of your tries at a relationship with him. Calum had been there every time it inevitably crashed and burned.

“Don’t ‘here we go again’ me,” Ashton snapped, his nostrils flaring as he glared at Calum. “Can we just get her out of here now?”

Calum’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s exactly what we’re trying to do, but maybe focus on actually doing your job instead of running your mouth.”

“Making sure she’s alright is part of my job,” Ashton shot back, his tone biting.

“No, Michael and Luke are supposed to handle that,” Calum retorted, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You’re supposed to help me lift her.”

In any other situation, their bickering would’ve been amusing, but the creaks and groans of the unstable elevator made you far too anxious to appreciate the comedy of the moment.

“Can you two lovebirds please focus?” you snapped, crossing your arms as you glared up at them.

Calum had the decency to look sheepish, but Ashton simply stared at you, his gaze intense and unwavering. The weight of it made your skin prickle, as if his very presence was an inconvenience you couldn’t escape.

Ashton let out a long breath through his nose. “Probie, help me out,” he barked, motioning for the younger guy to assist him.

The kid—too pretty to be working such a dangerous job—looked just as confused as you felt but stepped forward nonetheless.

Finally, you felt the rope begin to lift you out of the elevator. The ascent was slow and steady, yet you clung to the harness with white-knuckled determination.

“Hey,” Ashton called, his tone suddenly commanding. “Look at me.”

Against your better judgment, you did. His hazel eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the chaos of the situation melted away. His voice softened, steady and reassuring. “You’re doing so good, Y/N.”

The words struck a nerve, too reminiscent of moments you’d rather forget. You bit your lip and broke his gaze, willing the heat rising to your face to subside.

Finally, with one last pull, you were hoisted out of the elevator and back onto solid ground. Relief washed over you as you took a shaky step forward, only to realize the entire floor had gathered to watch.

As applause broke out around you, mortification set in.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Calum gave you a soft, reassuring smile as he steadied you. His warmth was a stark contrast to Ashton’s fiery energy, and it always left you wondering how the two managed to remain so close.

“You doing okay, Y/N?” he asked gently, his voice calm but tinged with exhaustion. Whether it was from the rescue itself or the constant wrangling with Ashton, you couldn’t quite tell.

“I think so,” you replied, brushing off your skirt and taking a shaky breath.

Calum nodded, his tone taking on a more professional edge. “I’d like to have you checked out by the paramedics, if that’s alright. Just to be sure there’s nothing hidden under the adrenaline.”

You gave a small nod, letting him guide you away from the crowd of onlookers that had formed. Ashton was nowhere in sight—likely cleaning up the gear or bossing around the “probie” you’d seen earlier.

The paramedics were waiting for you just outside the commotion. One of them stepped forward, his kind smile instantly putting you at ease.

“Hi, I’m Luke,” he said, his grin wide and warm, his voice tinged with a similar accent as the dispatcher who took your call. His tall frame loomed a little, but his bleach blond curls and sparkling blue eyes softened the effect. He turned slightly, gesturing to his partner. “And that’s Michael. Mind if we check you out real quick?”

You glanced at Michael, who was quieter but no less striking. His blond hair fell messily over his forehead, and his green eyes studied you with careful precision.

“Sure,” you said, nodding, though your gaze flicked back to Calum. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping away, his reassuring presence lingering as you turned to face the paramedics.

You sat quietly as they worked around you, their movements seamless and efficient. Luke took your blood pressure while Michael prepared a light to check your pupils. Despite the strange tension in the air, their coordinated rhythm was oddly comforting—like watching a well-practiced dance.

Luke had just finished shining the light in your eyes when someone cleared their throat behind you. Michael turned first, heading toward the source of the noise, but you didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Of course, Ashton stood a few feet away, shifting his weight awkwardly. He glanced at Luke and Michael with a sheepish smile. “Do you guys mind if I talk to—”

“I’m feeling quite faint, actually,” you interrupted loudly, catching Luke and Michael’s worried gazes before turning back to Ashton. “I think I should go to the hospital.”

Ashton sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Bambi, please,” he muttered, the nickname grating on your nerves. “You don’t have to try and run away from me, you know?”

Michael raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “What did we miss?”

Luke looked equally perplexed, exchanging a silent question with his partner before shrugging.

You crossed your arms, leveling Ashton with a glare. “Is there a form I can sign that gets me the hell away from this guy?”

Luke hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. “Uh… well, leaving against medical advice is an option. You sign, and we’re off the hook for anything. You’re free to, uh… run.”

Michael snorted, leaning casually against the wall. “Or, you know, restraining order. That works too.”

Ashton shot Michael a sharp glare, his jaw tightening. “That’s not funny.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, the sound cutting through the tense air. Watching Ashton squirm for once was a welcome change; in your relationship, he’d always held the upper hand.

“Alright,” Luke said, his serious tone cracking into a grin. “Make that against Ashton advice.”

Michael chuckled, his mischievous grin widening. “Yeah mate, now is not the time to pick up girls. You’re on the clock, not the cock.”

For a second, the room was silent. Then Luke and Michael burst into laughter, both doubling over as their shoulders shook. You couldn’t suppress your own snicker at Michael’s remark. Despite everything, their lightheartedness made you feel oddly at ease.

“Exactly,” you nodded in agreement. “So hop off mine.”

Your words only prompted another round of laughter from Michael and Luke. Ashton, however, was not amused. He crossed his arms, his expression equal parts annoyed and desperate. “Could you two please stop siding with her?”

Luke rolled his eyes dramatically. “Mate, you’re working, and it’s obvious she’s not interested in you.”

Michael nodded, smirking slightly. “Exactly. She’s not that into you, Ashton.”

You caught Ashton’s gaze then, his hazel eyes softening as they met yours. For a moment, his usual cocky demeanor fell away, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that caught you off guard.

But you weren’t ready to give him the satisfaction of winning this round. Turning back to Luke, who was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, you raised an eyebrow. “Am I cleared or what?”

Luke sobered quickly, exchanging a glance with Michael. “I mean… yeah, mostly. But there’s a couple more things I’d like to check.”

Ashton stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

Michael and Luke both froze, exchanging a look of disbelief.

“It’s fine,” you said quietly, surprising even yourself. “He can do it.”

Ashton puffed out his chest slightly, clearly relieved. “See? She doesn’t mind. Besides, we’re all EMT-trained. She’ll be fine.”

Luke shot you a sympathetic glance before stepping aside, muttering under his breath, “Better him than me.”

Michael shook his head with a teasing grin. “Don’t back down so easily, Hemmings,” he said, turning to Ashton. “You can take over on one condition: you tell us what the story is.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Ashton with a playful, expectant look. “Yeah, Ashton. What’s the story here?” you echoed, blinking at him with faux innocence.

Ashton clenched his jaw, visibly irritated but resigned. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, “That’s my ex. Y/N. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

The humor you’d been feeling vanished instantly. You had half-expected Ashton to brush the situation off or leave everyone guessing. But the casual, almost smug way he admitted it hit you like a sucker punch.

You clenched your jaw. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered angrily. “I’ve never met you.”

Ashton sighed, looking at you with a defeated look in his eyes. “Seriously Y/N? You’re gonna act like this?”

Michael let out a low whistle, clearly taken aback. “Yeah, nope. Not touching that one,” he said, shaking his head. He nudged Luke, motioning for him to leave.

Luke hesitated, shooting you a quick, apologetic glance before following Michael out of the room. And just like that, for the first time in over a year, you were alone with Ashton.

He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on the door his teammates had just walked through. “Appreciate that,” he muttered, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Now this will be the hot topic for the rest of the shift.”

You met his gaze, crossing your arms. “Serves you right, don’t you think?” you replied, your tone laced with sarcasm. A smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head. “You know, after everything.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly grin as he grabbed a flashlight to replicate Luke’s earlier tests. “After everything, hmm?” he repeated, his voice smooth. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

You let out an exhausted sigh, leaning away slightly as he moved closer. “What do you want, Ashton?” you asked softly, your adrenaline draining and leaving behind nothing but weariness.

He paused for a moment, his expression softening. “I don’t want anything,” he said evenly. “Just saying… it’s been a while. You look good. Happy.”

There was a sadness in his eyes that only seemed to fuel your simmering anger. You scoffed, shoving him away with more force than necessary. “I am happy,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “That’s what happens when I get over a leech.”

Ashton barked out a laugh, the sound disbelieving. “A leech?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Damn, alright. Wow.”

You spun on your heel to face him fully, your glare sharp enough to cut. “I could say so many things to you right now, Ashton Irwin, but I’m choosing peace.”

Ashton cocked his head to the side, his hand resting casually on his hip as he stared at you with an unimpressed expression. “Peace?” he echoed, his tone both mocking and curious.

“Yes,” you nodded firmly. “I’m over you, and wasting my breath on insults isn’t really my thing anymore.”

“You’re really over me, aren’t you?” he asked, a small, amused smile creeping onto his face.

You struggled to keep your composure, but you met his gaze without faltering. “Yes, completely,” you said, your voice steady. “It’s all pins and needles here, babe. You’re dead to me.”

Ashton raised his eyebrows, clearly entertained. “Dead is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“My feelings for you are dead.”

“Great,” Ashton said with an infuriatingly charming smile. “So let me take you out—catch up a bit. It’s been a long time; we’re overdue, don’t you think?”

You laughed, disbelief shaking through your tone. “Are you serious right now?” You turned to him fully, eyes narrowed. “You want to catch up?”

He blinked, completely unaffected by your reaction. “Well, you’re over me, right? We can have a simple outing as two mature adults. You’re doing great, and I’d love to hear all about it.”

You opened your mouth to shut him down, but a sly thought bloomed in the back of your mind. What if you did go out with him? Just a casual outing, nothing more. It would be the perfect opportunity to show him firsthand how much better your life was without him. Let him see for himself how unimportant he had become.

You pressed your tongue against your cheek, letting the idea take root as you weighed your options. After a moment, you let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” you said coolly.

Ashton’s grin widened, but you didn’t miss the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “Let’s catch up.”

He smirked, clearly pleased, but you were already imagining the look on his face when he realized just how much you’d thrived.

“Perfect,” he nodded, backing away. “I’m halfway through a shift, but I’ll text you as soon as I’m off?”

You shrugged. “Might have to unblock your number first.”

Ashton smiled, a true, wide smile. His dimples flashed, and you could catch a glimpse of his infuriatingly adorable bunny teeth. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

—

The first week of college was already off to a rough start.

Not only had you been late to every single one of your classes due to your inability to navigate the campus, but the past few days had been drowned in a perpetual cloud of pouring rain.

You were on your way to an Intro to Philosophy class, after having sourced the massive textbook and spent twenty five dollars on express shipping to get it to your dorm on time, your pockets were empty and your soul was crushed when you realized just how goddamn heavy it felt when sitting in your backpack.

Your roommate wasn’t a peach, either. She was kind of standoffish, mean in a way that seemed so effortless as she berated you with passive aggression every time you’d forgotten to turn off a light or drop a dish into the sink.

All of these things combined left you frazzled, and once again, late, trudging through the rain in lightweight Converse that allowed the water from puddles to seep through and wet your socks.

You grumble to yourself as you adjust your bookbag on your shoulder, attempting to dodge the raindrops that splashed down like hail and occasionally got in your eyes. It was even harder to focus on the sidewalk as the sky got darker— you’d wished they’d turn the street lamps on a little earlier when it came to shitty weather.

Or, you wished you’d remembered to put your contacts in.

The walk from your dorm to the Social Sciences building seemed like an eternity. Puddles grew larger, the wind was getting stronger. You could only see the silhouettes of the other students walking past you, which felt as eerie as all hell. There was absolutely no way you were getting to this class on time. Especially not before stopping to collect yourself.

You eventually did stop, landing beside a lamppost before you let too much water fill up your shoes. Leaning against cold, wet metal, you tug at the straps of your bookbag. The entire bag tightens against you, reminiscent of strapping a cinder block to your shoulders, and making your newfound stress headache worsen tenfold.

In the midst of your adjustments, you glance across the way to the opposing side of the street. All of the squinting and toppling back and forth due to the sheer weight of your belongings must’ve had you looking like a madwoman.

Beneath the other streetlamp stood two figures; you could hardly make them out due to the bucketing rainfall— but they seemed to be lingering around with an umbrella. Something you desperately wished you had right now.

You were always told that approaching strangers was the best way to go about making friends in college. The theory of being in a new place with people who share the common goal of earning their degree was like a magnet for new interpersonal relationships.

It seemed morbid to think about friendships in this way, but with an already shitty roommate, the beating heart of rainclouds and the horrid feeling of soaking wet socks, you were starting to think that asking to walk alongside the only people for miles with an umbrella may be your best bet.

After steadying yourself and working up the courage to do the strangest thing you’ve done all week, you set off to cross the street. Puddles were becoming more and more plentiful with each step you took. It took everything to avoid them all, and you regretted wearing such slippery shoes to trudge to class in the rain.

“Hey!”

You call out into the dark air, the two figures whipping their heads in sync to face your now embodied voice.

As you walk, you wave your arm, trying to shield yourself from the bullets that nature called raindrops. But having the two figures’ attention made any and all semblances of words disappear from your mind. They just watched you, halting their own interaction.

“Hey! Hi, I’m sorry to—”

Right as you take one more step to join them onto their side of the street, your ankle is suddenly immersed in water. A pothole, disguised as a shallow puddle, engulfs your entire foot.

Your arms wave to catch yourself, but to no avail. It isn’t long before you’re falling face first towards the concrete, and the hand you attempted to steady yourself with is completely drenched in rain water.

“Oh, shit.”

“Holy fuck, are you okay?!”

Concerned exclamations and courtesies were expected— you’d just fallen flat on your forehead. But what you didn’t expect, nor wanted, to hear after your blundering trip was laughter.

“That was fuckin’ gnarly,” you hear a deep voice get higher, as laughter fills the air and clouds over the embarrassed shade of red dawning your face.

Shaking yourself off, you attempt to stand up, still being pelted by rainfall as the two strangers before you squatted down to your level and attempted to help you up.

You see a hand reach out to you, and you take it in a daze, getting back to your feet with minimal injury from your fall. Your knees were definitely a little banged up, with a new hole ripped into the front of your jeans that stung when you straightened your legs.

“I’m— oh, dear God,” you chuckle wryly, still attempting to hide the humiliation, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Your knees. Are they scraped? Are you bleeding? Do you need a bandaid?”

When you eventually look up to face the concerned voice of a stranger, you’re met with dark brown eyes and a mop of soggy brown curls.

Behind his shoulder stood another guy, his energy a bit less frantic as he continued to just— laugh.

“No, no. Not bleeding, I don’t think. I just wanted to uh, ask if I could walk under your umbrella. Guess the campus potholes had other plans.”

Before you could muster up another sentence, the kid who helped you up extended his free hand once more, “I’m Calum. And I am— so sorry we had to meet this way.” Calum’s face pinches in second-hand embarrassment as you nod to him wearily. His handshake was firm, his fingers trembling a bit as he held you tightly.

“Y/N,” you reply sheepishly, “And your friend?”

The friend in question was still doubled over, getting an absolute kick out of the fact that you’d just busted your ass in the rain. But that high pitched laughter and sturdy white smile made up for the annoyance you suddenly felt.

“Holy shit— oh my God,” he wheezes between faltering chuckles, “I’m Ashton. And unfortunately, that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.”

In an attempt to ease the awkwardness, you laugh along, now uncomfortable in your wet, tattered jeans and palms covered in gravel.

“Ashton, fuckin’— seriously? Stop laughing! It’s not funny!” Calum tries his hand at defending you, but it seemed as though Ashton had his mind made up. As if he were replaying the incident in his own little world, his laughter strikes up like a match once again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just— you should’ve seen the way you fell. It was like the ground disappeared from under your feet! Just one step and woosh, you were gone.”

“Well, to be fair— it did disappear. I uh, stepped into a pothole.”

“Oh my God, I think that makes it better.”

You grumble at the thought of being Ashton’s laughing stock of the day, self consciously wiping your palms off on your sweatshirt and now looking visibly uncomfortable. You could see Calum out of the corner of your eye, wearily glancing between you, Ashton, and his watch.

“I hate to leave so quickly, but I’ve got class in about three minutes.”

“No no, it’s fine—”

“It was lovely to meet you, and I’m sorry to leave you with this demon,” Calum smiles warmly, adjusting the two textbooks in his arms, “Ashton, be nice.”

Before you could even spare him a parting word, Calum is rushing off towards campus. It starts as a slow jog, morphing into a full fledged run.

Calum also took the umbrella.

“How can I make it up to you?”

Ashton’s voice from behind you snaps you out of your spaceout; he’s still standing where he was before, his hands dug into the pockets of his jeans as his long, shaggy brown hair starts to get wet from the still falling rain.

“Fall. Face first,” you murmur, pointing out, “into that puddle right there.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as thunder crackles in the distance. “Don’t think so. How about instead of that, we get out of this rain and I grab you some ‘sorry that you busting your ass was the highlight of my year’ apology ice cream? My treat.”

“Oh boy, ice cream in the cold. Sounds like a riot.”

“I appreciate your sarcasm,” his lip twitches up into a smile, as he extends his arm for you to hold onto, “But ice cream is good during any weather. And you know it, too.”

The sheer switch in Ashton’s demeanor, from absolutely dogging on you to being a gentleman, gave you what seemed to be whiplash. His eyes switched from mockery to sincerity in a matter of seconds, as he waited for you to latch onto his elbow.

“My clothes are wet,” you comment awkwardly, shaking out your sleeve.

“Doesn’t matter. Wouldn’t want you to fall. Plus, I don’t think I have enough air in my lungs to spare laughing like that again.”

After battling with yourself for a moment, stalling the amount of time spent in the now rolling storm, you take Ashton’s arm. He chuckles when you hold onto him, still seeming like he was coming down from laughing.

“So, where were you headed before the accident?” Ashton motions to you with a tilt of his head while you walk with him down the sidewalk.

