#ms chapter 10

[inkandpaperqwerty]

What? I'm not cheap! I make graphics to promote my book with Paint because they look so incredible when I do. It looks great, okay? It looks amazing. It does.

[butchlifeguard]

something i was thinking about on stand yesterday.. danganronpa shsl lifeguard who tries to save a dying person they find, bonus points if they dont come clean about it at first because they think they actually killed that person with their efforts

[writesvani]

dear me | 10

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: anxiety, emotional conflict, frustration, feelings of inadequacy, fear of failure, intense argument, self-doubt, stress, mild emotional distress

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,1k // date: 24th of May 2025

CHAPTER TEN — TETHERED THREADS happy reading my gummies...

AN: oh my god hi babies!!! dear me is back and so am i? so are we all excited or what. i don't want to spoil this chapter but it goes from 0 to 100 real quick so like. prepare yourselves. i warned you!!

now, about the note goal — plot twist — there is none. i’m currently in my ✨mystery era✨ trying to figure out a better posting system so we’re just gonna wing it for now. that does NOT mean you shouldn’t like, comment, or reblog because hello?? validation?? serotonin?? but no pressure.

if you liked the chapter and wanna scream about it, i’m here. reading. refreshing. obsessing. after all the weird energy and negativity lately, i’m really hoping we can bring back our chaotic little community — full of kindness, laughter, and just the right amount of delusion.

i love you all so much it’s actually concerning. chapter 11 will be posted on june 2nd unless the universe decides otherwise but let’s manifest consistency together, okay? okay.

The morning starts like every other.

One shot of espresso — because two makes you jittery and one feels just right — gulped down in the dim glow of your kitchen light. No breakfast, of course. You’ll eat whatever Ms. Kim requests you to make, and if it’s something boring like porridge again, well, that’s just the universe’s way of punishing you for not getting groceries. Quick shower. Music playing from your phone speaker (Today: old Arctic Monkeys. Why? Who knows, they felt like a Wednesday band). Then, one episode of Suits. Always Suits. Always one. You like the predictability, the build-up. You like the false sense of control it gives you, knowing you’ll be left on a cliffhanger but choosing to turn it off anyway.

Everything is smooth. Everything is routine. Your perfect little mental tightrope, walked with the balance of someone who’s been practicing calm like it’s a sport.

Until you sit in your car.

Crack.

Not a literal sound — no smoke, no explosion — but the kind of mental snap that jolts you right between the eyes. The one that makes your chest tighten and your hands pause on the steering wheel. You try to start the engine once. Twice. A third time, just for good measure. Nothing.

Your car is dead. Or maybe just extremely petty.

You stare at the dashboard like it just told you your childhood dog ran away. Because how did you not notice the gas light? You always notice the gas light. You’re religious about the gas light. It’s your one non-negotiable.

You bang your head lightly against the steering wheel and mutter under your breath, “I deserve this.”

Maybe it’s karma. Maybe it’s sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been so wrapped up in pretending everything’s fine that the basics — like fuel — slipped through the cracks. But now you’re sitting in your silent car, the neighborhood too quiet and you realize something dreadful.

This day has already betrayed you.

And it’s not even 9 a.m.

Your first logical solution is Yoongi.

It always is, really. Calm, capable, cursed with a heart way too big for that grumpy exterior. His work is basically around the corner from Ms. Kim’s place anyway, so in theory, it makes perfect sense. One quick call, a dramatic but well-timed sigh, maybe even a guilt trip about “doing it for your beloved bestie” — and boom, problem solved.

Except, as always, the universe has beef with you.

Because when Yoongi picks up the phone, he doesn’t greet you. He whispers. Weakly.

“I’ve been betrayed,” he croaks.

“By who?” you ask, alarmed.

“My body,” he whispers, hoarse. “Fever. I’m dying. Tell my cat I love him.”

You pause. “You don’t have a cat.”

“Then who have I been feeding?” he mumbles, and the line cuts with the faintest of coughs.

