#might print this out and hang it up on my wall :]

[androids-insides]

Forgot I had free will. Made a poster.

[goldiedraws]

"Calm." This is the second to last project for my emotions project, so soon we'll be getting back to me drawing whatever I wanna

[lilreminder]

i love the common escape game problem of waking up in a strange locked room. Like why would that even happen. And i like when there are other characters who need stuff, it’s how they live to rely on you to bring them their items and ingredients. sometime s I like to wonder how they might interact with each other when im not playing.

[adore-gregor]

Room decoration tips are very welcomed

[shotmrmiller]

I'm your only situationship.

A/N : yall i stayed up til 324 am writing this. I felt like if i went to bed still only having it as a thought and not on 'paper' thats unacceptable. If i gotta think about this then so do yall! it was also supposed to be a small one shot but it got wildly out of hand im not sorry.

18+ MDNI

TW: typical smut, EXPLICIT mmkay im talkin clutch ur pearls explicit.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Simon had finally come home from a grueling 6-month mission. All he wanted was some Kentucky bourbon with you at your favorite seedy bar. 

Once he was home, Simon cleaned up, put on a black clinical mask, and sent a text to you to meet him there. As he finished his first glass of the night, a rather attractive young woman approached him, asking if she could buy him a drink. 

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, lovie?”

“Not at all. This is after all the 21st century. I’m simply asking— wouldn’t want any missus at home getting upset.”

“There’s no one at home for me, lass.”

“Well then, how about you get yourself another glass, my treat, and we’ll see where this night takes us?” 

He slightly nodded —he’d never say no to a free drink— and as she left to order a drink, he took his phone out to text you again.

“C’mon, pet. I’ll cover the tab. Too good f’me, now?”

His phone vibrated a minute later.

“I can’t today, Si.”

“Why not? I know you don’t go out on Sundays.”

As the young woman came back, drinks in hand, he lifted the screen to read your response.

“I’ve got a dick appointment~ It’s been a year and then some and I’m gonna claw at my walls if I don’t get a fix ASAP.”

Simon goes tense— soft blues hardening to a silver and he’s gripping his phone so hard it might crack. He pulls up your contact and calls you within seconds.

“Hiya, Si!” 

“What the fuck is a dick appointment?”

“Oh,” you giggle. “I forget you older folk don’t know ‘bout that. It’s just a one-night fling. No commitments or nothin'.’ Exactly what I need right now.” You don’t tell him that the reason you’ve practically regrown your hymen is that when you’re best friends with Simon, every other male in existence pales in comparison. 

“Anyway Si-, he’s getting here in like an hour-”

“No.” And hangs up. 

The young woman who’s casually rubbing his bicep and shoulder gets practically flung off of him, as he gets up off the bar stool so fast it’s falling back with a loud clang, and he’s yanking his leather jacket on and pulling on his leather gloves so hard they’re about to become fingerless—

“Hey! I thought you didn’t have a girlfriend?!”

One gloved hand gripping the front door, he turns his head slightly to her and says, “Pet, with how good I’m gonna fuck her, she won’t even have to ask to know she’s mine.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You’re standing in the bathroom with your liquid eyeliner in one hand and phone in the other, staring at the ended call screen. ‘Weird,’ you think, then shrug and put the phone down. ‘Maybe the call got dropped.’

You finally complete the look with your false lashes when there’s a very hard knock on your door. You frown as you look at your phone screen. ‘7:14 pm’. You know the guy said at 8 and you’re in one of Simon’s big shirts he always forgets and your hair is still tied up in an oversized pink and white polka dot scrunchie— The pink leopard print booty shorts you’ve got on will suffice. 

The second time there’s a knock it’s even louder. 

“Jesus Christ, I’m coming!” 

You open the door and say, “I’m sorry I took so long, I—”

Simon flies past you, with a rough shoulder bump and you turn to look at him and he’s almost sprinting to the bedroom, slamming the door open—

“Simon, what the fuck? What’re you doin—”

“Where is he?”, he snarls.

“Who?! Are you talking about my date? He’s not getting here til 8! And why’re you slamming doors in my apartment like you pay my rent?!”

You see Simon deflate immediately at the important part of your answer and chooses to ignore the rest as he takes off his jacket and walks to your hall closet to hang it. Closing your door and locking it, you growl out,

“You need to leave. I haven’t even finished getting ready. I promise I’ll—”

“No, pet.”

“Will you quit interrupting me! Simon, I swear—”

“Pet.” 

You’re holding a scream behind your teeth, about to rip the hair out of your scalp when you see Simon take one loop of his mask off from around his ear and then the other. You gape. You’ve seen Simon without his mask— that isn’t the reason you can no longer find your voice. It’s the way he put his gloved middle finger in between his teeth and pulled it off so sensually. You can feel your cheeks and ears radiate heat from just seeing the tip of his pink tongue. Christ, you’re down horrendously.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to distract yourself from the fact that you’re getting wet over an interaction so chaste when Simon is touching your ass, giving it a hard squeeze, before moving down to the back of your thighs and lifting you up. You startle at the movement and throw your arms around his neck out of habit, hoping he won’t drop you in the move to your bedroom.

He presses you against the wall with his hips, then grabs both of your ankles from behind his lower back and hooks the back of your knees over his forearms. Simon noses your jaw and starts grinding his clothed erection deliciously hard over the definitely wet spot on your shorts and growls out, 

“If you think,” grind “that I’m gonna allow My,” grind “Girl,”  grind—and you whimper in his ear,  “get fucked by some little cock two pump chump,” he gives a forced chuckle, “you must be daft, pet. Or maybe you’re doing it on purpose, eh? Trying to get my attention? Well, you’ve got it now. “ 

He moves his face to hover his lips over yours— you can lightly smell the bourbon he drank earlier— and he whispers, “You ever like this and I’m around, you come to me. And if I’m away, you wait for me like a good girl and when I come back I’ll give this,” he taps your pussy over your shorts, “greedy little cunt all the cock it can take.”

With a shaky breath, you nod before he kisses you, his bourbon-flavored tongue curling against yours, and you’re moaning into it because you’ve wanted this for too long and he’s finally touching you. Curling your fingers into his ash-brown hair, you move your mouth to his neck, to the right of his adam’s apple, took a bit of skin between your teeth and sucked. 

Simon hisses, dips his fingertips into your flesh hard enough to bruise, and all but yanks you off the wall to toss you onto your bed. 

You yelp as you bounce from the force of his throw— you’re still bouncing on the bed when Simon grabs the waistband of your shorts and knickers to pull right off, which you’re grateful for because the grey knickers you got on aren’t what anyone would wear for a first, second nor third impression.

Simon grabs both of the back of your knees with one hand,  goddamn bear paws, you think, before you feel his tongue in between your lips— so warm and wet and fuck, you needed this, needed him— and he flicks his tongue up and down on your clit. He sticks his long middle finger into you and it goes in without resistance, you’re slippery, drooling over his wrist and finger that’s curled up into the rough patch of nerves against your gummy walls, that he’s pressing into, over and over. God you’re about to come, your legs shake in his one-handed hold and you’ve got a white knuckle grip on the forearm you’re sinking your nails into—

Simon pulls away. You were so close, your eyes start watering because he can’t possibly be this mean to you but then you see him shove his tongue in between his middle and ring finger, eating up your nectar when he says, “The first time I’m gonna make you come, it’ll be on my cock. I want to see the frothy white cream you're gonna leave at the base.” 

You’re nodding hysterically at this point, anything for him to make you come, anything for him.  With a twirl of his index, he’s telling you to get on all fours. Scrambling, you turn over and arch your back— resting your head on your forearms— and you feel his calloused palms run down from your spine to your ass cheeks before he gives it a spank. 

“You have a condom?” 

You shake your head and you mewl out, “No, but I’m clean.”

“Good. I don’t want anything between us.”

You arch your back further, pressing your ass further into his hips when you hear his belt buckle clank and zipper open. Simon brings his palm to your other cheek, reddening it. 

“Fuckin’ hell, pet. Look at you spread out for me.” 

You feel warm velvet over steel over your slit before he slowly pushes inside, not all the way but about a little over half of his length, remembering that your g-spot is a little closer to the front. Fast, relatively shallow thrusts hitting your spot with almost clinical precision have you reeling, your orgasm about to break you, mind and body. Hands tightening painfully, you shatter— loud, high-pitched whines, ringing in your ears and pussy pulsing around Simon’s thick girth— and god, Simon doesn’t stop thrusting. He keeps the same smooth rhythm and you’d think he’s unaffected by the tight vice your pussy has him in— but you hear him, low, deep groans and a tighter grip on your hips telling you otherwise. 

He pulls out to bend over your back, completely covering it, and he murmurs in your ear, “I hope you didn’t think we were done. My girl wanted a fuckin’, now she’s gonna get it.” 

He takes off your pink, silly scrunchy and you see it around his tattooed wrist before he grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail and is leaning back up and forcing your back to arch under his pull. You feel his leg at the height of your hips— propped up, foot flat on the bed and knee bent and the other straight on the floor and all you can think of is how this man is gonna kill you with his cock. 

Simon snaps his hips forward, fist full of hair pulling back,  stretching and filling in one strong thrust, bottoming out. He gives you no reprieve, no time to get used to how fucking deep he is, and sets an intense, firm pace that has you feeling a pinch below the navel every time his hip bones slap against your ass, balls to the clit and you love it. Every pinch in your lower belly has your pussy making a squelching sound and you can’t help yourself— you reach underneath your body to feel how split open you are with two fingers, encasing his cock and feeling the skin drag with them as he pulls out.

That has him hissing air between his teeth, he’s about to come but doesn't want it to be over so he pulls out, and opens your cheeks to spit in your furled hole, before pressing in with the pad of his thumb, and you’re almost screaming. He moves back a bit further to spit in your pussy, not that you need it— you’re drenching the sheets underneath you— and now he’s spearing you with his tongue before curling it, getting your juices pooled on it before coming back up, lips smacking, and he grabs your hair in his ponytail and now he uses his other hand to curls his fingers and palm over the front of your throat and that's all it takes for your vision to darken and arms go limp but he’s again, fucking you through your orgasm and this time you leave a creamy white ring at the base of his length. 

“Oh, fuckin hell.” He groans out and it sounds desperate and you know he’s close.

“Come in me, Simon. Please fill me up, I promise I’ll keep it all in.”

He gives a strained chuckle and says, “Pet, I can barely pull out of a driveway much less this tight little cunt.” He squeezes your throat hard, strands of hair popping out of your scalp and his cock feels massive, the pinch in your stomach feels like a cramp from how deep he is and he lets out a low drawn out moan that lasts 3 thrusts— and then there’s warmth filling you up, so much so it leaks from the sides of where you two are connected. Simon lets go of your hair and you fall face-first onto the bed, exhausted. Defeated. Back properly broken. You officially know what it’s like to get fucked within an inch of your life and you love it. 

He pulls out slowly, with a hiss from both of you and with one hand on your left cheek, he spreads you to look at your stuffed hole.

“Fuck. I love seeing me drip out of you.” 

You’re about to tell him to sod off when the doorbell rings and the both of you stiffen and lock eyes. With a mean snarl, Simon grabs a towel from your bathroom and his mask before stomping his way to answer the door, pink obnoxious scrunchy still on his wrist.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[cressidagrey]

So High School

Pairing: Andrea Kimi Antonelli x Chiara Battista (Original Character)

Summary: Chiara prints his worksheets. Kimi pretends to forget formulas just to talk to her.

It was all working—until she stopped helping, and he realized he might’ve already lost her.

Notes: It's Italian Grand Prix Week! I kinda felt like a cradle robber while writing this, because Kimi is a few years younger than me, but YA was and always will be my first love, so I felt like this was very much in my wheel house.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The school library was nearly empty that afternoon—just the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the steady scratch of pen against paper. Golden hour filtered through tall windows, softening the sterile white walls into something nearly warm. A lazy beam of light slanted across the long wooden table where Chiara Battista sat curled at the end, headphones in, highlighters fanned out beside her like a painter’s palette.

She was halfway through annotating a dense reading for their ethics seminar, blonde hair pulled back in a pencil-stabbed bun that had begun to lean to the left. She didn’t notice.

What she did notice was the sudden bang of the door slamming open.

She didn’t have to look up.

Only one person in their school had ever treated the library like a pit lane instead of a sacred hall of silence.

Kimi Antonelli.

She heard the sharp rush of his breath first—half-running, half-skipping steps echoing too loudly against the tile floor. He jogged toward her, slightly out of breath, sun-kissed and windblown from whatever race weekend he’d just flown back from. His backpack was hanging half-open over one shoulder, and there was a visible crease in the corner of his collar that said he’d either changed in the car or not at all.

“Hey,” he said, voice hushed but warm as he slid into her orbit like he belonged there. “Did we get that grammar packet? The one Mr. Rossi said he’d email?”

She didn’t even blink. “Printed you a copy,” she said, already reaching into her folder. “Figured you’d forget.”

He blinked, like he genuinely hadn’t expected that. “You’re actually a lifesaver.”

Chiara gave a small smile, sliding the neat stack of papers across the table. She didn’t say, I’ve been keeping a folder labeled “A.K.A.” for the last six months because you never remember anything and I never seem to mind. She just handed him the packet and returned to underlining a particularly obscure sentence about moral relativism.

Kimi didn’t move right away.

He stood there for a beat, fingers grazing the edge of the worksheet like it might slip out of his hands if he didn’t hold it gently. Like maybe he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t quite find the words.

Chiara glanced up from her notes.

“Did you win?” she asked, tone light, like this was all completely normal—like she didn’t secretly refresh live race trackers when she was supposed to be studying, heart pounding every time his name moved up the leaderboard.

“Huh? Oh—no.” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “P6. But it was a decent drive. I think my engineer aged five years, though.”

Chiara smiled under her breath. “Poor man.”

“Yeah,” Kimi agreed, then added with mock gravity, “Pray for Bono.”

She laughed, and he lit up. Just for a second, like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Thanks again,” he said after a moment, lifting the paper like a white flag. “You always think of stuff I forget.”

“You forget everything,” she teased, not unkindly.

His grin was all teeth, crooked and warm and just a little shy. “That’s true. But you don’t.”

There was something about the way he said it—soft and offhand but sincere—that made her glance up again. And suddenly they were just looking at each other.

It wasn’t new. But it was dangerous.

Because sometimes he looked at her like she was something steady. Something rare. And it made Chiara’s lungs feel too small for her chest.

She glanced back down, pretending to arrange her pens.

“Okay, I should—go,” he said, not moving. “Before Madame Ferragni starts hunting me down for Math homework I didn’t do.”

“You didn’t do it?”

Kimi immediately looked guilty. “I was a little busy driving a car at 300 kilometers an hour.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You had a week.”

“I was in Jeddah!”

“So was my cousin. She managed to post ten TikToks and finish the assignment.”

He laughed, short and surprised. “Right. Okay. I deserved that.”

She sighed but slid another annotated sheet across the table anyway.

He stared at it like it was a gift. “You even highlighted—”

“Don’t act surprised. You always forget the formulas.”

“I don’t forget. I just... deprioritize.”

“You forgot,” she said flatly.

“I forgot,” he agreed, holding up both hands. “But you didn’t.”

“You should go,” she said, more softly this time. “Library closes in ten.”

“Right.”

But he lingered.

“You coming to class tomorrow?” he asked, like he didn’t already know the answer.

“Unlike some people, I don’t fly around the world on weekends.”

He smiled again, that same quiet, unguarded thing he only gave her in empty hallways and between classes. The kind of smile that made her wish she could stop the moment and study it.

Then he nodded, tapping the edge of the worksheet against the table like a nervous tic.

“Thanks again, Chiara,” he said, voice low and sincere. “You’re kind of amazing.”

And before she could find anything to say—before she could ask him why he always came to her, why he always smiled like that but never acted on it—he turned and left.

The door shut softly behind him.

Chiara sat frozen for a moment, staring at her scattered notes, at the place he’d been standing. Then she exhaled slowly and picked up her pen again.

***

The courtyard buzzed with low conversation, the kind that floated lazily through the warm spring air alongside the scent of blooming wisteria and the occasional hum of a passing bee. A group of boys tossed a football across the far lawn. Someone played soft music from a cracked phone speaker. Birds chirped from the trees that arched over the stone pathways, as if even they were tired of studying.

Chiara Battista sat on the low stone wall near the edge of the flowerbeds, legs crossed at the ankles, sunlight warming the tops of her shoulders through her linen blouse. Her physics binder was open in her lap, pages fluttering in the breeze, her green highlighter spinning idly between her fingers like a coin she wasn’t sure whether to flip.

She wasn’t really studying.

Not in the focused, efficient way she usually did. Her eyes were on the formulas, but her mind kept wandering—to Miami, to engines, to a crooked smile and a hoodie that always smelled faintly like jet fuel and cinnamon gum.

Across from her, Giulia sat with her back against the wall, peeling a clementine with the kind of exaggerated slowness that said she wanted attention but was pretending not to.

The citrus smell was sharp in the air.

“So,” Giulia said after a beat, voice lilting and light in that deceptively gentle tone she always used when she was about to say something awful, “how long are you planning on being Kimi Antonelli’s personal secretary?”

Chiara blinked. “What?”

Giulia gave her a long, unreadable look, then popped a slice of clementine into her mouth with flourish. “Come on. You print out his notes. You remind him about tests. You keep spare pens for him like you’re part of his pit crew. It's kind of adorable. If it wasn’t so tragic.”

“I don’t—” Chiara began, heat creeping up her neck.

“You do,” Giulia interrupted, voice light and sing-song. “Which is fine. Really. He’s cute. I get it. He’s got the floppy hair, the whole baby-Mercedes-prodigy thing, the eyes. Honestly, I’d probably let him copy off my notes if he smiled at me the way he smiles at you.”

Chiara looked down at her highlighter, still gripped between her fingers, the green plastic suddenly too bright in the sun.

Giulia took another slow bite of orange and chewed, watching Chiara too carefully.

“But you’re smart,” she continued. “Like actually smart. You’ve got a shot at med school. Or engineering. Or politics, if you ever get over your allergy to speaking in public. And you’re wasting your time babysitting a boy who’s probably never even seen your handwriting on his own.”

Chiara’s fingers stilled. The highlighter slipped and hit her knee with a soft thud before rolling into the folds of her skirt. The green cap glinted in the sunlight.

Giulia leaned her head back, eyes squinting up at the sky like this was all just a mildly interesting observation, nothing personal.

“I’m just saying,” she added, quieter now, “he’s got his group. Enrico, Luca, all of them. You really think he’d still talk to you if you stopped printing out his worksheets?

Chiara’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her throat felt dry.

It wasn’t that the comment was harsh. Giulia wasn’t sneering or mocking her. That would’ve been easier to dismiss. No—this was worse. This was delivered like a kindness. Like honesty, served cold and sharp and gently poisonous.

The sun glinted off the green cap of the highlighter like it was mocking her. Chiara felt her fingers tense around it, her knuckles pale.

“I’m just saying,” Giulia said with a shrug, “I think he’s using you. Not, like, in a malicious way. Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But he is.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

They slid in quietly. Like they were meant to stay. Like they belonged somewhere deep inside her chest, where they could unspool later in the quiet hours.

Chiara didn’t say anything. She didn’t argue. There wasn’t a scene. She just shut her binder with a soft snap and reached down to tuck it under her arm.

Her smile came a second later—small, brittle at the edges, and practiced.

She stood.

“Where are you going?” Giulia asked, frowning.

“Inside,” Chiara said, without turning around. “I forgot something.”

She didn’t.

She just couldn’t sit there anymore. Not with the heat of the sun on her shoulders and those words seeping into her skin like ink.

She walked steadily, not fast enough to show she was upset, not slow enough to linger. Her shoes crunched over gravel, and her binder dug into her ribs with every step.

By the time she reached the hallway, her throat felt tight.

Because now all she could think about were the times he smiled like he meant it. The way he lingered at her desk like he wanted to stay. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking back.

And how stupid she must’ve been to think it meant anything at all.

***

It started small.

Kimi Antonelli wasn’t the most observant person when it came to school—he could memorize track layouts and sector splits like his life depended on it (because sometimes it did), but remembering whether ethics class was in Room 2B or 2C? Not his specialty.

But he noticed people.

And he definitely noticed Chiara Battista.

At first, he thought she was just tired. Exams were creeping closer, and she had that furrow between her brows that usually meant she was deep in study mode. But then she stopped handing him things before he even asked. No more worksheets quietly left on his desk. No more “Hey, by the way, Mr. Russo moved the deadline” in the hallway.

Nothing.

She wasn’t cold, exactly. Just… distant. Like she’d taken a step back and pulled some invisible curtain between them.

And he didn’t know why.

Kimi sat in class and stared at the side of her face while she took notes, neat and precise, a different-colored pen for every category. He used to tease her about it. She used to roll her eyes and pretend she wasn’t smiling.

Now she barely looked at him.

She hadn’t sat next to him during ethics the day before. She’d slipped into a seat near the window before he arrived. And when he’d caught up with her after class, breathless from literally jogging across campus to ask about the project, she’d answered his question with the same tone she used when telling the barista her name for a coffee order.

Polite. Blank. Forgettable.

And maybe that’s what scared him the most—that she seemed totally fine.

Kimi fumbled with the strap of his backpack as he walked across the courtyard, barely noticing when Enrico shouted his name from the steps. He waved vaguely in response, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Had he said something wrong?

Had she overheard him joking with the others and taken it the wrong way?

He ran through every conversation they’d had in the last two weeks like it was onboard footage. Looking for a mistake. A missed flag. Something he could fix.

But all he found was silence.

His stomach twisted the way it sometimes did before a wet qualifying session—the anticipation, the nerves, the uncertainty. Only this time, there wasn’t a helmet to hide behind or a lap time to chase. Just Chiara, sitting under a tree across the courtyard, her nose buried in a book he didn’t recognize.

And for once, he didn’t know if he was allowed to walk over.

He used to just know. That invisible thread between them used to feel real. Reliable. Like she’d catch his eye from across the room and there’d be a look—a shared joke, a spark, something warm.

Now, she didn’t even glance up.

He pulled out his phone and opened their messages. The last few were short. Blunt. He scrolled higher, to when they used to send stupid memes or homework reminders with four exclamation points. Her little typing bubbles had always come fast and familiar.

Now they didn’t come at all.

Kimi sat down on the edge of a low wall and stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard like it might offer some kind of answer.

Then, impulsively, he typed:

Kimi A.: are you mad at me?

He watched the “Delivered” stamp appear.

Then… nothing.

No typing bubble. No reply.

Just the quiet weight of not knowing what he’d done, and the uncomfortable realization that, for all the times he’d texted her for help, he might have never really said the things that mattered.

The things he meant.

And now it might be too late.

***

Chiara told herself it didn’t matter. She told herself it didn’t hurt.

That it was fine, really. Normal. Temporary. That people grew out of things like school crushes and imagined connections. That Giulia hadn’t said anything cruel—just honest.

Blunt, yes. But not wrong.

Because when she thought about it, stripped down past the little moments she’d been hoarding like secrets, what did she really have? A handful of library smiles. A few text messages. Some inside jokes about French grammar and his inability to remember his own locker code.

It wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t even friendship, not really.

It was habit.

And maybe it was better to know now, before she got in any deeper. Before she built something out of glances and half-grins and the way he said her name when he was tired. Before she mistook kindness for something more.

So she stopped being proactive.

No more reminders. No more extras printed and labeled in neat folders with his name in the corner. No more nudging him in the hallway to say, You missed this, or, He changed the deadline. She didn’t ignore him—Chiara wasn’t cruel—but she was quiet.

Polite. Distant.

Unmistakably different.

And of course, that was when Kimi Antonelli started texting her more than ever.