“Well, I was headed to class. But honestly I’ve been so stressed this week that I think I deserve to miss this one.”

“You’re saying that was a stress-induced blunder back there? Jeez, wouldn’t want to be you right now.”

As much as you wanted to be annoyed with your new friend’s constant jabs, the bigger part of you knew how funny the entire situation was. A puff of air leaves your lips, Ashton’s giggle fit starts up once more.

“No, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.” Ashton says, a lot more sincerely than you expected.

“I agree with you. I don’t think I deserved to be ankle deep in a pothole either.”

He shakes his head, using his arm to guide you to the start of the crosswalk and press the button, “No, I meant— you don’t deserve me being such an asshole about it. If I were you, I’d probably be so pissed and embarrassed that I’d drop out.”

You scoff at Ashton’s words, taking a lead once the red light turns to green, “Dramatic much? I’m sure within my four years of college I’ll embarrass myself like that at least ten more times.”

“A bold statement for the first week,” Ashton chuckles, as he now has now passed you and you’re attempting to keep up with his slender, jean-clad legs, “We should make a bet.”

“A bet?”

Your eyes narrow with challenge, your deeply-rooted competitive nature coming to a front. You glance at Ashton as you reach the opposing side of the sidewalk, stopping right in front of the ice cream shop.

“Mhm. I bet you’ll embarrass yourself less than ten times before our four years are up.”

“That’s awfully generous, Ashton,” you scrunch your nose, finally able to study his features shielded from the rain, “But unfortunately, you’ve only just gotten a taste of how badly I can embarrass myself.”

“Isn’t that the fun part of a bet, though? To prove someone wrong?”

The smile that dawned Ashton’s cheeks was playful, the corners of his mouth curved up into a point and highlighting the slightly outgrown stubble gracing his jaw. You’ll admit it now, he was attractive. The long shaggy hair added a bit of that indie rockstar vibe to him that you always favored in a guy. His eyes were a bit too green for your liking, burning holes into your face as you let the silence hang in midair after his question.

“You’re right. I do love proving people wrong. Especially if it’s the guy who laughed so hard at me that he almost passed out.”

Ashton shakes his head, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before he’s holding open the door of the ice cream shop, “I’d let you prove me wrong any day.”

Soaking wet and now a little less uncomfortable, you walk into the ice cream shop. The bell rings as you enter, and the inside is quiet, as expected. Who but you, and a stranger you met twenty minutes ago, would be getting ice cream on a cold, rainy day?

The attendee greets you warmly, as if she’d been waiting to speak to someone all day, “Hey guys! What can I get for you?”

Ashton steps back, gesturing with his head for you to order first. You smile inward, having known what you wanted since he asked you here.

“Can I get two scoops of cotton candy in a waffle cone with rainbow sprinkles?”

The cashier nods, tapping your order onto the screen and immediately rushing to put it together for you, all while you can hear Ashton snickering quietly behind you.

You whip your head around, squinting at him, “What? What’s so funny?”

“You’ve got quite a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

“First you make fun of me for busting my shit, now you ridicule my ice cream order? What’s your fuckin’ deal?”

As Ashton opens his mouth to reply, the cashier hands you your ice cream. You take it from her with a grateful smile, mumbling ‘thank you’ before spinning back around to lock eyes with him. But now, he’s taking out his wallet, and leaving your question unanswered as he tells the cashier ‘that’ll be all’.

Ashton brushes past you, glancing down at you over his shoulder as he hands the girl his debit card.

“You’re not getting anything?”

Your question comes off more as a whine, which left you feeling more embarrassed than you were earlier.

“Nah.”

Ashton pays, and you continue to eat your ice cream with a sour face, eyeing him scornfully as the two of you sit down at a small metal table in the corner.

“Why didn’t you get any ice cream?” you ask, the thought of only you enjoying ice cream twisting your heart strings in a very strange way. Ashton just shrugs, pulling himself closer to the table so that he could fold his arms and get a better look at your soggy features.

“I’m lactose intolerant. But you should’ve seen how your face lit up at the mention of ‘apology ice cream’. How could I turn down those big doe eyes, all soaked from the rain?”

You scoff, a mix between taking offense and a sliver of laughter, “You’re lactose intolerant and your first thought was ice cream? Do you have a death wish?”

“Why do you think I didn’t get anything? Just because dairy is hell for my insides doesn’t mean I have to rob you of the joy from eating an ice cream cone.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t shit yourself from laughing earlier, jeez.” You’re back to your playful tongue, taking your time in licking off all the sprinkles.

“That’s not how it works like, at all,” Ashton puffs, leaning back into his chair and crossing his eyes, “The ice cream was a lucky guess. For all I knew, you could’ve been severely allergic to dairy and smacked me for even offering.”

“Now why would I smack you for offering? That’d be silly.”

You could tell now where Ashton’s eyes fell; directly onto your tongue. Each time you jutted it out to eat your ice cream, his gaze wandered. Almost like he was hypnotized.

“Dunno. People these days. They’re weird.”

Stewing in his seat, Ashton clears his throat. But you continue on eating, playing your little unspoken game of catching his viridian eyes each time they linger off to where they don’t belong. Suddenly, you sit up, and he flinches as if he’d been caught.

“So, that bet. Are we still on? Because I think I’ll embarrass myself those aforementioned ‘ten times’ within my first semester.”

After collecting himself slightly, and bringing his mind back down to earth, his lip twitches up into a smile, “Well, that would mean we’d have to keep in touch. Y’know, so you can update me every time you walk into the wrong classroom or take a nosedive into concrete.”

“Is this you asking for my number?” you smile, halfway through a bite of your slowly dwindling cotton candy ice cream.

“I suppose so,” he shrugs, the wet t-shirt beneath his jacket moving fluidly against his chest and making it harder for you to concentrate, “Would you mind?”

“Not at all. As long as you don’t mind me considering you as the first friend I’ve made in college.”

Ashton’s smile doubles in size, as he sits up to reach for his phone in his back pocket.

“So it’s settled then. We’ll concede the results of this bet a week before graduation.” Along with his phone, Ashton smacks his black leather wallet onto the table, “Whatever’s in that cash pocket at this very moment is how much money’s on the line. I expect you to hold me to it, and you can expect me to do the same.”

A small smile plays on your face as you reach for his wallet, the obvious choice, and hold it open with one hand. Inside of the cash slot lies a singular twenty dollar bill, a twenty dollar bill that seems to carry a lot more weight to it than only the amount of cash that Ashton has on him at the moment.

“Twenty bucks. Not bad. That’ll come in handy for our next ice cream date.”

“Already planning our next date? She’s efficient, I like it.”

You chuckle heartily, sliding him back his wallet, and grabbing his phone to give him your number, “Consider that a date for after graduation. Cap, gowns, tassels and all. In this very chair, at this very table.”

“Deal.” Ashton agrees.

The two of you shake hands, but when your palms touch, a spark ignites through your forearm. Like a wave of static shock, you remain frozen in time, with a stirring feeling in your gut.

You couldn’t place your finger on what it meant, nor did you really want to. But you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be your last time sitting at this table with Ashton.

“What’re you doing later?” Ashton asks, after you’d exchanged a few giddy glances to one another since giving him your number.

“Standing in front of a hair dryer to get a handle on these stupid wet clothes. How about you?”

“Hm, sounds like a drag. I, however, am going to that karaoke bar on the campus strip with Calum at nine. Cowgirl. You should come along.”

The mention of karaoke freezes your senses. You never had a complete aversion to karaoke, however, the thought of singing at a dive bar in front of Ashton and Calum made you nauseous. You’d just met them— they don’t know you, and you don’t know them. Surely you’d have a good time, but stage fright was always one of the many thorns in your side. You weren’t sure you had the confidence.

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

Damn it.

“You twenty one yet?” Ashton raises his eyebrow, fighting a cheeky smirk that gives you the impression that he already knew your answer.

“In Tennessee, yeah.”

“I see,” he scratches his chin, eyeing you teasingly, “I’ve got a friend who’s twenty three in Arizona, so— I’m pickin’ up what you’re putting down.”

The two of you laugh once more. And the more you share smiles and shied away glances, the more you really get to know about Ashton.

He’s twenty one, having lived in Australia for most of his formative years until moving to the US to get his bachelor’s in communications. Ashton almost didn’t make it to college, you learned, after taking two travel-packed gap years that left him with a lot of knowledge on European culture and even more numbers in his phone. You wanted to keep asking him questions, but by the time you’d really gotten to the meaty bits of his life, your ice cream cone was down to the wrapper it came in.

“I still can’t believe you took, not one, but two gap years. And you still made it here. That’s honestly super impressive.”

Ashton tosses his hand at you, his seat somehow shifted much closer to you than before, “Meh, not that impressive. Parents were on my ass about actually doing something with my life. They shipped me off here with practically nothing. I felt like I got dropped in the middle of the woods with two twigs and a rock.”

“Well, regardless of your wilderness exploration, you seem to have it figured out at least a little now, right?”

You and Ashton were now only an inch apart, your knees occasionally brushing against one another each time Ashton got particularly animated when telling his story. He went on to tell you about his random roommate pairing, and how meeting a friend, Calum, from across the hall basically saved his ass one night during random room checks. He and Calum both moved into school three weeks early, sharing the common ground of being gap-year freshmen, and were currently inseparable. They sought refuge in each other’s dorms due to unfortunate roommate pairings, and became attached at the hip.

“Funny that you met probably the only other Aussie on campus,” you comment, twiddling with the empty cone wrapper on your thumb.

“Mhm. It’s us blokes against the world. But, y’know— I have a feeling that may change after tonight.”

“Really, how do you figure?”

“Even though he was off like a shotgun earlier, I think you’re really gonna dig Cal’s vibe. You guys are really fuckin’ similar. Down to those big ass eyes whenever you're scared or embarrassed.”

You giggle, tilting your head down and subconsciously hiding your eyes beneath your hair. But Ashton isn’t having it. In an unforeseeable turn of events, Ashton’s thumb is there to catch your chin and pull your gaze back up into his.

“Don’t go shy on me now, Bambi,” Ashton hums, his voice the softest it’s been since you met him, “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell ya’ how pretty I think your eyes are.”

“Thank you,” you mumble meekly, your knees suddenly feeling like jello and your cheeks as hot as the surface of the sun.

“I’m serious. I swear, I saw some stars twinkling in there.”

In the heat of the moment, you press your palm against his knee, the one that’s been touching you since he scooted himself closer. You freeze, not knowing what else to do with this moment other than to let it be.

“Are you doing anything else today besides karaoke?” you ask, your heart rate speeding up by the second.

“Not particularly. Why?”

“We should hang out.” You blurt out the words faster than you can actually process them.

Ashton chuckles at your eagerness, “Aren’t we hanging out right now?”

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean.”

The air around your bodies had you feeling like you were floating on a cloud. Ashton’s hand folds on top of yours, supporting the growing weight of anticipation you felt boiling in your chest.

“I can’t read minds, but— you could hang out at my place until Calum gets out of class. I’m supposed to be off doing something studious right now too, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

“Sure. If I’m gonna miss class, why not do something fun?”

“That’s the spirit. It’s week one of classes and I’ve already got you playin’ hookey.”

You giggle at him, feeling more and more comfortable with his hand in yours as the moments pass, “You’re a bad influence.”

“Trust me, Bambi. I’ll make your life hell.”

After a few more minutes of playful banter that was quickly shaping up to be unabashed flirtation, the two of you set off to Ashton’s dorm. He told you that his roommate wasn’t home; and talked extensively about how his roommate tends to leave the room for days at a time and never tell him where he’s going.

The rain had since subsided, leaving the sidewalks muddied and damp; but Ashton kept you on his arm to prevent you from slipping and falling once again.

“Do you maybe have a shirt I can borrow?” you ask Ashton shyly, as he leads you towards a large steel door and taps his university key card against the lock.

The door creaks open, Ashton holds it for you with an arm above your head, “I’ve got plenty of shirts. I’m sure you’d want pants, too. Those jeans have seen better days.

“Knock it off. My jeans are fine,” you chuckle, sliding past him into the dorm stairway.

“Yeah, okay,” Ashton glances down judgmentally at the wet spots on the knees of your jeans, “I’ll lend you a pair of sweats. No big deal.”

You roll your eyes, a sucker for his sarcasm, as he leads you up a few flights of stairs to his floor. The journey to his door was quiet, and awkward. He’d occasionally poke your shoulder, making jabs at your soaking wet hair. But you just brushed him off— boys are stupid and dumb.

“Well, this is the place,” Ashton sighs, pushing his door open and leading you into the room with a pat at your back.

You take a second to glance around. One side of the room was almost completely barren— not a single poster, picture, or sign of life. Only dark blue bedspread with a single pillow, and an empty desk.

However, the opposite side of the room was decked out to all hell. Music and movie posters on every conceivable area of the wall above the bed. A plaid, black and grey bedspread with a few comfortable looking throw pillows that were clearly picked out by someone with taste. A mason jar filled with drum sticks, broken and intact. You smile to yourself, lucky that you landed the roommate with a personality.

“This is nice. Who taught you how to decorate?”

Ashton scoffs, setting his backpack down on his desk chair, “Myself. Didn’t need to be taught. It’s called having a vision.”

“You get more and more annoying the more I get to know you,” you smile, finding yourself a seat on the floor to rid yourself of your muddied Converse. Ashton paces around the room for a moment, before landing on a drawer and pulling it open. He puts his hands on his hips, and taps his foot.

“Let’s see— are you a Ramones fan? Or more of a ‘Stones girl? What about Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Trying to figure out which shirt I can spare you. It’s likely that I’ll never get it back, so. I wanna see which I’d be most fine parting with.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that question, then?”

Ashton scratches his head, tucking a lock of his sandy brown hair behind his ear, “Damn. You’re right. You’re pretty good, Bambi.”

“At making obvious decisions?” you raise an eyebrow.

“No, at keeping my head on straight,” Ashton reaches into the drawer, tossing a black T-shirt over his back and letting it whack you in the face, “Rolling Stones it is.”

After removing it from your face, you hold the shirt tightly to your chest. Ashton slams the drawer shut and smiles, spinning around to face you with a pair of grey sweatpants in hand.

“Last chance. Do you want these or no?”

You chew on your bottom lip, glancing around the room for any sign of a bathroom door, or even a closet.

“Do you uh— have a bathroom here that I can change in?”

“It’s communal. All of them are.”

You let out a puff of air, shaking your head and smacking your palm to your forehead, “Right. Dumb question.”

“Nah nah, it’s not dumb. This is an all dudes floor, too. If you wanted to change in here I could just— turn around.”

Blush pink falls across your face, while Ashton does a dumb hand movement and spins around to face the wall.

“I don’t want to get changed in here!” you protest, indignant. “I just met you today. I don’t need you seeing my delicates.”

“I told you I’d turn around,” Ashton shrugs, already spinning back, arms crossed. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not as far as I can throw you,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you fold his clothes neatly in your lap. You’re fully aware of how dramatic this is getting—but part of you enjoys it. Ashton matches your banter beat for beat, always taking it just a little further.

It’s amusing. It’s entertaining. It’s… hot, if you’re being honest.

You shoot him one last skeptical glance—just to make sure he’s not about to peek—then reluctantly reach for the hem of your soaked shirt and peel it off.

“Y’know,” Ashton pipes up cheerfully, “usually when girls wear my clothes, they at least let me get a peek.”

Your cheeks flush instantly. You yank the shirt up over your chest again like a makeshift shield.

“Well, usually when guys take me out for ice cream, it’s not as an apology for being a dickhead,” you snap.

He laughs, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Hey, I more than made up for that. I’m lactose intolerant and I still did that for you, Bambi. I’m basically a saint if you think about it.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. You just stand there, holding the shirt against yourself like armor.

None of this is going how you expected.

“Can I turn around now?” Ashton asks, softer this time. The teasing edge has faded. Now he just sounds unsure—cautious, even. Like under all that swagger, he might actually be nervous.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hesitating. Would it really be so bad? What would he do if you just… let him look?

Ashton—annoyingly comforting Ashton—was not what you thought he’d be. Hot and cocky, yeah. But also weirdly sweet. Weirdly attentive.

“Fine,” you say, the word escaping before you can stop it. Your arms fall to your sides, shirt clutched in one hand as you brace yourself.

“Okay, sick—” Ashton spins, grinning wide—until his eyes land on you. His whole expression shifts. You, shirtless. Standing tall despite the nerves.

And just like that, he stops smiling.

Ashton’s grin falls mid-spin, his eyes going comically wide as they take in your state of undress. He stumbles back half a step, like the sight knocked the air out of him. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again—completely speechless for the first time all day.

Your heart beats loudly in your chest as you bite your lip, holding the moment for just a second longer before slowly beginning to lift the shirt up.

The air between you turns molasses-thick—warm with tension, humming with something sharp and sweet and unspoken. You know Ashton’s probably seen a hundred girls naked. A guy like him? A revolving door, easy. But the way he looks at you—eyes blown wide, throat bobbing with a hard swallow—feels… like it means something.

“Nice,” he breathes. Then his brain catches up. “Shit. Fuck. I mean—”

He presses a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly like that might somehow reset him. “Jesus, Bambi. You—you’re just—” He exhales hard. “That was… a lot. In a good way. The best way.”

His hand drops and he gestures vaguely in your direction, as if trying to find the words to explain what he’s seeing. “Like, I thought you were hot before, obviously, but now I think I might have to call a priest. Or a therapist. Or both.”

Your cheeks heat, but you smile. The shirt slips over your head, hiding your chest again, but Ashton’s still staring at you like he’s trying to memorize every second of what just happened.

“Yeah?” you grin, feigning nonchalance. “Thank you.”

Ashton blinks. “No, thank you,” he repeats dumbly, almost reverently. “I feel like I should buy you ice cream again after that. Or, like, dinner. And a house. I don’t know. What’s the going rate for a spiritual awakening?”