You exhale through your nose, long and tired. Of course Yoongi can’t come. He’s sick. Sick-sick. Not hungover-sick, not "I stayed up binge-watching anime and now I’m emotionally unstable" sick — actual sick. You text him a get-well-soon and a half-serious promise to bring soup and put your phone down with a sigh that echoes in your dead car.

Uber? Taxi?

You wince just thinking about it. It’s not the cost, or the inconvenience, or even the question of how many strangers' asses have occupied those seats before yours. It’s just… uncomfortable. The whole idea of being stuck in a confined space while some overly chatty middle-aged man named Bob tells you about his second divorce and favorite Coldplay album?

No thanks.

You’re not a snob. You just prefer your social anxiety from a safe distance.

So your next logical option — and by logical, you mean potentially dangerous to your mental well-being — is Jungkook.

Yeah. Jungkook.

You already feel your eye twitch at the thought.

Because asking your hot, soon-to-be-married best friend to rescue you from your own stupidity has never ended in emotional stability. Still, you unlock your phone, thumb hovering over his contact.

What’s the worst that could happen?

(You know exactly what could happen. You just choose to ignore it.)

“Hey,” Jungkook says as you practically haul yourself into the passenger seat of his car, the sharp scent of his cologne greeting you before his voice even fully lands.

“Hey, Kook,” you say, breathless, fumbling with the seatbelt. “Thank you for coming so quick. You literally saved my life. Or my job. Or both.”

He gives you a small smile, fingers still on the steering wheel. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the way for me anyway.”

You hum, settling into the leather seat, trying not to notice how put together he looks this morning. Hair styled to perfection, parted just right, not a single strand out of place. His charcoal gray suit is pressed, not a wrinkle in sight, with the cuffs of his white shirt peeking just slightly from under his blazer sleeves. There’s a navy tie around his neck, loosened just a bit — enough to make him look a little less intimidating, a little more like your Jungkook.

And it’s… a lot. It’s too much, honestly.

Because you haven’t really talked since that Sunday.

Since the night he stepped on stage and left his soul in every note of that song. Since he cradled your face with both hands and pressed his forehead to yours like he couldn’t breathe unless you were that close.

Since you felt something shift.

But after that? A few texts. A meme exchange. Some "dude, that show was crazy" type messages. Nothing heavy. Nothing about the way your chest physically ached when the music stopped and you realized how close you’d been to crossing a line neither of you were meant to approach.

And maybe it was just adrenaline.

Maybe it was a high from the performance. A beautiful, fleeting moment of blurred feelings and too much noise.

But you’re an overthinker. And even now, as he drives through the streets in his sleek black car, his hand calmly resting on the gearshift, eyes focused on the road — you wonder.

Did he feel it too?

You glance sideways at him, and it’s honestly infuriating how effortlessly attractive he looks at 8:43 in the morning. You’re here with a wrinkled hoodie and barely brushed hair, and he looks like he walked out of a Vogue editorial titled "Litigation and Lust."

Your thoughts spiral. You hate it.

Because he’s your best friend.

And he’s engaged.

And you’re supposed to be so, so far from this kind of thinking.

But your heart still clenches in your chest when you think about that Sunday. His hands on your face. His breath on your skin. That look in his eyes, like maybe he was fighting something too.

So you swallow the thoughts. Tuck them behind your ribs. You look back out the window and say nothing.

Because saying something might ruin everything.

You’re both quiet for a beat too long — not awkward, not exactly — just suspended in that weird, stretched silence that sits heavy between two people who almost talked about something important but didn’t.

Then Jungkook pulls out his phone and sets it in your lap without a word.

You glance down, confused. “What’s this?”

“Play whatever you want,” he says, eyes still on the road. “I know you hate car rides without music.”

You snort softly. “Obviously. I’m not a psychopath.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So I am one now?”

“Well…” you smirk. “For someone who lives and breathes music, it’s a little criminal that you drive around in complete silence.”

He chuckles under his breath, and it’s the first sound that feels a little like the old Jungkook. “Music distracts me when I drive.”

Your fingers freeze for a moment over his Spotify. “What is it with you and music being a distraction…”

It’s innocent — said without much thought. But the second the words leave your mouth, the memory flashes sharp in your brain.

Shit.