Kimi A.: hey, did Mr. Russo say what the final project deadline is?

Chiara B.: Next Thursday.

Kimi A.: right. thanksKimi A.: do you know if we’re supposed to use the same groups as before?

Chiara B.: No, new groups. He said so in class.

Kimi A.: oh. I wasn’t there lol

Chiara B.: I know.

The “Read” receipt sat on the screen like a silent accusation. Four minutes passed.

She didn’t move. Just sat at her desk in her bedroom, textbooks spread in front of her, phone in hand, the quiet pressing in too tightly.

She should’ve been used to this by now—the ghosting, the silence, the slow burn of realizing someone was thinking about you less than you were thinking about them. But this was Kimi.

And Kimi was different.

Wasn’t he?

Her phone buzzed again.

Kimi A.: are you mad at me?

Chiara stared at the message until the screen dimmed and locked. Then she pressed the side button and brought it back again, as if the words might have changed in the dark.

Am I mad at him?

She wasn’t even sure.

Not exactly.

It wasn’t like he had done anything. He hadn’t broken her heart. He hadn’t stood her up or lied or made a promise he didn’t keep.

But he also hadn’t stayed.

He hadn’t noticed how much she gave. How quietly she rearranged her life around his chaos. How she’d memorized his schedule, his absences, his patterns.

He hadn’t noticed when she stopped.

And maybe that hurt more than anything else.

Not the rejection—but the realization that she was so easy to replace that he didn’t even notice when she disappeared.

Chiara glanced around her desk, at the binders and notebooks and that one stupid green highlighter he’d returned to her months ago after she dropped it in the hallway. It still had a faint smudge of oil on the cap. She still used it.

And every time she did, her heart did that annoying stutter.

She thumbed a reply.

Chiara B.: No. Just busy.

It wasn’t exactly true. But it wasn’t a lie either.

Final exams loomed. Graduation was a red circle on the calendar. Everything was ending—school, schedules, this weird little tether between them. And she had other things to worry about. College. Her future. Finding somewhere she belonged that didn’t hinge on how well she organized someone else’s life.

She had to stop wasting time wondering if every “you always think of stuff I forget” actually meant something.

She set her phone face down and tried to get back to her reading. But the words swam, rearranged themselves, refused to sit still.

The next morning, just after first period, her phone buzzed again.

Kimi A.: can I be in your project group?

Chiara read it. And read it again.

She should’ve said no.

She knew she should’ve said no.

But some part of her still ached to believe in him. Still wanted the version of Kimi who lingered after handing her a worksheet. The one who smiled like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

So she typed slowly.

Chiara B.: If you actually show up this time.

His response came faster this time. Too fast, like he’d been waiting.

Kimi A.: I will. Promise.

She stared at the screen.

Then locked her phone before she could respond.

Because even now, even after everything, even with doubt wrapped tight around her ribs—

Part of her still wanted to believe him.

And that part?

That was the most dangerous of all.

***

​​Kimi Antonelli was supposed to be having lunch.

 Instead, he was having a crisis.

“She’s not mad,” he muttered, arms crossed, pacing back and forth behind the table like he was walking a qualifying line he couldn’t quite stick. “She just… shut down. Like—quiet. Polite. It’s worse than yelling. She doesn’t even send me emojis anymore.”

Ollie Bearman, lounging like the human embodiment of ‘this is not my problem’, was leaned so far back in his chair he was practically horizontal, chewing absently on a pen cap. His Haas polo was wrinkled, and there were granola bar crumbs clinging to his collar, but he looked entirely unbothered by Kimi’s spiraling.

“You mean,” Ollie said, “she’s treating you like a classmate and not a potential boyfriend?”

“Exactly!” Kimi threw his hands up. “She used to send me PDFs with color-coded annotations. Now it’s just… black text. Periods. Not even an exclamation point! She used to remind me about class changes. Now she lets me walk into the wrong room and doesn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, no, that’s horrifying,” Ollie deadpanned. “Have you tried talking to her like a normal person?”

“I am talking to her,” Kimi snapped. “She’s just only replying about school stuff. Like, cold. Precise. Linguistically devastating. I asked if we could work on the physics project together and she just said, ‘if you actually show up this time’. That’s lethal.”

Ollie winced, cringing like he’d been personally struck. “Oof. That’s—yeah. That’s girl-code for ‘you’re on thin ice, bucko.’”

Kimi dropped into the chair next to him, slumped dramatically with his face buried in his hands. “This is hell. Actual hell.”

There was a pause, long enough for Ollie to sip from a sports bottle with exaggerated slowness.

“I still don’t get why you haven’t told her you like her,” he said, not for the first time.

Kimi looked up, hair flopping into his eyes. “Because she’s smarter than me. Because she has beautiful handwriting and  perfect grades and probably thinks I’m just an idiot in fireproof overalls who forgets his own password and uses ‘vibes’ to explain physics.”

“You punched her ex-boyfriend for cheating on her,” Ollie pointed out.

Kimi groaned. “That was your idea!”

“My idea was defend her honor, not uppercut the guy into next week!”

“You said, ‘make it clear he can’t treat her like that.’”

“Yeah! With words, not fists!”

“I panicked!”

“You panicked,” Ollie echoed, nodding like a therapist scribbling on a clipboard. “Because you’re in love with her.”

“Exactly!”

“I said to say something,” Ollie continued, exasperated, “not commit assault outside chemistry class.”

“I didn’t assault him! It was one punch!”

“One punch that required ice and a parental meeting!”

“I panicked!”

“You keep saying that like it’s a defense and not a personality trait!”

Kimi let out a strangled sound. “I don’t know how to do this! I know how to defend in Turn 1. I know how to nail a flying lap. I don’t know how to tell a girl that I remember her favorite pen color and I highlight things in green just because she does and I save her texts even when they’re about grammar exercises.”

There was a beat.

Then a voice cut through the chaos, dry and mildly horrified.

“…I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Both boys froze.

They turned simultaneously.

Toto Wolff stood in the doorway of the Mercedes junior debriefing room, espresso in one hand, jacket draped over his other arm, and the expression of a man who had walked into a live-action soap opera during what was supposed to be a technical meeting.

Kimi immediately sat up straighter, trying to brush his hair out of his face. “Hi, Toto.”

“Hello, Kimi.” A nod. Then: “Bearman.”

“Sir,” Ollie said, suddenly very upright, as if his posture might erase the incriminating conversation still echoing in the air.

Toto took a long sip of his espresso and closed his eyes like it might give him patience.

“Alright,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with the kind of weariness that only came from mentoring teenage boys with fast cars and faster hearts. “First: no more punching. You are supposed to be a functioning adult, not an F1-themed vigilante.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Second…” Toto looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Kimi. “Tell her how you feel.”

Kimi blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“But what if she—”

“If she doesn’t feel the same,” Toto interrupted coolly, “you’ll survive. It will hurt. But you’ll get over it.”

Kimi swallowed. “And if she does?”

Toto raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ll stop spending engineering meetings texting her instead of listening to race strategy. Win-win.”

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked mildly betrayed by logic.

Toto gave him a long look. “You’re not the first young man to like someone smart and good and feel like you didn’t know how to deserve her. Tell her. Before someone else does.”

He pointed at Ollie without even looking. “And don’t take advice from him.”

Ollie gasped like he’d been personally wounded. “I’ve been offended by a team principal. That’s going in my memoir.”

Toto turned to leave. Then paused in the doorway and added, without turning around:

“And if you must punch someone, do it off school property. Less paperwork.”

Kimi gaped. Ollie choked on laughter.

“I’m joking,” Toto said flatly.

(He was mostly joking.)

As he walked away, they heard him mutter to himself:

“I manage race strategy, investor relations, and now teenage hormones. God help me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

Then Kimi looked at Ollie. “…Did Toto Wolff just tell me to ask out Chiara?”

“I think you just got father-figure pep-talked.”

“That was terrifying.”

“Yeah,” Ollie nodded. “He’s weirdly good at it.”

Then, a beat later, Ollie grinned.

“So… are you gonna tell her?”

Kimi stared at the wall, like he might find the courage in the pattern of the plaster. “…I might actually die.”

“You might actually kiss her.”

“…I might throw up.”

“You’ve driven Eau Rouge in the wet.”

“That was less terrifying.”

Ollie grinned and clapped him on the back. “C’mon, lover boy. Time to make Toto proud.”

***

They met at her house.

Neutral ground.

Safe ground.

Her mother answered the door in an apron dusted with flour, squinted at Kimi for all of three seconds, then said, “Is this the racing boy?” with a bright, knowing smile.

Before Kimi could respond—still half in his jacket and caught between alarm and confusion—she turned and disappeared into the kitchen with the ease of someone who had already decided she liked him. “There’s biscotti on the tray. Help yourselves.”

The scent of lemon zest and almonds lingered in the hallway like some kind of warm welcome Kimi wasn’t entirely sure he deserved.

They settled in her room—Chiara cross-legged on the carpet, laptop propped on a cushion, and Kimi sprawled beside her, shoulders brushing the edge of her desk, legs half-folded like he couldn’t quite figure out how to sit in one place for more than five minutes.

They’d been working for over an hour.

On paper, it looked productive. Slides moved. Notes typed. Bullet points organized.

But it wasn’t real.

A few awkward comments about font sizes and slide transitions. Some neutral territory filler like “do we need another diagram?” or “can you move that image left a bit?”

Nothing real. Nothing honest.

And it was unbearable.

Chiara had always been good at pretending—smiling through awkward dinners, nodding during group projects, making herself useful. But this was different. This was him. And the quiet between them wasn’t peaceful. It buzzed. Sharp and heavy, like static before a storm.

So, eventually, she broke.

“You know,” she said, still typing, not daring to look at him, “you don’t have to keep pretending.”

Kimi paused, glancing up from his phone. “Pretending?”

“That this matters to you.” Her voice was steady, but it was too practiced. Too careful. “The project. School. Me. You don’t have to keep texting. Or asking me for things. I’m not going to print your homework anymore.”

She said it like it didn’t cost her something. Like her throat wasn’t tightening and her chest didn’t feel like it was caving in around her words.

He blinked. His whole body went still.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she finished, and even though she tried to sound nonchalant, her fingers curled tighter around her laptop, like she needed something to hold her together.

Kimi’s brow furrowed, confusion washing across his face. “Chiara—”

“I’m serious.” She finally looked at him, and the effort it took not to let her voice shake made her jaw clench. “It’s fine. I get it. I was convenient. You needed someone to keep you afloat while you were flying around the world winning races. I was just… useful.”

The words hung there.

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It rang. It roared in her ears.

Kimi sat up slowly, eyes wide, his whole body shifting like she’d hit him in the chest with something he hadn’t seen coming.

“You really think that?” he asked, and his voice was quiet, but not soft. It was stunned. Raw.

Chiara held his gaze even though it hurt. “What else am I supposed to think?”

Kimi leaned forward, disbelief written all over him. “I never used you.”

“You say that now—”

“I never used you,” he repeated, louder this time. The desperation in his voice cracked something inside her. “You are the only part of school I like! The only reason I didn’t drop out three months ago.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Because I printed things for you—”

“Because I like you,” he said. It burst out of him like a snapped chord. Breathless. Raw. Unpolished and real.

“Because I look for you in every hallway. Because I come to class after red-eye flights and brutal back-to-backs just hoping maybe you’d say hi. Because I have no idea how to talk to you without sounding like a complete idiot! So I asked about worksheets. I pretended I don’t understand physics! Because that was the only way I could keep talking to you without blowing it.” 

He kept going, voice lower now. “Because I saved every worksheet you gave me, even the ones I didn’t need. Because I still have the dumb green highlighter you let me borrow that one time. Because I thought maybe if I asked you enough questions, you’d start to like me too.”

Chiara froze.

Then she stared at him. Not blinking. Not breathing.

Kimi ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky laugh, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. “I thought if I said anything real, you’d look at me and realize I’m just… some guy who memorizes apex speeds better than grammar rules. That you’d stop talking to me completely.”

She stared at him.

Then blinked.

Then said—very softly, very brokenly—

“…Then why didn’t you ever say something?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t angry anymore. Just small. Frayed at the edges. “Why did you let me believe I didn’t matter?”

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked so impossibly helpless it nearly broke her.

And then—he didn’t answer.

And Kimi—stunned, frustrated, helpless in the way only a teenage boy in love can be—did the one thing he could think of.

He kissed her.

No warning. No hesitation. Just leaned in and kissed her like she was the finish line and he’d been chasing her all season.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t practiced. It was a little clumsy, a little off-center, his hand curling into the fabric of her sleeve like he was afraid she’d pull away.

Chiara didn’t.

Her heart stuttered, brain blank. And then—melted.

She froze, breath caught—then melted into him.

Her fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie before she even realized what she was doing. Her other hand slid to his cheek. 

He kissed her like he was terrified she’d disappear the second he pulled back. Like she was something he’d been waiting to find and never thought he’d get to hold.

When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his. They were both breathing too fast.

Chiara blinked, dazed. Her voice came out smaller than she meant.

“…That was new.”

Kimi gave a short, nervous laugh, cheeks flushed pink. “Yeah. Sorry. I panicked.”

She stared at him for a beat longer.

Then smiled—soft, surprised, and entirely real. “Do it again.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

[purplereina11]

You were a 24 year old football photographer, set up on a blind date with none other than the Alexia Putellas.

Word Count: 7.7K

No idea why I'm nervous to share this one! Hope you like it

You’d lived in the La Montesa part of Barcelona for nearly 2 months now, you’d slowly got your apartment sorted in that time, it wasn’t exactly how you wanted it to be but it was beginning to feel like home. You had your prints on the walls your many plants that were hanging on by a thread dotted about the place, you had your balcony, you could only just about fit a chair out there but it was outdoor space and you adored it.

You were a women’s football photographer you’d met Carla Garcia, FC Barcelona Feminis resident Social Media admin, by chance at a Manchester Unite home match where you worked and became good friends, it was a virtual friendship with only a handful of face to face meetings and visits but it was like you’d known her for longer than you had. You’d really opened up to her in the year you’d known her, you told her all about your troubles with having the wrong friends and relationships which caused a breakdown of communication with your family when drugs took hold and you became a shell of your former self.

She told you of a position at FC Levante Badalona’s club, the women’s team were looking to really embrace social media and elevate the social footprint of there platforms they had. Carla rang you excitedly one evening when she’d used her many connections to get you a call with the head of media at the club she told you she was quite excited to speak to you after seeing your work on Manchester United’s social media platforms.

Paulina expressed rather quickly into the video call the job was yours if you wanted it and the club would do as much as they could to help you with the move, you loved your time with the English club but there was nothing holding you there anymore and you wanted to push out your comfort zone and take on a new challenge. You wanted to cut ties with old friends who were trying to sneak back in and moving over a thousand miles away surely would do that. Granted you only knew Carla who had her own life and group of friends in the city but that was no less than you had in England, it was more in fact.

One evening in your apartment you were reading one of your many books that lived on your coffee table, when your phone unexpectedly began ringing, you smiled seeing it was Carla, “Hi”

“I have no idea how to even begin this conversation” You laughed softly, not that you’d be laughing much longer when she finished what she was saying, “Are you busy Friday? I have a friend I want to set you up with, you don’t have much choice I told her you’re going already, tables booked for 7pm”

You had four whole days to wait until your date, four whole days of wondering who it could be as Carla refused to tell you, four whole days of self doubt and your mind playing cruel tricks on you of worst case scenarios that could happen. Your date could turn up see you sitting there think god no and leave again, not turn up at all or even worse leave you with a very long awkward evening when you found nothing in common and were stuck with mundane polite chatter.

You came into the city in Carla's car, she had picked you up to drop you off since you barely came this far in so you had no idea where you were going, or so you told yourself it was more likely for her to make sure you actually went and didn’t stand her friend up. You touched your stomach the nerves over taking you as she pulled over stopping the car, this was so far out your comfort zone you were walking a tightrope on whether you might vomit or not.

“Go”

“They definitely speak English? You know how awful my Spanish is”

“Yes” Carla smiled, “Go before she thinks you’ve stood her up, its booked in my name”

You finally peeled yourself out the car, you barely even shut the door before Carla took off leaving you on the pavement alone, you turned to look at the front of the place. It looked fancy. Far too fancy for how you were dressed. You were comfortable it was the only thing you felt you could control so you went for blue jeans a plain white tee and threw a longline beige blazer over the top, you looked down at your outfit choice, the fifth one you’d had on before Carla arrived. You were doubting it again but you couldn’t do anything about it now, you took a breath and headed in side the door the soft music and polite chatter filling your ears.

You followed the waiter through the restaurant you were seemingly far into the establishment, as you rounded a corner you spotted her and your breath caught. In what world did Carla think setting you up with none other than Alexia Putellas was a good idea. She was incredibly out of your league, the contrasting lifestyles, the age difference. Not to mention she was Spanish and your GCSE Spanish years just weren’t coming back to you at all. You couldn’t even remember the translation for hello yesterday. Come to think of it as you neared and her eyes trained to you coming up from her chair to stand aside it, you couldn’t remember it now.

“Hola.. Alexia” she said with no expression before her lips spread into a little smile on her face, your eyes glanced down to the floor ever so briefly as you joined in European culture more prevalent outside of England and air kissed both sides.

“Hola..” You tried and cringed at yourself inwardly, before taking a seat placing your bag on the floor. “Y/N” you focused on the flickering candle in the middle of the table as she got back into her seat before raising your eyes, “It’s nice to meet you”

Alexia nodded the sentiment back, “You to, I’ve heard a lot about you”

“I can’t say the same” You cleared your throat, clearing the surprise, “Carla didn’t tell me who I was meeting tonight”

“And you still came?” Alexia asked raising her eyebrows, she could not have done that and it was evident by the face she was pulling.

You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, your nerves drying your mouth uncomfortably so, “She picked me up and dropped me off, I don’t think there was any chance for me to not be here tonight”

Her smile was sweet, there was an innocence with it as she sat rigid in her chair your own sign she was in fact nervous, the second being she was fiddling with her knife in her right hand, her eyes however stayed on you the whole time. It felt as though she was gauging you, trying to gather a first impression, work you out. “I couldn’t of done that, took some guts”

“Well as my teacher used to say, you miss all the chances you don’t take so, here I am.”

You couldn’t get over the smile, it seemed so genuine it wasn’t big it didn’t even alter the rest of her face but it gave you a little glimpse that she wasn’t overly disappointed to see you sat opposite her. “Well I’m glad you showed up, whether forced or not” you smiled down at the table, Alexia couldn’t help but stare into your eyes, they held a lot of depth to them. Ironically like the ocean to which in her mind she’d compared them to, they were a gorgeous blue that only was accentuated by the brown tone of your skin. “What are you wanting to drink?” Alexia asked. You leant down to pluck some glasses from your bag, she laughed gently to herself her forearms coming onto the table, “Are they even real?” You looked up from the wine menu you were attempting to read, “They have no glass in them”

Your lips curled ever so slightly as your head went back down something Alexia only caught with her closeness, “Can we drop it? I’ve picked the wrong ones off my coffee table?”

“What looks good?”

You lifted your head up slightly frustrated with yourself, sliding the little book around the candle towards Alexia, “I have no clue, I can’t see a thing” You both laugh as you shook her head at yourself, trying to hide your embarrassed blush. You patted the back of your hand onto the book now in front of Alexia, “Right glasses or not I still have an inability to read Spanish” You watched Alexia thumb go between her teeth as she had a read of the options, “Anything standing out to you?”

She reached a hand without looking at you, “Can I borrow your glasses?” She rose her head and clearly was proud of her self when you were amused by her. She was funny, she did not give that impression from clips you’d seen of her playing. She looked intense.

You pulled the glasses off your face, “.. sure” you flopped your wrist to hold the glasses towards her Alexia gently taking them and placing them upon her own face.

“What wine do you drink?” She asked turning a page, you couldn’t believe how easy this felt, even if it was early on in the evening. Alexia rose her eyes when you didn’t speak, “Why are you laughing?”

You shook your head, “Nothing, just they suit you, bet you’re one of those annoying people that can pull just about anything off” The coy smile on Alexia’s face and a hint of redness at the compliment made you answer her question and put her out her misery, “I drink anything, I prefer sweet though”

The waiter smiled with a helpful smile, “Hola, podrías traerte algunas bebidas para empezar?” He asked and you helplessly looked to Alexia who closed the wine book over as she spoke, “Cuántas copas con el vino?” He asked making a note

She held up two fingers, “Dos for favour” and just like that he was gone, “I ordered you and I a bottle to share”

“Thank You”

As she fiddled to stand the book back up she posed a question, “So why am I funny in the glasses?”

“I have no idea, the laugh was involuntary”

Alexia looked briefly to you her eyes focused on the candle, she seemed nervous to hold eye contact now your attention was solely on her, “Is this where we ask polite questions like what’s your favourite colour?”

You sucked your teeth as your eyes twinkled with amusement, “Guess”

“Guess?”

You nodded folding your arms on the table, “Yeah, have a guess what my favourite colour is” Alexia really seemed to think about her answer her gaze glazing over as she stared out at the restaurant.

You tilted your head ever so slightly patiently waiting as you watched the cogs turning behind her eyes, “Yellow” she exclaimed as if her calculations led her to the only obvious answer left

She’d only gone and guessed your favourite colour on the first try, which was easy to do seeing as before she exclaimed yellow, you didn’t even have a favourite colour. Until she chose yellow for you. You won’t ever look at yellow the same now, the colour forever linking with this woman before you and this wild night you still couldn’t believe you’d agreed to. “You’re right”

Alexia was so excited smiling like a little kid being told Santa had been the night before. “Si? No joke?” You nodded to confirm she was in fact right “What do you think mine is?”

“Green” You smiled as Alexia knitted her brows together, at your quick guess, “I’m right aren’t i?” You asked smugly

“How did you know that?”

“You’ve worn a jacket and Nike’s, both are a shade of green, educated guess”

“Well aren’t you observant” Alexia mumbled, you seemed to loose her for a second as if contemplating something her eyes surveyed you “You have very beautiful eyes” she shocked you both with that comment

“Really?” You pushed, you needed her to elaborate, she broke eye contact as the waiter came with the bottle in a bucket and two glasses he offered for you both to try it but Alexia waved her hand she spoke to the gentlemen smiling and he took his leave after Alexia politely declined his offer to pour the wine.

“Yeah” She confirmed, the air felt thick again as your eyes were locked to one another, like you were trying to build a bridge between your two minds to find out what the other was thinking, “I think it’s because they’re so blue”

“What about them, is it just because they’re blue?” Having Alexia compliment you was an ego boost you needed, you wanted more. You had to hear more. Just to reassure you that she wasn’t disappointed by who sat opposite her.

Alexia was trying her best to not smile but the corners of her mouth were giving her away and the little sparkle in her eyes showing how her seemingly brown eyes had flecks of green in them, “I think it’s because they’re blue but they also come with that smile, it makes them sparkle when you do” You were nodding eyes narrowed said wry smile on your lips, “Are we opening this wine then?” she cleared her throat like she was pulled from a trance your eyes had her in

You saw an opportunity and took it, “You have beautiful eyes to” Alexia didn’t raise her head from the menu, but you saw her blush making that wry smile you had widen in pride you’d made the great Alexia Putellas the person the team you worked with speak as though she was this great untouchable unmovable figure blush. Your tongue made a brief appearance across your bottom lip when she rose her eyes, your eyes locked with hers again, you broke it after a few seconds, “We probably should decide what we want to eat before he comes back”

Alexia hummed, as you began opening the menu on the table, she seemed to not be able to avoid meeting your gaze having a silent conversation between you as much as you couldn’t either, “You don’t like getting into trouble or something?”