You roll your eyes with a soft laugh and shoulder past him, flopping down on the bed like this is all completely normal. “You can start by telling me your favorite karaoke songs, so I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Ashton turns, still blinking like he hasn’t quite recovered. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he sits carefully beside you, like getting too close might make you vanish. His cocky confidence has melted away, replaced by something quieter. Awed. A little wrecked.

“Okay,” he says, voice low and breathy. The smile that creeps onto his lips is slower now, almost shy. His dimples deepen, and he glances at you from under thick lashes. “After that, I think I’d do just about anything for you.”

You giggle, chest warm from the switch-up—the complete shift in his energy. He was adorable like this. Dangerous when flirty, but downright endearing when undone.

Then, as if remembering himself, Ashton shoots you a crooked grin. “I hope you like Radiohead, Bambi.”

You groan and flop dramatically onto the pillows. “Please don’t say Creep.”

He laughs, leaning back on his hands. “Too late. I’ve already got my falsetto warmed up.”

—

You took your time unblocking Ashton, convincing yourself it was purely to drive the point home—he meant nothing to you. Still, when his indignant text finally came through about being unblocked, you couldn’t help but smile.

You shut that down immediately. There was absolutely no reason to smile at his texts, not when he’d done nothing to earn it. You knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to let yourself soften around Ashton. If you weren’t careful, you’d slip right back into his arms.

Just like you had so many times before.

Part of you expected Ashton to never actually follow through on the plans to catch up. In truth, you sort of hoped he wouldn’t. Being in his proximity wasn’t ideal, not when your track record with him involved losing all sense the moment his hands lingered on yours for even a second too long.

But this time would be different—you swore it. You were over Ashton. The fiery feelings he used to stir up had been reduced to nothing but numbness.

You had Diego now. He was stable, reliable, and had a normal job. He wasn’t going to destroy every part of you the way Ashton had.

Ashton was always one to surprise you. When he texted asking if you wanted to meet him at the bar you two used to frequent during your college days, you could only gape at your phone.

Meet me at Cowgirl tonight?

You considered blocking him again, pretending you hadn’t run into him at all. Of course, he’d choose that place—the one you’d been too afraid to return to after your last encounter with him.

But you knew you had to go. If you ghosted him after he suggested such a significant place, it would confirm that he still had a hold on you. You sighed, begrudgingly typing out your confirmation, silently praying the night would pass without incident.

A flicker of guilt surfaced as your mind wandered to Diego. You had canceled your date after the elevator ordeal, still too shaken to do anything but stew over Ashton’s sudden reappearance in your life.

You reminded yourself that you and Diego weren’t exclusive. There was no need to feel guilty about this outing—Ashton meant nothing to you anymore. He’d dug his own grave, and you hadn’t even shed a tear over it.

Still, as the evening approached, an uneasy knot formed in your stomach. Getting ready felt like a battle in itself. You didn’t want to overdo it, but the confidence boost makeup gave you was undeniable. If you looked good, you’d feel in control—and you needed every ounce of control tonight.

Besides, would it really hurt to rub in just how much you were glowing without him?

The drive to the bar was surprisingly smooth. LA traffic, unreliable as always, decided to work in your favor for once. But when you pulled into the parking lot, the fear hit you like a brick.

You stayed frozen in the driver’s seat, anxiously chewing on your lip as you debated whether to go inside or turn back. Before you could make a decision, a sharp knock on your window startled you.

Ashton grinned at you through the glass, his smile wide and obnoxious as he waved like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you.

Suppressing an annoyed sigh, you rolled down the window.

Ashton leaned casually against the car door, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “Hope I didn’t interrupt your pep talk,” he teased. “Or maybe I’m glad I did—you looked like you were contemplating jumping off a bridge.”

“Now I am,” you grumbled, glaring at him.

He chuckled, completely unfazed. Dressed in simple black jeans, he looked deceptively casual—until your eyes caught on the bright red mesh sweater he wore. The sheer fabric exposed his tattoos and pale skin beneath, and you felt your cheeks heat despite yourself.

“Well, aren’t you dressed like a slut,” you retorted, brushing him away so you could open the car door.

As you climbed out, Ashton’s grin widened. “Not very woke of you, Bambi,” he quipped, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

A stray black curl fell across his forehead, and you had to stop yourself from brushing it away. Instead, you shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, determined not to let him get under your skin.

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” You snapped, not waiting for him to catch up as you began to walk towards the bar.

Ashton, with his infuriatingly long legs, didn’t take long to reach you. “Sorry, I forget you’re in your heartless era,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “My apologies, Y/N.”

You spared him a sideways glance, your eyes catching on the bright sliver of the chains that decorated his neck. Apparently you hadn’t been the only one to want to dress your best for such an occasion, because Ashton looked good.

But that didn’t matter to you, not anymore. No amount of beauty would ever rekindle the feelings that you had laid to rest so long ago. That part of your heart had gone ice cold, breaking off and dying in a corner of your brain that you never choose to revisit.

The bar looked just the same it always had, familiar in every way. The music blared and for a bit you almost felt as if you had traveled back in time— a doe eyed freshman who had feelings too intense for an unpredictable frat boy.

You could feel Ashton’s gaze glued to you, and it made your skin prickle with sweat. “What?” you snapped coming to a stop before an empty table.

“Nothin’, just didn’t realize we decided to match,” he slid into one of the stools effortlessly, eyeing your red leather jacket as he tapped his fingers absentmindedly.

You begrudgingly took the seat before him.

It was loud and crowded, and you briefly questioned what it was that had you so enamored with this place in the first place. The answer was simple, and he was sitting right in front of you.

“Oh don’t even,” you huffed, looking over at the bar and reading through your drink options. “You were never the type to dress like this before.”

Ashton put down his own menu, staring at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you saying that I look good?”

You raised your gaze, leveling him with an unimpressed glance. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Irwin,” you warned.

Ashton’s grin was wide and he leaned closer. “I used to put a lot of things in your mouth, Bambi.”

Your eyes widened comically as the words Ashton had said registered fully. “Nope,” you shook your head, standing up from the table. “I am too sober for your stupid jokes.”

Ashton followed you, sliding off of his seat. “Let’s fix that then.”

He was standing too close, close enough that you could catch the faint scent of mint from the gum he’d been chewing since he found you in the parking lot. You considered telling him to back off, but the effort felt pointless.

Instead, you let him follow as you wove your way through the crowded bar, bodies pressing in from every direction. The air was thick with sweat, spilled drinks, and memories you wished you’d left behind.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Tyler, the bartender, grinned as the two of you approached the counter. “Ash and Y/N, been a while since we’ve seen you two here.”

Ashton returned the smile, casual as ever. “Good to see you, mate.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music. “Good to see you.” You avoided Tyler’s knowing gaze, already regretting your decision to come here. Because you and Ashton had frequented this bar so often throughout the course of your relationship, you were known by some of the staff. Still, you couldn’t deny the slight hope you had when walking in that no one who knew your history had been working.

“What can I get y’all?” Tyler asked, his grin widening as he winked in your direction before turning to Ashton.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Ashton beat you to it. “We’ll have the regular,” he said without missing a beat.

Your head snapped toward him, stunned. The regular? Your so-called regular was a ridiculous, oversized Sex on the Beach, meant for two and always consumed as part of some dumb competition to see who could drink it faster. It was a relic of your shared history, and the audacity of Ashton assuming you’d want to relive it left you speechless.

He didn’t even look at you, his focus still on Tyler as if nothing about this was unusual. You stared at him, your irritation bubbling up, but you swallowed it back. If Ashton didn’t matter to you anymore, then why should this?

“You’re not gonna kill me for that?” he asked suddenly, leaning against the bar with a smirk. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, daring you to react.

You met his gaze head-on, your chin tilting up defiantly. “I told you, I don’t care anymore.”

Ashton nodded slowly, his expression unreadable as he glanced around the room. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice low enough that you had to lean in slightly to catch it. “It’s all pins and needles, ain’t it?”

“Yup,” you said brightly, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I feel absolutely nothing for you.”

Ashton nodded, completely unfazed. “So, if you’re so over me,” he drawled, his eyes trailing Tyler as he prepared your drink, “you seeing someone?”

Bingo. The long bragging train was coming, and Ashton was about to be flattened under it.

“Yeah, guess so,” you replied casually, leaning an elbow on the bar. “Been here and there, you know? Dipping my toes in the dating pool—making sure none of them have girlfriends.”

Ashton let out a low whistle, leaning closer with that infuriating smirk. “If you’re so over me,” he whispered, his voice teasingly low, “why do you still sound so bitter about that?”

You leaned back, putting space between you. “Because I don’t particularly enjoy the idea of one of your girls storming in here to beat me up,” you said evenly, your tone cool and detached. “Tell me, how’s Eve?”

Ashton’s tongue pressed against his cheek, and for the first time, the cracks in his confidence began to show. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, slipping his mask of indifference back into place. “Haven’t known for about a year and a half.”

“Bummer,” you sighed dramatically, clicking your tongue. “She was as good as you’ll ever do.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Enough about that. What have you been up to in the past year? Or year and a half, to be exact.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, deliberating what to share. “Well, I finally finished my architecture degree,” you said matter-of-factly. “Started freelancing, I was about to pitch designs for a new gym some company wants to build when the elevator decided to shit itself.”

Ashton let out another low whistle, his expression softening slightly. “Sounds real fancy,” he said, nodding. “But then again, you’ve never been anything close to ordinary. You’re doing great for yourself, Bambi.”

That damn nickname. Despite telling him countless times to drop it, it clung to you like a stubborn burr. You reminded yourself—again—that it didn’t matter. You were over him.

“Here ya go,” Tyler interrupted cheerfully, sliding the comically oversized cocktail across the counter. “Hope to see you two on stage later.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ashton replied with a wink. “Gimme a few to let the alcohol kick in.”

Tyler chuckled before turning to the next customer, leaving you alone with Ashton once more.

“Karaoke, huh?” you asked, taking a tentative sip of the drink. It was stronger than you remembered, and you silently prayed you wouldn’t end up completely wasted.

Ashton shrugged. “Just to get him off my back,” he admitted. “We don’t actually have to do it.”

“Yeah, empty promises,” you said dryly, a humorless chuckle escaping. “You always were good at those.”

“You sure love your jabs, Y/N,” he sighed, taking a sip of the oversized cocktail. “Doesn’t exactly scream pins and needles to me, if I do say so myself.”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “Oh, please. Just because I don’t have any positive feelings for you doesn’t mean I don’t have negative ones.”

“Right…” Ashton said with a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “Enough about me,” you said, turning the conversation toward him. “You’re a firefighter now? All that college for what?”

Ashton pursed his lips, swirling the straw in the drink. “College was never for me,” he confessed. “I stuck it out mostly for you and Calum. After you left, there wasn’t much reason to stay.”

“Calum dropped out too, huh?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Sure did,” Ashton sighed. “But honestly, it was the right call for both of us. We’ve been with the 304 for about a year now.”

You narrowed your eyes, piecing together the timeline. “Wait, so when did you drop out?”

Ashton took another long sip before answering. “After we broke up. Before Eve.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and your mouth parted slightly in surprise. The last time you’d seen Ashton, he hadn’t mentioned anything about firefighting school—but then again, his education status had been the least important truth he had neglected to tell you.

“Damn,” was all you could manage, before wrapping your lips around the straw and sucking down as much alcohol as you could handle.

Silence settled between you as you continued sipping your drink. Ashton’s eyes stayed fixed on the stage, where a much drunker duo was butchering You Shook Me All Night Long. Despite their terrible performance, Ashton looked oddly enthralled, resting his chin on his palm as he watched them sway and slur their way through the song.

He must have felt your gaze because he turned his head toward you. You quickly looked away, pretending you’d been staring at anything—anything—other than him. Thankfully, he didn’t call you out on it.

“We used to be pretty good at karaoke,” Ashton mused, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t you think?”

You focused on the stage, watching the performers lose themselves in the music. They might not have been good, but they were clearly having fun.

“Guess we made a decent duo,” you admitted with a quiet chuckle. “But there’s no way I’m doing that again.”

Ashton pouted, gently nudging your shoulder. “C’mon, you should go up there,” he urged. “Wow us all with that voice of yours. It’ll be fun.”

You bit your lip, trying to will his compliment away like it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, you knew the truth—you’d never have the courage to go up there alone. The only reason you’d ever done it before was because Ashton had been right there beside you.

And he’d sung to you.

Taking a deep breath, you turned back to the raven-haired man. “That’s not happening,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Not in a million years.”

Ashton threw his head back dramatically. “Aw, come on,” he groaned, slapping the table for effect. His grin stretched wide, mischievous like the Cheshire Cat. “I’ll bet you ten bucks and the rest of tonight’s drinks that you won’t go up there and sing karaoke.”

You laughed nervously, shaking your head again. “Ten bucks is nothing. But then again, imagine the things I could get you to do for five.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, his smile so wide and contagious that you couldn’t even be mad at the butterflies it gave you. “You callin’ me easy, Bambi?”

You scrunched your nose, resting your head against your fist. “If the shoe fits,” you hummed, taking a long sip of the drink. You glanced down and realized it was almost gone.

Ashton nodded, his grin never fading. “Touché. But come on—get up there, sing a breakup song. Prove to me how over me you are.”

You froze, locking eyes with him for what felt like the millionth time that night. His eyes sparkled with excitement and challenge—he knew he’d struck a nerve.

“Or,” you said, leaning closer, “you could keep your ten bucks and your dick in your pants, and go up there with me.”

Ashton shook his head, feigning disappointment. “Nope. This is all part of your healing process. Go on, Y/N. Sing your little heart out.”

You knew he was testing your resolve. Ashton always loved making you squirm, and the idea of singing in front of all those people was nauseating. Your hands gripped the bar table tightly.

“I hate this,” you grumbled. “Singing alone feels like standing naked on display for everyone to see.”

Ashton waved you off. “First of all,” he said with mock seriousness, “the saying is about imagining other people in their underwear, not you being naked. And second, you naked is quite a sight to behold.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him. “Enough of that, Irwin. You’ve never seen me naked. In fact, we’ve never even had sex.”

Ashton tilted his head, studying you with an amused expression. “Again with the ‘never happened,’” he said, laughing softly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bambi. But seriously, just get up there. Wow the crowd. Maybe you’ll catch someone else’s attention.”

You bit the corner of your lip, torn between anxiety and stubbornness. Against your better judgment, you nodded. “Fine,” you muttered, pushing yourself off the bar and heading toward the stage where the previous performers were just stepping off.

The alcohol in your system didn’t help nearly as much as you’d hoped. Ashton trailed behind you, weaving through the crowd until he reached the DJ booth. You were hunched over the song catalogue, flipping through the pages and willing your stomach to stop churning.

“Made your decision?” Ashton asked, leaning in to peer over your shoulder. His breath was warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, your eyes landing on Before He Cheats. If Ashton wanted to play this game, fine. You’d play too. Turning to face him, you were startled to find his face just inches from yours. “Seems I have,” you replied coolly.

Without breaking eye contact, you leaned over and whispered your choice to the DJ. When he nodded in confirmation and handed you the microphone, you risked one last nervous glance at Ashton before heading for the stage.

At first, no one seemed to notice you as you stepped onto the platform. But as the music queued up and the DJ gave you a small thumbs-up, a ripple of curiosity spread through the crowd.

Your heart sank when you felt their gazes fall on you. Tyler, standing at the bar, looked stunned to see you up there alone. But as soon as he caught on, he let out an enthusiastic cheer, clapping loudly enough to make others follow suit.

The screen lit up with the first line of lyrics, but your throat closed up. Your mouth refused to move.

A wave of confusion washed over the room as people began to murmur, and you could feel your chest tightening. Your stomach churned with regret—why the hell had you agreed to this?

Your vision blurred with the sting of tears, and the microphone trembled in your hand. Everything in you screamed to run, but your feet felt cemented to the stage. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours, your body rigid with embarrassment.

And then the music shifted.

The original melody was replaced by a familiar rhythm of drums and bass. Your breath hitched as you turned to see Ashton climbing onto the stage, microphone in hand, a wide grin on his face.

He draped an arm over your shoulders, leaning in close enough for only you to hear. “One last duet for old times’ sake?” he asked softly, his voice warm and steady.

You nodded, still too stunned to speak.

Ashton brought the mic to his lips, his eyes locking with yours. Then he began to sing, his voice low and deliberate, the opening line of Creep spilling into the room.

“When you were here before…

Couldn’t look you in the eye…”

The crowd remained silent, entranced, as the two of you commanded the room.

“You’re just like an angel, your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather in a beautiful world

I wish I was special, you’re so fucking special.”

Ashton’s grin widened as his arm slid from your shoulders, taking your clammy hand in his. His eyes held a flicker of worry, but the reassuring smile he offered steadied your nerves.

He sang effortlessly, not once glancing at the lyrics on the screen. Of course, he didn’t need to. You stood there, transfixed, as his voice filled the space, the memory of your first date in this very bar crashing over you like a tidal wave. Creep had been your song that night, and somehow, Ashton had chosen it again to save you.

As he finished the chorus, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Without hesitation, you joined him for the second verse.

“I don’t care if it hurts, I wanna have control

I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul.”

Ashton grinned, his hand giving yours a reassuring squeeze before he joined in.

“I want you to notice when I’m not around,

You’re so fucking special, I wish I was special.”

Your anxiety dissolved, replaced by a surge of confidence. The giddy realization that every eye in the bar was on the two of you filled your chest, but it didn’t feel daunting anymore. Your voices blended seamlessly, filling the room with a hauntingly beautiful harmony.

You never let go of Ashton’s hand, even as the song swelled into the bridge. Both of you grinned, moving in time with the music. Ashton’s hair clung slightly to his damp forehead under the bar lights, and for a fleeting moment, he looked otherworldly, as if he belonged to the stage and nowhere else.

Your heart thudded in your chest, each beat growing heavier as Ashton nailed every note with ease. While you knew you were a decent singer, his voice—rich and achingly sincere—was in a league of its own.

And then he stepped closer.