You remember now. The moment he told you—how Nina said that playing drums made him lose focus. How it’s an unnecessary distraction.

You swallow hard, wishing you could drag those words back down your throat.

Jungkook doesn’t respond. But his fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel, just enough that you notice.

You tap at the screen, trying to play it off. Your thumb hovers over House of Balloons, because of course that would be his last played. Typical. It’s not morning music by any stretch, but you tap play anyway.

The slow, pulsing rhythm of the song fills the car like smoke — sultry, haunting, too much for the morning.

You stare ahead at the road, heart rattling a little too loud in your chest.

God, you hate how much you remember. And worse — how much you want to.

You close your eyes, pretend you didn’t see the way he clenched his jaw. Pretend you’re not hearing lyrics that have nothing to do with you, but still feel like they’re scraping something raw open inside you.

Because yeah.

This is definitely too much.

And somehow still not enough.

“Well, it is distracting,” he hisses, sharper than he means to be.

He exhales through his nose and lets his voice soften. “I just don’t like to multitask like that. Plus… I wasn’t talking about that night.”

You glance at him. “I never mentioned the night you played.”

“No, but you were thinking about it.”

Your brows lift. “How do you know that, Jungkook?”

“Because I know you.”

“And I know you too,” you shoot back, “which is exactly why I can tell you’re itching to explain yourself. Because you know I’m right.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right about what, exactly?”

“You being scared to play again.”

He blinks. “What is it with you this morning? You never even said that to me before, and now suddenly you’re Freud in the passenger seat.”

“I never said it. But you know it’s true.” You turn slightly in your seat. “Come on, Kook. We both know you weren’t scared you’d suck.”

He doesn’t answer. His jaw ticks.

“So why were you scared?” you ask gently. “Hm?”

He’s quiet.

“You were scared you’d love it. And you did.”

He scoffs under his breath, but it’s weak. “Well, not all of us get to do what we love.”

You snort. “That’s literally just an illusion toxic society and late-stage capitalism shoved down our throats.”

He throws you a look. “Okay, great. Now you’re being philosophical for no reason.”

“Am I?” you challenge. “I mean, if people did what they loved, the world would be a lot less miserable.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But that’s impossible.”

“How and why?”

“Because we’d be living in a world full of artists, musicians, basketball players, and TikTok therapists—who the hell would do the boring, dangerous, miserable jobs?”

“This might come as a shock,” you grin, “but there are people who dream of doing those jobs.”

“That’s just… incorrect. And I could elaborate.”

“Then elaborate.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re pissing me off.”

You laugh, incredulous. “For saying you should maybe do something you love again? Even just as a hobby?”

“For acting like it’s that easy,” he snaps. “Like it’s not a fucking luxury to even consider that.”

“A luxury, huh?” you scoff. “Are you insinuating something, Jungkook?”

“Come on,” he mutters, eyes on the road. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“No, seriously. I’d really like to know—why do you think like that?”

“I said it generally. I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Not directly,” you fire back. “But you meant it. So just spit it out.”

His jaw clenches. You watch him, waiting.

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says tightly, “but it’s easy for you to sit up on your high horse, acting like you can’t understand why people don’t chase their dreams—when you had a net. You had support. You had parents who would catch you if you fell.”

Your stomach twists.

“And now,” he continues, bitter, “you have the audacity to judge the rest of us. To judge me—for choosing something stable. Something that won’t fall apart.”

“I have never judged you, Jungkook,” you say, voice firm now. “Not for a single second. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. But you’re too deep in your own bitterness and insecurity to see that.”

“Insecurity?” he snaps.

“No,” you tilt your head. “Jealousy.”

He laughs, harsh and humorless. “Jealous? Of what?”

“Of the people who went for it. Who chased what they wanted. Who lived their fantasy, even if it was just for a little while.”

“Oh, so now I’m jealous of you?”

“I didn’t say that,” you say quietly. “But since you did…”

“Please,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re literally screwing yourself over.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you’re not living your dream. You lived it that one summer in high school—when you were traveling and learning and cooking and being free. Now? You’re working a glorified 9-to-5 cooking vegan meals for a neurotic rich divorcee. That wasn’t your dream.”