“You kidding?” You adjusted in your seat to sit more straight backed as your eyes scanned over the menu, realising you weren't quite as nervous as your body language and positioning would have anyone believe, “My middle names trouble”

“What is your middle name?”

“I’m not telling you that”

“Why?” That clearly peaked Alexia’s interest her arms resting over the menu she should of been reading her body leaning forward, “Come on, i’ll tell you mine”

“It’s not a tit for tat situation” You closed your menu over already decided on what you wanted, “It’s on a need to know basis”

“What basis grants me the need to know”

“When you need to know I’ll let you know” The feeling you got by being able to make Alexia laugh and grin practically ear to ear was a tad overwhelming, it was like you’d just won gold in the sport of, well being able to make a reported stoic women look anything but.

“Please do, I’m curious now” Her attention went back to the menu as you task’d yourself with opening the wine and pouring two glasses, “Gracias” it was a treat to your ears to hear her speaking Spanish, it was captivating, you wouldn’t have a clue what she was saying but you could listen to her speaking Spanish all evening. You found her accent when she spoke English, charming, it endeared you to her if she wasn’t doing that with her personality already. “So how do you know Carla?”

“Um” You placed your glass back down, “We met, in Paris. I was at Parc de Princes with United, I don’t know why she was there but we got talking and followed each other on Instagram and just kept in touch, she quite quickly became a really good friend of mine.”

Alexia looked a little confused you thought this is where it would all go down hill, she clearly didn’t know what you did for a living, what had brought you to Barcelona in the first place. “United?”

“Manchester United in the WSL, I was a photographer for the women’s team.”

Realisation hit Alexia, “Oh, so you doing a similar job as Carla?” You nodded, “You still with United?” You shook your head just as the waiter came to take the food order, as Alexia handed off her menu she asked, “You don’t do that anymore?”

“No I still do that, but I do all the social media side of things now to”

“Dare I ask who for? I assume thats why you're in Spain”

“Why are there clubs that would make you leave?” Alexia sipped her wine her eyes questioning you silently over the rim, “I’m scared”

She put her glass back down, “Don't be, just say it, I won’t leave.. maybe” she teased with a flick of her eyebrows that made your stomach churn

“Badalona” you confirmed and she tilted her head

“Could be worse, I can forgive you for that”

Your lips were brought back into your mouth briefly before you spoke, “Very gracious of you”

“I don’t remember seeing you at the games when we’ve played them, i think i would remember you” You tried to not overthink the intimation behind her words, it could mean a lot of things and you couldn’t let yourself go down that road, not here. Not now.

“I only joined two months ago” You spoke softer, “Did Carla not say?”

Alexia shook her head, “No, I got told she had a friend she wanted me to meet, I said no. I don’t like blind dates.”

“Yet here you are” Alexia just shrugged at you, she didn’t offer you any explanation nor did it seem she wanted to, it made you wonder what changed for her, what did Carla say that changed her mind? Did she get a name? A picture? “Did she kidnap you from your home and bring you here to?”

Alexia smiled raising her eyes from her finger running along the rim of her glass, that was seductive in itself, it was flirtatious, “No, I came of my own free will.. I was intrigued”

“Gosh, I don’t want to know what Carla told you” In truth Carla told her nothing, Alexia got a name and shown a picture of you, she wanted to see those eyes in person in all honesty truth.

“Just that you can’t speak Spanish to save your life” she got that information after agreeing to this evening.

“That’s a lie I can say hospital” Your mouth dropped as Alexia actually rolled her eyes at you shaking her head lips curling at the edges

“It’s said the same almost, it doesn’t count”

“So does! In the context of speaking Spanish to save my life” You put her hand out as your elbow rested on the table, “Right?”

“Maybe” her chest moved as she silently laughed at you, you couldn’t read her eyes, “Carla did say you were funny”

“Am I funny?”

Alexia tilted her chin down ever so slightly as one corner of her mouth turned up, “I’ve laughed at you a few times does that count?”

You silently said oh come on with the face you pulled when your head turned to the side, “No”

“In the context of finding you funny” You took a deep breath shaking your head as she proudly smiled successfully teasing you, “You’ve made me laugh, right?” She mimicked your hand from earlier, 

“You’re not funny”

You were trying and failing at stopping yourself from smiling, she leant closer a finger pointing at you, “Are you sure, there’s a bit of a smile there”

“I’m laughing at you does that count?”

Alexia’s whole face lit up as she laughed at you sitting back in her chair, “Touché” She drank some of her wine, “You’re funny” You smiled triumphantly as Alexia conceded with a smile of her own, she took your glasses off handing them back over, you felt her watching you as you leant down to your side putting them back in your bag. “So you’ve been at your job 2 months now you’ve said?”

“You can’t even say Badalona?”

“No”

You giggled to yourself as your eyes were down on yourself fixing your jacket, “Yeah I’ve been at Badalona 2 months now”

Alexia gave you an unimpressed look before speaking ignoring your giggling behind her hand as you leant on it, “How are you finding it?”

You looked up, meeting her gaze. "Honestly? It’s a bit overwhelming. The culture shock is real, and while I love the city, I’m still figuring everything out. But I’m excited about the potential of the job and the projects I can work on and just see where I can take it really."

She nodded, her expression softening. "It can be tough starting fresh, but the city has a way of welcoming you. Just give it time, and it will feel like home."

Your heart warmed at the sincerity of her words. "Thanks, I hope so. I'm trying to immerse myself in everything—food, culture, the language. But I’ll admit, the language barrier is a bit of a mountain."

Alexia leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "You know, a lot of the foreign players that come into Barcelona say that but they soon pick it up.”

"Really?" Your words were hopeful because so far your attempt at picking up the language and been hopeless

“You do have a head start knowing Spanish that would save your life so you can pick it up even quicker than them” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

You chuckled, your cheeks warming at her playfully teasing you yet again. “You’re annoying.”

"I know,” she said with a playful smirk

The waiter returned to your table, placing your food in front of you. As the aroma filled the air, you felt a wave of comfort wash over you. You were sharing this meal with Alexia, and the nerves that had initially consumed you began to dissipate.

As you both dug into your meals, the conversation flowed naturally. You talked about your favourite foods, shared funny stories from your past, ones that didn’t give away any of the negative parts of you. Alexia was easy to talk to, her laughter infectious, and every smile she offered made you feel more at ease.

"So, what’s your favourite thing about being a photographer?" she asked, her eyes focused on you, genuinely intrigued.

You thought for a moment, reflecting on your journey. "It's the ability to capture moments that tell a story, to freeze a feeling in time. I love being behind the lens, seeing the world from different perspectives. Plus, in women’s football, it’s incredible to see the growth and recognition the sport is finally getting."

Alexia’s expression turned thoughtful. "I completely understand that. I often feel like my journey in football is about more than just the game. It’s about paving the way for future generations, breaking barriers, and showcasing the talent that women possess."

"Exactly! And it’s inspiring to see someone like you leading that charge," you said, your admiration evident. "The impact you have on young girls is immeasurable really I see that with the way the girls at Badalona have spoke of you.”

She smiled, a hint of humility in her eyes. "Thank you. I just want to do my part. But enough about me—tell me more about your journey. How did you get into photography?"

You launched into your story, recounting your early interest in photography, how you started with landscapes, and eventually transitioned to sports because as the youngest of your siblings you were dragged along to sport games and you’d bring your camera along for something to do and found a love for photographing sports, in particularly football. As you spoke, you noticed how Alexia listened intently, nodding and occasionally interjecting with questions that showed genuine interest. Something you’d never experienced before when discussing your absolute favourite thing in this world. You were normally met with laughter ridicule and the age old question that you despised. When are you going to get a real job?

Time passed, and before you knew it, your plates were empty, and the restaurant was beginning to quiet down.

"Okay, let's do a fun one," Alexia proposed, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "If you could go and live any moment in women's football history, what would it be?"

You paused, pondering the possibilities. "Hmm, that's a tough one. I think it would be something monumental, like the first women’s football World Cup match. To see the joy and pride on those players’ faces, knowing they were paving the way for the future."

"That’s a good choice. I think I would have loved to see the moment when we first played Camp Nou, I don’t feel like I got to take in the moment like I should or could have because I was so focused on the game. The emotions in that moment would be priceless."

You both smiled at each other, the connection deepening as you shared these thoughts. The waiter returned, offering dessert, but you both politely declined, too full and content with the evenings food offerings already. You felt a sense of warmth and connection that was unexpected yet exhilarating. You had come into this date feeling out of your depth, but now, it felt like you were slowly uncovering layers of a potential confidence in yourself and who you were was actually good enough.

You and Alexia had a playful argument over the bill before she relented and let you split it seeing just how stubborn you could be. She followed behind you out of the restaurant out into the crisp air of Barcelona at night, “Do you um” you looked to Alexia when she spoke coming in to step with you on the pavement away from the restaurant, “Do you have somewhere to be or do you fancy going for a drink? I know a great spot” she posed to you

You paused for a moment contemplating the implications before offering a smile, “I have no where to be”

As you walked side by side, the streetlights illuminated your path, creating a soft glow around you. The atmosphere was alive with laughter and chatter from nearby cafes and bars, enhancing the sense of adventure in the air. Neither offered a word as you walked in complete comfortable silence, your attention on the architecture of the buildings around you so much so you wished you had your camera to hand some of the building were completely stunning.

As you approached the bars entrance, the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter greeted you. You stepped inside, the warmth wrapping around you like a welcoming embrace. The walls were adorned with vintage photographs, and the atmosphere was vibrant yet intimate. It was giving romantic. Alexia moved through the bar every so often looking back to make sure you were close and still following as the crowd got slightly more compact, you soon got out the other side guiding you to a lift. “Un minuto Alexia” A voice called you tried to find it in the crowd but you couldn’t place the person until a young women who took a second to take you in came and look to Alexia swiped a card the doors opening. You felt a slight encouraging push on the small of your back from Alexia a silent you first, you stepped inside with her following behind, the woman leant in pressed a button touched her card to a little black box. “Diviértete chicas” she smiled stepping out and the doors closed and off you were going.

“My cousin” Alexia offered quietly over the lift music, it was giving James Bond the vibe, you half expected when the doors opened to be met by attractive men in suits holding guns at you but instead you were met with a stunning view of the city.

“Oh, wow” you were breathless as you stepped out onto the rooftop, it was breathtaking the city by night you could see La Sagrada Familia in the distance completely standing tall in the view the magnificent building it was all lit up. You’d been here two months and still yet to go see it, it had been bumped up your to do list quite rapidly seeing it from this distance and still being impressed by it.

Alexia interrupted you gazing flicking her head to tell you to follow her, you followed dutifully behind, there were only a few other faces up here, she motioned for you to squeeze around the table with a fire pit in the middle to settle on the sofa, “What do you want to drink?” Alexia asked, “Espresso Martinis are good here”

“I’ll have one of those” you smiled, “Thank you”

You watched Alexia disappear out of view before you took your phone from your bag, you had a few texts from Carla

I hope you have a nice time

Alexia is a good person

Just be kind and I promise you’ll have a nice time with her

You smiled at the messages sent not long after she left you all those hours ago, you were shocked to see the time was nearly 11, you’d met Alexia at 7 o’clock, you were replying when Alexia rounded the corner with two cocktails

Yeah she’s lovely, this wasn’t nearly as awful as I thought it would be 🤍

You locked your phone slipping it back into your bag beside you, “That was quick”

Alexia grinned as she settled onto the sofa beside you, placing the cocktails on the table. "The bartender knows how to work fast" she said, handing you your drink. "I hope you like it."

You took a sip, the rich flavour of the espresso martini dancing on your tongue. "Wow, this is amazing! You were right."

She leaned back, visibly pleased. "I told you! It’s one of my favourites. The perfect blend of coffee and sweetness."

As you both relaxed into the plush sofa, you took a moment to soak in the view yet again. The city sprawled out beneath you, illuminated by countless lights. The Sagrada Familia stood majestically in the distance all light up your eye naturally staying on the stunning building, a reminder of the artistry that defined Barcelona. It's history.

"Isn’t it incredible?" Alexia said, breaking the comfortable silence. "The way the city transforms at night. It feels completely different, doesn’t it?"

"Definitely," you agreed, your eyes still captivated by the twinkling lights. "It’s like a different world up here." You were speaking so softly to match the aurora of the rooftop and the silence despite being in the middle of the city, soft music in the background and the giggling woman in the corner with her boyfriend canoodling.

You both sipped your drinks, letting the ambiance wash over you. The warmth of the fire pit flickered nearby, adding to the cozy atmosphere. It felt intimate, the kind of setting that encouraged deeper conversations. "So," Alexia began, her tone shifting slightly with your body following it turning ever so slightly to face you. “Tell me about your family.”

“My family is a complicated one” Alexia listened intently, her expression thoughtful. Your eyes moved down to the drink in your hand you took a sip sitting up to place it on the table before sinking back down on the sofa, both your heads barely visible over the back of it you were that comfortable on it. “I don’t like talking about it”

You chanced a look at her, the soft glow of the fire reflecting in her eyes. "What’s your go-to drink? Is it as sophisticated as you are?"

You chuckled, thankful she changed the subject without fuss or further questioning. "Depends on the occasion. If I’m feeling adventurous, maybe a fancy cocktail, but most days, I’m just a beer and pizza kind of person. What about you? Do you always order espresso martinis, or is that just for impressing me?"

She laughed, the sound melodic and inviting. "Oh, you caught me! I only order them when I’m trying to charm someone. I guess I’m trying to establish a vibe here."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming on your lips. "Well, I’d say it’s working. But now I’m curious—what else do you do to charm someone?"

Alexia turned her head from you, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she reached forward to place her drink on the table next to yours “I might throw in a few compliments, maybe get a little laughter going, and definitely some good eye contact."

"Good eye contact, huh?" you replied, replaying all the moments her eyes would always somehow find yours, gaining her attention back her cheek resting against her shoulder as she watched you. "So, like this?" You locked eyes with her, holding her gaze just a moment longer than necessary.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she chuckled, breaking the intensity. “Like that is just fine, I think you’re catching on quick”

"Just trying to keep up with a professional footballer," you teased. "It’s not easy."

Her eyes twinkling with challenge she whispered out. "Maybe I should give you some tips on how to handle it."

You leaned your head back into the sofa as you moved your weight onto your right hip to angle towards her like she had you, you were intrigued. "Oh, I’m all ears. What’s your best advice for someone trying to impress a football superstar?"

"Humility and discretion is key," she said, her voice low and playful. "And a little mystery never hurts. Keep them wondering what you’re thinking."

You nodded, feigning seriousness. "So I should just stare at you blankly, then?"

Alexia burst into laughter, her eyes sparkling. "That’s not quite what I meant. But it might work if you do it with the right amount of charm!"

You nodded yet again, “I’ll be sure to report back when I try it on one of the professional footballers at Badalona” You felt a flutter of pride at your tease you shared a smile and eye contact before she rolled her head to look out at the view again. The rooftop became your own little world, a sanctuary where you could connect and explore each other’s minds oblivious to who was around it could be empty or packed for all either of you knew. So intently focused on one another.

You caught Alexia eye you out the corner of her eye, “You got your eye on someone then?” there sounded like a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“No, thought it might make a good TikTok” she smiled shaking her head at your joke. You glanced over your shoulder at the couple before you found Alexia already looking at you when you turned your head back. “Maybe I should start my own TikTok for some dating tips,” you suggested playfully, your heart racing as her gaze lingered on you. “After all, who wouldn’t want to learn how to charm a superstar?”

Alexia chuckled, her laughter mingling with the soft music that floated through the air around you. “I’d watch that! Just make sure to include the part where you stare blankly at them,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The two of you shared a comfortable silence, sipping your drinks and watching the stars twinkle above. The atmosphere felt charged with a mix of excitement and an underlying shift of flirtatious banter between you that neither of you could ignore.

In the midst of that silence, you felt the weight of her gaze, a warmth radiating from her presence that made your heart race. The flickering fire pit cast a soft glow on her features, highlighting the delicate curve of her smile and the way her eyes sparkled with mischief. It was intoxicating, drawing you in deeper. “Have you ever considered that the stars might be watching us right now?” you asked playfully, the corner of your mouth lifting in a teasing grin. “Maybe they’re taking notes on our date.”

Alexia chuckled, tilting her head back to gaze at the night sky. “If they are, I hope they’re impressed. This is quite the evening.”

You laughed, “I’m definitely impressed. Not every day you get to share a drink with a football superstar on a rooftop in Barcelona.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she turned her gaze back to you, her expression softening. “And not every day I get to share a drink with an incredibly beautiful woman who has a way of making me laugh.”

You felt a surge of warmth at her compliment, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in her tone. “You’re making me blush,” you admitted, a playful grin spreading across your face.

“I can see that,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with delight. “It's cute.” The atmosphere shifted, the playful banter giving way to a deeper seriousness. You both leaned in slightly, as if the world around you had faded away, leaving just the two of you suspended in this moment. “Can I confess something?” Alexia said, her voice dropping to a softer tone.

“Of course,” you replied, intrigued by her shift in demeanour.

“I was really nervous before we met. I had no idea what to expect,” she admitted, her gaze steady on yours. “But honestly? This has turned out to be one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.”

Your heart swelled at her words, a rush of warmth flooding through you. “I feel the same way. I was so anxious, but being here with you… I’m really enjoying myself”

“Carla will be unbearable when she finds out”

You laughed Alexia’s eyes lowering to your hand on her forearm the first physical contact you’d had, “I’ll leave that joy with you”

“Gee Thanks”

“Welcome” you smiled sincerely at her.

Alexia glanced at her watch. “I can’t believe it’s already midnight,” she said, surprise evident in her voice. “Time really flies when you’re having fun.”

“It really does,” you agreed, a hint of reluctance in your tone. Part of you didn’t want the night to end.

“How you getting home?”

“Uber” she nodded at your answer like it was the correct answer

“Well, I’ll wait with you, I can walk from here”

“Is that safe?”

She softly smiled at you almost like she appreciated you cared, “Yes, shall we have one more before we make a move?”

You began to pull yourself up from the sofa you’d both slouched down sitting extremely comfortably, “I’ll get these”

As the night warned it was drawing to a close, your nerves were spiking again, you really didn’t want this night to end. In the past when hearing stories of two women meeting on a first date and stayed that evening and never left. It baffled you how someone could do that. You certainly couldn’t. But stood here now waiting for the bartender to make your drinks, the feeling of dread of having to part from her filling you up, the notion didn’t feel so far fetched anymore.

You smiled when she looked to you with a pleased smile as you returned, she genuinely looked happy you’d returned, “Here you go”

Alexia sat up as you perched on the edge as you both took a sip as she placed her drink on the table you didn't know whether it was the fire pit or Alexia's continued gaze but your cheeks felt warm.

You smiled as you settled back onto the sofa, the glow from the fire pit enveloping you both. Alexia's gaze remained fixed on you, her eyes twinkling in the soft light.

"You know," she began, her voice low and intimate, "I'm really glad Carla convinced me to come tonight. I almost said no."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh? What made you change your mind?"

Alexia's lips curled into a small smile. "She showed me a picture of you. Those eyes of yours... I couldn't resist the chance to see them in person."

Your heart fluttered at her admission. "Well, I'm glad you did. Though I have to admit, I was terrified when I saw it was you sitting at the table."

"Terrified?" Alexia chuckled. "Why's that?"

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks as you admitted, "Well, you're... you. I was worried I'd make a fool of myself or that we'd have nothing in common. Or I wasn't good enough for your time or something"

Alexia's expression softened at your final comment, her eyes warm as they met yours. "And now?"

"Now..." you paused, gathering your thoughts. "Now I'm just glad I took the chance. You're not at all what I expected."

"Is that a good thing?" she asked, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

You nodded, a gentle smile playing on your lips. "Definitely. You're funny, kind, and so easy to talk to. I feel like I've known you for ages."

Alexia's face lit up at your words. She reached out discreetly, her fingers brushing lightly against yours on the sofa cushion between you. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, your breath catching in your throat. Alexia's eyes flickered down to where your hands touched before meeting your gaze again.

"I feel the same way," she said softly, her eyes never leaving yours. "There's something about you that just... draws me in."

The air between you felt charged, thick with possibility. You found yourself leaning in slightly, pulled by an invisible force. Alexia mirrored your movement, her eyes darting to your lips before returning to your eyes. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

"Y/N," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft music and the crackling fire. "I don't usually do this with someone I've just met, but..."

Your heart raced as you anticipated her next words. "But?" you prompted gently. You silently begging her to put you out your misery and finish that sentence.

"But I really want to kiss you right now," Alexia admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Time seemed to stand still as she waited for your answer but you were waiting for her to follow through on her words, you brought your face closer to hers the spacing slowly fading, her eyes went to your lips as your noses brushed as she closed the gap you'd left, your eyes closed and it was the most soft sweet connection of your lips with another’s you’d had. They were pressed together for four Mississippi’s, not that you were counting, you felt breathless when her lips left yours your chest had for sure flushed under your tee but neither of you made a move to create a distance.

She smiled first before you laughed ever so softly, her smile grew.

"For the record" You whispered, "I really wanted to kiss you to"

Her thumb came up to hold your chin and she did it again, that sweet crush of your lips, her mouth opened and closed again around your bottom lip before she released her gentle hold. You watched her throat bounce as she pulled herself away, "I'm really glad we got that second drink"

You began laughing softly which made her smile grow, you reached for said drink and took a long sip, dutch courage you probably should have had before the kiss. "Me to"

You were soon back in the comfortable bubble with Alexia resting back in the sofa drink in hand smiling as you continued having free flowing conversations, "What's your middle name?" You tittered at her bringing that back up.

"Promise me you won't laugh" Alexia simply rose her eyebrows, "Elsa"

"Like out of frozen?" her brows had changed from curiosity to confusion in a flash

"And that's why I don't tell people" You touched the back of your hand to her bicep ever so briefly.

"Let's stay calm Elsa, I'm nice and toasty don't fancy being frozen" she laughed her arms coming over her chest when you back handed her arm with a bit more force this time.

"Don't call me Elsa"

Alexia narrowed her eyes that mischievous glint back again, "Oh I am so calling you Elsa" her lips broke into a smile before you both started laughing yet again.

"Alexia" Alexia sat up looking over shoulder to the voice, you remembered that voice it was the woman from the lift, "Nena, ya cerramos, tendrás que irte, lo siento." Alexia nodded sitting back again she pointed at your phone just sticking out your bag.

"Do you want to order your uber, they're closing so they're kicking us out"

"Geez, what time is it?" You got your phone, "You know we said one more an hour and a half again"

"We've really nursed those drinks"

You sat up looking behind you at Alexia still lay back, "To busy chatting, you really can chew a girls ear off"

"Charmingly I hope" You out the corner of your eye caught her smiling as you did so pulling your app up, "All good?" you nodded slipping your phone back into your bag as Alexia got to her feet moving out from behind the table you soon followed suit back into the lift you came out of two and a half hours ago.

The benefit of living in a city was as you came out the bar back onto the street your Uber was already waiting, "Thank you" you looked to Alexia, "I've had a really great night"

Alexia silently opened her arms you stepped forward to accept, your eyes closed when one arm came around your body and another hand rested on the back of your head. "Me to"

"Get home safe"

Alexia nodded as you pulled the uber door open, she simply nodded you shared a little smile as you shut the door and she waved you off into the night. Leaving her behind a grinning mess.

Alexia took a shot coming here tonight and it turned out to the perfect one.

-------------------

Like I said nervous about this one 🙈 let me know what you think

Apart of Perfect Shot Series

[helloitstsyu]

Love in the Dark | Tom Cruise

Fantasize Series Chapter 11 | Previous Part | Fantasize Series Masterlist

The hiding doesn't stop. If anything, it sharpens into a razor's edge.