His hand released yours to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as his gaze bore into yours. The intensity in his eyes was staggering, igniting a fire in your chest you hadn’t felt in years.

“Whatever makes you happy, whatever you want

You’re so fucking special, I wish I was special.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to brush away the weight of the moment, but Ashton’s voice wrapped around those words like a confession. Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to push through, shakily joining him for the final lines.

“But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo

What the hell am I doin’ here?

I don’t belong here.

I don’t belong here.”

The song faded, leaving an electric hum in the air. Ashton’s hand lingered on your cheek for a beat too long, his expression unreadable. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely registered it. All you could feel was the way Ashton’s touch burned against your skin and the unspoken words lingering in the space between you.

The loudest cheer in the bar came from Tyler, but you barely noticed. Ashton’s hand left your cheek as he stepped back, as if suddenly remembering this wasn’t the past, and you weren’t the girl who would have followed him anywhere anymore.

You climbed off the stage, laughing with Ashton despite the sudden intensity you’d shared moments earlier.

“I’ll take another round of drinks on you tonight,” Ashton teased as the two of you slid into seats at the bar.

“I sang!” you protested, laughter bubbling up. “We both sang, so no one has to pay.”

Ashton shook his head, grinning smugly. “Nope, that’s not how the deal worked. I bet you wouldn’t go up there alone, and you didn’t. So, I win.”

You rolled your eyes, groaning. “I hate you so much right now.”

“All I’m hearin’ is that I got your ass,” he chuckled, nudging you with his elbow.

“You wish you could get my ass.”

His eyes darkened slightly as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Wanna bet?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You pushed him away with a laugh, forcing yourself to ignore the shiver that ran through you. “You’re impossible.”

“C’mon, I saved you up there,” he said, his own laugh slipping through. “I don’t even get a thank you?”

Before you could respond, a thought struck you. “Oh my God, I drove here,” you blurted, panic rising. “How the hell am I supposed to get home now? We’re both drunk.”

Ashton hopped off his stool, catching your arm to steady you. “Relax, Bambi,” he said smoothly. “I’ll get us an Uber, then tomorrow I’ll take you back here so you can grab your car.”

You bit your lip, glancing up at him. His easy smile was infuriatingly contagious, the kind of smile that could disarm anyone. “Do you mind if we leave now?”

Ashton shook his head, a rogue curl falling across his face. Without thinking, you reached up and brushed it aside. For a second, you swore he froze under your touch, but you were too lightheaded—too elated—to care.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said softly, taking your hand as the two of you stepped out into the cool night air.

You stood on the curb, giggling at nothing, your fingers still intertwined as you waited for the Uber. Once inside the car, you turned to him. “So… who’s getting dropped off first? I don’t even know where you live.”

Ashton shrugged casually. “Figured we’d both head back to my place. You can take the bed, I’ll crash on the couch, and I’ll bring you back here in the morning.”

The idea of staying with Ashton sent a wave of heat down your spine, but you nodded anyway. The ride to his apartment was quiet, though his hand never let go of yours.

When the car pulled up, Ashton helped you out, thanking the driver before closing the door behind you. As you walked toward his building, the air between you felt heavier, thick with unspoken tension.

Your gaze dropped to his hand, still wrapped around yours, warm and steady. Something about the weight of it felt familiar—inviting.

Ashton’s eyes were on you, his gaze tracking the length of your legs and lingering on the curve of your neck throughout the elevator ride. The hunger in his expression was painfully familiar, sending an electric tension coursing through the air between you.

“Thanks for tonight,” you whispered, breaking the silence as Ashton fumbled with his keys outside his door.

He froze for a moment, then turned his head to give you a small, soft smile. “Anytime,” he said quietly, pushing the door open.

He stepped inside first, but you lingered in the hallway, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he’d hear it. Curling your fingers into fists, you shoved them deep into the pockets of your jacket, trying to steady yourself.

Noticing your absence, Ashton turned back, his brows furrowing. “You alright?” His voice was low, almost tentative.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as emotions threatened to spill over. “This… this can’t happen again,” you said, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. Your voice shook, but you forced the words out anyway. “The hanging out, all of it. I’m glad you’re doing great, and I am too, but I’m over you, Ashton. I want to stay over you.”

His face remained blank, no emotion slipping through his cool exterior. Instead of replying, he turned sharply and walked inside.

You hesitated before stepping over the threshold, the weight of the moment sinking into you. Pressing yourself against the wall near the door, you tried to steady your breathing. Ashton was only a few feet away, leaning against one of the dining chairs.

The space was small, a simple studio with minimal decoration. It looked like a place he barely cared about—except for the electric drum kit in the corner, positioned by the window. That felt unmistakably him.

“I know,” Ashton finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, sharp and deliberate. “You love to remind me. All these goddamn pins and needles.” He took a slow step closer, his hands still in his pockets.

“But are you sure?” His tone turned colder as his eyes locked onto yours, searching for cracks in your resolve. He stopped just inches from you, one hand coming up to press against the wall beside your head, his body leaning closer.

His proximity made it hard to breathe. “I’m sure,” you managed to whisper, though even you weren’t convinced by your trembling voice.

Ashton’s free hand dropped to your waist, his fingers brushing lightly against the waistband of your skirt. He didn’t break eye contact as his hand trailed deliberately, moving down your side. When he reached the hem, his touch lingered, setting your skin alight.

Your resolve crumbled with every touch, the tension between you growing unbearable.

His fingers trailed higher, slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt, and you felt the warmth of his hand against your bare skin. Your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch even as your mind screamed for restraint.

“Ashton, this isn't a good idea,” you whispered, but the tremble in your voice betrayed your hesitation. You made no move to push him away, your breathing uneven as his hand lingered, the anticipation sending shivers down your spine.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and full of restraint, though his actions spoke otherwise. His fingers grazed the edge of your underwear, his touch feather-light but enough to make your breath hitch.

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out even though they felt hollow. “I don't have feelings for you,” you said, but your voice wavered, lacking conviction. You couldn't even convince yourself.

A small, humorless chuckle escaped Ashton's lips as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Then why are you shaking?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your jawline.

Your heart pounded as his fingers teased along your folds through the thin fabric of your underwear. A soft gasp escaped you, and you felt him smirk against your neck. “You're already so wet for me,” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

“Ashton—” You started, but the words were cut off by a moan as he slipped his hand beneath your underwear, his fingers sliding through your slick heat. The sensation sent a jolt through you, your back arching involuntarily as he found your clit, circling it with maddening precision.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as your legs threatened to give out. “I shouldn't be doing this,” you whispered, but your body betrayed you, pressing into his touch as he slipped a finger inside you

“You're not doing anything, Bambi,” Ashton murmured into your ear, his voice a low, teasing growl. He slid another finger inside you, the stretch pulling a breathy moan from your lips. “I am.”

You shook your head weakly, your voice trembling. “But—”

Before you could finish, Ashton withdrew his hand, leaving you empty and aching. Your eyes flew open to meet his piercing jade-green gaze, and your breath caught as you watched him raise his slick fingers to his lips, cleaning any trace of you from them deliberately.

The sight alone made you whimper, your knees threatening to buckle. Ashton smirked, the gleam in his eyes dangerous. “Still convinced you feel nothing?” he challenged, his voice dripping with smugness. “Still telling yourself I never made you scream my name before?”

You clenched your fists at your sides, shaking your head as though that would drown out the memories threatening to overwhelm you. “Ashton, stop—” you pleaded, but your trembling legs and flushed skin betrayed your words.

His red sweater clung to him in just the right way, highlighting the curve of his shoulders and the tattoos that inked his forearms. Even with your eyes closed, you could picture him perfectly—the smooth expanse of his skin, the strength in his frame, and the way his gaze alone could make you fall apart.

Ashton leaned in closer, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Tell me again how over me you are,” he demanded. “Tell me you don't miss how my cock made you feel. Tell me, Y/N.”

Your eyes fluttered open, locking with his, the truth written all over your face. The intensity in his gaze burned through every excuse you'd clung to, every lie you'd told yourself. Even now, the ghost of his touch lingered, your body betraying every word you wanted to say.

There was no getting over Ashton Irwin.

“I miss you,” you gasped, the confession slipping out before you could stop it.

In one swift motion, your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him down to you.

His lips collided with yours, the hunger and urgency behind them unmistakable. They moved against yours with practiced ease, igniting a fire in your chest. His hands found your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you closer, erasing any space between you.

A whimper escaped your lips when Ashton's teeth grazed your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. The two of you stumbled across the apartment, the kiss never faltering. Your tongue traced the outline of his lips before delving deeper, tasting him fully, as his hands guided you blindly.

The back of your knees hit the armrest of the sofa, halting your movements. Ashton didn't hesitate; his hands gently but firmly pushed you down onto the cushions. You fell onto your back, your breathing uneven as you propped yourself up on your elbows, your gaze locked with his.

His smirk was devilish, his eyes dark with desire. Ashton leaned over you, his frame towering yet familiar, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along the bare skin of your thighs. Every touch sent sparks skittering across your skin, and all you could do was watch him, entirely at his mercy.

“God, I missed having you like this,” Ashton groaned, his fingertips trailing up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher until it bunched at your waist. The distant hum of the city filtered in through the window, a sharp contrast to the heavy, uneven breathing that filled the small apartment.

His calloused palms roamed every inch of your exposed skin, lingering just enough to make your body tremble beneath his touch.

His fingers brushed over the waistband of your underwear, teasing. “Let me see that pretty pussy,” he rasped, his voice low and rough, before pulling the fabric down your legs and discarding it without a second thought. “You don't even know how many nights I thought about stretching you out, fucking my hand and wishing it was as tight as you.”

“Ashton,” you panted, your hands gripping his biceps as he hovered over you. A stray curl fell over his forehead, dangling above you along with the glint of the silver chains around his neck. He wasn't in any rush—his deliberate movements drawing shaky gasps from your lips as he let his hands linger just above your heat, his touch tantalizingly close but never enough.

He dipped his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that sent a wave of heat coursing through you. His fingers finally found your clit, rubbing delicious circles, his touch so familiar and precise it sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

“I was so fucking mad when you started talking about dating,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and strained as he replaced two fingers with his thumb, sliding them inside you. The stretch made you whimper, your head falling back. “But then I remembered—no one knows you like I do. Ain't that right, Bambi? I've mapped every inch of your body, made you come so many times in one night you couldn't even lift your head afterward.”

His fingers picked up speed, curling into a perfect rhythm that had your thighs trembling. Sweat pooled at your collarbone, and your hips moved instinctively, matching the pace he set as the pleasure built steadily.

“You're so fucking needy for me, Y/N,” he growled, his eyes dark as they locked on yours. “Tell me—do you ever lie to yourself? Pretend it's not my mouth you think about when you get off?”

Your head fell back against the wall as a breathless cry escaped your lips. “N-no,” you moaned, your voice trembling. “I can't forget it. Can't forget you.”

Ashton smirked, his free hand roaming your body as his lips trailed lower, biting at the sensitive skin of your thighs hard enough to make you yelp. The sharp sting only heightened the ache building deep in your core.

“You're such a bad liar, Bambi,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “You think I didn't notice you tonight? The way you froze when I said you were doing a good job in the elevator? You've never forgotten, and neither have I.”

Finally, he settled between your legs, tossing one over his shoulder as his eyes drank in the sight of you. His thumb left your clit, and the sudden loss made you whine in frustration.

“Look at you,” Ashton rasped, his voice dripping with lust. “Taking my fingers so well. But fuck, I need more—I need my mouth on you, your clit between my lips, your legs shaking around my head.”

Your hand shot down instinctively, tangling in his curls. The dark glint in his eyes and the cocky smirk that followed sent a fresh wave of heat through you just before he finally lowered himself.

The moment his plush lips wrapped around your sensitive bud, a moan ripped from your throat, your body arching as pure pleasure coursed through you. His mouth moved in perfect tandem with his fingers, the combination pushing you dangerously close to the edge.

The teasing, the tension, and the fact that no one had touched you like this since Ashton— all of it built to an unbearable crescendo. You felt yourself slipping, your resolve unraveling as his name fell from your lips until it didn’t even sound like a name anymore, just a chorus of pleasured moans.

His tongue moved over you with languid precision, every flick and swirl reminding you that Ashton hadn't forgotten a single thing about your body. He was attuned to you in a way that felt almost unfair—like getting you off was second nature to him.

Your back arched off the sofa, your stomach tightening with every second his mouth worked its magic. The heat of his tongue and the rhythmic motion of his fingers were almost too much, the sensations blending into an overwhelming wave of pleasure. His eyes fluttered shut, his expression one of pure bliss as he savored you, utterly lost in the moment.

“I'm so close,” you whined, your heel digging into his back, urging him on. Your grip on his hair tightened, shadows dancing in your vision as the tension in your body coiled impossibly tight. Each flick of his tongue pulled another breathless whimper from your lips, leaving you teetering on the edge.

And then he wrapped his lips around your clit one final time, sucking gently but with just enough pressure to send you spiraling. The coil in your stomach snapped, and a tidal wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your body shook violently, your thighs instinctively clamping around Ashton's head as the ecstasy consumed you.

He didn't stop. Even as your moans turned into overstimulated whines and your legs trembled uncontrollably, Ashton stayed buried between your thighs, his tongue and fingers working you through every aftershock. You looked down at him, your chest heaving, and saw the way he was utterly lost in you, his grip on your hips tightening as if he couldn't bear to let go.

“Baby—” The word slipped from your lips before you could stop it, soft and breathless, laced with a vulnerability you hadn't meant to reveal.

Ashton froze, his body going rigid at the sound of the endearment. His fingers stilled, and for a fleeting moment, you were certain you'd said too much. But when his eyes met yours, there was no anger, no hesitation—just a new kind of fire burning behind them.

He didn't say a word. Instead, he rose from between your legs, his movements deliberate, and scooped you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. You didn't protest; you couldn't. Your body was boneless in his hold, your mind too hazy to form a coherent thought.

All you could do was cling to him as he carried you, your head resting against his chest, his heartbeat steady and grounding in the haze of the moment.

“I'm not done with you yet,” Ashton muttered, his voice low and gravelly, thick with need. His words sent a shiver through you as he carried you to his bedroom, the mirror doors of his closet catching your eye just before he laid you on the bed.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip before coaxing it open and slipping inside. Instinctively, you began to suck gently, your lashes fluttering shut as his other hand swept the hair from your face.

When he pulled his finger away, his gaze was dark and hungry, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Slowly, almost torturously, Ashton slipped your jacket from your shoulders, his eyes devouring every inch of newly exposed skin. You let him, your body pliant beneath his touch.

“You think you can forget how I make you feel?” he growled, his voice rough in your ear as he climbed onto the bed behind you. His hands gripped your jaw firmly, tilting your head until your eyes met your reflection in the mirror. “You're gonna fucking watch while I ruin you. Gonna make you look at yourself while I make you come so hard you cry.”

To emphasize his point, Ashton tugged your top over your head, trailing his lips along the curve of your neck as he unclasped your bra.

His grip on your jaw remained firm, holding you in place, while his free hand moved languidly down your torso, tracing over the soft swell of your breasts.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his voice tinged with reverence as he pressed his hips against your back, letting you feel the full weight of his arousal. “You're fucking beautiful. You think I could ever forget this? Forget you?”

You whimpered, frustrated by the fact that he was still fully clothed. It was almost as if Ashton could read your mind. He released you briefly, stripping off his mesh sweater and letting it fall to the floor. With one hand, he unbuttoned your skirt, sliding it down your legs, leaving you completely bare.

Ashton's hands found your body again immediately, one moving to your chest to knead your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple before pinching it between his fingers. “My pretty, perfect girl,” he whispered, his voice softer now, laced with awe. “You're built like a fucking wet dream. You've always been the most exquisite thing l've ever tasted, ever felt.”

Your head lolled back against his chest, your body melting into his touch, but Ashton wasn't about to let you drift away. His hand slid up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes flutter open and meet his in the mirror.

“I said you have to watch,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. His grip tightened just slightly, grounding you, ensuring your gaze stayed locked on your reflection—on the way your body responded to him like it was made for his touch.

Slowly, Ashton bent you over, and your palms pressed into the mattress for support. His hands roamed across your back and down to your ass, squeezing and caressing before one slipped between your legs, sliding into your wet heat. You gasped, a moan tumbling from your lips as you fought the urge to close your eyes in bliss.

“That's right,” he purred, his voice thick and smooth as honey, withdrawing his hand before reaching for the button of his jeans. “Stay just like that for me, babygirl.”

Your breath hitched as you watched him undress in the mirror, his movements deliberate, teasing. When Ashton slid his jeans and boxers down, his erection sprang free, hard and heavy against his stomach.

The sight of him sent a wave of heat through your body, and when his eyes met yours in the reflection, they gleamed with mischief and hunger.

You watched as he wrapped a hand around his length, pumping slowly, his thumb brushing over the head. His voice was a low growl as he stepped closer. “Jesus Christ, you're still dripping,” he groaned, stroking himself faster. “God, Bambi, if I could keep you on your hands and knees like this for the rest of my life, I would.”

“Ashton, I need you,” you managed, your voice hoarse and trembling. Every nerve in your body seemed to pulse with anticipation, your walls clenching around nothing as you ached for him to finally claim you.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he teased the tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it slowly across your slick heat. Your fingers fisted the bedsheets, your body trembling as you felt him poised at your entrance.

“God, you're so pretty,” he muttered, his voice laced with reverence and lust. “Prettiest fucking pussy l've ever seen. So eager for me, aren't you? Not so sure about forgetting me now, huh?”

The head of his cock slipped in slowly, and you yelped at the intensity of the sensation. Ashton's grip on your waist tightened, his eyes squeezing shut as he began to push in deeper, sinking into you inch by inch.

The sting was minimal, your body already primed and ready from his earlier teasing. Still, Ashton let out a guttural hiss as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his fingers digging into your hips as he held himself there for a moment, savoring the way you clenched around him.