You blink, heart thudding. That one stung.

“Maybe not,” you say after a beat. “But by that logic? I still lived my dream. Even for a moment. Something real came from it. You never even gave yours a chance.”

His voice drops low, almost a whisper. “Because I’m not meant to.”

Your chest aches. “Then why are you so pissed?”

“Because I’m trying to reason with you!” he bursts, his voice cracking around the edges.

“And I’m trying to reason with you!”

“No, you’re not!” he snaps. “You’re trying to fix me.”

You go still.

“God, Jungkook, are you delusional or something?” you snap, voice low and tight. “I’m literally just trying to open your eyes.”

“To what, exactly?” he shoots back. “You’re talking without even trying to see it from my side. Like you always do.”

“I never act like I know everything.”

He huffs a bitter laugh. “Yeah? That’s kind of your thing, though.”

“My thing?”

“You always act like you know what’s best—for everyone. Like your opinion is the only valid one, and if people don’t see it your way, then they’re just wrong.”

“That’s not true,” you bite, anger laced with hurt. “I want what’s best for you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know that, Y/n. But maybe what you think is ‘best’ for me isn’t the same as what I want. Maybe I don’t have everything I ever dreamed of—but I’m content. I’m satisfied. I’m… happy.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Sure. You’re happy. But I still wish you had everything. Everything you wanted.”

He exhales sharply. “That’s impossible.”

“Why? Why, Kook?”

His eyes stay locked on the road, jaw tense. “Because if that were possible… we wouldn’t be sitting here having this argument.”

You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I—” he pauses. “Nothing. Just forget it. I’ve got a hearing in an hour, and I can’t walk into that courtroom like this. Let’s drop it.”

You shake your head slowly. “Right. Of course. Now you want to drop it. That’s your real ‘thing,’ Jungkook—running. From arguments. From real conversations. From me.”

“I’m not running,” he says quietly. “I’m protecting my peace. Maybe you should try that sometime.”

“Protecting your peace doesn’t mean shutting people out the second they say something you don’t like,” you snap, heart hammering in your chest. “That’s not peace, Jungkook. That’s fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” he fires back, “I’m tired.”

“No, you’re afraid. Of feeling things too deeply. Of doing something reckless. Of being disappointed. So you built this perfect little life with a perfect little job and a perfect little routine, and you convince yourself it’s enough.”

He laughs bitterly. “And what, you want me to be like you? Burning out in someone else’s kitchen just so I can feel something?”

“At least I’m feeling something! At least I’m not numbing myself with depositions and court dates pretending I don’t miss the version of you that used to dream out loud.”

“That version of me doesn’t exist anymore!”

“Well, maybe I miss him anyway,” you say, voice quieter now. “Maybe I miss who you were before you decided being safe was more important than being happy.”

Silence fills the car, thick and heavy. The tension crackles between you like static. You want to reach for him, want to pull the words back, but it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales slowly, finally turning to look at you at the red light. His voice is low. “And maybe I miss the version of you who didn’t make me feel like shit for choosing differently.”

Your heart sinks.

“Maybe,” he says again, voice softer now, almost tender. “We just don’t know each other like we used to.”

You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “Maybe we know each other too well. And that’s the problem.”

He doesn’t answer.

The light turns green.

He drives in silence.

And this time, you don’t reach for the music.

The silence becomes a living thing—thick, suffocating, curling around your chest like a fist. Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles white, but he doesn’t say a word. You turn your face toward the window, watching the city blur past, every billboard and traffic light glowing against the tension burning behind your eyes.

You finally speak, voice quieter this time. “Why does it always have to be like this with us?”

“Because we’re both stubborn. Because we know everything about each other,” he says, his voice quiet—like the anger’s burned out and all that’s left is ash and honesty.

You hum, not in disagreement but more like a sound of recognition. You shift in your seat, knees angled slightly toward him, your spine pressing into the cool edge of the door. The city lights bleed into the car, flashing across his jawline. He looks good like this—annoyingly good—hair perfectly styled, suit neat despite the hour, but his expression? It’s all cracked open.