After Utah, going home feels impossible. As if part of your soul was left buried in that mountain range—left clinging to the edge of that cliff where he kissed and hold you with trembling hands and too much restraint. There's an ache now. A soft, private sorrow every time you wake up without him next to you. A longing stitched into your bones that refuses to quiet.

Meeting in L.A. is harder. Not because you feel any less—but because the city watches everything.

Hollywood doesn't blink.

Every sidewalk, every elevator, every alley holds a camera. Even behind closed doors, the walls might whisper.

So you retreat into the shadows. You disappear into excuses.

Late-night FaceTime calls with whispered voices inside your bedroom. Sneaking out of marketing meetings early, claiming headaches or family matters emergencies. All only to end up tangled in his sheets, his name a desperate prayer under your breath.

In those quiet hours, when it's just you and him and the dark, you speak truths that daylight would never allow.

You tell him you're scared.

You tell him he feels like gravity.

You tell him it's hard to breathe when he looks at you like that.

And still, somehow, you don't realize how far you've fallen.

Not until it all catches up to you.

—

The house is quiet—too quiet, like the kind of quiet that hums before a storm.

The overhead lights are warm and golden in the kitchen, soft against the polished concrete floor. You're barefoot in shorts and one of his crewneck—comically oversized, sleeves bunched around your wrists. The marble counter is cluttered with half-sliced mango, a small block of cheese, and a few mismatched mugs. It smells like burnt toast and nostalgia.

Tom stands next to you, sleeves rolled up, pretending to read over a printed shooting schedule like it's the most fascinating script of his career.

He taps a fake note with the back of a spoon. "So... rescheduling the action unit from the 12th to the 14th means less time on set but more time here in L.A.," he says, voice perfectly casual, too loud to be real.

You blink at him, biting back a smile. "Yes, and the mango budget will also double."

His grin flickers, that sharp crooked smirk you've seen behind closed doors. He leans just a little closer, murmuring low, "Is that my sweater?"

You swat at him gently, nodding toward the hall. "Shut up. My dad is in the living room."

As if on cue, you both glance that way.

Through the open archway, you catch a glimpse of your father—sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to his ear. His posture is rigid, like he's holding himself together with force.

His jaw clenches as he hangs up the phone and look at the screen. His fingers curl tighter around the phone. A vein throbs at his temple. You suddenly realize he hasn't blinked in a while.

A long pause.

Then—he stands up. Slowly. Purposefully. You recognize the way his shoulders square. Something's not right.

"Dad?" you call gently, wiping mango juice from your fingers on a napkin. "What’s wrong—?"

His eyes snap to yours across the room. And something in them makes your stomach turn.

"You—" he growls, voice already climbing. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

The words hit before the fist does.

You don't even process it in time—there's no space between the words and the blow.

CRACK

Your scream shatters through the air, too late to stop it.

His fist lands across Tom's jaw, sickeningly loud. The force of it knocks him sideways into the counter.

The plate in your hand drops—ceramic and glass exploding on the tile like your chest just did.

Tom staggers. Doesn't hit back. Doesn't even raise his hands.

He just takes it.

Like he knew it was coming.

You throw yourself between them, trembling. "Dad, what the hell are you—?!"

"You think you can crawl into my house—into her life—and think I wouldn't find out?!"

Your father's face is flushed, spit flying from his mouth. Rage, panic, fear—it all burns behind his eyes.

"YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!" your father roars, his voice trembling with rage, his fists clenched, ready to strike again.

Tom push himself to stand back on his feet, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, he's wiping it with the back of his hand. His voice is low, steady, unwavering. "I can't." He breathlessly said.

Your father lunges again, but you shove him back, harder this time, your chest heaving with panic. "Dad, STOP!"

"LOOK!" He shoves his phone in your face, the screen burning your eyes.

You grab it on instinct.

The screen flashes bright in your face.

A headline.

A photo.

Your face and his.

On gossip page. The bold headline sears itself into your brain:

"TOM CRUISE'S MYSTERY GIRL: LATE NIGHT PDA"

Beneath it, a grainy photo—Tom kissing you in a dark alley behind a restaurant you went to a few nights ago. The image is blurry, but the emotions in it are anything but. You were so carefree in that moment, so happy. But now, it feels like a violation. A violation of everything you had thought was sacred between you.

You remember that kiss. You remember laughing afterward, breathless, saying "thank God no one saw us."

Someone did.

Your stomach turns.

But what makes your blood run cold isn't the photo. It's Tom's silence.

Your breath hitches as you look to Tom.

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't look surprised. And he looks at you with that guilty kind of look. As if he knows—as if he already knew. And somehow, that hurts the most.

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Y/N?!" your father barks, his voice rising, panic and fury mixing. "He's twice your age!"

"Dad, I—" You reach for him, desperate to make him understand, but it's too late.

"He promised me to look after you! Not feel you!" Your father’s voice thick with disgust.

"It's not like that," Tom interjects, his voice strained but firm, desperate to explain.

CRACK—Your father lands another punch.

"DAD!" you scream, the rawness of your voice shattering your chest as you force him back again, your hands trembling. "Please, stop!—stop..." You're sobbing now, pleading as you hold him off with everything you have.

But your father's fury is unstoppable. He won't look at you.

"Dad, look at me..." your voice drowns in the sob. "Dad!"

At last, his gaze drops to yours, cold and unfeeling, and you see the finality in it—the way he's already gone. The disappointment in his eyes. And he looks at you like you're a stranger under his roof.

"Dad please..." you whisper, your voice breaking, tears slipping uncontrollably down your face. "Let me explain."

"No." His voice is flat, lifeless. He pushes your hand away from him. "I can't even look at you right now."

"Dad—please!" you beg, your chest tightening as you reach for him, but he's already storming out, ignoring your cries, the door slamming behind him with a finality that leaves you hollow inside.

You turn back to Tom, but it feels like everything has shattered in that moment. He stands there, breathless, bloodied—and broken in a different way. His shoulders are hunched, his eyes empty, and something deep in his gaze tells you he's losing the battle to keep himself together.

"Y/N—" His voice cracks, almost pleading.

You step back, the words already choking you. You've already been in too deep to turn back now, but this... this cuts deeper than anything.

"You knew?" Your voice trembles as you try to keep the tears at bay, but the hurt pours out anyway.

Tom doesn't lie. He doesn't deny it. He nods slowly.

"How...?" you whisper, your heart breaking even more.

"My publicist told me two days ago," he admits, his voice strained, like it physically hurts to speak. "As soon as I found out, I swear... I asked my team to get it handled. I thought—"

"Handled?!" you choke out, your voice breaking. "You mean tip off TMZ to delete the rumor because I'm just another secret affair that'll ruin your reputation?"

"Y/N, no—" He shakes his head, his voice desperate. "Don't ever say that, please—Y/N, I was trying to protect you—“

"You were protecting yourself." You cut him quickly.

He stills.

"You don't get to frame this as care. You left me alone in the fire while you negotiated the damage."

He reaches for you, but you backpedal, the distance between you feeling like an ocean now. A bitter laugh escape you, thin and sharp like broken glass. "God. I walked around thinking we were safe because we were private. Because we wanted it that way. But the truth is, you were just ashamed."

"I'm not ashamed of you—"

"Then why did you erase me?" you snap. "You didn't warn me. You didn't tell me. You just decided behind my back that I should disappear."

He stills. Tears falling from his eyes.

You take a breath, trying to steady the ache tearing through your chest. But it's no use.

"I told you what it's been like. Being second. My whole life I was just a shadow behind a man's name. My father's daughter. An accessory. A quiet, obedient extension of someone else's image."

Your voice breaks slightly—but you keep going.

"And for a moment... with you... I really thought that changed."

His face falls.

"I thought you saw me," you whisper. "Not who I could be next to you. Not what I represented. Me."

The pain rushes in your throat like a wave. You swallow hard.

"But you made a choice. You chose your name. Your legacy. Your reputation."

His eyes are full of glass now. "Y/N... I love you."

You pause.

Then you shake your head slowly, a humorless, broken smile curling on your lips.

"No. You don't."

He blinks, wounded.

"You didn't fight for me." Your voice is soft. Deadly. "You fought to keep things quiet."

He starts to speak, but you won't let him.

"All I ever wanted—was to be loved out loud. Not hidden. Not handled."

You meet his eyes. Yours are raw. Ruined.

"God," you choke. "I'm so stupid... so fucking stupid. I believed that you were different."

You almost want to punch yourself in the face. Because how can you be so stupid to fall for him? Actually believing that he'd be different.

Stupid. Fucking stupid.

The tears come harder now, no longer held back.

"Guess I finally woke up from my fantasy." You continue.

"Y/N..." He whispers, his voice barely audible. "Please. Please—Let me fix this."

You close your eyes, your chest tight with the unbearable weight of it all.

You take a shaky breath, pulling away from him, from everything you thought was real.

"Then tell your team," you say, each word falling like a stone. Tears slip down your cheeks uncontrollably, but your voice remains steady. "They don't have to worry anymore."

You step back, the finality of your words crushing you.

"Because we're done,"

———

Taglist

@shadowkl10

@anima-patronos

@tom-cruiseisalegend

@sdrose93

@kujolin12-official

@ashdyh321

@sabsthedoll

@galway-gilr

@kimmingyuswifee

@sugartommy

[enokito]

Key | Back to Basics

I still don’t know how to format on tumblr so I’m basically just copying the way Saiint does it except also I’m on my phone

Inspired by her post on what kind of small sentimental items Ken might like to keep in their pockets. I like physical security pen-testing content, therefore my Kenadian operates somewhere in between irl security bypass strategies (slipping latches, picking locks, copying keys) and minecraft escapist tech.

WC: 715 | divider

First of all, Kenadian doesn’t consider himself a very sentimental person. He’s practical above all else, and has to be – he’s an escapist, after all, and the first part of escaping involves being (at least nominally) imprisoned. He’s honed himself, like a blade, to be excellent at this one particular thing, and so he sheds all excess like water, in favor of absolute practicality. An earring can get ripped out during a particularly tricky crawl glitch or pearl clip, a necklace can get caught on something and strangle or garrote him, anything reflective can catch a glimmer of light directly into a guard’s eye and get him caught.

Second of all, items can be lost or stolen even more easily than memories, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it. The idea of coming home and feeling unfamiliar walls closing in on him, the idea of seeing a photograph of himself with his friends, and not being able to recognize any of the faces (not even his own)…

Ken avoids stuff that freaks him out, and part of honing himself like a blade means that he operates on a hair trigger. And either way he prefers his life of transience, hopping from place to place, keeping small bases knowing that they’re impermanent, passing out on a friend’s couch after a few days of going non-stop. It’s fun, he loves adventure and playing with danger, and he loves narrowly slipping through to the other side and showing up at Avatar’s place unexpectedly. Therefore, Avatar is the one with his prison escape speedrun times framed on his wall; Wato is the one with the massive folder of all his escape room blueprints, Jammin’s got a pile of his laundry at her place even though he basically wears the same hoodie and black work pants every day.

But the carabiner clipped to his belt loop to hang at his hip, a matte steel gray and perfectly innocuous, is a gift from Wifies. The keyed-alike group set of keys he still uses are from Wato and his lockpicks are from Avatar, his under door tool is from Tundra and his traveler’s hook is from Void, his RFID badges were all printed and programmed by Maximum. He even still has the pair of binoculars Cory gave him while they were together, though he doesn’t use them anymore, and has gone back to just lowering his FOV or using optifine zoom. Jammin is also more of a builder than an escape artist, but he just ends up with more dresses and skirts and high socks whenever he stays the night with her, which he’s not gonna complain about.

The point is, his closest friends catch on to what kind of items have a chance of making it into his everyday carry packs, and gift him accordingly (if Parrot catches on one of these days, he is willing to finally get rid of those binoculars in favor of a spyglass).

When he’s in the zone, the pieces of a puzzle forcing everything else out of his brain, or when he’s on really good pace for a speedrun of some gauntlet or obstacle course, or holding his breath against the wall as guards make their rounds less than a meter away, Kenadian doesn’t need to be reminded of his friends. Would really prefer not to be distracted, in fact, since a single lapse in focus could get him caught or force him to reset the room entirely. But he’s also not mad when he notices the nail polish chipping off his fingers and realizes he hasn’t talked to another person in way too long.

He might not keep a permanent residence of his own, but that means “coming home” can also mean greeting Wifies with a peck on the cheek and begging Wato to mend a tear in his hoodie from when it got caught on some dripstone, a mug of tea at Seawatt’s kitchen counter, seeing friends who don’t mind getting woken up in the middle of the night by Ken’s arrival at their back door. Ken belongs to himself before anybody else, won’t change who he is even with handcuffs around his wrists and a netherite ax held to his throat, but the people who love him don’t demand him to.

[pit-stop-princess]

Click Click - Chapter Two

Ollie Bearman x Photographer!Fem!Reader

Kimi Antonelli & Antonelli!Sister!Reader

Summary: I came to F1 with my little brother Kimi to photograph his rookie season, not to fall for his best friend and Haas's golden boy. Somehow, Ollie Bearman keeps ending up in my shots!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1000

Notes: Happy 20th birthday to Ollie! Told from reader's perspective. Bonus post for this chapter has also been released.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Post-Race – Media Pen, Albert Park Circuit

I finally found Kimi behind a barricade of microphones, PR handlers, and enough fluorescent lighting to roast a marshmallow.

He had that post-race shine- sweaty, flushed, suit unzipped to the waist. His curls were plastered down from his balaclava, and there was a smear of something suspiciously Gatorade-colored on his neck.

He looked like a raccoon who had just successfully robbed a NASCAR trailer. Happy. Feral. Proud.

I leaned against the barrier just outside the media scrum, letting the camera hang from my neck. I didn’t wave. I just waited.

It took exactly seven seconds for his eyes to flick toward me. When they did, his whole face lit up like someone had turned on stadium lights. He muttered a quick “thanks so much” to the interviewer, handed off the mic, and bee-lined straight for me.

“Kimi, no, don't-”

“Too late!” he crowed, and launched himself forward.

His arm came around my shoulders like a vice. I got half-suffocated by the collar of his fireproofs and at least three tablespoons of racer sweat.

“Victory hug!” he declared.

“You came P4,” I wheezed. “This is not victorious. You’re leaking electrolytes directly into my shirt!”

“You love it,” he said, peeling off just long enough to ruffle my hair like a deranged golden retriever. “Did you get the shot?”

I shoved him, grinning despite myself. “I got all the shots. Your weird steering fix in Turn 3? Got it. You doing jazz hands at your race engineer in the cooldown lap? Got that too. Might even make you a print, if I’m feeling charitable.”

He clutched his chest like I’d handed him a Grammy. “You are the best sister in the universe.”

“That’s not what you said when I deleted your Mario Kart ghost data in 2015.”

“Ancient history.”

“Justice.”

Before he could launch into a dramatic retelling of the Tragic Mushroom Bridge Incident, someone cleared their throat beside him.

I turned- and there he was.

Tall. Lean. Brown hair flat in some places and sticking up at odd angles in others. Still zipped halfway up in a Haas race suit, the sleeves around his waist knotted casually like it was a Calvin Klein ad. He wasn’t posing, but his entire existence suggested that someone should be taking his picture.

Constantly.

Kimi turned like he’d forgotten he wasn’t the only one in the world.

“Oh right! Ollie, this is Y/N. She’s the reason I didn’t drive into a wall in Cadet karts. Y/N, this is Ollie Bearman, Haas rookie, actual child prodigy, possibly made of titanium.”

Ollie offered a hand. His eyes were warm, even in the chaos. “Good to meet you. Sounds like Kimi owes you a lot.”

“Yeah, I accept payment in gummy worms and Venmo transactions in my favor.”

Kimi made finger guns. “She’s a professional.”

I shook Ollie’s hand- firm, steady, surprisingly grounded for someone who could probably get away with modeling if the F1 thing didn’t pan out.

“She’s also stupid good with a camera,” Kimi added, unnecessarily, like he was trying to upsell me. I gave him a look.

Ollie looked down at the camera resting at my waist. “Lucky you,” he said to Kimi. “Not everyone gets their rookie year documented this closely.”

“He didn’t ask,” I said. “I just showed up and never left.”

“Sounds familiar,” Ollie said, lips twitching in a grin.

There was a pause- just a beat, the kind that stretches a little longer than it should. Kimi wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his suit. Ollie leaned slightly on the barrier. I realized, belatedly, that I was still holding his gaze.

I cleared my throat, tugged at my camera strap. “Anyway. I’ve got shots to edit. And if I don’t leave now, someone’s going to rope me into filming the debrief.”

“Make me look cool,” Kimi called after me.

“You’re naturally uncool,” I called back, over my shoulder.

But just before I turned the corner, I glanced back.

Ollie was still looking at me. Just a flicker of a glance- soft, curious, like he was filing something away for later.

And hey, who could blame him?

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Melbourne – Hotel Lobby – Sunday Night – 10:56 PM

The lobby was nearly deserted, the hum of fluorescent lights and the soft clatter of keyboards the only sounds remaining. Most journalists and photographers had packed up hours ago, chasing deadlines or the allure of Melbourne's nightlife. I remained, nestled in a corner, hoodie pulled up, the glow of my laptop illuminating my face.

Lightroom was open, a mosaic of thumbnails capturing the day's events. I sifted through the images: Kimi mid-turn, sparks flying; Lewis Hamilton sharing a laugh with his team; Carlos Sainz embracing his girlfriend amidst the chaos of the paddock.

Then, unexpectedly, a few shots featuring Ollie Bearman appeared. He wasn't the intended subject, but there he was- helmet under his arm, hair damp with sweat, a candid smile playing on his lips. The camera had found him, again and again.

I paused, finger hovering over the trackpad. Curiosity piqued, I opened a new tab and typed:

'Oliver Bearman F1'

The search results populated instantly. Headlines and articles detailed his rapid ascent: a 19-year-old from Chelmsford, United Kingdom, who had recently made his Formula One debut with Ferrari, stepping in for Carlos Sainz at the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix.

I clicked on his Wikipedia page. Born May 8, 2005. Youngest British driver to compete in F1. A member of the Ferrari Driver Academy since 2021.

I leaned back, absorbing the information. He was a little less than a year younger than me.

Returning to Lightroom, I selected one of the photos- a candid shot of Ollie laughing with his engineer, the sun casting a golden hue over the scene. I adjusted the exposure, fine-tuned the contrast, and saved it to a separate folder.

Just for reference, I told myself.

Closing my laptop, I sat in the silence, the image of Ollie's smile lingering in my mind.

prev • masterpost • next

[godsfavouritedog]

TRANSCREATURE TIPS !

since it seems I'm the core representative for this identity, I'll make a small compilation of tips :}

01 : NESTING

build yourself a nest! there are lots of ways you can do this. for example, you can buy "human dog beds" and place it on top of / instead of your mattress. you can also get a bed bumper which walls off the "open" sides of your bed, and place pillows along the inside to make a nest! i originally did this as a comfort thing due to night terrors, so comfort is a good excuse.

you can also place canopies above your bed, like low hanging tapestries or nets. this can make a more enclosed feel.

collect things for your nest! it'll be the most important space in your room.

02 : FEATURES

for me, claws seem to give me euphoria a lot! grow out your nails (make sure to strengthen them with oils if you're anemic like me). once they're as long as you want, clip the sides diagonally to make a pointy nails! think stilleto nails.

you can also paint them the colour that seems to match your species most. I find matte colours to be more in accordance with mine, but it really varies!

try to match your makeup to the vibe. despite not being a transdemon, my species has slightly darker elements despite being docile. as such, my nails are black claws and my eyeshadow is quite dark. if you're a more peaceful species, more "doelike" makeup might help!

if you can, look into canine sharpening. it's a cosmetic procedure usually done with added material. do not do this on your own, it often goes VERY wrong.

03 : DIET

know your diet. are you a herbivore? or a carnivore? do you eat mostly red meats, or do you feast on ground nuts?

I understand that shifting your diet can be a little difficult due to familial or social restrictions. you don't need to be incredibly strict to your diet, just small things. I'm anemic, so I tend to eat red meats a lot which works quite well with my species! but I also lack fibre a lot, so I will be eating fruits.

try to match your diet. for instance, my species is primarily a carnivore, though obviously I need to consume fruit and veg. I mostly like fruit and veg like pomegranate and beetroot since it's appearance mimics meat!

04 : PATTERNS

this is almost entirely a euphoria thing, but it's still worth mentioning. know your calendar!

do you go through mating seasons? are you more heightened to responses during certain months? do you go into hibernation during the winter?

during mating periods, you might find having sex on your mind to be euphoric. a lot of animals also release scents during this time, so it might bring you euphoria to scent yourself with body mist. more on this later!

during hibernation (if you partake), you might want to stay in your nest for most of the day. during the winter I tend to lack much energy anyway, so cooping up in my nest for most of the day is quite relaxing.

05 : SIGNATURES

mark your territory! most animals have a scent, even if it's not very detectable to humans. have a signature scent, whether it's sandalwood or vanilla. spray it onto your items, spray it onto yourself, etc. during mating seasons you might want to change it to a different scent to symbolize the difference, though it's up to you!

you may also want to stylize your clothes. if you're a furry creature, fluffy sweaters might suit you! a scaly one might want to wear more leather clothes, an arctic creature might prefer white clothes.

a common thing I've seen - you can make pawprint shoes. using craft or eva foam, cut out the shape of a paw print and glue it onto the bottom of your shoes. these can also be customized to your species. mine resembles a very long dog paw print!

[circus4apsycho8]

knife to meet you. | cole x reader | chapter iii

A/N: I don't know what's wrong with me, but I've been CONSISTENTLY WRITING???? And I'm already starting the fourth chapter for this fic??? What is happening!!

Anyways, chapter 3 is here! I hope you all enjoy. Thank for all of your support so far!

Masterlist for this Fic

Wind batters the ancient walls of the monastery, silence creeping through the hallways as you down the remnants of your morning beverage. Nya and the ninja are nowhere to be found, and you’ve yet to see Wu today. On any other day, the silence wouldn’t have bothered you, but something is…off, somehow. You can’t put your finger on it, but something in the atmosphere is suffocating.

After you finish cleaning up, you decide you need some fresh air. You’d been meaning to explore other parts of the mountain anyway. Tucked underneath your arm is a blanket, your medical bag in your other hand as you proceed to the exit. You’ve probably just been cooped up too long.

Just before you’re about to exit the monastery, your peripheral vision catches motion from one of the open rooms. Halting, you glance at the source.

Sensei Wu is kneeled in his meditation room, thumbing through a photo album. Next to him rests his tea kettle, steaming with his latest brew as he gazes at the people in the photographs. The elderly man senses that you’ve stopped, eyes lifting from the photo album as he snaps it shut.

Realizing that you might be intruding, your eyes widen. “I’m sorry, Sensei. I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

Wu shakes his head, closing the album and pushing it to the side. “Oh, you’re not interrupting. I was about to check on the dragons anyway.”

As Wu reaches for his teacup, you can’t help but glance back at the album. Printed on its worn, muted gold cover is the symbol for Creation - you remember seeing the same symbol in one of Mystake’s books. Underneath that symbol is another one - this one stands for remembrance.

Interesting.

Sensei rises from his position, accompanying you down the hall. In one hand, he carries his bamboo staff while his tea kettle hangs from his other arm. “Have you been settling in well?”

“Yeah! Everything’s been going great,” you answer as the two of you approach the sliding doors.

“I am glad to hear it. Change is neutral and carries no regard for those it affects. Adjusting can be difficult, so I’m glad everything is working out so far,” he muses as you pull the doors open with your free hand.

Not to your surprise, the ninja are nowhere in the courtyard; in their absence lies an empty, eerily silent training course. “Where’d the guys go? I haven’t seen them all morning.”