You moaned, your head falling forward, but Ashton wasn't having it. His hand traveled up your back before tangling in your hair, tugging your head up so your gaze was locked on the mirror. “You gonna come for me again, aren't you, Bambi?“

His hips began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, but even the measured pace had your body trembling. Your walls fluttered around him, drawing out a low groan from his throat.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his tone almost reverent. “So tight, so perfect—just for me.”

You licked your dry lips, nodding as his grip in your hair tightened, grounding you. His pace picked up, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed in the room, each thrust making your body quake. You couldn't tear your eyes away from your reflection, watching your breasts bounce with each movement, your brows furrowed in ecstasy.

Every thrust sent stars dancing in your vision, your body so sensitive from earlier that every motion brought you closer to the edge. Ashton's chest glistened with sweat, and his grip on your hips tightened, using the leverage to pull you against him. His thrusts were harder now, deeper, each one forcing loud, desperate whimpers from your lips.

It didn't take long before he found that spot deep inside you, the one he never failed to hit. “Does that feel good, Bambi?” he groaned, his pace relentless. “Still think you could ever forget this?”

“No,” you gasped, your nails digging into the sheets. “No, baby, I can't—I'll never forget how your cock feels inside me.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rough and breathless. One of his hands snaked between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and circling it with perfect pressure. The sensation overwhelmed you, and your arms gave out, your body collapsing onto the bed. Your cheek pressed against the mattress as you continued to watch, your reflection a picture of pure, unrestrained pleasure.

The edge was so close now, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust, every flick of his fingers. Your moans grew louder, the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

Your body convulsed as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your cries filling the room. In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of yourself—your mouth falling open, your eyes narrowing, and your brows furrowing as pure ecstasy consumed you.

As your orgasm subsided, Ashton pulled out, his movements gentle as he guided your trembling body to lie flat on your back. He positioned himself above you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other lined himself up with your entrance. His gaze was intense, his voice low and rasping as he said, “I need to see you when I come.”

He slipped back into you effortlessly, the stretch familiar but no less intoxicating. His nose grazed your cheek as he began to move again, his thrusts slow at first but quickly turning messy and desperate. You wrapped your arms around him, your nails biting into his back as you held him close, the sound of his labored breathing fanning against your ear.

“Fill me up, baby,” you urged, your voice trembling. “Don't let me forget what it feels like to be dripping wirh you.”

Ashton groaned deeply at your words, his teeth grazing your neck before he bit down lightly, his thrusts growing erratic. “You're so perfect,” he murmured into your skin, his voice raw with emotion. “You're everything.”

It didn't take long for him to reach his peak, his hips stuttering as he pushed deep into you, spilling inside with a strangled moan.

Your nails dug deeper into his back, grounding him as he gave a few final, shallow thrusts before his movements stilled. His forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathless, your bodies entwined.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Ashton remained buried inside you, your ragged breaths the only sound in the room. When he finally lifted his head, his gaze had softened, all traces of lust replaced by a quiet admiration that made your heart stutter.

“Hi,” you whispered, biting your lip, your cheeks flushing under his gaze.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, his voice tender as he pulled out of you and rolled onto his side. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing motion. Neither of you spoke; it felt as though words couldn't quite capture the weight of the moment.

The night hadn't unfolded the way you had imagined, but somehow, it felt right.

As if sensing the thoughts brewing in your mind, Ashton leaned in and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, a crooked grin tugged at his lips. “We better clean up,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

You nodded silently, unable to resist smiling back at him. Whatever questions or doubts lingered could wait—everything else could wait. Not when Ashton was looking at you like that.

For now, it was just the two of you.

—

You were overcome with panic before you even opened your eyes. The steady pressure of Ashton’s arm draped lazily across your body was the first thing you registered, pulling you from restless sleep into an even harsher reality. A slight jolt ran through you as the weight of your actions crashed over you.

Ashton’s room looked starkly different in the soft morning light, the cluttered chaos of last night now clear and inescapable. His soft breathing brushed against the nape of your neck, and it made you shiver—not from the cold but from the flood of memories that followed. You had been drunk, sure, but not drunk enough to excuse what had happened.

The truth was unavoidable: you weren’t over Ashton. Not even close. For the better part of a year, you’d lied to yourself, pretended you were fine, moved on—or at least convinced yourself you had. But as his familiar scent surrounded you, the ache in your chest reminded you how far from the truth that was.

You didn’t dare move, paralyzed by the thought of waking him and having to meet his piercing green eyes. You could still picture them from last night, looking at you in that way they always used to. It was too much. You couldn’t stay.

Carefully, holding your breath, you began sliding out from under his arm. The bed creaked slightly as you shifted your weight, but Ashton didn’t stir. He had always been a heavy sleeper—especially when alcohol and sex were involved.

The chill of the air hit your bare skin as you slipped free of the bed. Goosebumps rippled along your arms as you crouched down, hurriedly gathering your scattered clothes. Your jeans, your shirt,—everything but your underwear.

You froze as Ashton mumbled something in his sleep, his body shifting slightly under the covers. Your heart pounded as you watched him, every second stretching out painfully. After a moment, he stilled again, his breathing slow and steady.

Biting your lip, you tiptoed into the living room, pulling on your clothes as quickly and quietly as you could. Your jacket was slung over the back of the couch, and you grabbed it with trembling hands, reaching instinctively into the pocket for your phone.

Dead.

Of course, your phone would be dead. Charging it hadn’t even crossed your mind last night, and now the blank screen mocked you, showing a dim reflection of your disheveled hair and pale face.

You exhaled sharply, trying to steel yourself. This wasn’t the time to fall apart. You slid your boots on, your fingers fumbling with the laces as you avoided looking back toward Ashton’s room. The shame burned in your chest, and every second you stayed felt like a punishment.

Without another glance, you opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, shutting it quietly behind you.

You hadn’t expected this—walking the walk of shame from the apartment of the one person you’d sworn to everyone, including yourself, that you didn’t care about anymore. And yet here you were.

Although your head spun and your throat ached with unshed tears of frustration, you refused to let them fall as you stepped out of the building. Your jaw tightened, and you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand: finding the nearest coffee shop and begging someone to let you use a charger long enough to call for a ride home.

As you trudged down the street, the original plan came flooding back. Ashton was supposed to take you back to the bar to pick up the car you’d left behind. It was a plan that had made sense last night, when things between you were simpler—or at least less devastating.

Everything felt like it was crumbling around you now. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each beat amplified by the dull throb in your head. It was only a few blocks to the nearest Starbucks, but by the time you arrived, your anger had simmered into exhaustion, and your clothes clung to your skin from the heat.

Thankfully, borrowing a charger wasn’t much of an issue. The barista barely glanced at you as they handed one over, and you ordered a small breakfast to settle the uneasy churning in your stomach while you waited for your phone to charge.

Still, you couldn’t relax. Your eyes stayed glued to the door, half-expecting Ashton to walk in at any moment. A part of you wished he would, even if you wouldn’t admit it. But he didn’t. And you didn’t let yourself dwell on the disappointment creeping into your chest.

By the time your phone had enough charge, you’d numbly arranged for a ride back to the bar. The drive passed in near silence, your body heavy with exhaustion. When you finally arrived, you thanked the driver halfheartedly and stepped out.

Your gaze swept the parking lot as you walked toward your car, instinctively searching for any sign of Ashton. But he wasn’t there. Of course, he wasn’t. You ignored the pang of disappointment that hit you and quickly climbed into your car.

The second you shut the door, the tears came. At first, it was just a few that escaped despite your best efforts to hold them back. But by the time you crossed the threshold of your apartment, the dam broke completely.

You collapsed onto the floor, burying your face in your hands as sobs tore through you. The ache in your chest was unbearable, and your cries echoed through the quiet space, raw and unrelenting.

A small, curious head peeked out from behind the sofa. Your cat, the one you’d adopted with Ashton by your side, cautiously approached. She studied you with those wide, knowing eyes before padding over and hopping into your lap as if to offer comfort.

“Hey there, Dani,” you croaked, your voice hoarse as you extended a hand toward her. She purred softly, curling up against you without hesitation, her warmth soothing your trembling frame.

As you stroked her fur, a bittersweet memory flashed in your mind—Ashton, grinning ear to ear as he insisted on her name.

“Dani Cattyfornia is hilarious,” he’d argued, his eyes sparkling in that way they always did when he was up to something. “Plus, it’s a fire song for a very spicy kitty.”

“We are not naming my cat after a Red Hot Chili Peppers song!” you’d exclaimed, appalled at his suggestion. But both of you had known, even then, that the decision was already made. Dani Cattyfornia it was.

The memory stung now, bittersweet in its clarity. You clutched Dani closer, the tears you’d fought so hard to suppress spilling over once again. Part of you wondered if she could smell Ashton on you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the way Ashton’s eyes sparkled when he teased you, or how his laughter could make the world feel lighter.

Your phone buzzed beside you, Ashton’s name lighting up the screen. The sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut, triggering another wave of tears. Without even thinking, you grabbed the phone and silenced the call, dragging yourself toward the bathroom.

The hiss of the shower filled the space as you stripped off your clothes and stepped under the stream. Hot water cascaded over you, soaking your hair and washing away the tears, though it did little to ease the ache in your chest.

Sitting on the tiled floor, you let yourself be consumed by the memories you’d tried so hard to bury. Every hug, every kiss, every whispered “I love you.” They flooded your mind, vivid and inescapable. But for every moment of joy, there was a counterweight: broken promises, forgotten commitments, and feelings left unspoken.

The most vivid memory of all was the last time you’d seen Ashton before everything fell apart. It was during one of your attempts to patch things up, to see if there was anything left between you worth salvaging.

You’d been cautious then, agreeing to take things slow, but Ashton had seemed distant, dodging your questions and skirting around his emotions. At the time, you’d chalked it up to nerves. Neither of you knew what to expect from trying again.

That night, he’d invited you to his apartment with the promise of making dinner—an offer that had surprised you, given Ashton’s well-documented lack of culinary skills. You’d laughed it off, but when you arrived, any doubts about his intentions melted away in a flurry of kisses and wandering hands.

It was intoxicating, the way he touched you that night. His hands were tentative yet desperate, as if relearning every inch of you. Your laughter had quickly turned to soft gasps, and before you knew it, the sun had set, and dinner plans had long been forgotten.

The “fancy dinner” had been replaced by him ordering takeout pizza, which you had to convince Ashton to get because he was still dead set on cooking. He eventually relented, he always did when it came to you. You could still picture him, standing between your legs as you sat on the counter in nothing but his t-shirt, holding up two empty glasses of wine and a lopsided grin on his face.

“I’ll make the presentation worth it,” he’d joked, pouring you another glass of wine. “I’ll doll it up real fancy so you’ll forgive the fact that it looks like absolute dog shit.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you without hesitation. Taking a sip of your wine, you leveled Ashton with a playful glare. “This has to be the least fancy dinner I’ve ever had.”

Ashton rolled his eyes, his grin wide as he ran his calloused hands along your bare thighs. “Okay, but you’ve gotta admit,” he said, leaning closer, “sometimes it’s not even about the food.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, his smile soft against yours. “It’s about the company.”

“Well,” you snickered, swirling the wine in your glass, “it’s definitely about the wine… and maybe other things.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Other things, huh? Feeling up for a smoke?”

You smirked, leaning forward to kiss him slowly. “Oh yes. And I know how you get when you’re high,” you teased, your voice dipping. “Can’t seem to pry you from between my legs…”

Ashton laughed softly, pulling back and shaking his head. “Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll go get the stuff.”

As he turned, you didn’t hesitate to swat at his backside. He shot you a mock glare over his shoulder, but the playful smirk tugging at his lips didn’t waver.

You were still perched on the counter, swinging your legs and sipping your wine, when a knock came at the door. Assuming it was the pizza Ashton had ordered earlier, you didn’t think twice about your appearance—bare legs, his oversized shirt—as you padded toward the door.

With a carefree smile, you swung it open.

Your smile faltered instantly.

Standing on the other side was a woman, striking in her beauty, with dark hair that curled around her shoulders and wide, glassy eyes that immediately welled with tears.

The two of you froze, locked in a moment that felt like it stretched into eternity. Her gaze swept over you, lingering on your bare legs and the shirt that hung loosely around your frame. Slowly, her expression twisted, heartbreak and fury colliding in her tear-streaked face.

“Are you serious?” she choked out, her voice trembling as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“I—what?” you stammered, completely caught off guard, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation.

Her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line, her shoulders shaking as she let out a bitter laugh. “I’m Eve,” she said sharply, her voice cracking. “I’m Ashton’s girlfriend.”

It was like the ground fell out from under you. Your stomach churned as the pieces clicked into place.

He had been so dodgy, so hesitant. And now, it all made sense.

You were his side piece.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, stumbling back a step. “I’m so sorry—I swear I didn’t know—”

Eve’s tear-filled gaze cut into you, but she didn’t look angry with you—just devastated. Her voice softened, trembling under the weight of her emotions. “You didn’t know, did you?”

Before you could respond, Ashton’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Bambi, found the stuff—”

He froze in place the second he saw her, the color draining from his face. His eyes darted between you and Eve, his panic written all over his features.

“Eve?” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She let out a hollow laugh, swiping at her tears. “Yeah, Ashton. Eve. Remember me? Your girlfriend?” Her voice cracked, her pain unmistakable.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Ashton opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

The rest of the night was a blur of screaming, crying, and running away. Ashton had tried to explain, but you couldn’t listen. You promised yourself you would never listen to him again.

Now, a week after waking up in Ashton’s bed, the same feelings from that night lingered—anger, confusion, and an ache you couldn’t shake. You had avoided his texts and calls like the plague, and eventually, he stopped trying.

You sat alone in your apartment, replaying every moment in an endless loop, the pain still raw. No matter how much you wanted to hate him, a part of you still missed him—and that was the most painful part of all.

Every day, your mind wavered between the night you discovered Eve and the night you had spent tangled in Ashton’s arms. The memories were a cruel contrast, leaving you hollow, drained, and exhausted from carrying the weight of your emotions.

You barely noticed the news broadcast about a small residential building collapse, half-asleep on the couch with Dani curled beside you. The world outside felt distant, like you were moving through it in slow motion.

The entire week had been a blur of sleepless nights, haunted by memories of a time when you and Ashton had been happy. You went through your daily routine like a ghost, trying to convince yourself you were fine when you felt anything but.

It wasn’t until the phone call that everything shifted.

Still half-asleep, you idly scratched Dani behind her ears, a random show playing in the background. For the first time, the ache in your chest felt manageable, like you might finally be able to breathe again. You knew forgetting Ashton would take effort, but you were determined to start over—no matter how much it hurt.

Then your phone lit up with an unknown number.

At first, you ignored it, dismissing it as another scam call. But when a voicemail notification appeared, curiosity got the better of you.

You played the message, your blood running cold as a calm voice began speaking.

“Hi, this is Dr. Theresa Bray calling from St. Matthew’s Hospital. I hope this is the number for Y/N Y/L/N. You’ve been listed as Ashton Irwin’s emergency contact, and I’m calling to let you know he’s currently in surgery—”

Your breath hitched, the phone slipping from your grasp as your mind struggled to process the words. Ashton. Surgery. Emergency contact.

The room spun as you tried to process the voicemail. Your heart raced, and your thoughts blurred, but one thing was clear—you needed to get to Ashton.

You shot up from the couch, fumbling to find your shoes and keys while the voicemail continued to echo in your mind. “…he’s currently in surgery due to injuries sustained in a building collapse earlier today. We’re asking you to come in and discuss his condition.”

The words repeated like a broken record, colliding with the image of the news broadcast you’d seen earlier. Ashton must have been responding to a call at that building, and somehow, he’d gotten hurt.

The weight of the situation settled on your shoulders like a storm cloud. Anger and worry fought for dominance inside you. You weren’t supposed to care anymore—not after everything—but the fire coursing through your veins told a different story.

Grabbing the first jacket you could find, you moved toward the door in a daze. Dani meowed softly from her spot on the couch, her curious eyes tracking your every movement.

“Daddy’s hurt,” you mumbled without thinking, your voice shaky. “I just… I have to make sure he’s okay. Don’t wait up for me.”

Dani’s blank stare felt oddly comforting, as if she understood. You allowed yourself to imagine that she remembered Ashton, how she used to follow him around as loyally as you had.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Your mind cycled through worst-case scenarios, each one more unbearable than the last. You told yourself it was just an obligation, that you were his emergency contact and nothing more. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple.

When you finally arrived, the sterile smell of the hospital hit you like a wave. You made a beeline for the front desk, ignoring the noise and bustle around you.

“I’m here for Ashton Irwin. I’m his emergency contact,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

The nurse behind the desk gave you a sympathetic look. “He’s still in surgery, but we’ll notify you as soon as he’s out.”

You nodded, biting your lip as you stepped away. Before you could settle into one of the cold, plastic chairs in the waiting area, a familiar voice called your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned quickly to see Calum walking toward you. He was still in his firefighter gear—his T-shirt and gear pants smudged with dirt and soot, his face battered and weary.

Relief flooded through you, and you closed the distance between you, throwing your arms around his torso. Calum immediately hugged you back, his strong arms wrapping around you protectively, one hand cupping the back of your head.

“What happened? Is he okay?” you asked, your voice breaking as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

Calum sighed, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and worry. “We were at the scene, doing everything we could to get people out,” he began. “Ashton… he went back in to save a kid. The floor gave out beneath him.”

Your heart sank, and tears stung your eyes. “Oh my God,” you whispered, clutching Calum’s arm. “Why would he—”

“He’s a stubborn idiot,” Calum said softly, though there was no anger in his voice. Just a deep, aching concern. “But that’s who he is. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you scanned the waiting room, taking in the familiar faces of Michael and Luke seated in the corner. Both of them looked just as anxious as you felt, their worry etched into every line of their faces.

Calum’s hands tightened gently on your shoulders, grounding you. “He’ll be alright, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tension. “Ashton’s a fighter. Once he knows you’re here, he’ll claw his way back to you. I know he will.”