“I’m sorry,” he says, cutting into the silence like it’s something he has to slice through before it swallows you both whole. “I went too far with all of this. I didn’t want us to argue.”

“No, Kook… I started it,” you say, voice soft but heavy. “I’m sorry too.”

He lets out a small breath, almost a laugh. “I hate fighting with you.”

“Same,” you murmur. “It sucks.”

“You know I didn’t mean most of what I said, right?” His eyes flick toward you, searching your face. “Most of the shit… it was just—heat of the moment stuff.”

You nod, hand reaching over to rest gently on his shoulder. “I know, Kook. Me neither.”

The car stills for a beat. There’s no music playing now, just the muted sound of tires on wet asphalt and the whisper of things you can’t say aloud. You let the silence linger too long, and it hangs there, taut and unspoken.

Because the truth is… some of the words you said? You did mean them. Not all. But some.

And you wonder—did he?

Did he mean it when he said you were delusional? Did he mean it when he implied you had it easier? Or was that just his bruised ego talking, scared of how deeply you still saw him?

You pull your hand back and press it to your lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“I meant some of it,” you admit, voice barely louder than a whisper.

He blinks. “Which parts?”

You hesitate. “The part about you being scared to play again… and how it’s easier for you to pretend you’re content than to admit you still want more.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifts his hand off the wheel and runs it through his hair—slowly, like he’s buying himself time.

“You really think I’m just pretending?” he asks finally, almost offended. But not quite.

You shrug, eyes glued to the dashboard. “I think you tell yourself you’re fine so you don’t have to want something you think you’ll never get.”

He exhales sharply. “You make it sound so fucking tragic.”

“Isn’t it?” you glance at him. “I mean, maybe not in a dramatic way. But quietly, in the way that gnaws at you slowly. You don’t realize it until it’s too late.”

He’s gripping the wheel again, jaw tight. “And what about you, huh? Are you living your big dream life?”

You pause, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I thought I was. I tell myself I am. But some nights I lie awake wondering if I’ve just built a pretty version of settling.”

He looks at you again, this time more carefully. “So we’re both full of shit.”

“Maybe that’s why we get each other so well.”

Jungkook lets out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “God, we’re a mess.”

“A beautiful one,” you tease softly.

He smiles faintly. “Speak for yourself.”

You nudge his arm. “Don’t deflect.”

“I’m not deflecting,” he mutters. “I’m deflecting with charm. There’s a difference.”

You laugh, finally, and the sound breaks the tension like a crack in glass letting in fresh air. But underneath it, something lingers. A feeling. A thought. One neither of you has dared to voice yet.

You turn to him again, serious now. “You don’t have to go back to being a musician full-time, Jungkook. But you could play again. For yourself. Just… because you want to.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes on the road ahead.

“And what if I do? What if I play again, and it lights something up inside me I can’t ignore?”

You reach over and squeeze his hand, firm and gentle all at once.

“Then we deal with that fire together.”

He looks at you, and this time, you don’t look away. Not when his eyes soften, not when his lips twitch up just a little. Not when the weight of years and unsaid things hangs between you.

Maybe this is how it’s always been between you two. Messy. Complicated. Raw.

But it’s real.

And for now, maybe that’s enough.

He doesn't let go of your hand.

Doesn’t flinch or pull away like he usually does when things get too real, too close to the bone. His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, and it’s terrifying how natural it feels. How long you’ve both pretended this wasn’t still buried somewhere between you, under layers of arguments and half-truths and detours in life.

“I’m scared,” Jungkook says, and it’s so quiet, you almost miss it. His voice cracks on the word scared, and you’ve known him long enough to understand how rare that kind of honesty is coming from him.

You don’t say anything. You just wait.

“I’m scared that if I play again… if I really try… and I still fail…” He swallows. “Then it’s not just about life being unfair. Then it’s me. Then I’m the reason it didn’t work.”

You lean in a little, turning your body more toward him. “That’s not how it works, Kook.”

“But that’s how it feels,” he says, finally looking at you, eyes wide. “Like if I never try again, then I get to keep the dream. It stays perfect. Untouched. Still possible.”