Sensei Wu pushes a button on one of the monastery support beams. In response, the obstacle course retreats into the ground. “They went out earlier, to investigate something Zane found last night. I’m not sure when they’ll return.”

“I see. Well, I’m going to go look for ingredients for potions. Everything I need should be on the mountain, so I won’t be far in case they need patching up after.”

“Ah, ingredients, you say? You’re welcome to use some of the herbs from my tea garden, if you like,” he says.

“You have a tea garden?” you say, grinning at Wu.

“Certainly. Mystake’s tea blends are the best in Ninjago, and her brand is the only one I drink. However, I’ve yearned to create my own brand of tea for some time now. So, I learned how to grow my own herbs and have been trying to craft the perfect tea recipe ever since.”

“I see,” you reply, tilting your head in thought. “You know…part of my work at Mystake’s shop involved me helping out with her tea blends. So, if you need help, I’d be willing to lend a hand.”

Wu considers your offer, a thoughtful expression on his face as he nods. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

…

It only takes you about fifteen minutes to find Wu’s garden, and an additional half hour for the ingredients you need. The fresh air helps clear your head, ridding you of that strange, oppressive atmosphere you’d felt earlier.

Why do I feel so weird today? you wonder as you pull open the massive courtyard gates. I’ve probably just been cooped up in here too long. Maybe I can go out with Nya later.

An herbal scent draws you back into the present, beckoning your gaze towards the source. Sensei Wu sits in front of a stand filled with incense sticks, pale smoke ascending to the sky. Deciding not to disturb him, you return to your room.

A flurry of motion flinches when you push the door open. You jump in response, realizing Nya is back. She must have been hard at work over her desk, if the series of writing utensils and blueprints on her desk say anything.

“Nya,” you realize, chuckling at the scare. “You’re back.”

“You scared me!” she exclaims, settling a hand over her chest as she laughs. “Yeah, sorry. I went to check on the dragons this morning, and you were still sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I see,” you say, setting your bag next to your bed and coming to sit next to her. “What are you working on?”

The black-haired girl grins, rotating the pencil in her grip so that she can tap the eraser on the page of schematics. “Well, a few different things. First of all, the last mission made me realize that we need some form of long-distance communication. I’m thinking maybe earpieces? That way, the ninja can wear them underneath their hoods, and they wouldn’t be super bulky,” she frowns, tracing the outline of her sketches. “For me, I’m going to rig my bracelet into a communicator. We’ll have to figure out something for you. But we can wait to decide on that until I’m further in the design process.”

You nod in acknowledgement, scanning her notes and sketches. You don’t really understand any of it, but it’s still cool to look at. “Wow…this looks complex. Having a way to communicate over long distances would be helpful, though.”

She flicks the pencil back onto the paper, swiveling towards you as she shakes her writing wrist out. “I hope they’ll help. The designs are going to be a bitch to make, but I think Jay and I can swing it.” She punctuates her sentence with a sigh. “How about you? What have you been up to? I know it’s kind of a slow day until they get back.”

“I just gathered some herbs from that small section of forest up here,” you reply, shrugging. “I’m going to try and mix some medicines later on.”

Nya nods, swiveling back towards her work. “Got it. Maybe when they return, and you’ve patched them up, we can go out. There’s something I want to show that I’ve been working on, but it’s kind of far-”

“Nya?” interrupts Sensei’s muffled voice from the hallway. You and Nya glance at each other, the urgency in Sensei Wu’s tone alarming you. The two of you hop out of your chairs, rushing over to the door.

Before Nya even gets the door all the way open, she starts responding. “Sensei, what is it?!”

“The ninja are in trouble,” Wu answers, clutching an aged flute in one hand. “I had a smoke vision of them. We must go help them.”

“Got it,” Nya turns to you. “We’ll be back as fast as we can!”

“Okay. Be careful!” you call as the two rush down the hallway.

An overwhelming sense of helplessness overcomes you as you pace around the monastery. All of your potions are already prepared, so there’s not much you can do in terms of prep. It’s a matter of waiting now, which is the worst part.

Biting your lip, you pace around the monastery, your medical bag slung over your shoulder and at the ready. It probably hasn’t even been ten minutes since Nya and Wu left, yet it feels like it’s been hours. Nya was right about the team needing communication devices - not knowing what’s going on is eating at you.

Maybe I’ll just wait outside so I can see when they get back, you think, heading for the front sliding door.

Pushing your bag out of the way, you move to open the door. To your surprise, it doesn’t budge.

“What the hell?” you mumble, hands drifting to the lock. Just as you thought, it isn’t latched. So why isn’t it opening?

Uneasiness creeps throughout your tummy as you tug on the door one more time, frowning at its refusal to open. Something deep inside your gut tells you that the chill of the draft isn’t the reason why the hairs on your skin are standing.

“Something is coming. Be careful,” whispers an unfamiliar, feminine voice. You jump, gasping at the nearness of her words. When you swivel your head, however, it reveals no one else in the hallway with you. Words freeze in your throat as you shake your head, trying to get ahold of yourself.

“What’s coming? Who are you? Are you the lady I saw outside?” you wonder, voice cracking a little as you try the door again. It’s still not opening.

“Yes. Snakes. I cannot hold this form for long. Please prepare.” With that, the atmosphere lightens as the presence evaporates. You swallow at the lady’s warning, questions buzzing about your mind.

Man…what would Mystake say if she were in your position? She’d tell me to listen to my body and instinct. She always said that if you feel as if something is wrong, then you’re probably right, and to never doubt your intuition.

You don’t feel threatened by…whoever that was, and you wouldn’t put it past the serpentine to try and steal their staff back. You decide to heed her warning; you can always try to figure out who she is later. But how are you supposed to prepare for an attack? The only thing you can think to do is lock the gate. Not to mention that you’re still learning the monastery’s layout.

Your mentor’s words echo in your mind: Don’t freeze. Make a decision. Doing something is better than doing nothing.

Swallowing your fear, you try the door again. This time, it swings open. You dash towards the gate, holding your medical bag steady against your side. With a grunt, you swing the swiveling wooden latch into place.

Autopilot kicks in when you realize that the snakes will probably ransack the place looking for their staff. It’s too bad you didn’t see where Sensei Wu hid it, otherwise you could take it with you.

Running through the memories of items you recall everyone using, you decide to collect sentimental items that can fit in your bag. You manage to grab Jay and Nya’s blueprints, the siblings’ twin, custom-made knives, a container of Kai’s hair gel, Cole’s art supplies, Jay’s handheld gaming console and invention journal, a few of Zane���s books, and Sensei Wu’s photo album.

Mental note to thank Mystake for making this bag so big, you think when the zipper closes your packed bag with ease.

As soon as you finish, the ground shakes in response to something booming outside. You gasp as shouts emanate from the direction of the courtyard, eyes widening when you realize you’ll be the first thing the serpentine see if they get inside.

So much for the gate.

At the thought, you dash through the monastery, ducking inside the guys’ room and locking the door. Thankfully, your memory was right - they do have a window, and outside of it, there’s just enough room for you to walk around the perimeter.

“Find the staff!” commands a voice - this time, a familiar one. Maybe one of the snakes you and Nya eavesdropped on at Jamanakai? “Burn this pathetic place to the ground! Ensure the ninja have no home to return to!”

As soon as the leader stops talking, chaos ensues: the snakes cry out, immediately tearing the building apart. Glass shatters, footsteps thunder through the halls, furniture is torn and ripped apart.

With no time to waste, you slide the windowpane up. Shrugging your bag off your shoulder, you push it through the window first. After giving yourself a boost on the bunk beds’ nightstand, you manage to haul yourself through.

Your landing is ungraceful, but it works. A grunt escapes you as you pick yourself back up, grabbing your bag again before looking around. You’re on the back portion of the mountain now, and there’s not much room for you to walk on. There are only a few feet between the monastery walls and the edge of the mountain, so you follow the walls.

Fear tightens your throat, wind whipping against your skin as you work your way along the side of the monastery. You force your gaze to remain on the path, paying no heed to the mountain’s looming height. As you walk, a smoky scent starts drifting about the air as the chaos inside rages on. Even so, you continue forward.

To your dismay, once you round the corner, your pathway ends. It’s blocked by a windowed wall of the monastery, meaning that you’re going to have to cut through inside. Cursing underneath your breath, you crouch down underneath the kitchen window. You need a plan.

Okay…where should you go, first of all? Everyone else is gone, so you’re on your own, and you sure as hell don’t stand a chance against the snakes. You wrack your mind for a solution before recalling something that Nya and Wu said earlier.

“The dragons!” you realize. Sensei Wu said he had wanted to check on them earlier, meaning that the ninja hadn’t taken them on their mission. If you can make it there, you could hunker down with them. Unless the serpentine thought to light the keep on fire too…

You shake that thought away, deciding to tackle one problem at a time.

Decision made, you peek through the kitchen window. From what you can see, it’s clear for the moment, but thick plumes of dark smoke have gathered above. Flames have consumed the left hallway, meaning that you’ll have to make a break for the keep from one of the windows facing the courtyard.

First Spinjitzu Master, help me. Here goes nothing.

You’re not so lucky with this window - it’s locked. You reach down into the pockets of your bag, pulling out a knife you’d taken from the ninja’s room. The hilt seems hefty enough to shatter the glass. With a grunt, you slam the butt of the blade down onto the glass, flinching as it shatters. Glass pools at your feet, the noise drowned out by the chaos emanating from the main side of the monastery.

Tucking the knife back in your bag, you start climbing into the monastery. Remnants of glass nick your hands as you hoist yourself inside, leaving your palms stinging and bloody. Heat singes your skin as you rush towards the other window, smoke ravaging your lungs and throat. Through coughing fits, you make it to the window and manage to unlock it.

Once you push it up, you spot a group of snakes huddled near the front of the monastery. The path past the gate seems clear otherwise; you just have to make it. Hopefully the dragons can bail you out if the snakes chase you.

Okay. Here you go.

Initially, the snakes don’t notice you clambering through the window, too focused on watching the monastery burn. You immediately break into a sprint, bag jostling against your torso as you pass the gate despite your efforts to keep it steady. Voices shout from behind you, but you don’t stop to look back. Instead, you run faster, lungs burning as you resist the urge to cough again.

When you make it to the stretch leading to the keep, you force yourself to keep your eyes ahead. You don’t focus on the fact that you could tumble to your death with a single misstep.

Your heart breaks when you realize the serpentine had lit the dragon cave on fire. Roars pierce the air, prompting you to scramble for the lever embedded in the wall.

“Fuck!” you yell when the lever turns out to be harder to pull than you anticipated. The blood on your hands isn’t helping either; your grip keeps slipping. Frustrated, you fish a medical towel from one of your bag’s many pockets, using it to secure your grip. Adrenaline rushes your muscles when you hear the serpentine approaching. “Come on!”

With a strangled cry, you finally manage to pull it all the way down. Gears screech from within the cave, the wooden gates retreating into the earth moments later. Shard and Wisp stomp out of the cave, immediately taking flight while Rocky lingers behind, stepping out of the fiery portion. He growls at something behind you, prompting you to turn around.

You gasp when you see a snake closing in on you. He wields a twin set of katanas, zeroing in on you. What he fails to notice is Shard hovering in the air across from you, the dragon’s powerful wings pumping gusts of wind in your direction. Icy blue breath erupts from his jaws, freezing the snake solid against the mountain.

“Thank you, Shard!” you yell, voice hoarse. He roars in response, ascending to the top of the mountain and leaving you with the remaining dragon. “Rocky! Are you okay?!”

The dragon whines, nuzzling your hand when you pet him. He crouches, lowering his wing to the ground. You waste no time climbing atop the dragon, sitting in Cole’s usual spot. Thankfully, Rocky doesn’t wait for you to take the reins. Once you’ve got a secure grip on him, he rushes out of the flame-filled cave, wings taking it from there.

Tears gather in your eyes when you spot the monastery completely ablaze. Rocky hangs back so that you’re not exposed to the whelm of smoke rising above the mountain, letting Wisp and Shard take turns blasting ice or sparks at the remaining serpentine. The bastards finally seem to be retreating, but the damage is done; what remains of the monastery is nothing more than a pile of flaming rubble and debris.

“I can’t believe it…” you mumble, watching as Shard begins spraying the remaining flames with his icy breath. “It’s…it’s gone.”

Rocky responds with a mournful growl, coasting on the air as he circles the mountain. You blink a few times, your surroundings not feeling real anymore. Dizziness sways your vision as the events replay, mind having trouble processing everything.

Rocky deems the mountain safe enough for you to land a few minutes later, gently descending to the ground. When you slide off his back, he nuzzles his snout into your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whisper, petting his scales a few times. Rocky merely leans into your touch, sorrow lacing his eyes.

You collapse to your knees, pulling the strap of your bag off your body as Rocky lays down next to you. With the adrenaline wearing off, your skin is starting to sting with the mild burns you probably got inside the monastery. Even so, you elect to hold off on using any supplies until the ninja have been treated.

With the back of your hand, you pet Rocky. He closes his eyes at your touch, adjusting his head so that he’s resting on his forelegs. Another soft dragon groan from your other side catches your attention, a draconic shadow looming over you. Turning, you spot Shard slinking up to you.

“What is it?” you wonder. You swear these dragons can understand you.

Shard sidles up next to you, enveloping you with his wing from behind. The chill from his freezing body temperature numbs the burns on your skin, making you sigh in relief.

“That’s…that’s better. Thank you, Shard.”

Wisp wanders in front of you, growling softly as he lowers his snout to you. Not wanting to leave him out, you give him a few reassuring pets.

For a while, you simply process the event alongside three dragons as you wait for the others. Your thoughts zigzag to miscellaneous questions: what would the others say when they returned? Where are they? Are they hurt? Who (or what) warned you about the serpentine? Was there anything you could have done to stop the serpentine from burning the monastery down?

Your thoughts are interrupted when Shard retracts his wing, standing at attention. Rocky gently bumps your shoulder with his snout, urging you to stand. Obliging, you study the dragons’ reactions. It takes you a minute or so, but finally you hear the distant roar of Flame approaching.

To your relief, everyone is aboard the dragon. Okay, that’s good at least: no one seems critically injured. You and the dragons step to the side when Flame hovers overhead, sailing down once he has a clear area to land.

The ninja are the first to descend, surveying the area as they flip their hoods off. Jay, Cole, and Zane make their way to their respective dragons, making sure they’re okay.

“Our home…” Kai mumbles, trailing off as he processes the damage. Nya rushes out from his side, making her way over to you.

“Are you okay?!” Nya questions, gesturing to the mild burns on your skin. “Oh, god, one of us should have stayed with you.”

“I’m fine. You couldn’t have known. Is everyone else okay?”

“Just a few bumps. But this…” Nya trails off as everyone gathers together. Grief and shock bubble in the atmosphere, merging into a tension that has you fidgeting.

“The training equipment, gone…” Zane murmurs, petting Shard as he looks around.

“Our video games! Gone!” Jay cries.

“They stole their staff back,” Sensei Wu realizes. You remember what he told you about the monastery; it had been standing for thousands of years, and had been his childhood home. You can’t even begin to imagine the loss he’s experiencing.

“What do we do now?” Cole wonders, returning Rocky’s nuzzle with an embrace of his own.

The tension snaps when Kai crushes a piece of charred wood in his grasp, expression darkening as he swivels towards Zane. “If you hadn't followed that silly bird, none of this would've happened!”

“Kai…” Wu warns.

Fed up, Jay shakes his head. “No, Sensei, he's right! Because of you, my high score has been deleted!”

Zane’s expression falters as his teammates begin accusing him of something he couldn’t control. “This is a teaching moment. We must learn from this!”

Cole throws his hands up in the air, defeat scrawled on his expression. “A ‘teaching moment’? What's wrong with you? Don't you get it?! Everything is gone!”

You step in front of Zane, expression hardening. It’s not fair that they’re blaming all of this on him; Zane couldn’t have known the serpentine were going to attack.

Coming to the white ninja’s defense, you argue: “Not everything is gone. I managed to save a few sentimental items before they ransacked the building. And if you’re going to blame anybody, blame me. I was here, but I couldn’t stop them. Maybe there was something I could have done to prevent this from happening. Zane couldn’t have known they were going to burn the place down!”

Nya joins you, hands on her hips as she scowls at the guys. “Without Zane, you guys wouldn’t have found Lloyd’s hideout.” She steps up to her older brother, meeting his accusatory glare with one just as stubborn. “We could have planned this out better, but we didn’t. We’re all at fault here, and we’re going to learn from this.”

Sensei Wu steps in, gesturing for everyone to separate. You all do so, lining up together. “Yes, we are all at fault. Ninja, Zane is your brother. Apologize at once.”

Silence overcomes the groups, anger dissipating.. Kai turns first, regret lacing his eyes as he starts: “I’m sorry, Zane. I-”

When Kai trails off, everyone turns to look for the mentioned ninja. To your surprise, Zane is nowhere to be found. Neither is Shard.

“Zane?” Jay wonders, confusion lacing his tone.

“There,” Nya says, pointing to the sky. Off in the distance, you see Zane and Shard sailing through the air.

Sensei Wu sighs, rubbing his temples. “He will come back when he is ready, and you three will apologize to him. We may have lost our home, but we have not and will not lose each other. No matter how dire the circumstances are, we will never turn on each other. Disagreements are bound to happen, but we must learn to address them in a more productive manner. Let us take this experience to reflect on what we have lost and how to prevent something like this from happening again.”

“Yes, Sensei,” everyone replies in unison.

Sensei Wu nods, making his way towards the path to the dragon keep. “Good. I would like to have a few minutes alone here. Please head for the Mountains of Impossible Height; I will catch up shortly.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

As the guys head for the staircase, you gesture for Nya to stay with you. She quirks an eyebrow, wondering what you need.

“Can you grab the photo album out of my bag? My hands are still kind of bloody,” you request, glancing at the dried bits of blood sticking to your skin.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, unzipping your bag and fishing the book out.

“Sensei, before we go, I wanted to give you your photo album. I was able to grab it before I had to escape,” you say, watching as your friend hands the mentioned item to Wu.

“Ah…you saved our pictures,” he says, voice low as he accepts the album. “Many of us had irreplaceable photos in here. Thank you for bringing these to me.”

“You’re welcome, Sensei.”

Nya smiles softly, tugging on your bicep as she bids Wu goodbye: “Take your time, Sensei.”

…

An hour or so later, the six of you make the hike up to Sensei’s specified location. The dragons fly your group up the steeper bits. Eventually, you all find a spot big enough to sport everyone and the dragons.

Silence overcomes the group after Cole gives everyone a task to focus on. He and Kai are setting up a makeshift tent together while Jay and Nya search for firewood. You’re tasked with finding edible plants in a nearby forest.

To avoid smearing your blood on everything, you pull on a pair of blue medical grade gloves when picking the plants. You leave your bag back at camp, grateful for the chance to give your sore shoulders a break from its weight.

Finding edible plants doesn’t take long considering how small the patch of forest is. Nearly fifteen minutes later, you return with an armful of potion ingredients, edible plants, and supplies. Kai and Cole have finished with the tent, and Jay and Nya appear to be finishing up with the firewood. As you bump into the others, you hand out the items you saved in hopes it would bring up the mood a bit.

Kai and Nya are first: for the siblings, you were able to grab some of Nya’s blueprints as well as a twin pair of custom-made daggers: one for Kai, and the other for Nya. The engravings and color on the blades differ, but they’re the same shape. You wonder if they came from the siblings’ blacksmith shop. Kai is also relieved to see that you managed to save one container of his hair gel, replying: “At least my hair won’t suffer!”

For Jay, you were able to save some of his blueprints, a journal filled to the brim with invention idea sketches, and a handheld gaming console that was in its travel case when you’d grabbed it. Jay thanks you with glassy eyes when you hand him his belongings, telling you that the journal and console were gifts from his parents.

Of Zane’s possessions, you were able to save three old books. Despite their age, they appear to be well cared for. You hope he’ll be back soon.

Lastly, you have a sketchbook and a set of art supplies that you suspect are Cole’s. You spot the black ninja shuffling the firewood that Jay and Nya collected over to the finished tent.

“Hey,” you greet, keeping your voice low as you approach him. “How are you holding up?”

Once he finishes tying a knot, Cole looks over to you. “Hey. I’m…okay, considering the circumstances.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he surveys the tent. “How about you?”

You shrug, gently tracing the line of your gloved palm with a finger. “I’m okay. I wanted to give you this,” you reply, taking his sketchbook and art supplies from your bag. “I was able to save it before they fully ransacked the place.”

Cole’s fingertips brush yours as he accepts his belongings, a ghost of a smile twitching over his lips. “My sketchbook…thank you.”

“Not a problem,” you reply, withdrawing your hand. No longer under the cover of the items, your gloves are now visible. Some of your bloodstains have darkened the blue fabric from underneath, making Cole frown.

The black ninja tucks his sketchbook and case of supplies underneath his arm. “Your hands… Did they hurt you?”

“Oh, no. This was just from me having to climb through a busted window. Some of the glass shards were still on the frame when I grabbed it.”

Cole cringes at the story, stare still not averting. “Here, guide me through your method of bandaging. Where are your supplies?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “No, Cole, don’t worry about it. I can do it.”

The raven-haired male shoots you a funny look, shaking his head in response. “Come on, you’ve done it for me like…eighty times already, and you haven’t even been here for a month yet. At least teach me how to do it in case we have to administer first aid if we’re on the field.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of my job?” you wonder.

“Not if you’re far away,” he counters, spotting your bag a few feet away. You follow him, realizing that the Golden Weapons (minus Zane’s shurikens) were placed next to it while you were in the forest, all resting on the ground but not touching. The metal twinkles in the evening light, pulsing with a hint of energy.

“Good point. Maybe we should have a basic first aid class, then,” you muse, deciding you’d ask Sensei Wu about it later. “Okay, fine. Let’s sit down.”

He nods, snatching your bag from the ground while you make your way underneath the tent. Sidestepping the pile of sticks, you have a seat on the dirt. Cole settles in across from you as you peel the gloves off, letting them fall to the side.

“Okay, what first?” he asks.

“First, our priority is to stop the bleeding,” you instruct, peering at your cuts. Thankfully, the bleeding is coming to a halt. “It looks like my bleeding is slowing down, though. But, in the case that it wasn’t, you would use a bandage or cloth to stop it.”

“Got it,” Cole replies.

You nod, tipping your head in the direction of the bag. “Okay. Now, it’s time to clean the wound. I have a bottle of cleaning solution in there somewhere. It’s a little bottle with a teal-colored liquid. There should also be a pink cloth in there too.”

“Okay…” Cole mumbles, rummaging through your bag before pulling out the items. “These?”

“Yep. Pour a little bit of the liquid onto the cloth, then just dab on the cuts. I usually like to clean off the excess blood if the cut isn’t much of a worry at this point, but that’s more of personal preference.”

Cole nods, dampening the cloth with the antiseptic. Once that’s done, he gingerly takes your hand, making your heart bash itself against your ribcage. After he dabs at the blood for a moment, he glances up at you.

“What is it?” you wonder.

“I was hoping that you’d be cringing or hissing at the stinging,” he admits as he continues.

You frown incredulously at him, huffing a laugh. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to make fun of you for making fun of me when I cringed at the stinging sensation. Unfortunately for me, you’re not even reacting to it, which makes me look like a wuss.”

Not expecting his response, you can’t help but laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope,” he replies, moving to your other hand. You wonder if the others had been teasing him about it, hoping that they hadn’t been doing it too much. After all, you’re still getting to know everyone and their senses of humor. You don’t want to go overboard, so you elect to tone it down a bit just in case.

“You’re not a wuss,” you say after a few moments. “I mean, I’m not the one throwing myself into dangerous situations for the greater good.”