Your lip trembled as you dropped your head against Calum’s chest. “He doesn’t even know I’m here,” you mumbled, your voice cracking. “Why would he? I haven’t spoken to him in a week.”

Calum pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. “Why do you think you’re his emergency contact?”

Your brow furrowed as you shook your head. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “Maybe he forgot to change it?”

Calum gave you a knowing look, his voice firm but kind. “He put you down because he knows you, Y/N,” he said slowly, his words deliberate. “He knows you’d drop everything if you heard he was hurt, no matter how mad you are at him. He put you down because you’re the one incentive he needs to fight like hell to stay alive.”

The weight of his words settled over you, leaving you breathless. Your mind swirled with memories of Ashton—the way he smiled at you, the warmth of his laughter, the quiet nights when it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.

The waiting room buzzed with quiet murmurs as the minutes dragged on. You sat with Calum, Luke, Michael, and the rest of Ashton’s team, all of them waiting for news. Their captain moved between the group, offering reassurances that did little to ease the heavy tension.

When the doctor finally emerged, everyone in the room stood at once, but her gaze immediately sought you and Calum. She approached, her expression calm but professional.

“Y/N?” she asked, her tone measured.

Your grip on Calum’s arm tightened instinctively. “Is he alright?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor—Dr. Bray, you assumed—gave a small, reassuring smile. “He’s out of surgery. Ashton sustained multiple injuries, including several broken bones, but he’s stable. He’s going to be okay.”

The relief that swept over you was overwhelming. You gasped, tears spilling freely as you turned to Calum, wrapping your arms around him in an unsteady hug.

When you finally pulled away, you wiped at your face, your voice trembling as you asked, “Can I see him?”

Dr. Bray nodded. “He’s still asleep from the anesthesia, but yes, you can see him. Just keep in mind he’s going to need plenty of rest.”

You nodded quickly, barely processing her words as she motioned for you to follow her. Calum gave your hand one last squeeze before letting you go, his silent support a comforting presence as you prepared to face Ashton.

You followed the nurse numbly to Ashton’s room, your heart pounding as you stepped inside. The sight of him hit you like a wave—pale and fragile against the stark white of the hospital bed, his black hair in disarray with sandy roots peeking through. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with the steady beeping of the heart monitor, but the bruises and cuts that lined his face made your stomach twist.

Without a second thought, you sank into the chair by his bedside, your hand reaching for his. His fingers were cold and limp, but you held on tightly. “You know,” you whispered, your voice shaky but laced with an attempt at humor, “you didn’t have to get the floor to fall out from under you just to get me to see you.”

The silence was heavy, Ashton unmoving, but you didn’t let it stop you. You stayed by his side for hours, your voice filling the quiet as you talked about anything and everything that came to mind.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in, and your eyes fluttered shut as you rested your head on the edge of the bed. Just as sleep was about to claim you, you felt it—a faint squeeze of your hand.

Your head shot up, your heart leaping in your chest. Ashton’s hazel-green eyes, tired but unmistakably vibrant, blinked up at you. A weak, familiar smile tugged at his lips.

“Hey, Bambi,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but warm. “Was scared I’d never see you again.”

A choked sob escaped you as you reached out, gently brushing his messy hair away from his face. “Hey, you,” you murmured, your voice trembling as tears spilled over. “Look at us—always doing the absolute most to get each other’s attention.”

His smile widened slightly, though it was laced with exhaustion. “At least this isn’t as embarrassing as you falling on your ass that one time,” he teased weakly.

You let out a watery laugh, wiping your tears quickly. “Yeah,” you said, your voice lighter for a moment. “At least there’s that.”

The room fell into a quiet lull as Ashton’s gaze wandered to the cast on his leg and the bandages covering his arms. His expression grew somber. “Guess I won’t be going back to work anytime soon,” he muttered, his voice tinged with regret.

“It’ll go by fast,” you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve always been one resilient motherf—fighter.”

But your attempt at humor didn’t lift his spirits. His brow furrowed, and he looked down at your joined hands. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past year and a half,” he said quietly, his tone more serious than you expected. “About my mistakes. And how most of them were with you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart tightening in your chest. “Ashton, we don’t have to do this now—”

He shook his head, cutting you off. “But we do,” he insisted, his voice soft but firm. He shifted slightly, wincing at the movement, and you shot up to help, but he waved you off. “I need to say this, Y/N. I owe you an apology.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with unfiltered emotion, leaving you speechless.

“You really don’t have to do this now,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but Ashton wasn’t deterred.

“I don’t know if you’ll still be here tomorrow,” he said softly, his tone laced with vulnerability. “Or the day after that. So, yes, I need to do this now.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “I love you. From the moment you looked at me with those big doe eyes of yours, I’ve loved you. I’ve always been a stupid kid, and my love for you wasn’t safe from my stupidity.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words striking something deep within you.

“I hurt you,” Ashton continued, his voice cracking. “Time and time again, and you still took me back. But then you left—and you seemed so sure of your decision that I tried to convince myself there was nothing left in my heart for you. Pins and needles, as you used to say.”

A sad smile ghosted his lips, and for a moment, you were both transported back to a time when those words meant something lighter.

“Anyway,” he said with a bitter laugh, “I threw myself at the first girl I could. That just happened to be Eve. For a while, everything seemed fine. But then you came over for my Cal’s birthday party, and everything I’d built crumbled. All my resolve—gone, just like that. I wanted you, Bambi. I only wanted you. And I knew, deep down, that no matter who it was, if you showed up at my wedding, I would’ve run away with you in a heartbeat.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his confession unraveled.

“So I was selfish,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared of losing you again, so I didn’t break things off with Eve when I should have, I kept her as a backup plan. I fucked up. I knew it then, and I know it now. I’m so fucking sorry, Bambi. For everything.”

He finally fell silent, his breathing labored but steady, his gaze fixed on you, searching for some kind of absolution.

“You made me an accomplice to adultery,” you whispered, the weight of your words finally matching the emotions you’d held inside since that night. “You made me hurt another girl—a sweet, completely innocent girl who didn’t deserve it.”

Ashton’s gaze dropped to his hands, shame clouding his expression. “I know,” he admitted softly. “I’ve tried to reach out to her, to apologize, but she never gave me the chance. Not like you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, a flicker of guilt surfacing. “About that,” you sighed. “I didn’t agree to see you because I wanted to forgive you. I wanted to rub it in your face that I was fine without you.”

His small smile faltered, replaced by a look of quiet resignation. “Oh,” he murmured, his brows lifting slightly. “I guess that’s fair.”

You exhaled slowly, your voice softer now. “How do I know you’ve really changed?” you asked, tracing idle patterns on the hospital sheets.

Ashton took a deep breath, sitting up just slightly. “I could tell you about how being a firefighter has taught me to be less selfish,” he began. “How it’s forced me to confront my issues and given me a healthy outlet for all my restless energy. But honestly, that won’t mean much to you, will it?”

You frowned, glancing up at him. “No, because I don’t really know that Ashton, and I probably won’t for a while,” you pointed out gently, careful not to hit a nerve. “You’re going to need time to heal. How do I know you won’t just go back to who you used to be?”

Ashton pressed his lips into a thin line, his hazel-green eyes locking onto yours. Without a word, he nodded toward the small space next to him on the bed. “C’mere,” he muttered, shifting as much as his injuries allowed to make room for you.

Your brows lifted in surprise, but when Ashton pouted slightly, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Carefully, you climbed onto the bed, lowering yourself beside him and resting your head against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat filled your ears, strong and steady beneath you.

“You don’t know,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your hair. “You won’t. And I guess that’s the hardest part.”

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze for a beat. “I don’t want to be in a relationship with you right now,” you muttered, your voice steady but kind.

You felt him tense beneath you, but you pushed forward before he could say anything. “You don’t need the mess of our love on top of everything else you’re dealing with,” you explained. “But you do need someone to help you. Recovery is going to be long and hard.”

His eyes searched yours, a flicker of hope lighting them. “What are you saying?” he asked hesitantly.

You licked your lips, trying to gather your thoughts. “For now, I’m going to help you heal,” you said firmly. “Make sure you get back to being that firefighter who has his life together. And maybe, just maybe, when you’ve really proven to yourself that you’ve changed, I’ll think about giving us another shot.”

Ashton stared at you, disbelief etched across his face. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” you nodded, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Plus, I think Dani misses her dad.”

Ashton’s eyes softened at the mention of your cat. “My sweet Dani Cattyfornia,” he murmured with a blissful sigh. “That really is the most ridiculous name, isn’t it?”

You smiled, shrugging slightly. “It’s a fire song,” you said softly. “A fitting name for a spicy kitty—even though she’s way more mellow now.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, but it was quickly replaced by a serious tone as his forehead gently pressed against yours. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“Maybe not,” you replied honestly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But we won’t know that unless you try. Everyone deserves a second chance. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth—”

Ashton cut you off with a quiet laugh, his smile breaking through his sadness. “Alright, alright, I get it,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “But thank you, Bambi. I swear, I won’t waste this chance.”

You hummed softly, your fingers tracing the heart tattoo on the side of his wrist. The thought of giving him another shot terrified you, but not as much as the idea of losing him completely.

As the room settled into a comforting silence, the truth became clear.

The only pins and needles you felt now were from your arm falling asleep, uncomfortably squished between the two of you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

if you’re still here, i love you. thank you for reading this monster of one shot, and thank you again to soup for being such an awesome writing partner. as always, thank you for reading pookies <3

watch 9-1-1.

[ilianasbruce]

omg love your work — would love to pls req honeymoon stage Bruce, I feel like he would be so sweet 😭 tysm!

“Sweet like honey and shimmering like the Moon.”

word count: 2,600

summary: honeymoon phase of you and your Bruce.

warnings: some +18 suggestive themes. minors do not interact, please.

notes: hello, hello!!! welcome to my requested fiction!! ♡ this is the first fiction as requested and my second requested Bruce headcanons one is on the process — thus, this can be count as a note to the dear anonymous stranger who requested that!! i want to thank all of you, firstly to the dear stranger who requested this (i hope it’s for you liking ♡) and secondly to you guys who read my fiction!!! i can’t explain how it motivates me to write more and i hope you enjoy the reading, too!! before i end my yapping, i want all of you to relate Bruce’s trait to lavish his wife to this comment i saw online “Bruce may have spent his youth in the woods, underground, in prison, in a ditch eating garbage, but he has not forgotten his roots” 😭🫶🏻 anyways, thank you guys!!! ♡ ♡

My dear anonymous stranger, as you said Bruce, in his and your honeymoon phase, was a sweetheart.

You two got a few days (ten days in total) off as newlyweds due to Bruce’s chaotic schedule. He felt terrible for just a few days off from Gotham, self-blaming for not giving you enough of his time. (An interesting fact is that your honeymoon was just a month ago, before ‘the Long Halloween’ murders started.) But you understood it unconditionally, his guilt, when you met him at the altar, giving your hand to him in wedlock forevermore. You just wanted him and it was enough for both of you.

You two ended up in some coastal town of Sicily, away from the chaos, as you sought an escape. It was a small town, with the early September sun and the Mediterranean sea. It was you and Bruce, wandering on its narrow streets hand in hand, stealing kisses in every corner or alleyway. You could have a luxurious villa or hotel in Monaco, but to you, it still would be filled with noise. You already had it in Gotham, so what was the difference between them here, too?

Bruce was insisting on bathing you in lavishness, aching to press your skin to the expensive sheets of some luxury hotel where you could spend your mornings. You did have that phase, too, thank God as Bruce wanted. But the first and remarkable one was when you two were in a rented, old Sicilian home of a middle-aged Italian lady. She was reminiscing about her sweet years of marriage when she looked at two lovebirds in front of her, seeing your youth as her own once in her life, your form in the arms of a devoted man, which was the main reason why she offered you a home for your first days of marriage.

You spent a few days there. The early hours of waking up and swimming in the sea, or eating a light breakfast in the first hours of forenoon were your favourite. You’d drag him down the stairs — not that he minded to follow you any place you wanted to go, decorate him with morning kisses and with your giggles as you’d leave the house. It was your dearest hours.

Bruce’s favourite hours was when you were blinking up at him with the sleep in your eyes, hair messy, and skin kissed by the sun lovingly. He loved those minutes so much, keeping your face close to his, adoring you with his eyes — as if you were a dream that he didn’t think he was capable of making. You were so lovely between the sheets, smiling at him from your bare shoulder as you were snuggling your pillow when you woke up just sweet as honey.

Opposite of you, Bruce loved to spend time in bed with you. He would be nuzzling you, kissing your slightly sunburned, bare skin, or your birthmarks, moles if you were painted with them. You were something for his eyes in the early morning light, so warm as much as the air around in your room, tasting as sweet wine you two drank yesterday.

Those mornings he’d look too handsome for his own. His keen, sleep-blurred blue eyes and scar-adorned skin under your fingertips were something you remembered so clearly. His eyes would stare at your every inch in an aching need and love, his fingers would be grazing on your soft skin as engraving you into his memory inch by inch. Whenever he opened his eyes, you’d end up under him — some mornings he was kissing your curves sweetly, nestling into you lovingly and sleepily. And some mornings he was between your thighs, fucking you for an hour or an hour and half, tiring you to fall asleep with him again until you woke up on the noon.

Bruce didn’t know the genuine feeling of staying in bed, after waking up, back before you. He did not even bother to think about it and he was getting out of bed as soon as he was conscious. But when you became his wife, he relished the feeling of it and you. You were affectionate, tender, and wished him close to you. Thus, you were showering him with your adorable morning love, cuddling, or lying on him; giving him a perspective of a new act.

You were now married and he was just so into you: Into the idea of spending the minutes in the warm sheets and your body as much as he wanted, as he was experiencing for the first time: the first days of marriage and the meaning of a husband, a lover. He was finally at peace with something and he became selfish about that for once.

The honeymoon of yours also passed with you wandering throughout the nearby towns of Sicily. One day you took a train and spent the whole day there, then came back a few hours before midnight. You’d be pressed quietly against each other in the train, taking in the scene in front of your eyes in peace. Sometimes, you were stealing kisses during the ride. It’d usually happen when your head was on Bruce’s shoulder as he watched the landscape through the window, thoughtfully. When his eyes caught yours, either of you was leaning towards each other for a kiss.

Or it also passed with the naps after the roaming through the alleyways or swimming in the Mediterranean sea, both of you sun-kissed, stomachs filled with traditional meals, and pressed up to each other as one. He’d be either playing with your hair when you were in his arms, threading through it, or pressing the softest kisses to it. Or you’d be on top of him, caressing his face while he was dozing off serenely after yourself following him. Naps were his favorite as much as the mornings because Bruce was unconsciously into the idea of being skin-to-skin with you.

It was a yearning notion in him even though he did not understand it at first. He thought it was normal, wanting you in his arms or him in your arms. He did not realize the obsession at first. The idea of it, the vision of it was unexplainable for him. What was the reason behind it, unwillingness to get out of bed, to leave your arms when he could be spending his eternity there? When you woke up the first time into his arms, tangled with each other under the sheets was something that firstly carved into Bruce’s mind in the morning haze.

You both were new to the experience, the intimacy and warmth of being in your true lover’s arms. The sweetness of it, you, made him bound to your bed. After the first taste of it, he was too reluctant to leave bed; the thoughts of his responsibilities were now too heavy because he’d be spending his time on them, alone and unaided, without you. Suddenly, the loneliness he had accepted and worn for too long was unbearable. Because you weren't next to him. He could be with you only after he’d come home, with a bloodstained suit or a bruised back. He comprehended how it was a threat to Batman. But Bruce — not Bruce Wayne, not Batman, just Bruce — could have you all to himself just once, couldn't he? He had to, since the thought of a life without you created the same loneliness that haunted him in the halls of Manor after his parents’ death. The love you gave him was so powerful that he never wanted it to wither.

He realized that later, the feeling of wanting you that much, when you were smelling the fresh lemons at some fruit vendor while the man was speaking to you in Italian or maybe in the Sicilian dialect that you did not understand but kept your eyes on the man. And Bruce was so caught up in the moment, staring and adoring you with his eyes. He realized the thought of his unwillingness at that exact moment — the persistence of it. God, he was in love with you desperately.

You were unaware of his gape, listening to the man with curiosity and there he was. He was measuring every angle of your beautiful face, maybe counting the beauty marks if you had, admiring the shadows dancing on your cheeks, and many more all at once. There was a heart shape in his baby blue eyes and only just from looking at you.

The Sicilian days finished off with Bruce pulling you to Monaco. He was a man of wealth and a generational aristocrat, so why did you think otherwise that he wouldn't lavish you? What was meant lavishing was not just the jewelry of twenty, various sumptuous gem pieces that had been brought up from Switzerland or France as your dower from your husband Bruce for a bridal offering to you, for your lovely neck or your wrists. Nor the antique but still worthwhile piano just for you because one time you told him you wished you could have a chance to learn to play it. Bruce can get anything your heart desires — the heart that only beats for him in your chest — and he is not blameworthy about it. Lavishing also meant to give you himself — his mind and attention, his love. So, when he insisted on spending the last four days of your honeymoon in Monaco, you couldn’t reject his motive.

God, he was ecstatic about it, taking his precious wife to the places that should be only for her regard. Expensive hotels with 7-star ranking, worthy materials of clothing for your softest skin, melodious theatre performs just for you two in a secluded seat in the hall — anything ‘luxurious’ meant was just for you in his head. He’d spend his money on you in the blink of an eye and you’d be glaring at him with a stun or a chide at the expense. He was young and married, ‘baby’, why would you expect otherwise?

You remember the night you were dining in the special restaurant of your hotel, in slightly dim candlelight, embroidered with a burgundy mixed with brown and white, and listening to the French singer who was singing about a memory. You were trying to catch her words but you already had an eloquent speaker of French right in front of you (who had translated the singers words to you for a better experience for you), gazing at you as if you were an enigma that was hauling him deeper, to peak his mind and notions over and over again as he made a move. He was not complaining, he was elated about it. Your husband was in his early detective arc days, but you'd like to think that he was not thriving for to decipher you? You sitting so lovely, spiraling in his mind from the love and obsession, being his now and evermore?