“Untouched things don’t grow,” you whisper.

He closes his eyes, head dropping back against the headrest. “God, why do you always say things that hit me like a truck?”

“Because you drive the metaphorical car straight into denial, and someone has to steer,” you offer with a small, teasing smile.

He laughs—really laughs—and it’s so genuine that it softens the ache in your chest.

“You know, back then… in high school,” he says after a moment, voice low, “when we all thought the world was ours… I used to think I’d marry someone who got me the way you do.”

Your heart stutters. You almost don’t breathe.

“Jungkook…”

“I don’t mean it like a confession or anything,” he adds quickly, though the way he avoids your eyes tells you it is one. “I just mean… you’ve always seen through me. Even when I didn’t want you to.”

You don’t know what to say. The space between you feels electric now—like something’s about to snap or shift or fall apart in a beautiful, devastating way.

“I wish I could be braver for you,” he admits, and there’s a rawness in it that nearly breaks you. “I wish I didn’t always pull away. Didn’t always shut down when things get too close.”

“You still can be,” you say softly. “Bravery isn’t some fixed trait. You can choose it. Every day.”

He turns to you again, and for a moment, everything else fades—the world outside the car, the ticking clock, the stupid hearing he has to be at in forty-five minutes. It’s just you. And him. And this fragile truth hanging in the space between.

You inhale slowly. “Maybe we’re not meant to live perfect dreams, Kook. Maybe we’re just supposed to chase the pieces that still make us feel alive.”

He nods, eyes searching yours. “And maybe I want to start chasing again.”

Your heart thuds. But you don’t let it show. You squeeze his hand instead and whisper, “Then I’ll be here. Right behind you.”

The silence that follows is no longer heavy.

It’s filled with possibility.

A few quiet beats pass. The tension between you has shifted—softer now, but still charged, still full of words unsaid.

You clear your throat. “I meant what I said though. About wanting you to be happy. And… not judging you. I never have.”

“I know,” he says, his voice steady. “I just forget sometimes. I get in my own head and push people away. Especially the ones who know me best. Guess that’s some kind of twisted reflex.”

You shrug. “You’re not the only one. I’ve done my fair share of self-sabotaging too.”

“Yeah, well…” He laughs under his breath. “Maybe we need an actual therapist in this car.”

You smile a little, the tension in your jaw easing. “Maybe. But then again, I think we’ve been each other’s therapists for so long, we wouldn’t know what to do with a real one.”

He glances at you. “You’re not wrong.”

Another pause. Then he adds, “I want to be clear about something. About Nina.”

Your stomach clenches a bit, but you keep your voice steady. “Okay.”

“She’s important to me. And I respect her more than I know how to say. She’s been nothing but good to me—and I’m not going to mess that up.”

You nod, relieved at how firmly he says it. “I know, Jungkook. I wasn’t trying to cross a line or anything.”

“You didn’t,” he assures quickly. “It’s just… I know how our conversations can get. How intense they can feel. And I want to make sure we both remember what they aren’t.”

You nod again, your voice soft. “They’re not a doorway back.”

“Exactly,” he says, offering you a brief glance. “They’re just… two people who know each other too damn well, still figuring shit out.”

You let out a quiet chuckle. “Some things never change.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Still. I don’t like fighting with you.”

“Me neither.”

“And I don’t want this to be a cycle, you know? Us going from avoiding things to blowing up in each other’s faces.”

“Then maybe we should work on saying things before they pile up,” you offer, folding your arms.

He nods. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

You both fall quiet again. This time, it doesn’t feel tense—it feels reflective. Like two people recalibrating. Not leaning on each other like they used to, but still existing in the same gravity.

“I still think you should cook more for yourself, by the way,” Jungkook says after a moment. “Not for clients. Not because someone paid you. Just… for fun. For joy.”

You scoff. “Didn’t you just accuse me of being too idealistic twenty minutes ago?”

He smirks. “I did. But I’m allowed to change my mind.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “I cook enough already.”

“Not like you used to,” he says, and something about the way he says it makes your chest ache a little. “Remember that summer after high school? You were obsessed with making pasta from scratch for like three weeks.”