Cole doesn’t answer, instead focusing on cleaning the remainder of your hand. When he’s done, he glances back up to you. “Is that good?”

“Yep, perfect. Now, it’s time to bandage. See the gauze roll, tape, and scissors I have tucked in one of the inner pockets?”

“Uh…here,” Cole mumbles, fishing the items out.

You nod. “Go ahead and wrap my hands up. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

For some reason, you don’t focus as he wraps your hands. Instead, your eyes sneak peeks at his biceps, exposed underneath his rolled-up gi sleeves. When you catch yourself, you squeeze your eyes shut and admonish yourself. To keep yourself on task, you restart the conversation:

 “Are you feeling any different today? It looks like your symptoms are gone.”

“About that, I realized why I looked sick,” he replies, frowning when the gauze comes loose. He starts again, this time making sure to keep the gauze pulled tighter. “You know how that one snake almost hypnotized me in Jamanakai? Well, it turns out that the snake still had some kind of hold over me. It was able to hypnotize me while we were on the mission today. Thankfully, Nya and Sensei Wu arrived with his ancient flute that apparently cures snake hypnosis.”

“That’s…weird,” you answer, face scrunching in confusion as you process his explanation. “A flute that cures snake hypnosis?”

Cole shakes his head as he finishes up with your first hand. “I don’t even know. I’ve learned not to question Wu anymore.”

“Mystake was the same way,” you say, grinning at his reaction. “Just had the wackiest solutions to the most random problems. Must be an old-timer thing.”

Your heart stumbles when Cole smiles again; this time, you can see dimples dotting his cheeks. “Must be.”

With that, the two of you fall silent. As Cole works on wrapping gauze around your other hand, you look out towards the others. Everyone seems to be in their own little bubble for the moment. Kai and Nya are sitting together, facing away from everyone else and observing the sunset as they chat amongst themselves. Flame lays next to the siblings, accepting pets from Kai as Nya twirls her dagger mindlessly.

On the other side of the mountain is Jay, leaning against Wisp’s body. The blue ninja studies a page in his journal, expression taught as he does so. Last is Sensei Wu, meditating off to the side. Somehow, he still has his blue tea kettle; the item is in front of him, steaming with yet another batch of tea.

Did he take the kettle with him when they left…?

“Are you really doing okay?” you wonder, not quite thinking about your words as you speak.

Cole sighs as he snips off the unneeded gauze with your scissors. “Yeah. It’s just…being leader has turned out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. I keep wondering if there was something I could have done differently to prevent this from happening.”

“You’re a leader, not a psychic. Your job is to lead the team and adjust your actions to the circumstances. You can’t blame something like the fire on yourself. There’s no way you could have known the serpentine were going to do that,” you say, nodding as he tapes the gauze in place.

The raven-haired ninja contemplates your words, tucking your supplies back into the bag.  “You’re right. I just…I don’t know, I can’t help but feel guilty still.”

“You have to give yourself some grace, Cole,” you add, recalling what Sensei Wu told you back at the tea shop. “You guys just got out of training, right? So, you guys are still learning. Not just as individuals, but as a team, too. Leading a team is no easy feat, but I think you’ve been doing a great job of it, if the battle in Jamanakai showed me anything.”

As Cole contemplates your words, he shifts so that his elbow is resting atop his knee. “How is it that your advice is on par with Wu’s?”

You shrug, wiggling your fingers to test out the gauze. It holds well, and while his handiwork is on the messier side, it still gets the job done. “Probably because I’ve lived with a crazy old woman for a while. By the way, nice job on these.”

“Thanks. Hopefully I’ll get better with practice,” he replies, admiring his work for a moment before zipping your bag shut with a sigh. “How about your burns? Don’t those hurt?”

You wave his concerns off. “Eh, I’ve had worse. I’ll get to them later. Thanks for your help, though. It would have been a bitch to try and bandage my hands on my own.”

“Yeah, thanks for teaching me.” Cole leans forward, arranging the sticks into a neater pile. Beside the tent, you spot a pile of hefty rocks, probably to help keep the sticks contained. Without a word, you start lining the rocks up around the pile while Cole works across from you.

“Do you think Zane will come back?” he speaks up suddenly, making you glance up at him.

“I know he will,” you reply. “He might just need some time.”

 “I wish I hadn’t been so hard on him,” Cold admits, shifting his attention to the rocks. “I wasn’t thinking straight, and I should have just walked away to let myself cool off.”

“Well, we’re all bound to have those kinds of moments. The important thing is that we learn from our mistakes. Like Sensei said, we need to take this time to reflect and improve.”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it, and I might see if Jay and Nya can spruce up defenses wherever we end up next,” Cole agrees as the two of you complete the makeshift fire pit. All that’s needed now is a spark.

You nod in agreement, remembering Nya’s blueprints. “Nya was talking about getting earpieces made for you guys too. Hopefully having better communication will make things run more smoothly.”

“Yeah, I saw Jay working on schematics for those the other night,” Cole recalls before frowning. “By the way…I just remembered. You’re staying, right? I know Sensei said your trial period was up, but I never heard an answer from him,” he questions, leaning back on his free hand. It’s all you can do to maintain eye contact and not ogle his arms.

“Oh, yeah, I am,” you reply. “Why?”

He shrugs, averting his gaze to the horizon. “Well, it’s just…you know you’re part of the team now, right? You keep speaking like we’re something…separate, I guess.”

Do you? You hadn’t even noticed. Taking a moment to reflect on his words, you shift your position a little bit. “I…guess I do know, but it’s more of me not wanting to disturb your dynamic. You guys already have your own routine, your own way of life, and I just…I don’t know, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Well…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to feel like an outsider. You’re a part of us now, so…um, I just want to make sure you don’t feel excluded or anything, I guess.”

“Oh, no, I don’t feel excluded. I guess it’ll just take me some time to get adjusted,” you assure, grinning when Rocky bumps Cole’s shoulder.

“Oh, shut up,” Cole grumbles, playfully whacking Rocky’s snout. The dragon growls, laying down next to Cole with a huff. Cole shakes his head at the dragon while you shuffle to the other side of Rocky, petting his head.

“Thank you for your help today, Rocky,” you mumble, giggling when the dragon nuzzles into your hand.

“He helped you?” Cole wonders, returning to a cross-legged position.

“Yeah, he flew me out of the monastery while the other two fought the remaining snakes off,” you answer. “Sweet dragon.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Cole retorts when Rocky flashes a smug expression to the black ninja. “But I’m glad he was of some use. He might have just earned himself another T-O-A-D,” he spells out, making you laugh.

Over the course of the next few minutes, the others start to join the two of you underneath the tent. Flame uses his breath to ignite the pile of sticks before the dragons retreat off to a more open area, all opting to rest. You’re positioned in between Cole and Nya as everyone snacks on the plants and berries you were able to gather.

Defeated chatter emanates from the group, and you find yourself zoning out as exhaustion overcomes you. For a few minutes, you find yourself on the verge of dozing off as the heat of the fire wards off the evening’s incoming chill. You don’t join in on the conversation, instead reflecting on the events of the day as you stare at the fire.

Just as your eyelids are about to drop, a commotion snaps you out of your groggy state. You jerk when you feel the others rushing out from the tent, stumbling to your feet and making your way over to Nya. To your relief, Zane stands in front of the others, Shard nearby. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem upset in spite of the apologies the guys are throwing.

The white ninja offers his signature, soft smile. “You don’t need to apologize to me.”

Kai frowns at the response. “But what about all those awful things we said? Isn't that why you left?”

“Of course not. I saw the falcon again,” answers the white-haired ninja, turning as he gestures to the sky. Sure enough, a falcon soars overhead, chirping along with Zane’s words. “And I followed him.”

Cole chuckles, shaking his head as he claps Zane’s shoulder a few times. “That’s our Zane.”

You can’t help but smile as everyone pulls Zane in for a hug, relaxing when the overwhelming sense of relief in the air floods you.

Nya pulls back first, settling her hands on her hips. “We’re happy to have you back.”

At her remark, Zane frowns as everyone steps back from him. “Why? Is it my turn to make dinner?”

The group laughs at Zane’s question while Sensei Wu steps beside the white ninja. “Yes, Zane. We would love for you to make dinner.”

“But I already made it. Come,” Zane responds, gesturing for you all to follow him as he turns around. “I want to show you what I've found. I think you will all be pleased.”

After you all shoot each other confused glances, you shrug it off and follow the white-haired ninja towards the path leading off the mountain. Just before your group rounds the corner, he pauses, turning back to you all.

“I can't explain it, but I feel a strange connection with the falcon. I think he's trying to help show us the path we need to take.”

Zane doesn’t wait for anyone to reply, instead gesturing for everyone to proceed. Turning the corner reveals…

…a ship?

It’s nothing like any ship you’ve ever seen, though – this one is a deep red, accented with gold in places and complete with a carved dragon on the bow. For a moment, you find yourself stunned at the sight – you take a moment to appreciate the design.

“Our new home,” Zane says, smiling at the team’s reaction.

After you all take a moment to process the sight, Kai immediately breaks out into a sprint, shortly followed by Cole and Jay. Nya full on growls, snatching your wrist and pulling you in the direction of the ship. “Come on, we can’t let those idiots nab the best room!”

A/N: I think my consistency with this fic is due to me getting to the juicy classes of my Creative Writing degree. I had my first writing class last month and I feel like I learned a lot. Got some great feedback. I'm going to try and apply what I learn here to practice!

Would love to hear what you all think of this fic!

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[auraxins]

Dan Heng - Cockwarming

tags: amab!reader, NSFT, minors DNI, cockwarming, praise, teasing, erotic novels

wc: 0.9k

kinktober masterlist

Walking in on your boyfriend reading what is so clearly an erotic novel wasn't particularly the expected outcome for the evening. You'd anticipate finding him with a book in his hands, sure; he did that most nights. But this is truly a sight to behold.

Dan Heng's cheeks are flushed, eyes fixed intently on the words printed in front of him. His grip is tight, vice-like, around the edges of the book, as though anchoring himself to it. The clean lines of his clothing are wrinkled, disheveled, and his hair looks like he has run his hands through it several times.

To say it hadn't immediately enticed you would be a flat-out lie.

“What have you got there?” you ask innocently, padding across the room to the seat he's taken. You go to peer over the pages and he snatches the book away, hastily snapping the cover shut. “Something naughty?”

“It's not what it looks like,” Dan Heng scrambles to explain. He stands abruptly, moving to shove the book back amongst its cohort on the shelves lining his room. “March asked me to read this.”

“You don't have to stop on my account,” you say, reaching around him to pluck the book from his grasp.

Turning it over, you glimpse the title. Love and Other Machinations. You can see why March might have gotten away with convincing him to read this. He's never quite felt himself attuned to the inner workings of romance. (Not that you've ever minded, and not that it's ever stopped him being the sweetest man you've ever been with.)

Dan Heng is almost too easy to coax into compliance at times. Eager to please, and already worked up from the novel, all it takes is one simple suggestion to have him stripping for you with avidity.

“How about you take a seat, and you can keep reading for me?”

You watch the layers of fabric hit the floor with a dull thunk as your hands trace the edges of the seat he'd been using. The soft padding yields to your body as you sit, shifting to pull your cock free. It takes a few careful strokes to bring it to attention, and Dan Heng's eyes follow it like a moth with a flame.

“You really want this, huh?” you tease lightly, noting the pink flush that dances up his thighs and dusts his cheeks.

With his lower half bared, you reach out and slide your fingers along the hem of his shirt to draw him closer. It's all too tempting not to play with the soft curves around his abdomen, encouraging him to sit on your lap.

His nails carve crescents into your shoulders as he sinks onto your cock, warm walls spasming under the stretch. His own leaks beads of pre readily, tip red and throbbing between your stomachs.

"That's my good boy," you praise gently, the pad of your thumb caressing his lips. You part them and let his mouth hang open, watch the saliva pool upon his tongue and his sharp canines glisten in the moonlight.

He releases an unbidden keen and you bite back the urge to sink your fingers into the flesh of his hips and fuck him like your life depends on it.

But you’re shockingly more restrained than your counterpart. Dan Heng has taken to biting his lip to keep himself together as his ass clenches around your cock. His fingers tremble with each turn of the page, and even the most minute of changes in position seem to send a shiver down his spine.

“Keep reading,” you command gently. “I want to hear your pretty voice.”

“They reach down to his– ugh– his member and…”

You cut him off before he can continue. “It doesn’t say that.”

“Please don’t make me,” Dan Heng insists, cheeks flushed and forehead slick with sweat. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I thought you wanted to read to me,” you pout. With one shift of your hips, you’ve pulled out so only the very tip of your cock remains embedded within him. “Or did you want to stop?”

“No!” He panics, the book almost flying from his grasp as he clings to you. “I’ll keep going. Please.”

The warmth of his hole is so inviting as you pull him back onto you, grasping his plush ass tight to anchor yourself. Dan Heng almost collapses against you under the motion, arms falling slack over your shoulders as his head presses against yours. “That’s it,” you coo softly. “Now stay there for me and read.”

“They reach down to his dick and grasp it firmly,” Dan Heng reads aloud, “and he moans.”

You slip a hand between your bodies and take hold of Dan Heng’s cock. Like a prophecy, a breathy groan falls from between his lips. It’s so easy to run your thumb across the slit, to gather up the eagerly flowing pre-cum and smear it along his length.

“Unfair,” Dan Heng protests, but he is already instinctively writhing to increase the friction.

“You’ve been so good for me,” you say, dipping close to press a kiss to his nose. “I’ll put you out of your misery.”

When you finally snap your hips and set a steady pace, both in his ass and with your hand, Dan Heng all but falls apart there and then.

[boyneptunee]

7k, tomarry, so much fluff it'll rot your teeth

(or) Tom gets a new neighbour in the form of one Harry Potter and his dog. (Chaos ensues).

There was a bag on his front door.

Actually, there was a pink bag with white paw prints hanging from his front door handle.

Tom considered the offending object for a long moment, eyes searching up and down the hallway of his apartment building for anything that might be out of place. The same dark blue carpet that definitely needed cleaning, the same cream walls, the same fake plant by the corner that the keeper kept watering despite it clearly being plastic.

He found nothing out of the ordinary.

He sighed, long and tired. He took the offending bag by the handles and opened his door.

His head hurt behind his eyes, low and pulsing. The beginnings of a migraine had been threatening to topple over back and again for at least two hours, and the meeting he'd had to precede over had not made matters any better. There was nothing quite like having to listen to fools argue against each other over the most insignificant things for an entire day.

He was craving for the specific red painkiller that would hopefully make it go away, no matter how many times his doctors had told him the pill was bad for his health. How was he supposed to go about his life with a migraine pulsing behind his eyes and around his brain each day? They hadn't exactly given him any alternatives.

Back at the problem at hand, Tom laid the bag on top of his wooden table. The grain looked possibly offended at the colour that had been placed on top of it.

Inside, he found a handwritten letter and a single picture.

The latter had a delicate penmanship that looped and tilted just this way off center, not enough to look untidy but certainly enough for him to notice. It had not been written in a rush, but rather —and possibly— on a slanted surface.

Hi Neighbour!

My name is Aquila, and I've just arrived at my fur–ever home! I am five years old and still learning I should not bark at every stranger that walks past the door and how to ask to go potty. I am sorry if you hear me crying while my owner is away, know that I'm still getting the hang of being alone at home.

I've left some treats for you in the bag and I hope me being here is not much of an inconvenience.

If you see me on the halls please come say hi! I love meeting new friends.

A pawprint had been stamped on ink at the bottom of the letter, clearly handmade and just before the owner had sat down to write the little note, as the letters stopped just about the tip of one claw mark on the paper.

The picture featured a man with gold wired glasses, hair tied back on top of his head and holding a white haired dog. On the back of the picture, two names had been scribbled in a rushed hand.

Aquila & Harry

Harry, then.

He knew someone had moved to the apartment next door, the only one left in a single corridor that was previously occupied by a couple who'd grated on Tom's nerves more times than he could count. They had a tendency to play loud music just about the time where he got ready to sleep knowing he would have to wake early for work, and the distressing amount of wine bottles by the trash bins every morning made him weary of the means they had to afford to live in the building. If they were drinking themselves to an early grave surely they had no time to work?

But they had gone early that very same year, and so far no one else had signed the lease for the place.

Tom had toyed with the idea of moving, as the apartment next door was slightly bigger, and had better views as it sat on the corner of two streets. Then he thought about having to move his furniture around a second time after almost murdering the moving company he had hired and stopped the train of thought.

(Better let them live another day than having to deal with that again).

Inside the bag he found two bottles of licor, one chocolate and one vanilla flavoured (strangely, his favourite flavours of alcohol) and a single chocolate bar (the dark kind, strong and bitter).

Tom considered the contents for a long moment, before bringing a glass from the cupboard and pouring out the contents to mix himself a drink. The thought of taking the red pill for his headache and being forced to stay awake against his will as the painkillers worked against whatever was wrong on his brain made him want to curl into a ball and weep.

He could not loose another night of sleep. That would make it the third one in a row.

He ate a good bit of the chocolate and set to prepare himself dinner.

A knock stopped him just as he was putting water to boil.

He stood against the stove for a moment, closing his eyes and begging for a moment of solitude had been too much to ask, hadn't it?

The knock came again, three gentle rasps against the door.

The face that greeted him on the other side was non other than Harry, his new neighbour. A white puppy lay at his feet, big eyes gazing up at Tom like he was a new toy come Christmas.

The man held a red casserole at his hands and a pink blush at his cheeks, clearly flustered as he moved from foot to foot.

"Hi."

"Hello." Tom raised a single eyebrow, looking from the man's face to the casserole to his dog. "I got your bag." He settled on, as the man seemed too embarrassed to continue.

"Oh! Um—" Harry moved a bit, almost tripping on Aquila as he tried to shift his weight. "That's good."

"You needed something?"

"Not–not really." Tom took a metaphorical step back, looking at the man from head to toe. He looked just as he had in the picture, the same mess of curls tied loosely on top of his head, the same maroon sweater with golden stars on it. The same grin. "I made too much food?"

"Is that a question?" A slow smirk crawled up his face, unbidden.

Harry continued on babbling.

"I was wondering if you would like to have some? It's just–I heard you come in, and my fridge hasn't arrived yet so I can't really save any of it for later, and I didn't want to throw it out–not that it's bad! It's good I swear I cook for a living and–"

"Okay."

"–and I had already, huh?" Harry looked startled at him, clearly not expecting the answer. "Okay?"

"Yes. Come in, I'll put it on a plate and you can take your pot back." He waved a hand towards the inside of his dark apartment, he had only turned on a few lamps here and there, their orange glow gentle and dim, as his migraines more often than not made him sensitive to bright lights.

"Oh! Yes, thank you–" He moved to step inside and then stopped on his tracks, eyes settling somewhere near his feet. He looked back up at Tom, a question on the tip of his tongue.

"She can come in too, don't worry." The smile sent his way in response was possibly blinding.

The white dog –against all his judgment– entered his apartment slowly, almost sedately and looked and sniffed around from her place stuck to Harry's side. It was atypical behavior, to say the least. She was tall, and she reached Harry's hip easily at the shoulder. Her pointy ears were pinned back.

Harry must have sensed his hesitation as he guided them to the kitchen. He spoke unprompted as he guided them into the kitchen.

"She was rescued a month ago, from a breeding kennel." He sat the casserole on the counter and opened the lid to reveal a thick red sauce sitting on top of pasta, vegetables and meat alike scattered in between. It smelled heavenly, and it made his mouth water. When was the last time he'd had time to cook himself a proper meal? "She doesn't know how to behave like a dog, really. For the first few weeks she didn't know how to walk property either." A sad smile stretched on his face and his hand unconsciously reached for the dog's head. She leaned heavily on his leg and allowed herself to be pet, loving eyes looking up at Harry. "She's having a hard time with separation anxiety." Big green eyes locked on him, begging him to understand.

Tom suspected the food was a bribe, rather than a mishap, to grease him up.

"It's okay." He found himself saying, against his better judgement. The dog looked up as he spoke, assessing him with two different colored irises for a long moment. He stood close together to Harry, and as such she had no trouble leaning over and resting her weight against his own leg.

Harry startled back from where he stood, eyes wide.

Tom looked up at him, a little apprehensive at being used as a resting pole by a rather worryingly big dog.

"Oh." A laugh tore itself from his lungs and he leaned on the counter for support. "Your face! I should have taken a picture." Harry bit his lip as he leaned over to scratch Aquila behind her ear. "You are so good, sweetie." His gaze rose and met Tom's, almost conspiratorially. "She hates men." He declared, a hand on his hip.

"She clearly does not hate you." He pointed out.

"I know! But it took me days to earn her trust, I had to sit with her for hours and hours on end and I even read the entirely of the Hobbit—and you just–stood there." An amused smile settled on his face as he regained his composure.

"I am more of a cat person." He said, just to be contrite.

"Ah. That just about explains it. She has gone and fallen in love with what she cannot have. Typical." Tom rolled his eyes. Harry looked back at the food and gave Tom a suspicious look over. The facade of good Samaritan with clear intentions fell a little flat. "I hope you are not a vegetarian. I put way too much effort into this."

"Your bribe will not go unnoticed, I assure you. Now move over, I have plates right over your head." Tom moved his leg, prompting Aquila to let go and reached from around Harry to pull two plates and two glasses onto the counter, before reaching for the utensils he rarely had the energy to put to use and scooped out a good amount of the still hot pasta into the plates. "Sit on the table would you? I fear the two of you breathing down my neck will not bring dinner faster to your mouths." Harry stood still for a long moment by his side, and when Tom looked over he spied his jaw slack and mouth open.

"How did you know?"

"How did I know you had in fact meant this as an inducement or the fact you haven't eaten?"

A stretch of silence caught between them, as Harry processed the words.

"Huh, both."

"You were too nervous for someone who was just dropping off leftovers, for one. You stomach is making odd sounds, for another." At that, Harry turned impossibly pink. He hurried down the hallway towards the living room. Aquila stood by his feet for a long second before huffing and turning tail to follow her owner.

What strange new neighbours he had somehow acquired.

Harry was a lovely creature of habit, he had come to find.

Too trusting, too kind, too nervous around new people.

He seemed unused to luxuries and complained about the high prices of produce around their neighbourhood more often than not as they sat down to eat each night. (Because dinners where now mandatory, between Aquila wanting to spend time with Tom, escaping at every opportunity a door was open, and Harry still yet to have his fridge delivered, they had come to an agreement to sit down and cook each night just after Tom got home for work).

Harry, who worked at a restaurant where he was definitely overworked to the bone and didn't pay him nearly enough for him to be able to afford to live in their complex.

Harry, who wore baggy clothes three sizes too big in a style that was so clearly not his own and who flinched at loud noises, even Aquila's barks.

Harry, who smiled so softly and blushed so prettily.

Four months of their company and Tom had grown accustomed to the three rasps at his door after he arrived home.

He had grown to know the timber of Harry's sweet voice, the citrus smell of his perfume and the weight of his body as he leaned against Tom for support, whether it be after a long day of suffering through work or to hide his face in the crook of his neck during a scary film.

He had grown accustomed to Harry in ways he hadn't thought possible.

~

The migraine already pulsing behind his eyes at the early hours of the morning set the tone for the rest of the day.

He was not above murder as he stepped foot at work.

He wore a rage path all day through the building, and his underlyings made sure to steer clear of him all day, giving his office a wide berth.

Coming home should have been a blessing.

Except.

Except he had already taken his pills for the pain, sat down on his couch and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

But Harry did not come.

He tried to recall the conversation from the night before, to see if there was any indicator Harry would be late, or that he would not show up at all.