That night was so special because you two had told your first ‘I love you’ as newlyweds. You did catch his stare after tearing your gaze, in the last seconds of the song, from the singer in the dim candlelight. You were slightly awestruck and bashful under his heart-shaped pupils. When you gave him a flushed smile, your eyes crinkling under the shades of the candle, he said it unconsciously.

“I love you.”

Those three words caught you both suddenly but in seconds your bashful smile turned into a loving one with the feature of “I love you, too.”. It was such a special night for you two, always carved into your minds and hearts.

Four days in Monaco passed in wholesome luxury and love. Bruce took you to the sightseeing places of Monte Carlo — from the colossal casinos to the exotic gardens. The tennis matches with you in your short tennis skirts that Bruce’s hand found your thigh as soon as you sat on the bleachers and the Formula One race with him looking like a husband, or the operas in there and here with you stealing kisses from each other in a private box for just for you, you forgot to count. Your arm linked to his as he guided you through the dilemma of the highest-rated alleyways.

Speaking of the love, you were so dearly loved, decorated with the softest materials on your skin as your clothes and the ones underneath them. Oh, how Bruce loved the ones underneath your garments. Your delicate, pricey, and scrumptious pieces — sets or separated — of underwear were Bruce's favorite kinds of nights to experience. He would be unwrapping you as his gift, with patience or zero, while you were melting in his hands with flushed from his kisses and wine.

His lingerie favoritism started one day when Bruce was in Gotham, coming from a board meeting and he was watching the streets contemplatively as Alfred his chauffeur. In the middle of overthinking, it caught his eye randomly. There was a lingerie boutique. Bruce did not know why it was so alluring at the moment, in the middle of his itchy thoughts but his mind immediately went to you as he stared at its decorative, curved words. It was inscribed on the back of his mind for a purpose since then and he waited until you became his wife to put dainty fabrics on your skin. You and Bruce never got intimate before marriage — kept it like old-fashioned until your wedding night. And he did not want to pry into your privacy, risking gifting you one at the moment. He believed he had no right to speak about something at those times and he would speak about it with his hands and mouth when you let him at the right time.

And now, after the countless nights and mornings he had seen you? The intimate act of yours led Bruce to measure your body during it for his lingerie dreams, his fingers pressing on your intricate undergarment fabrics as much as he yearned for. You realized he was into you and your choices, so you told yourself to give him what he loved. You learnt his favoritism during the early days of your honeymoon and marriage. And oh, may God help you since he was addicted to the intimate act between you and your sweetness.

So, when you were wandering the streets of Monte Carlo, if you saw any underwear boutique, your husband was ushering you with neck kisses or whispers of how you’d look good pretty on him with a few pieces or two, which he’d gladly tear them off at the same night, which left your face warmed and a murmur of his name. He’d gladly peck your lips and drag you there, leave you on your own with his black card while he waited outside like a gentleman.

So, yes. Monte Carlo was filled with lavish and love.

On the last day, you did go shopping for some pastry, chocolate, and a few more things for Alfred. Since he was happy about his son’s happy marriage, he ushered you both for a honeymoon heavily (chiding Bruce with sarcastic but stern remarks) while he stayed at Manor. You couldn't leave him out of your mind, since he was now your family, too. You were happily buying the things you knew he’d like as Bruce followed you as you knight. So, a bunch of gifts were collected for Pennyworth, too.

When you were back in Gotham, kissed by the sun of Europe and glowing with the bare magic of your marriage, you were still met by the same Gotham. All gothic and mysterious on the edges, but Bruce’s city and now your home forevermore.

thank you so much for reading!!! ♡

[lanagallavichbrazilian]

Do you have any gallavich fic recommendations?

Man, I have SO many recommendations that this post could get long. I apologize in advance, but I'm completely addicted to their Fanfics. I'll try to recommend my favorites:

Iron Bars by @em-harlsnow It's one of my favorites. It gives a glimpse into what the prison era would have been like that we didn't see in the series. I absolutely loved it.

Moments also by Em, it brings some moments from the daily lives of husbands and other situations of Gallavich alone or together with the Gallaghers. I love it. Every time I read it, it warms my heart.

Invited intruders what a surprise, also by Em, it tells the story of Gallavich within a movie (Instant Family) where Mandy and Mickey are adopted by good people, right after the events of 3x06. I love the movie and behind it is a hopeful reading of what the Milkovich brothers' lives and the Gallavich relationship could be like if there were good adults trying to do the right thing around.

Final Frontier by @echotrees which brings a context where Gallavich meets in prison and after a planetary disaster they are launched into space. I've never read anything like it, so I'm excited, the story is still being posted.

Little Serious Tone also by Echo. Man, I'm in love with this. Seriously. Ian getting addicted to adult content made by Mickey and then meeting him in a coffee shop. Man, seriously. That's it. Read it. You'll fall in love with Mickey along with Ian hahah

Claiming Intimacy, look surprise, also by Echo. A story of an assumed Mickey (more or less) who starts to get involved with Ian when he meets him at Mandy's wedding This fic is a delight, because it brings a difficult and passionate Mickey, but also afraid. I loved it. But damn, I always love a dynamic of them getting to know each other in another process that diverges from Canon, but still dealing with Ian's trauma and bipolarity.

Healing by @jessij1997. My first A/B/O and I'm enjoying it. It's still being written, but it features a successful Dr. Ian Alpha trying to protect and heal a traumatized Mickey Omega. For those who enjoy the genre, I think you'll like it.

Old Rules For New Side Pieces by Shamelessquestions. Man, this is perfection. Gallavich as FBI agents, Mickey being both law enforcement and lawbreaker at the same time. Love triangle with Trevor. Gallavich jealousy. This is fucking awesome.Besides the author having divine writing. I'm completely in love. Seriously. Chaos, love and hot sex the way Gallavich deserves.

Wipe You Clean With Dirty Hands by ProstheticLoVe . One of the best I've read. It gave me exactly what I was looking for in the AU context in prison. Ian and Mick meet there and start a relationship, dealing with a stressful day to day and difficult discoveries. They are very cute and there is a jealous Mickey who always gets on my nerves A LOT.

Since we're alone by buffymilkovich and lethargicmick. It was the first Gallavich fic I read. It's a college context, from enemies to lovers where Mickey plays hockey and needs to get his grades back on track with the help of his new mentor Ian. So many feelings for this fic. It deals with abusive family relationships and anxiety with intensity. There are scenes where I wanted to cry, but the Gallavich scenes are a warm feeling in my heart. Ian is a sweetheart, a mix of the cute Ian from the first season and the responsible one from the last season. I absolutely loved them, as well as the original characters who are wonderful.

There Goes The Neighborhood by DodgerBear. The best definition of Grumpy and Sunshine haha Mickey is a grumpy single father in this fic and Ian is the cool new neighbor with a lazy and cute dog. Of course, enemies to lovers lightly, besides Yev (yes, a fic with Yev has my whole heart) where he plays cupid hahah This fic is nice and fun, with a hint of sexy.

Wow, this is a huge list. I just tried to do my best. I picked all the longs that I like the most, but if you want recommendations for fics with just one chapter, let me know because I have some favorites too.

[bladeupnred]

Just Don't Lie to Me: Part 3 ~ n.s

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader, Reader x Raven (OC), Noah Sebastian x Reader x Raven (OC)

Summary: Noah and Raven have just one thing in common, wanting to see you smile, and they'll do anything to make you happy.

CW: threesome, fingering (f receiving), oral (m + f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), pleasure dom!Noah, multiple orgasms

WC: 3.4k

Author's Note: The final part to JDLTM is here, thank you for your patience. I've really enjoyed this series, especially for it being my first one since coming back, and if you love these three as much as I do, I'd love to build on their dynamic in the future maybe in one shots or blurbs or any fashion really. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this, happy reading sinning! <3

Part 1, Part 2

NSFW below the cut. Minors DNI.

After dinner, you found yourself back in the living room, between Noah and Raven on the couch. A few drinks and their overall warming presences had you feeling confident and eager for the rest of the night.

The two of them were lost in a conversation about the most recent concert they’d been to, Noah telling her something about always losing you to the crowd after the 4th song of the night.

You were trying your hardest to follow along, turning your head to whoever was speaking, but you couldn’t process a single word coming out of either of their beautiful mouths. How is it possible you had the two most captivating people you had ever seen sitting together on your couch, and with one common shared interest—you. 

You were 80% sure Raven was now telling him about how she could help him keep an eye on you at the next one.

“I could just keep her on a leash, let her jump around and bounce but keep her in close by,” she giggled, joking, but only slightly.

Your eyes shot up in search of hers at that, her turning to lock in on you now. 

“What?” You asked, visibly red. What a humiliating time to dial back into the conversation.

Raven smiled, giggling again in some reference to you.

“There she is! Was kind of starting to worry I’d already lost your interest somehow,” she teased, poking your shoulder.

“Sorry, uh, just buzzed and zoned out,” you tried to hide your flustering, attempting a laugh back to her.

You watched her glance back at Noah, silently holding yet another conversation about you, and you could feel his eyes on the back of you.

It was like they were playing with their food, with you.

You felt Noah leaning closer into you, yet still somehow you jump when you felt his hand at the back of your neck.

“Tell us what you’re thinking about.”

You wanted to tell them both—you all knew why you were here, but all of a sudden you felt small, like you couldn’t get your words out.

Knowing, Noah took his free hand and gently gripped your chin. “It’s okay, you can tell us, or you can tell me if you want.”

“Okay, um. Just thinking about you,” you looked up at him one more time before turning to Raven, “and you. I’m having a lot of fun tonight, thank you for coming.” 

The way she was looking at you, like she was doing everything she could to stop from ripping into you—and believe her, she was—gave you the final push of confidence you needed to ask for what you needed.

“And I was hoping, if it’s okay with you Noah, and you of course,” you glanced between them both, neither of them able to peel their eyes from you, “that I could kiss you.”

“Of course Angel. We’re here for you, so whatever you need, just ask. Okay?” he rubbed his hand at the back of your neck as if in reassurance, encouraging you. 

You nodded back and gently squeezed his thigh before turning back to her. She was completely focused on you and more specifically, your mouth. In one quick motion, she had one hand on the free space of your neck Noah had left open, and her lips brushed against yours. It was like she was pausing for approval, and you melted into her.

Her kiss was gentle but rich, her lips soft and warm. You were already heating up at her touch and you knew she would be your undoing sooner rather than later. You pulled away for just a moment to take her in, to make sure it was real.

She flashed you a lustful smile, moving her hand to your cheek and pulled you back into her, only this time her pace was more feverish, like she was racing against something. She teased her tongue along your lips and you opened, quickly finding it with yours. She tasted divine and you couldn’t help but start to wonder how that pretty mouth would feel anywhere else, your neck, your chest, your stomach. You felt your arousal growing by the second at the thought, you needed more from her and as if she could sense your tension, she pulled away.

“Come here,” she patted her lap with the hand once caressing your cheek and gently nudged you to straddle her lap.

Changing into a mini dress at the last minute before opening the door for her earlier, panicking hoping she would think you looked pretty, had suddenly proven to be the right choice.

Before even fully settling above her your lips were back on her. You were so entranced by her lips—and that tongue—that you barely register her hands all over your body. Her slender hands found hold on your waist, then slowly glided down your sides resting for a moment on your hips, like she wanted to make sure she’d remember the feeling. Her lips quietly pulled back from yours, making you pout at her.

“Don’t do that,” she scolded you, “I just wanna kiss you here,” you felt her lips hot on your throat when she dipped her head down.

“Is that okay?” You nodded. “No, I need you to tell me.” 

“Yes,” you barely breathed it out, feeling even more turned on by her demand for your response. She knew exactly how to make you feel good even though she was just learning your body now.

You felt her lips connect with your neck finally and you couldn’t contain your moan at the feeling of her mouth on you, and her hands now gently rubbing up and down your thighs.

Starting to feel your panties soaking, you were desperate for any relief of tension, from either of them. You turned to look at Noah and you could’ve lost control just by the sight of him.

He was staring between you two, pupils blown, watching at your hilarious attempts to not buck your hips trying to grind down on her. His right hand had moved to the lap of his jeans and he was slowly palming himself devouring the sight next to him. 

You moaned again in the resulting combination of Noah’s hand and Raven’s mouth, finally catching his eye contact. There was an undeniable exchange of primal tension between the two of you now, nothing but pure need. 

Raven, seeming to notice your mental exchange, leaned up and whispered into your ear, “Go to your bedroom. I’m gonna get water and then I’ll join you.”

You nodded, hearing her but unable to look away from Noah. He stood up, towering over you before grabbing your hand to lead you to bed. 

Following his lead you paused before leaving into the hall, “It’s the second room on the right.”

Raven giggled back in response, as if she was suddenly reminded she was only about to enter your bedroom for the first time.

You felt a tug, pulling you into the hallway and quickly into your room. As soon as you were both in your room his lips on yours, his hands moving and squeezing all over your body, then tugging at the strap of your dress.

“Off.” You complied, grabbing the hem of your dress pulling it over your head. 

He took the same time to discard his shirt, now thrown on your dresser. He wasn’t quick to kiss you again like you had anticipated and instead was watching you, scanning your body as if to not forget a single curve. 

“You are so beautiful,” closing the gap between you again he grabbed your face with a hand at either side.

Even in the midst of feeling so carnal and lustful, he could still give you those butterflies, one thing you really loved about him.

“You know, the two of you look pretty together. Like, really pretty. I didn’t think it’d have this much of an effect on me,” he smirked like he meant to catch himself before admitting that out loud. 

Panicking at the thought of any chance of hurting him, you asked if he meant good or bad to clarify.

“Definitely good. I mean, feel me,” he moved one of your hands to his jeans, you feeling him rock hard underneath immediately.

“Well, do you want to… you know… with her too?” You figured if he was this worked up he must want to touch her, which you were more than happy to have. 

He chuckled in response, “No baby, seeing her make you feel good is all that I need. I promise.”

You didn’t realize you let out a huff, thinking that you had gotten too carried away in the thought of all of you together, with him pleasing you while she was pleasing him.

“Look, we can talk more later about that if it’s what you want, but tonight is all about you. Now I need you get on the bed while I take these off.,” he was already starting to unbuckle his belt. He paused for a second, like he was trying to pull your focus back to what he was telling you.

“Lay on your back, head off the edge. Got it?”

Got it. You nodded at him and headed towards the bed. 

“Good girl.” 

You settled into place on the edge of the bed into a position you’ve found yourself in a position you enjoyed more than you wanted to admit. The total submission, being fully exposed, while he was fucking your throat, it made you feel good, like you were made for him.

Noah had his hand on your face, petting you as if to let you know he was ready. You glanced up to him, then down to his cock, achingly hard for you. 

You first stuck your tongue out, giving his head kitten licks, eliciting small moans from him. You loved teasing and playing him, being able to make such soft, vulnerable sounds come out of such a dominant man. 

Another moment of teasing later, you took him in your mouth, one inch at a time until he was halfway in. You grabbed his thighs pushing him back a step, hoping he’d understand what you wanted him to do.

Because he always did, he began to pull himself out until just the tip was in, before pumping halfway back in. As he continued to pump himself in and out of your mouth, he added more and more each time until his cock was finally buried down your throat. You felt him low against your throat and moaned in response, rubbing your thighs together in hope of some sort of relief.

You were tired of waiting, taking one hand down your chest, your stomach, before attempting to take off your panties. 

You felt a large hand smack yours, causing you to gasp around him.

“Be patient, I’m sure she’ll be here to take care of you any second.”

You heard a glass clink beside you at the nightstand but were too frustrated with your denial to look around.

“It’s okay pretty girl, I’m here to make you feel good now,” there she was, in your ear, hand lightly tracing over your bare chest. When you opened your eyes you saw her crouched next to you, taking you in. She ran her fingers across your nipple back and forth, watching your squirm against Noah’s cock and her hand as Noah continued to pump in an out of your mouth in response to your noises.

Finally you felt her velvet smooth fingers at your waistband, then dip beneath them. Her fingers were fast to find your center, and she quickly dared to run finger up and down your slit.

You jolted your hips up, further into her hand looking for any sort of relief as she suddenly moved away from you. 

“So wet for us pretty girl, I’m gonna taste you now,” she said as she was already slipping your panties down. This earned a low groan from Noah, speeding up his thrusts in your mouth.

As if you couldn’t get any wetter, you began to feel yourself gush more as she laid her tongue flat on your core, slowly licking you from bottom to top, before circling your clit.

Unable to control your whimpers and cries, Noah pulled out from you, getting closer to his own climax with every little vibration from you. He continued to stroke along his cock moving off to the side of you.

Finally able to see again from your freed position, you looked down to see her devouring you, her hands clenched around your legs keeping you locked into place on you.  Between the stimulation to your clit, and then her tongue sliding down, and then into your core, and back up and over again, you knew you had little to no time before you lost control. 

To make matters worse, Noah brought his free hand down onto your chest, grabbing one of your breasts before quickly moving to the other to get you as stimulating as possible, as quickly as possible.

He knew from your reaction to his touch that you were already on the brink of release.

“She’s close Rae, just give her one finger.” Noah directed Raven and you immediately felt her index finger slip into you, her tongue still working your clit.

“That’s it, good girls.” And that was it.

Noah calling you and the beautiful woman destroying you from the inside out good girls had you seeing stars. Raven was quickly licking up or pumping your cum back into you in effort to “clean” you up, meanwhile you’d never felt this filthy in your life. 

Coming apart for her, for both of them, it was the most liberating and vulnerable you had ever felt.

After you came down Noah had also made it onto the foot of the bed, “Raven, can you sit against the headboard? Angel, can you sit up for me?”

Raven mumbled a yes and eagerly sat back watching you both as you came to.

You got up to meet him, both kneeling on the bed facing each other. 