“It was a phase,” you say with a chuckle.

“It made you happy.”

You nod, looking down at your lap. “Yeah. It did.”

“Then maybe try it again. No pressure. No performance. Just… you and the food. That’s all.”

You glance at him, your smile small but genuine. “Maybe I will.”

A beat.

“And if you ever want someone to peel carrots for you or taste test or pretend to know the difference between béchamel and hollandaise—I’m your guy.”

You laugh, the sound breaking up the last of the tension. “Noted.”

The car grows quiet again, but this time it feels okay. Comfortable. Like something has been salvaged. Not what once was. Not what could’ve been. But what is.

The ride to your job is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. A shared stillness fills the car—like neither of you want to poke at the tender spot you've both just exposed.

Outside, the city hums to life. The early sun catches on glass windows and street signs, and your reflection in the window looks tired, but lighter somehow.

When Jungkook pulls up in front of the quaint little apartment building, tucked between a florist and a gallery, he shifts the car into park but doesn’t move to open his door.

You glance at him. “You gonna walk me in like a gentleman, or do I have to carry all my things like a peasant?”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s soft, fond. “You’re the one who always says you like to make a dramatic solo entrance.”

“Only when I’m wearing heels and carrying an attitude.”

He shakes his head, grinning faintly. Then, more seriously, “Hey. Go easy today, okay?”

You nod, hand on the door handle. “You too. Good luck with your hearing.”

“Thanks,” he says, then hesitates. “And... thanks for being honest with me. Even when it’s messy.”

You pause at the door, looking at him with something that lingers between affection and ache. “That’s the only way I know how to be with you.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just holds your gaze, something unreadable in his eyes.

Then, “Go cook something that makes you forget the world exists.”

You smile, softer this time. “You say the most poetic shit when you’re sleep-deprived.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he says, but the corners of his mouth tug upward.

You get out, closing the door gently behind you. As you make your way to the entrance, you feel the weight of his stare on your back. You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.

The engine hums back to life just as you unlock the door and disappear inside.

And just like that, the morning swallows you both into different lives—still tethered by a thread that neither of you are ready to cut, but both are too careful to pull on.

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @santiiagopopegarcia @jadaocon1 @asyr97 @gukieater @themwordsblog @whatevevrerr @amarawayne @tititania @guwol @reallygenerouskoala @bgfdcvbnjk @kyljjk @whoa-jo @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @upo1313 @polnaraffsrack @tatzzz-25 @orphicepiphany @coletaehyung @bjoriis @epiphany-n @kimyishin @eegyo @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @parkinglot-nights @mar-lo-pap @evrsncenewyork @jjeonjjk7 @minghaosimp @cerulean1riz @anumita-2007 @vantelover1306 @vynmin @nadzzzblog @jnghs @lachimolalajeon @joonwater @choijay-07 @notsevenwithyou @mononoaware16 @sky-23s-world

[thewitchandtheassassin]

The Psychology of Love and Serial Killers Part One (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: When psychologist, Doctor Wanda Maximoff, is handed a case involving a prolific serial killer and an unknown number of victims, she takes it as a challenge... but is the good doctor in over her head when she realizes they might not be so different after all?

Words: 1324

Warnings: Serial killers, language, talks of death, eventual blood and gore. Like, this is a serial killer reader, babes. Use your own discretion. 18+

A/N: This is part one of god knows how many. We're gonna have a good time. Every chapter after should be longer. This is just a starter.

-X-

The room was dimly lit, the bluish flicker of the projector and a single, softly glowing lamp the only sources of light in the room, their glow casting shadows that danced across Wanda’s face as she stared at the ever-changing images on the screen. She was sat forward in an old, worn chair—hers, or at least the one she’d often claimed for herself when she was contacted for situations like this. Hands steepled beneath her chin, she glanced at the file on the table in front of her; the same one she’d been staring at for the last three days.

Case file: (Y/L/N), (Y/N). Suspect Age: 20s to 30s. Gender: Female. Body Count: 10 (Confirmed), more suspected. All male. Preferred Method: Knife.