He made his way to the door with long strides, decided to check if Harry was home at all.

The light coming from beneath the door was not a good indicator, as he knew Harry left multiple lamps on through the living room for Aquila (even if she didn't need it) along with several toys scattered throughout and the door to her cage door wide open.

She would come to the door if Tom knocked, he knew.

So he did.

The tippy taps of her nails against the wood alerted him of her presence. She sniffed long and hard in the space between the door and the floor, before yipping delightedly (and wasn't that wonderful? she had stopped barking first and sniffing second, and it had only taken her some four months).

But there was not a second set of steps approaching the door behind her, and Aquila remained sniffing and yipping on her own.

Tom knocked again, harder this time. He could hear the dog turning and thumping against the wood.

She did not sound distressed, or angry.

Harry was not home.

Tom sighed. He supposed he could get started on dinner on his own.

He had set the plates on the table, food still hot and covered over the oven and a glass of wine dangling from his hand.

Two hours.

He had waited two hours.

He cursed himself back to Sunday for not asking Harry for his number in all the months they had known each other and where Harry and Aquila had all but moved in.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he knew little to nothing about Harry at all.

Sure, he knew he worked in a kitchen where he was regularly verbally assaulted, from the few times he had been able to pry said information out of Harry, and that he was paid an average wage and nothing more.

He loved Aquila more than anything in the world, and Tom had come to find he did too.

But he never mentioned partners, or friends, and much less family.

His world seemed to revolve around Aquila, Tom and the restaurant.

He went out often with Aquila on long walks everyday at least twice and even took hikes around the surrounding mountains every weekend. He pampered her with toys and soft blankies and heating pads for her bed. He felt bad about leaving her in her cage everytime he left come, and as such had decorated the cage with cloths and toys and filled it to the brim with love. The rest of his apartment was suspiciously and pointedly empty.

He spent his nights more often than not in Tom's apartment, cooking or watchig Tom cook. Four months they had known each other, and not once had they missed a meal.

And at last, he worked the day shift at a restaurant downtown, far from their apartment building but not so far he had to take the public transport. He walked there everyday as soon as the sun rose and got home just after lunch rush was over. From what Tom knew and from what little he had seen of his almost empty apartment, he was taking a few classes at the local college but could not afford to take the full blunt of a year's course due to work.

So, he was a student, he worked during the day and he came to Tom at night with his little angelic companion. Nothing about his daily routine explained why he lived in the apartment next to Tom, or why he was missing right at that moment.

Another hour crawled by before he finally (fucking finally) heard the lock on the door to his left turn and open. He could hear Aquila's excited yips and turns as she greeted her owner.

Tom was by his own door and out of the apartment before he could blink. He caught up to Harry just as he was about to close his door.

When he caught a look at his face, he foced his way between the door and Harry, crowding into his space. He had the beggings of a large bruise on his cheek, and his lip had been split open and oozed blood in between breaths, dripping down his chin and neck where it had been carelessly and roughly cleaned.

He didn't look Tom in the eye as he took a step back. Aquila seemed to sense something as off, and stood between their bodies with her hackles raised.

"Harry?" He received no response, and the man only looked towards the floor and away, arms clutching at his side. Actually, he was standing a bit funny, leaning more on one side to the other. Tom narrowed his eyes. "Come on darling, I have dinner ready for you."

"I'm not hungry." Harry muttered back, turning away from him.

Something hot and angry licked at his insides, begging to be let out and to swallow whoever had decided hurting Harry had been a good idea.

He took a deep breath and let it go.

"Dinner, Harry." He insisted, his tone booking no argument. "And possibly painkillers, after. Lord knows you have no medicine in that decrepit bathroom you call your own." He approached him, mindful of Aquila who, as much as she seemed to love Tom, was loyal to Harry to a fault.

He leaned into his space, breathing the same air. If Harry minded Tom so insistent in his space he didn't protest. He leaned his forehead against the side of Harry's curls and took him in his arms gently and steered him out the door.

Aquila followed silently.

Dinner was awkward.

Harry barely touched his food and Tom was too concentrated on his face to finish his.

He did not ask questions he knew he would not receive an answer to. Instead, he let Harry stew in his silence, absentmindedly petting Aquila beneath the table.

Finally, when it was clear neither of them would eat a single bite more, he rose from his chair and set about finding his first aid kit.

When he got back, Harry was still sat by the table, long fingered hand moving the silver fork from one side of the plate to the other, green eyes looking at a point somewhere beyond the living room.

The anger simmered inside of him like a dragon.

He set the kit on the wooden surface a little too harshly, making Harry slam back to himself and startle where he sat. Aquila raised her head, curious at the noise.

Tom took their plates away to be washed later, and when he came back he found Harry sitting sideways on his chair and looking from the aid kit to the front door.

Hah. As if.

"Up." Tom instructed with a wave of his hand. Harry looked up at him, startled. "Get up Harry Potter, or so help me I will drag you up."

Harry's bottom lip stuck out, a knee jerk reaction each time Tom added his last name in conversation, like a reprimand.

He stood up on wobbly legs and tilted his head at Tom, waiting.

He was terribly obedient when he was upset.

He sighed.

He grabbed Harry carefully by one thin wrist and moved him around to the head of the table. He crowded into his space once more and lifted Harry onto the surface by his hips, prompting him to sit by the red kit he had left at the corner.

He tilted Harry's head back by his chin to get a better look at the shiner on his face. Harry stiffened beneath his hands but did not complain or pull away.

He set about cleaning the wound on his lip and looking for an ice pack for what was sure to be a big bruise on the side of his face.

After, he set a single pain killer cut into two by his side and a tall glass of water, knowing from experience Harry could not take his pills dry.

He settled himself in the space between his legs and leaned his hands on the wooden surface by his hips, a stubborn tilt to his eyebrows on place.

Harry would not escape without giving out some answers.

"Who did this to you?" He would not walk around useless questions. Straight to the point and after, straight to bed.

"No one." Harry mulled for a long second. "I fell on the restaurant st–"

"Don't bullshit me. You know better than to lie to my face." Harry snapped his mouth shut with a click. The green of his eyes seemed terribly dull. "Harry," he started, after taking a deep breath and letting it go to calm the rage begging to spill over "no one will harm you here. No one will touch a single hair on your head while you are with me, do you hear? Not a single person. Let my grave be spat on and my body turn to ash before I let anyone treat you with anything less than respect." He touched Harry's cheek, mindful of his sensitive skin as he settled a hand on the back of his curly head. "You need not lie to me, darling. Whatever it is you are hoping to hide, whoever it is that has hurt you has no power here."

Harry's lip wobbled and trembled.

Aquila whined at their feet.

Harry gasped a breath in too fast, hands reaching for the edge of the table as he leaned forward. Tom rubbed his neck with careful fingers. When he lifted his head again, tears where making their way down his face.

"It's a long story." He tried, at first. Tom leaned on his space and hummed, encouraging. "My uh, my uncle. He showed up at the restaurant today. I guess he wanted to see if his nephew was as much as a failure as he had expected." A bitter smile grazed his lips, and one of his hands lifted to hold onto Tom's wrist. He leaned a bit into his touch. "I thought him asking to meet the chef would just a brief talk down on how awful my cooking was–and that would be it. But it wasn't." He paused, closing his eyes and hiding his face against Tom's arm. "He was waiting for me by the back door when I finished my shift. He—" A hiccup left his lips, and it was enough for Tom.

He embraced Harry, holding him close and letting him sob on his shoulder. Aquila bumped her cold nose against his leg and when he looked down he found two judgmental eyes looking up at him.

A shudder went through Harry and the hiccups increased. Tom leaned a head on top of his curls and dragged a heavy hand up and down his back.

He sighed, taking a moment to give Harry a candy that had been shoved somewhere deep in his emergency kit.

"Eat." He mumbled in the space between them, having leaned back to look at him. Harry took the sweet into his mouth with no complains, tears still streaming down his face. "That's it, good boy."

He let Harry borrow himself again onto his neck, and set himself to wait out the storm.

Long minutes passed.

His weight grew more and more as Harry leaned most of his body on Tom.

He let Harry slump completely against him, tired and sleepy and hurt all in one, before he took the executive decision to move him to a more comfortable location.

He grabbed Harry by the back of his thighs, shushing him as he protested between weak sobs, and walked them to his bedroom.

He put Harry down carefully, and he was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. A few stubborn tears made their way down his face, but his breathing evened out and his body slumped in exhaustion.

He let Aquila settle at the foot of the bed, curling in tight circles and keeping watch towards the door.

The candy laced with sedatives certainly worked magic.

Then he was out the door with his hand on his phone.

Finding out exactly who Vernon Dursley was and how he was related to one Harry Potter was easy.

All he had to do was wake Abraxas and prompt him to look into Harry's files. He had been listed in the past as his next of kin–he was the husband of his only known living relative, Petunia Dursley nee Evans. His mother's sister.

Then Abraxas found his private records, and it went downhill from there.

Harry Potter, by all accounts and purposes seemed to be a troubled teen. Skipping classes, trouble concentrating, showing up with bruises and scrapes all over his body. A delinquent if anyone cared to ask.

He seemed to live in the background of everyone's mind's for eighteen years.

Then a god father seemingly popped out of the woods, rich beyond measure. And this man. This man Tom knew by name, if not by face.

Sirius Black. He had been wrongfully convicted of murder and promptly let loose once the court had been aware of his case. He was deemed unstable and too erratic to care for a child, and thus Harry had been left at the mercy of his aunt and uncle until he turned eighteen.

That's where his records all but stopped.

There was, however, a single property on his name: it listed the apartment right next to Tom's as his.

The camaras they found pointing at the alley at the back of a decrepit looking restaurant were more than enough to put a bounty on the man.

Tom made sure all traces of it were gone.

Tom would have to get the real story out of Harry sometime.

Someother time, that is.

For now, he had what he needed.

He gave Abraxas the green light.

Come morning, Vernon Dursley would be nothing but a bad memory on a child's nightmares.

He went back to Harry and settled himself on the uncomfortable armchair he had been meaning to throw out but kept forgetting to. Laying next to Harry as he was felt wrong, even by his standards, and leaving him alone (even if Aquila snoozed by his feet) felt even worse.

So he laid his feet in the bed by Aquila's tail and rested back against the armchair.

He fell asleep with the sound of two synchronized breaths.

Harry, strangely enough, woke first.

He was groggy and disoriented, and only Aquila's familiar weight by his feet let him relax enough to curl into his side. His legs bumped into something as he tried to bring them closer to his chest, and his breathing hitched on his throat.

He lowered the heavy blanket covering his eyes and took a peak at the morning scene in front of him.

Tom Riddle sat in a position that could not be comfortable to sleep on, in a green antique armchair right by Harry. His long legs were stretched out and his feet rested up on the bed, and Aquila had taken the opportunity to lay her own head against the man's shins.

His curls fell over his eyes in a display Harry had never seen in the time he had known him. He always seemed so poised. So put together.

His breathing was deep and even, and both of his big pale hands rested on his stomach.

Harry considered him from his place on the bed.

So long in fact, that when he stopped counting the curls on the man's head and lowered his gaze to his face, he found himself trapped by two intense blue eyes.

From the first moment Harry had settled eyes on his neighbour, he knew he would be trouble. After all, there was no way this handsome, rich man spent all his evenings alone entertaining a broke college student and his emotional support dog.

And yet.

And yet, there he was.

He was more patient than his demeanor would betray, and he always treated Harry and Aquila gently, with care. He let his space be invaded again and again each night, he let Harry make a home in his kitchen and a mess of his furniture, between his clumsiness and Aquila's white hairs just about on every surface of the place.

He was such an intense person, dry and a little abrasive at times, but he always smiled at Harry like there was a secret in the space between them, just theirs.

There was a reason Aquila had taken an instant like to him.

(Harry had too, even if his intentions at first had been to bribe the man into compliance, to not tell on Harry for having a troublesome dog).

(Harry shouldn't have worried in the first place. About Tom. Or Aquila).

"How are you feeling, darling?" His voice was raspy, and he winced as he moved his neck from side to side. Clearly he had slept on an uncomfortable position. "Harry?"

"Hmm? Better?"

"Is that a question?" Tom leaned forward into Harry's space, caressing a warm hand through his loose curls.

"Better." Harry mumbled back, eyes closing and snuggling deeper into the mattress.

Tom hummed back, pleased.

"I'll make breakfast, yeah?" The hand settled at the back of his curls and helf firm. "Sleep some more, Harry."

Harry could do nothing but agree.

He liked Tom's apartment.

He liked it more than his own, at least.

Sirius had given him a whole place for him and him alone (and no furniture).

Harry had been too embarrassed to point it out.

So he had started small.

A mattress, a chair and a table. Utensils.

Then Aquila had come along, and he had not been able to help himself.

He had bought countless things: her cage, blankets, dog beds and cushions alike, toys and treats and clothes and so many collars to stack on one another that made her look like an old lady holding her pearls–

And then, Tom Riddle had come along. And Harry had little need to be in his empty apartment, other than spend the few hours between the time he got back from work, and when Tom arrived back at his place.

So. He liked Tom's apartment.

This, however, had been the first time he had stepped foot into his bedroom.

He knew, logically, that their apartment plans were the same. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, huge living room. A separate kitchen and a big balcony. All of it overseeing the city at their feet. And yet.

And yet, sleeping in Tom's bed, in Tom's room felt alien. New.

He looked at the apartment with new eyes now.

It somehow looked cozier.

He found traces of himself and Aquila all over. From dog toys to blankets thrown over the living room couch, to the dog bed in the corner, to colourful cushions Harry had brought from his own apartment that did not match Tom's own monochrome greys and blacks. Even the carpet on the living room had been his choice, after he had complained one too many times about the cold wood beneath his feet as they sat brushing Aquila and making a mountain of white fur by her side. Tom had snapped back that he would get a cushioned carpet just so Harry would shut up.

And he did.

In the kitchen there were even more traces of himself, things he had forgotten be had brought over from his apartment so long ago. From utensils and pans he had picked out from a magazine one day as they sat around, to silly mugs on Tom's cupboards that would not be mistaken for his.

Had they... had they been living together like this for so long? Harry had not even noticed when Tom's home became his own.

He wondered how long it could last.

Tom was standing by the stove, and by the ever growing pile right by his hip he was making pancakes.

There was an easy lean to his body, shoulders relaxed forward and he was leaning most of his weight on one leg. His hands moved in sure circles, mixing the batter and dropping it on the hot pan. His curls remained untidy, brushed back by a careless hand and in disarray.

Aquila bumped into his side and whined long and low.

Tom turned at the sound, looking over one shoulder, flat spatula on one hand. His blue eyes scanned Harry from the tip of his hair to his littlest toes. Only when he appeared sure that he was not further injured in the minutes that he was not within his sight does he turned back to the stove, turning off the heat and leaving the utensils by the plate filled with food.

He turned to Harry.

"How are you feeling, darling?"

There was a knot of worry ever growing down his throat. A worry that had not gone away since he was little and could not comprehend why no one would love him as he loved them.

"Better." Was all he could utter, leaning his body on the archway to the kitchen. Tom made a humming sound, approaching with long strides.

He took Harry's chin in his hands and tilted his head up against the light. By the wince on his face, he could tell without having the need to feel around his skin that the bruise had gotten darker.

"We should ice this." His fingers moved around the shape of the bruise, careful not to press too hard onto the skin. "How did you sleep?"

"Like the dead." Tom hummed.

"I figured. Why don't you sit down, darling? Let me finish here and we'll eat."

Tom glanced at the timer on the oven and set about finishing their meal.

Harry had a brief moment of panic where he realized he should be at work. His throat closed and he must have made some type of noise, as Tom returned to his side.

"What? What is it?" His hands settled on his body, gentle and searching for any hurt he couldn't see.

"I—work."

"Fuck work, Harry. You're hurt and you should rest."

"I can't miss a day, they'll cut my check and I can't—"

"Don't worry about it." His voice was firm an self assured.

"Tom! I can't afford—" Hands settled on his shoulders and brought his head back up. Two intense blue eyes looked down at him.

"Don't. Worry. About it." It was all but a promise, as he willed Harry to walk down the short hallway towards the living room. His hands guided Harry to a chair and he sat down heavily. "Whatever you need I can more than make up for, Harry."

"And if they fire me?"

"Then you'll be better for it." His hand grabbed his cheeks with one hand and squished. "I mean it, darling. Whatever you need I can get you." He held Harry still as he let him process the words. Finally, Harry nodded.

Had he promised to take care of him and Aquila?

Surely Tom didn't mean he would—be Harry's sugar, did he?

The thought alone made his cheeks warm.

Aquila bumped her cold nose against his side and he squeaked.

Alright then.

After breakfast, Tom insisted of driving him to a private clinic to get checked out, and no matter how much Harry protested and grumbled and actually held onto his front door with both hands for dear life, he would not take 'no' for an answer.

As it was, he found he had two cracked ribs and the split lip had possibly, definitely, certainly needed sutures. (Oh, well. Too late for that).

Tom sat by his side like a particularly dark cloud of anger and resentment, looking down at the poor doctor that addressed him with way too many honorifics to be normal. He also cradled Harry gently and helped him up the examination table.

By the time they got back home, Harry was about ready to starfish on Tom's bed and hope for the best next time he woke. Hopefully in a week's time.

The doctor had given him a list of things he couldn't do, such as: no sudden movements, no heavy height lifting, and definitely no carrying Aquila up.

Tom sat him down on the couch of his living room and went about collecting his medication. As such, he probably didn't notice the fact that the news channel had been left on the TV.

Harry watched with a growing pit in his stomach as the news played out.

Vernon Dursley had been found late that night (early in the morning) by a dried up river bed in the woods. His body had been mauled by a wild creature, the reporter sad. A tragedy, for his family and friends.

No one, it seemed, dared to point out why the ageing man had been alone at night in such a place.

The news reporter only spoke of a kind man who left behind a frail wife and a single son. No mention of Harry.

He was not breathing.

Tom Riddle came back in the room at that moment, tall glass of water on one hand a handful of small boxes on the other.

His steps halted as he took one look at the TV, eyes dispassionate and cold, the kind of look that made children run the other way and people cross the street, before they settled on Harry, and his eyes were warm and kind again.

Harry gulped in a handful of air and struggled to regain his composure.

There was a battle of emotions inside of him.

No one had ever stood up for him, ever. No one had ever looked at Harry with anything more than contempt on their eyes (except maybe Sirius, and he only ever looked sad when he wasn't wasted).

No one would ever kill for Harry, surely.

And yet he knew, deep down, Tom Riddle had everything to do with the mauling of an old man who was getting on his years right after assaulting his nephew.

There was guilt, and mortification. There was also a curl of satisfaction so strong it made Harry question his sanity.

Tom scanned his face, possibly gauging his reaction. A tiny satisfied smirk stole away at his lips, and it was about all the confirmation Harry needed.

Aquila pawed at her dish by their side, and the moment was broken.

Tom let out a long breath, like he'd been holding it in the whole time he looked at Harry, before settling the meds by the small coffee table and urging Harry to take them.

He pet Aquila softly on her head and tugged lightly and playfully on one of her ears. He promised dinner for her and dissapeared again towards the kitchen.

Aquila looked back at Harry, a goofy look to her as her tongue lolled out and she yipped. She looked content, full and a little mischievous.

He was being silly, he decided.

Tom Riddle knew the exact moment Harry caught on. He was terribly quick, the little snake.

He had watched from the corner of the hallway as Harry was stuck dumb by the news on the TV. How the thought process went about and around his head before settling in the cold facts. Tom had leaned his head on the wall, a smile he couldn't fight off right on his face.

Harry was his. Aquila too. And nothing would ever hurt them again.

Days turned into weeks, and Harry never really left.

His apartment was left empty and unused, and one fine friday afternoon while they watched movies snuggled on the couch Tom asked Harry why he hadn't rented it out in the first place, since the monthly payment would have been more than enough to get him a small apartment somewhere in the heart of the city and even leave some money to spare for him to spend on the daily.

Harry—well. He had never thought about it, and he was a little too embarrassed to admit it.

It had all happened terribly fast, after all. Sirius suddenly in his life, the new apartment, Aquila, and Tom.

Then Tom asked him if he would like to rent it out now. The matters of where Harry would stay rather obvious.

"Are you asking me to move in with you?" He couldn't help but ask, the need for confirmation strong in his gut.

"Aren't you already?" Tom answered back, a smirk playing at his lips as he tilted his head in Harry's direction.

"I wouldn't be able to pay my half of the rent and—"

"Harry." He interrupted. The look on his face was terribly indulgent, amused. "You don't need to go back to work. I make more than enough."

"Are you serious?"

"More than. You can be my trophy wife." He said, teasing just a bit if the raised eyebrows and amused eyes had anything to do with it. A slow smile crept up his face, and he leaned his body on Harry where they sat side ny side on the couch. Harry squeaked as he tried to fight him off. "You can prepare dinner for me every day and we can take Aquila on her night walks together—"

"We already do that, Tom!" He laughed as nimble fingers tickled his sides.

"—And we can go grocery shopping together like one of those disgusting couples that don't move past the produce section—" He continued on, like he didn't have Harry down at the mercy of his hands.

"We do that too!" He laughed uncontrollably, his ribs protesting the movement.

"—you already sleep in my bed, you eat my food in my living room in my apartment, you even water my plants—"

"Okay! Okay, point taken." Harry laid on his back, face caged in by two strong arms. Tom gazed down at him gently.

"Good."

The kiss planted on his forehead preceded the one left on his lips.

Tom was warm and heavy, a grounding weight that melted his anxiety away and left him gasping for air as teeth grazed the wound on his bottom lip and bit down. Pain surely shouldn't feel that good.

Tom leaned more of his weight down and one of his hands sneaked around his hips, making him arch up and away from the touch and into Tom's body.

Tom took small bites of his cheek, his jaw before descending like a vengeful god onto his neck. He bit down with intent, and no matter how much Harry protested and tried to pry him away from his skin he didn't let up until he was satisfied.

He feared he may have woken a monster.

The lips that returned to his mouth turned more gentle, languid and warm. Tom slid his tongue against Harry's and he could do nothing but hum at the feeling of the both of them, together and moving as one.

Harry had never felt so free.

~

There was a bag in the door to his new apartment.

The bag was pink, and it had pawprints on it.

Inside, there was a letter and a single picture of a couple and their white haired dog.

(OR) pruning shears on AO3, 7K, one shot

[breezybangtanbebe]

Mine: JJK💋

A/N: an oldie from my WP Oneshot series🥰 might be slightly unedited because I pulled it from the archives. Forgive the typos por favor..

Tags: JungkookxReader,established relationship, possessive boyfriend Kookie 😋, Halloween party themed, public sex, teasing, edging, raw sex, creampie 😌✨

4.3k words

"Hold up.....that's what you're wearing?"

Jungkook stops midstride as he stepped away from the steamy bathroom, the small towel shifting quickly underneath his hands as he dried his damp hair. Water still dripped down his bare chest and torso, collecting in the dips of his abs and naval. His bath towel that was barely clinging to his waist shifts as his dick stiffens at the sight of your exposed skin.

You were standing in front of the wall-sized mirror beside your vanity, touching up your make up and fluffing your hair, which laid in full wavy coifs all around your head and down your back. You didn't glance over at Jungkook at the sound of his question, but a part of you knew exactly what was going on in his mind.

The two of you were attending Jimin's yearly Halloween party at his family's lake house just outside of the city. Since freshman year of college, this party was a regular thing, gaining more and popularity as time went on.

Costumes were optional, ranging from minuscule to extravagant. And the two of you tended to ride that middle line when it came to what you wore to these functions.

Well, more so you.

Jungkook could wear a brown paper bag as a costume and still turn heads. Something that before dating him was much less annoying. You stifled your distaste for what Jungkook had set out for tonight. Mainly because it was hot as fuck.