“That was so good,” he kissed your forehead, “you’re doing so well.” 

You couldn’t help but blush against his touch at his praise, all you wanted was to be good for both of them, make them feel as good as they were making you feel.

“Turn around for me Angel,” he patted your ass urging you to turn, facing back to the goddess who was sprawled against your headboard. You finally, really, got to take a good look at her now that you were back in a semi-coherent state of bliss. She was still in her panties, a simple black thong, but had ditched her bra amidst getting settled. You went straight to her nipple, giving it a suck then a lick while palming the other. Eliciting such beautiful whimpers from her only got you wetter and you were silently begging Noah to give you what you needed any time now. As you alternated your hand and mouth between her you felt Noah move further behind you, hands on your hips.

You glance up at her to see her biting her lip, trying to keep quiet as your touch was rippling through her like fireworks.

The sight fed you an immense taste of power. The woman who left you speechless, so confident, now trying to keep it together under your touch.

You began to move down, peppering her stomach with kisses, before kissing her clothed center. She bucked her hips in response giving you the final hint to please please just touch her. You peeled her panties down enough so that you could see her and she quickly got out of them the rest of the way to finally be fully open to you. 

Taking one hand to that sweet spot on her inner thighs, you held her down to get a look at her just as she had done to you earlier. She was divine and you couldn’t wait to get a taste of her.

“You’re beautiful,” you were closer now, breathing into her center, with your ass almost entirely in the air for Noah now, waiting. Before giving her any chance to respond, you dove into her. 

You weren’t slow and deliberate like she was with you. You were ravenous, trying to consume as much of her at a time as you could. You paid attention to which erratic stroke of your tongue pulled the squirmiest movement from her, learning what made her feel good. 

You had missed this feeling, having a woman fall apart for you. You loved making Noah fall apart any chance you got, but this feeling was just different. Two women, understanding of one another on a deeper, more intimate level, there was something really powerful about making her feel like this.

Pulling you from thought, you felt him line up at your interest and moaned into Raven as a silent plea to please finally fill you.

Noah quickly slipped into you, burying himself to the hilt before pausing to let you catch up. The feeling stung for a moment after being so empty, but between being full and the feast in front of you, any pain quickly melted into mind-numbing pleasure. 

Noah began a rhythm behind you, focusing on you while you focused on Raven, all working in tandem to bring each other to the edge. The two of them were stringing together a hot, breathy harmony of moans and whimpers, quickly bringing you to another orgasm.

“Making us feel good is all it takes for you huh?” He was smug behind you teasing, although you could hear in his voice he was losing control himself.

“Hey, pretty girl,” you felt her hand grip your hair closer to her core, “I’m close, really close.” Tilting your nose up ever so slightly, you placed the perfect amount of pressure on her clit, pulling the loudest moan she’d given you this far—you’d have to thank Noah for teaching you that one later. As she rode out her orgasm, you lapped her up, moaning around her feeling Noah speed up behind you.

At this point you were still gripping onto her thighs for your own sanity more than for her, and now she was merely petting your hair, which was both sexy and endearing.

“You can give him one more, can’t you?” that dominant, almost mean tone back in her voice now.

“I don’t kn- I don’t—”

“Yes you can,” Noah cut in, bringing his hand down below you, bringing his finger to your clit.

“Mmm. Okay gonna, gonna cum,” you completely tensed up against him before letting go completely again.

“Fuck. I am too, fuck baby,” he thrust into you one last time, then filled you up with his release. When he was done, he slowly pulled out of you, as to not accidentally let any of his and your cum slip out of you.

“Stay just like that, I gotta clean you up.” You mutter a yes in response feeling the bed dip as he walked over to your bathroom for a towel. Raven stood up too, the bed feeling entirely to empty with only you now, but not for long.

You felt a familiar mouth on your heat again, and you quickly realized it was her. She gently started to lap up at your mixed cum, cleaning you up. If you had any energy left at all, this would’ve driven you over the edge yet again. There was something so attractive about her cleaning you, after he dirtied you up.

Noah walked back into the room, plopping the towel on the foot of the bed before resting against the headboard, “Well guess we won’t be needing that,” he laughed as you both sat up to face him.

“Who knows, the night is young,” you shrugged earning a laugh from both of them.

“Come here, both of you,” he opened his arm for you and you settled into his side. You felt Raven follow behind you settling into your back, draping her hand over your middle. 

Both of them were showering you in aftercare, gently placing kisses to whatever skin was nearest to them, Noah gently grazing a hand through your hair, Raven rubbing those tense knots from your body’s reaction to their touches. You tried to fight the sleep pulling you under, there was so much that you wanted to talk about now. Between the soft touches and comfort of their warm bodies, you eventually let sleep take you, there would be plenty of time to talk about everything tomorrow.

taglist: @flowery-mess @respectfulrebel

[daneecastle]

Reversed Veil of Worlds

Chapter 4 - Page 82

- HAHA! This was a challenging page where I needed to figure out how to draw a simple crash scene. No serious damage but enough to make Koka gasp and go see Aza. I have other ideas on how I could have approached this page but this ended up being the result. Anyways, thank you for being patient. Non-smoking is a journey and I’m on my way to fighting the urges. Wish me luck.

Hope you enjoy this chapter. I have some fun things coming up and hopefully I will remember to post every Wednesday on RV Discord server, Tik Tok, Instagram, and Tumblr.

- This has now become a collab project, @Ineffable-ducks is the one Inking the pages.. So shout out to them for their wonderful work! Finis, Sini, and Tallula belong to Kinty.

Beginning - Previous - Next

Come support me on my Patreon, where you will get early viewing, progress work, and extra content! Link here: https://www.patreon.com/DaneeCastillo

I have also started a discord group for this comic, don't hesitate to join it! https://discord.gg/xVG6xg2SD7

To see the previous chapters I have posted both chapters on AO3. I'm in the process of making the website so we can have a Reversed Veil website.

@goodomensafterdark

[makixroll]

SNEAK OUT DATES — jo ۫ ꣑ৎ

pairing . . . jo asakura x fem!reader

contents . . . richkid!jo , fluff , comfort , established relationship .

message . . . tysm to the anon who requested this!!! Ive always wanted to write for jo but couldn't think of smth that'll suit him ;-; hope you'll like this! 💖

With just a short message of "im here" from your boyfriend, you immediately bolted from your room, not even bothering to close it as you sprinted downstairs, unlocking the front door and went outside, spotting a tall figure of a man you were most definitely familiar of.

"Jo!" You whisper-shouted, being mindful of the neighbors who were sleeping at this late hour. Your boyfriend glanced at you, a huge smile now etched on his face.

"Hi, lovely." Jo whispered, greeting you as he ready himself from the embrace you were about to give him. He watched you run towards him, arms spread wide as he catched you. Jo's hands went in contact with your waist, lifting you up a bit as he spun you around, a soft giggle leaving both of your lips.

"Wanna go to my room?" You softly mumbled, asking him as you glanced up at him due to his height, your arms were wrapped around his neck like a koala as his hands never left the sides of your waist.

Jo shook his head, "not tonight." he mumbled, before leading you towards his motorbike that he rides in every late at night just to see you. Jo then lifted you up and made you sit on his vehicle.

"You sure I'm not gonna fall from this?" You asked, giving him a teasing smile.

"Mhm, as long as I'm here." Jo said in the most softest voice he could muster, giving you a soft glance as he caressed your cheek, which you nuzzled in.

"I missed you." He whispered, so quietly it almost went past your ears. A soft smile plastered on your face as you held his hand that was placed on your cheek, closing your eyes to enjoy the warmth of his palm.

"We just saw each other earlier." You replied in a whisper.

"Wasn't enough.." he whispered back, going closer to you as he rest his forehead on yours, closing his eyes in the process.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Jo asked so softly yet pleading it almost broke your heart, placing soft kisses on your forehead, and then your cheeks.

"You'll get in trouble, y'know?" You told him, talking about his strict parents that wouldn't let him do as he pleases.

"I won't, and I don't care." He replied, now staring at you with love circulating in his eyes. You let out a small sigh, putting your hand on his cheeks that were tinted pink due to the cold weather.

"One of these days, you'll definitely get caught by your parents." You commented.

You've been with Jo for five months already, and for four months, he has been sneaking around just to be with you late at night. Jo's parents were strict, he couldn't even breathe properly whenever he's at their house, it always felt like he's living a life that wasn't his.

Jo's parents were rich, like crazy rich. While yours were just average, just right. Enough to eat full meals everyday, just enough to buy things you wanted every now and then. But that wasn't enough, not for Jo's parents, at least.

Your boyfriend didn't care about your status, all he cared about was you, your feelings towards him, and how you made Jo feel like he could be himself whenever he's with you. He could breathe properly without thinking of his parents strictness. Jo thinks of you as his prized possession, his comfort in this cruel world. You were like an escape from his reality. Jo knew his parents wouldn't approve of you, but he didn't care about what they think. He loves you, and that's all that matters. Your love for each other is what keeps him going.

You two met at a prestigious high school during your senior year. You were a scholar, which meant you excelled in school and didn't pay even a single dime except for extracurricular activities such as fieldtrips and other events. While Jo, went there because of his parents who wanted him to have connections from different rich families.

He met you, inside a classroom you two shared. You were a breathe of fresh air. You didn't wear any stacked expensive accessories that other rich girls wore, only a simple gold bracelet that your mother bought you for your birthday. Then, Jo found himself entangled with you. Which led things now, him sneaking around from his parents just to see you, just to spend more time with you.

"I bought snacks, will you let me now?" Jo said in a hushed tone, bribing you as he gestured for the plastic bag that was on his bike. Your eyes sparkled, he knew your love for snacks, especially sweet ones.

"Hmm... throw in a cuddle and ten kisses and you got yourself a deal." You said, teasingly that made him let out a chuckle. Jo nodded his head, staring at you lovingly.

"Deal." Jo leaned in and captured your lips in a soft kiss, his kiss was slow and soft, filled with love, just like him.

"There, nine more to go." He mumbled, wearing a cute smile that makes you want to smother him.

"Is it too late to add an additional ten kisses to the deal?"

"It's never too late."

[randomfoggytiger]

"Did You See Their Eyes?"

(Alternate title: Eyes.)

Thanks to the @s below for the prompts. Turned them into drabbles, hope you don't mind. ;)

[Ao3]

*-*-*-*-*

(@goodshipsmulder: You were asking for writing prompts, so... Did Mrs. Mulder have a career?)

She was a housewife ten years before Fox was born, exchanging new money with enough hands to secure the gaps in her education-- to neatly cleanse the stink of an ambitious, struggling class rising to rank amongst the American ideal. Bill’s fervor dimmed; but he came home with promotions and promises and a group of men she would order from the house when her social circle broadened. 

There were old names and forms of custom she sealed away in boxes under the stairs until they crumbled with age, forgotten. A ruthless reinvention. 

A betrayal, the eyes of her firstborn accused.

*-*-*-*-*

(@spooky-jordan: requesting sick/injured Mulder with medical Doctor Scully having to treat him in the field on a case.)

It wasn’t serious-- no stitches or splints required-- but Mulder’s brow still scrunched in pain, eyes squinting toward the evening sun while he gently swatted at her helping hand. She needed to clean away the bog water; but paused, waiting. 

“They find Geordie?”

“Yes, where you said she would be.”

With a grim nod, Mulder pronounced, “At least Mark Offman did something right.” 

“‘For once in his sorry life.” Off her partner’s puzzled expression, she added, “Offman’s last words.” 

A snort, though not entirely derisive. “He wasn’t lying about the bat, either, Scully.” 

“Let’s go get you some painkillers, then.”

*-*-*-*-*

(@xxsksxxx: Mulder and Scully have a conversation after the scene in Skinner’s office in One Son. And it should bring up the “you're making this personal” line and getting the x-files back. Sending you healing vibes!)

Version I

She often felt this space would consume her: ‘obfuscate’ twisting into ‘obliterate’ with the slip of a forked tongue. But it had smoked and regrown-- a world-weary phoenix-- as her enemies burned alive in their lies. 

Mulder stood just inside the door, checking her itinerary. He mouthed two desks silently; reached into his coat and scrabbled his signature with self-conscious haste. Head down, jaw clenched, he waited. 

“Skinner said Kersh set the process in motion.” ‘The process’. The partnership. 

“I was wrong, Scully,” he breathed. “It was. Personal.” 

Kindling her embers, she waited; nodded. Aflame, insisted, “For both of us.”

Version II

Mulder stood just inside the door, eyeing her itinerary. He mouthed two desks silently; reached into his coat for a pen and scrabbled his signature with self-conscious haste. Head down, jaw clenched, he waited.

“Skinner said the process is in motion.” ‘The process’. Their partnership.

Her decision had been made in Kersh’s office: this would not consume them. Neither had alluded to it since. Neither wanted to. Needed to.

What they needed, Scully knew, was a conversation.

“Call,” she decided, turning to leave. “With a case,” she added posthumously.

The renewed hope in his smile followed her into the hall.

*-*-*-*-*

(@catharsisxf: if you're looking for more prompts: M&S at maggie's for dinner during SOSS.)

“Fox bought the lemon meringue?” 

He caught the tone his keyed-up partner missed, locking eyes with Mrs. Scully over her daughter’s bobbing head. 

“Yes-- Mulder got it before Baker’s closed yesterday.” 

Game, set, match: cover blown. His mouth went dry; he licked his lips, in vain. 

It was a split-second too late to follow Scully in: her mother’s arm shot out, grabbing him discretely with an eager smile. 

“I saw that pie on her counter last night,” Maggie whispered, poking his chest in a congratulatory gesture. Leaning close for another hug, she added, “I’m very happy, for both of you.”

*-*-*-*-*

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic.

[faggotbeloved]

request: giving your wesker a bath. washing and being washed. it makes for an odd domesticity, seeing him like this; hair down, gel washed away into water, muscle groups slackened by the allure of soapy water.

Awhhhh!!! This follows the Three Steps Ahead story. Set not too long until the events of Re5. I put reader and Wesker in the bath together because I worry for reader's knees if not.

Cw: bathing together, not sure what else.

└───────────────────────┘

"When was the last time you've done this?" You wondered aloud. Albert shuddered as he laid back on your body.

"Never. Not with someone. Not... for myself. Perhaps when I was too young to stand, I and the other Wesker children were bathed, but..." he swallowed thickly. "I suppose I never had time or the desire to."

You gave a hum, signaling you heard and accepted his answer. "Baths can be a good de-stressor. You're preparing the final steps of your plan, and you're so tense every day it's a wonder your muscle fibers haven't snapped. Just trust me," you urged.

Albert's thighs twitched in poorly-disguised sensitivity, his body slowly sinking into the water and lying on your chest. "This is... nice," he decided. You chuckled and he felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. He was a god among men, and he was shy of a little bath with his partner?

You lathered up a washcloth and brought it delicately to his chest, wiping down his muscles with warm water that seemed to force him to relax. Soon, he forgot his shyness and allowed you to clean him however you liked; he gave you all his trust and just wanted to be pampered for once in his life.

A cup was brought to gently pour water into his hair, breaking down the products he'd used to maintain some semblance of control over himself. He was bare, both physically and emotionally, before you. Nothing you did was sexual in intent, simply acting to serve him and reward him for all his hard work.

"There we are," you murmured, massaging his muscles with one hand and carding through his blonde hair with the other. He was utterly boneless, a weighted blanket on top of you that you enjoyed thoroughly.

His body, already cleaned, lay limp as you began to wash his hair. You were careful, dutiful, as you kept the suds from his sensitive eyes and lathered shampoo into his hair. Albert took excellent care of it, but he showered in cold water and never spent time enough to properly fuss over it.

The warm water made Albert's hair soft and silky; the shampoo glided through it and formed a crown of suds all across his head. Cup after cup you poured water down his head, rinsing it with such care Albert knew he'd feel guilty slicking his hair back again because he could never clean it out as lovely as you were doing just now.

Once you were satisfied with rinsing him, you put conditioner on the ends of his hair and guided him into a sitting position. "Up you go," you instructed, intending to wash his face while you waited for the conditioner to set.

"Wait. Darling, please, can I return the favor?" Albert quickly asked. You furrowed your brows since this was supposed to be for him, but accepted since it was clearly something he'd actually wanted to do.

Albert tried to mimic the position, his hands trembling despite himself. Was it anxiety or excitement? He was a god, why was he shaking? He thought he'd left that behind when he died the first time.

Hair still covered in conditioner, he began to wash you now. The same process you used, but it was clear he was enjoying it a fair bit more than you were. He seemed never to have had someone to bask with in adoration, and having you like this was a better outcome than he could ever have hoped when he brought you to the facility.

Albert was soft to a fault; you doubt any part of your body was exfoliated, but it was okay. Albert carefully washed your hair, murmuring under his breath in words you couldn't make out but were sure were reverent praises. Or maybe scientific observations. With Albert, the two frequently coincided.

Albert's hair fell in his face, wet against his forehead and close to obstructing his vision, but he refrained from slicking it back. He only wanted you to touch his hair right then. When Albert was satisfied washing you—well, when you told Albert that the conditioner was more than ready to be rinsed out; Albert wanted to stay caressing your skin until the water turned cold—you switched back to the original position and began to finish up his hair.

You combed your fingers through the soft tresses, admiring just how sleek they were after a little conditioner, and kissed him delicately. Albert's eyes, which had been eyes closed to enjoy the sensation more (and to protect against water), fluttered open and gazed adoringly at you.

He was clean. His fingers were pruned and his skin was dry—you'd have to put lotion on him after the bath—but he felt cleaner than ever before, all because you did it for him. He felt lighter, like the burdens he'd been carrying were washed down the drain with the soap.

He felt ready for the final steps of his plan, and thanks to you, he felt far more confident in the race of superhumans that would be left after Uroboros was dispersed globally.

┌───────────────────────┐

What moida...!! All when i was writing this i imagined him with a rubber duck on his head </3 hes so cute

Read my other Wesker works?

[xxplastic-cubexx]

filler