Your boyfriend's normal aesthetic consisted of dark colors, loose-fitting, and a bit emo. But tonight he was going for a bolder look.

Blood red pants that hugged his buff thighs, a matching loose blazer lined with patterned silk and print button-up that you knew would NOT be buttoned up.

He'd always had an amazing physique and filled out whatever he wore. Something you had a love/hate relationship with since making things official. And by no means were you unnattractive. You just preferred to play it cool with how you dressed as to not attract unwanted attention.

But this year, you figured it was time for you to switch it up as well.

"Hmm?" you murmur in response to the question, leaning closer to your reflection to check your lashes. You then planted a gentle hand on the mirror for support, extending your back and deepening your arch to give Jungkook and eyeful of your plump curvy backside from where he was still standing off to the side. He gawks at your voluptuousness for a few seconds before blinking away his thoughts and snapping out of it.

"Don't 'hmmm' me. Turn around." Jungkook steps up behind you, pulling you by your elbow so that you faced him. You huffed stubbornly as you turned on your heels and looked up at him with a full-on pout.

"Whaaaat Kook..." you whine, but your boyfriend isn't phased. He only examines your outfit, glancing over your shoulder at the mirror to see the way your dress stopped just below the curve of your ass cheeks. You unconsciously reached back tug at the hem to pull it only a fraction lower. Jungkook smirks but the expression doesn't meet his eyes when returns his gaze to you.

"I thought you said you were dressing up as a witch..." he quirks a brow at you.

You looked down at your outfit as if you hadn't picked it out yourself and frown innocently.

A witch, indeed you were.

Your skin-tight black dress clung to your body perfectly, accentuating every dip and curve on your somewhat petite body. The sleeves were long, wide at the opening, and hanging down from your wrists at a point. Seeming ordinary from behind, disregarding how short it was, the front of the dress was the real focal point.

A deep plunging neckline, stopping just above your navel, exposed the smooth skin of your cleavage and sternum. Thin black strings were woven through tiny holes lining the v-neck, creating diamonds up to your bust.

"I am. See?" You point to the witch hat a black pair of tall thigh-high heeled boots laying on the floor near the door and Jungkook follows your finger with his eyes. His jaw drops are the shiny leather and he does his best not to drool at the visual of you in them.

"Well...Don't you think this ...costume...is a bit much? I mean...My friends are gonna be there and..." he stammers, pausing as he returned his gaze to you.

"Aaaand..so are mine. What's your point?" you tilt your head and bat your lashes, making Jungkook clear his throat. He takes a look at the back of your body again in the mirror then stared down at the woven laces cutting down your front and between your breasts and drags his teeth over the pink flesh of his inner bottom lip.

You smirked.

"My point is...don't you have a dress that's longer than that? One that covers your ass and tits a bit more?"

You don't even attempt to stifle your scoff at his words, taking a tiny step back to look Jungkook up and down. Which might have been a mistake considering he was still naked and incredibly tempting.

But you held your scowl as you continued.

"Did I say anything about your costume last year? Or now? What the hell are you supposed to be anyway?" you fold your arms over your chest.

Jungkook narrows his brow and shrugs before pointing to the bed, where his outfit was draped over the comforter.

"I'm a vampire...see?" pointing with emphasis at the set of fake fangs placed next to the collar of his blazer. Your eyes follow his hand and you roll your eyes at the tiny white fangs.

"And last year was different. Last year, you weren't mine..." Jungkook pulls your gaze from the bed with his tone as he continues with a pout.

"Are you saying you don't like it what I'm wearing?" you say and Jungkook snorts, reaching up to rub at his nape with a conflicted expression.

"Babe.....is that a serious question? It doesn't matter if I like it or not. I don't know...I just don't want you to be uncomfortable...."  he drops his hand and steps up to close the gap between you, glancing over your shoulder again to stare at your ass.

When you notice the crease of uncertainty in his expression, you let out a sigh.

"Well.....would you be uncomfortable if I wore this?" you gazed up at him. Feeling your eyes, Jungkook tears his away from your reflection.

"Huh? What?...no...Im just saying.." he stammers, his eyes still flitting back to the mirror at your outfit and you can't help but be amused by his distracted features.

You knew you were playing with fire. But tonight was supposed to be fun. So after allowing him to oggle you for a few more seconds, you turn around to face the mirror with a smirk. Jungkook watched you fluff your hair, smudge your dark lips together, and cup at your cleavage to make sure everything was as it should be. Then you locked eyes with his and shrugged.

"Then I'm wearing it. Hurry up and get dressed. We're already late...."

As you turned to walk away from the mirror, you yelp in surprise when you feel Jungkook yanking your arm back, turning you and pressing you against the glass forcefully.

"Jungkook what are you...ah.." your voice trails off into a moan when you feel the front of your dress being lifted. Jungkook nudges at your foot with his, making you spread your legs and grant him access to the apex of your thighs.

Your breathing hitched when you felt his fingers grazing the thin fabric of your panties, the tip of his middle finger drawing a line over the slit of your lips teasingly.

"You don't think...I'm insecure? Do you?" his voice drops an octave, almost to a rasp, and your bottom lip trembles as you struggled to find your words.

"Hmm?" Jungkook questions as he lifted his hand to let it slip under the elastic and down beneath the lace. When his hand makes contact with your sex you gape at the feeling.

"N..No..." you stammer as Jungkook rubs your pussy gently, not trying to focus his touch on any particular area just yet.

"Good...because I'm not...because I already know this..." he pauses as he presses his middle finger down over your clit, creating that pressure and friction your boxy craved.

"...is all mine. You know that right?" Jungkook says slowly, matching the pace of how he rubbed your swollen bud with intent.

You braced your hands at his strong shoulders, moaning softly in response, encouraging Jungkook to up his efforts.

"Mine?" he repeats, leaning closer to kiss your lips tenderly. He pulls back to catch your reaction to his touch, dipping his fingers through your slit to lubricate his actions over your clit over and over until your mouth gapes.

You knew he was waiting for you to respond...

But who could talk with a hand stuffed into their panties like that?

His finger repeated the teasing action on your clit and whimper softly, making Jungkook smile.

"Wear whatever you want baby...Just remember who you belong to,"  he says softly, leaning in briefly to press his lips to your forehead. As he did, you were barely aware of his fingers abandoning your clit until you felt them gliding past your entrance, plunging deep inside of you.

You gasp at the sudden intrusion, letting your head tilt back to hit the glass as Jungkook trailed feather-light kisses down the side of your face and neck, his fingers curling inside of you as he rubbed at the rigid wet flesh.

"This is mine?" he murmurs against your throat, parting his lips to draw his tongue over your pulse, already getting in character for tonight it seems. His teeth graze your skin and your knees start to weaken at the pace of his fingers.

"Mmhmm" you hum in response, pressing your lips together to keep from crying out. Your breathing quickened and your eyes began to roll as you felt your fuse beginning to burn out. The familiar heat building deep inside of you, the tingle of sensation signaling the nearing of your release.

Jungkook chuckles softly as he bit down on your neck and sucked it gently as his fingers began to move faster against your spot until he could feel your walls clenching hard around him, almost pushing him out as you came on his hand.

"That's my girl..." he hissed as you cried out, shaking and digging your nails into his shoulders as his fingers slowed inside of you.

Jungkook slowly pulls his hand away and lifts his head to catch your blissful expression.

Red cheeks and glossy eyes.

Smeared black lipstick beyond the line of your mouth from biting your lips.

You were so perfect to him despite all of it.

He glares down at you with fondness and adoration, his freshly scrubbed skin glowing a smooth tan underneath the lights of your bedroom, and the ever intoxicating scent of his body wash and shampoo fills your senses. You resist the urge to bite your lip as your eyes skimmed over the smooth marbled flesh of his chest, only inches away from your face.

"You're....an..asshole..." you murmur as you panted. Jungkook grins wickedly as he stepped away, brushing his wet hand over the towel at his hips. He bites his lip as he looked down at your trembling knees and dark panties, which were completely soaked through and dripping between you spread legs.

As you widened the gap to keep your dress from getting wet, Jungkook backs away still grinning as he began to dress. He pulls his underwear up beneath his towel, tossing it aside before reaching for his pants.

He cuts you a brief look as he dressed and smirks.

"Looks like you'll have to take those off....."

Jimins house was packed. Cars lined the street and driveway and music could be heard all the way down road. It was a good thing they were deep in the woods, otherwise, there would have been a plethora of noise complaints plaguing the local police station.

The two of you entered the large house hand in hand, greeted happily by mutual friends and classmates. There were many new faces among the familiars, many people not in actual costumes. The looks of wanting and approval of Jungkooks "costume" didnt go unnoticed by you. But neither did the gawks and stares of appreciation for your curves in your dress go unnoticed by your date.

He played it cool though.

Jungkook's behavior wasnt too peculiar as the night progressed. Sure he stayed on your ass majority of the night, dancing closely and holding you by the waist or clutching your hand possessively. But you didn't mind the attention. You absolutely loved it when Jungkook got like this.

He was absolutely the jealous and possesive type but in a healthy way. He never stopped you from being you. But he also had his own ways of coping with it. And he intended on letting you feel how much the attention your costume was drawing was effecting him.

The fact that he knew you still werent wearing panties didnt help that either.

As Jimins house grew more and more crowded, and your feet were beginning to feel sore from dancing and standing in those heels, you and Jungkook eventually found large plushy love seat in farthest corner of the living room.

You were seated comfortably between Jungkooks legs, your back to his front, vibing out and mingling with friends as they passed.

After a while, as the alcohol really began to settle in, you found yourself nestling against your boyfriends hard chest and mumbling along to whatever song was playing.

Jungkook held you close, cradling you in his lap, rubbing at the exposed skin of your thighs gently as his buzz deepened.

"i looove this song.." You groaned out suddenly as the musc changed and a sultry guitar began strumming and the smooth vocals filled the wide space.

Jungkook lifted his brow as you pushed up from his chest to sit up and let your feet touch the floor.

You slowly began dancing from where you were perched on his lap, humming the melody drunkenly and winding your hips in slow circles to the beat. You felt Jungkooks body stiffen slightly beneath you and you smiled inwardly at the feel of his hands slowly coming up to grip you at your waist.

"Hey Beautiful.....what are you doing...." Jungkook says to you, his chest vibrating against your back as you continued to grind back against his lap.

"Babe....." Jungkook he sighs in your ear, a warning in his voice evident as you reached back to touch his hair, still snaking your body to the beat.

"Dont think you can tease me baby..." you hear and feel warm against your cheek as Jungkook leaned into your touch, gripping your hips and letting his hands slide over your thighs and back to your waist.

".....and dont think I wont fuck you right now....in front of everyone....Im not that drunk..." his husky whispers make you bite down on your lip, mischief sparking in your eyes and excitement strumming in your chest at the thought.

You looked around at the many people only a few feet from where you and Jungkook were tucked away. Sure the music was loud, the dim lighting and smoke was concealing them enough. But anyone could walk over to the couches to sit. Any of their friends could come over to talk. At any moment.

That alone was enough to turn you on even more. The idea of getting fucked in front of everyone and the possibility of getting caught had you clenching with need and you already knew you were beginning to drip because pf the alcohol.

Fuck it.

You ignored him as you kept rubbing your ass over him, knowing exactly what you were doing. Teasing him in small circles with your hips and letting your hair sway over your back. Seducing him with your curves and shameless lapdance as if no one was watching.

This only went on for a few seconds until you felt Jungkooks body relax, his hands at your hips gliding back to tug at the back of your dress. You gasp when you feel his warm hands on your bare ass, squeezing at your pliant skin as you continued to move.

Jungkook shifted behind you, lifting his hips just enough to unbutton his pants and push the front of his underwear down to free himself.

Your breathing hitched when you felt how hard he actually was, almost pulsing beneath your heat. Jungkook eased back in the seat, his chest heaving at the feel of you sliding the face of your pussy over his shaft, slicking his length with your wetness.

"Youre so fucking wet baby..fuck..." Jungkook murmured as you slid over him, the tip of him brushing against your clit and entrance with every movement.

You whined at the delicious tease , your hands braced on the arms of the chair as you rocked your hips back and forth. You lifted up slightly  and Jungkook takes that as his opportunity to grip himself at the base, lining the head of his dick up with your slickness and rubbing it against you gently as you moved.

Seeking permission to enter.

With hooded eyes, you glanced around at the party still occurring around the two of you. Everyone seemed completely distracted, drunk or high and under the haze of the atmosphere. Nobody even paying any attention to the horny couple in the shadowed corner of the house.

So slowly, you sank yourself down on him, a low groan and hiss of satisfaction escaping the both of you at the feel of finally being connected. You pressed yourself back until your bare ass was flush against Jungkooks pelvis. The stretch inside of you was welcome, your walls already quivering and trembling around him. They ached for more. They ached for stimulus. They ached for movement.

So you obeyed your body and began to wind your hips again, rising a few inches and sliding back down.

"Fuck..."Jungkook grit his teeth and shut his eyes tight at the feel of you taking him, your body swallowing him and enveloping him with your warmth. Out of reflex, Jungkook thrusted upward to meet your stroke.

You couldnt stifle the moan of surprise at the feel of Jungkooks tip hitting hard at the very back of your desire. It almost hurt but the pain quickly subsided when you felt Jungkook shift behind you.

The chair begins to recline a bit, allowing Jungkook to lean back enough so that his range of motion was extended. And just when you were about to continue riding him, he holds you still by the waist and starts flexing his hips up into you.

Jungkook fucks you deep but agonizingly slow, stroking your body to the soothing rhythm of the song drowning out your moans.

He felt so good, too good. And you bowed your head in an attempt to hidd your face from those in front of you. But you didnt hinder your moans of pleasure as you tried your best to fuck back against Jungkooks deep strokes.

Jungkooks bottom lip stung from his bite, the skin trapped between his teeth as he focused all of us strength into his core and legs as he rammed into you. His hands were digging into your hips, squeezing you and holding your body in place as he chased your high. You were so close, your walls clenching him in and your head falling back as you cried out.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and your vision fell out of focus as Jungkook hit your spot with ferocity and it only takes a few more strokes for you to explode around him.

You felt Jungkook sitting up to wrap his arms around your waist, still moving inside of you but more staccato as he relished in the feel of your cresting orgasm.

You felt his shallow breathe at your ear and your head lolls weakly to lean back against his as Jungkook slipped in and out of your walls.

"Mine?...This is mine?" His husky tone sends a chill down your spine,adding to the overwhelming combination of sensations already rushing over your flushed skin.

You moaned softly in response, biting your lip and tightening around him as if that were the answer and Jungkook groans low in his chest as his strokes became stagnant. He held you close, trapping your body against his as he spilled himself deep inside of you.

You felt the warmth of his seed coating your walls and another shiver hits your when you feel Jungkooks lips at your ear. His breathing was heavy and his mouth was hot. His teeth nibbled at your lobe softly before he parted his lips to speak

"Kiss me.." he exhales and you immediately turn your head, craning your neck back to lock lips with Jungkook sloppily.

He slowly loosens his arms around you, letting his hands slide back to hold you at your waist as he kissed you. His tongue tasted like green apple jolly rancher and tequila, rolling and twisting with yours, humming low in his throat.

Your walls contracted around Jungkook reflexively when you felt his hand circling your throat gently, coaxing you and leading the kiss as he softened inside you.

The air surrounding the two of you felt thicker, every sound and movement suspended in a place apart from where you were. In this corner, in the house full of people..

The two of existed in a little bubble of bliss on the couch in the shadows. Kissing each other tenderly and passionately, wrapped in Jungkooks strong arms as you leaned back against him.

As if it were instinctive, your eyes open to notice someone approaching the corner and you break the kiss just your little bubble of love is popped by..

"...shit...Taehyung! Hey!" you blurt out, forcing Jungkooks eyes to open wide.

Taehyung steps up through the smoke ,a red cup in hand and his eyes hooded in his half assed Joker costume and stops right in front of the loveseat.

"Tae..Bro...whats up?" Jungkook sits up, repositioning you on his lap and pulling your dress down as much as he could. The movement makes you even more aware of the fact that Jungkooks dick was still inside of you, trapping majority of his dripping cum from drizzle out of you as you both looked up at a drunk and oblivious Taehyung.

"You guys are so fucking cute...its gross" he chuckles, tipping his cup up to take a sip. He takes a long draft of his drink and swallows before continuing.

"Anyway...Jungkook! We're setting up for a round of beer pong in the back. How bout it? Me and you vs Jimin and Hobi..." he slurs loudly over the music.

"Cool. Yea...We'll be right out..." Jungkook yells in response, masking his annoyance seamlessly and Taehyung nods. He shoots you a knowing wink before turning away and youre eyes widen.

He didn't know what had just occurred over here....did he?

You dont have much time to ponder over the thought though.

As soon as he disappeared among the crowd, Jungkook was lifting you from his lap and guiding you to stand, still holding you at your waist. The moment his dick slipped out of you, you pressed your thighs together as tight as you could.

The walk to the nearby bathroom was comical, the two of you shuffling closely with one in front of the the other. Both sheilding each others wet and soiled areas until you reached the privacy of the bathroom.

After doing the necessary things one must do after spontaneous raw couch sex, you were standing in front of the sink assessing your appearance as Jungkook stood wide legged nearby over the toilet with his head back.

"Well...This dress is done for." you huff at your reflection, the seat of the black fabric stained with sex and release. Jungkook lifts his head and gazes over at you and grunts in amusement as he flushed.

His eyes fell to the back of your dress that was not only stained and wet, but parts of it were ripped and stretched beyond repair.

"Here.." he says as he turns to you at the sink while you turn to face him curiously.

Without a thought, he removes his red blazer and drapes it over your shoulders.

"There...We're going outside anyway and Im kind of over Taehyung staring at your ass." he mumbles bitterly as he fixed the garment over your petite body.

You smirk at his jealous remark.

"He can look... But he knows who I belong to.." you arch your brow and Jungkook mirrors you as he placed his hands at your waist beneath his blazer. He pulls your forward into his chest and reaches lower to cup your ass cheeks.

"Act like you fucking know then...." he growls as he dipped his neck to hover over your lips.

You lift your chin to plant a few soft kisses to them, rolling your eyes and giggling against him when he squeezed you harder.

"....that is too bad about the dress though...."he murmurs as he pulled away, loosening his grip on your ass and stepping back to look down at your body.

"I kinda liked it..."

[ellie-mutterings]

Imprints (Epilogue to Steady)

Kingdon Week 2025 | Day 2

Read on Ao3 | See my other Kingdon Week stuff

"Where we working?" Frank asked. Becca turned around, turning into the second door on the left, and Frank followed her, turning just enough to cast a glance back at Mel. He didn't say anything, just looked at her with a light, expectant look, waiting for her to follow. Just like he had on the day they met. This felt calmer, less buzzy, but the feeling it built in her chest was the same. Mel's feet did not hesitate to follow.

Frank knocked just after 10AM. Mel had already been lingering at the door for twenty minutes, and forced herself to wait a few seconds before she opened the door.

At Mel's insistence, he did not come with pizza. She insisted that it would be better if Becca decided where to eat, but that was just an excuse.

"Hi, you're here." Mel smiled, hoped it looked genuine, and stepped to the side. She had only managed a handful of hours of sleep the night before, her mind racing too much to let her rest, and hoped she didn't look as tired as she felt.

Becca came out of her room at the sound of chatter.

"Becca," Mel said while she shut the door, "This is my colleague, Dr. Langdon"

Frank chuckled. "Frank is fine." He moved to unzip his jacket.

Becca gasped. "I like your shirt!"

Under Frank's jacket was a white shirt, clearly tired and old, soft and little ratty around the collar, but she could see small handprints of various colors smattered across it.

"Thanks." Frank looked down, pride on his face. "These are from my kids." He turned, sliding the jacket off of his shoulders. A larger print sat between his shoulder blades, a tasteful blue-ish gray. "And my... Abby." He quickly shrugged the jacket back on, his expression a little stiffer. "Every time we paint, we add a handprint."

"Can we add one?"

"Oh, Becca, that's probably a family thing." Mel caught herself speaking before she had thought about. She tried not to do that, to... parent her sister. Becca might not always understand boundaries and social cues, Mel felt that she didn't either a lot of the time, but Mel trusted her sister to make the best of any situation.

"Hell yeah," Frank barked with a laugh. "Where we working?"

Becca turned around, turning into the second door on the left, and Frank followed her, turning just enough to cast a glance back at Mel. He didn't say anything, just looked at her with a light, expectant look, waiting for her to follow.

Just like he had on the day they met. This felt calmer, less buzzy, but the feeling it built in her chest was the same.

Mel's feet did not hesitate to follow.

"Just to warn you, I don't know how much Becca will help with the actual painting." Mel wrinkled her nose. Her sister had already flitted into the room a handful of times, wanted to make the first stroke, and then retreated from the room. "The smell is, uh, it bothers her?"

Frank nodded slowly. "Gotcha. That's cool though, we've got it." He held his fist out, and Mel  bumped her knuckles against his. The sleeve of his shirt hung heavy and close to his arm, still wet. He smiled, the small crooked one where he ducked his head away like he was trying to hide it. Mel felt the corners of her own mouth start to turn up and had to look away.

Frank set his back against the only remaining unpainted wall and slid down, stretching his legs out in front of him. Mel stepped next to him, crossed her ankles, and lowered herself into a sit.

"Sorry this is kind of taking forever." Mel pushed her glasses up with the back of her wrist, only thinking afterwards to check it for paint. Clean this time. She knew there was paint on her cheek from when she had not been so lucky. "You can head out whenever you need to."

The sun had begun to hang low in the sky, making everything a little dark and warm.

Frank shook his head. "No way, I can help you finish."

"Abby and your kids won't mind?"

Frank looked over to her. She tried to keep her expression placid, but could feel little knot of worry between her brows.   "No." Frank pressed his lips into a thin line, wobbled his head. The globs of paint Mel had dropped on him while trying to paint the top edge had dried the ends together. She still felt bad, but he had just laughed, kept his head tilted to the side until Becca returned with paper towels for him wipe it from his hair. "Uh, Abby took them up to see her parents in Ithaca for the weekend. It's her dad's birthday." His eyes kept flitting to her, just for a second before darting away.

"And you didn't want to go?" Mel felt the knot tighten.

His mouth hung open for a second. "Things are... complicated."

Mel felt like she was standing with her toes over the edge of a drop, her stomach swooping. She couldn't decide if the feeling was because she wanted to know or because she didn't. She knew the responsible option.

"Are things... okay?"

Frank looked away entirely now, focusing on the wall. The silence hung for a long moment before he responded. "About as good as they can be, I guess. We're trying but..." He didn't finish the sentence, shrugged instead.

Mel nodded, just to herself. She took a deep breath. "Well, I hope things work out."

Frank looked at her. He smiled, but it was subdued and didn't quite reach his eyes. "I appreciate that."

Mel nodded, couldn't think of anything else to say. They were still looking at each other. It was nice when he looked at, she knew that he was really paying attention. Or maybe he was just being nice. Was she trying to make too much eye contact? Maybe it was too much. She forced herself to scan the walls, anywhere that wasn't his face.

They sat together in the quiet for a moment, Becca's music filtering down the hall. It felt good to not be standing, to have her arms at her side. It even felt good to have Frank here, easier than she had imagined, hardly different than it felt at work, despite how she had worried over it.

The back of Frank's hand bumped against her knee, causing Mel to startle a little and hope that he didn't notice, then waved to the room. "The color isn't so bad when the light's like this."

"Yeah," Mel said in an exhale, her voice weak. She was looking at him again, his profile is warm, fading light, the pale purple handprint on his shoulder. Where did her breath go? She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yeah, not so bad."