The projector whirred. On screen, a grainy black-and-white image showed you—cuffed, expression unreadable, leaning back in a chair like you were lounging at a party instead of being processed at Quantico. The agents were visibly furious by your lack of cooperation as you stared through them, like they were invisible—or not worth your time.

You never spoke a word during intake. Face impassive… cold. Like it was beneath you. Not reacting when one of the agents threw a pen after twenty minutes of silence and stormed out of the room. Not a single flicker of recognition, even as Agent Rumlow’s face was mere inches from yours as he screamed.

Wanda hit rewind, then play.

There it was again—the look. That flicker in your eye. Not defiance. Not boredom. Something… performative. Calculated. Like you were playing a role no one else had quite caught on to. An unspoken taunt as you waited for the next person to give up and storm away.

Another screen showed crime scene photographs. A man—early 40s, priest collar still intact—slumped in front of a marble altar. His eyes had been closed post-mortem. Peaceful, almost reverent… if not for the clean line across his neck, ear to ear, and a black rose petal stuffed into the bloodied line.

Wanda’s throat tightened.

Victim #6: Father Donovan. Location: St. Cecilia’s Cathedral. Means of Death: Single slice across the throat. Time of Death: 3:14 AM.

Wanda reached for the evidence photo again. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she let it out through her nose, eyes scanning every piece of information documented from the crime scenes—all with one common theme.

“Why?” she whispered into the silence of the room. “Why only men?”

Flipping through the photos once more, she chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully as she took in the scenes surrounding the body. Not the men—where they were placed. How clean the scenes had been left. The lack of fury… only showmanship.

“She's not psychotic,” she murmured, more to herself than the recorder on the table. “Not delusional. Too precise. Too... theatrical.”

She clicked open the audio logs next—

[Audio Interview—Day 2]

Agent Barton: “Is there a reason you chose public spaces for the bodies, Ms. (Y/N)? Do they hold some significant meaning to you?

You: silence.

Agent Barton: “Some of them had children. One had a wife.”

You: silence, quiet exhale.

Agent Barton: “You’re not going to talk to me, are you?”

You: silence.

Agent Barton: “Let the record show the suspect has been staring at the same point behind me on the wall for the last thirty minutes… I don’t know what fucking else to do.”

[Audio Interview—Day 10]

Agent Romanoff: “You’ve been here for ten days and not a single person has heard you speak… it’s time to give us something, (Y/N). You don’t want to see what happens when people like you get stuck in general population. We’ve been nice, keeping you separate. That can change.”

You: silence.

Agent Romanoff: “Do you think this is funny, (Y/L/N)? That this is all just one big game?

You: “…are you afraid I think this is a game? Or are you afraid that I’m winning, agent?”

Wanda’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice for the first time, pausing the audio tape. Low. Calm. Confident. Not mocking—a simple question and yet, it made Wanda’s heart pound in her chest for a moment. Like every inflection was handpicked from a dark romance book she’d read in the dark and swear she’d never heard of come morning.

Exhaling softly, she flipped the projector off and stared at the now-darkened screen for a moment. Tomorrow… tomorrow would be her first moments with you. Acting as the bureau’s psychologist in hopes of cracking you open. To learn your secrets and uncover the bodies you’d hidden beneath the bones of your choices. She was meant to profile you—learn every twisted, fucked-up inch of your soul—so she could present it to the agents and lawyers who wanted nothing more than to see you in the chair.

But all she could think was:

“…I want to understand you.”

-X-

The interview room smelled like old paint and disinfectant. It was small—deliberately so. The kind of space designed to strip down defenses. One table, two chairs. A single camera already recording in the corner of the room, the little red light blinking as it pointed at you. You were alone in the room, hands cuffed to the table, feet chained to your chair, but you didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a word, even as the door swung open.

Wanda stepped in slowly, a manila folder clutched loosely in one hand, the other sliding the door shut with a soft click. She was alone, but you both knew there were at least four agents on the other side of the two-way mirror just waiting for you to fuck up.

Her heels were simple and understated, a matte black that seemed befit a psychologist and not a federal liaison meant to pick you apart. Her blouse was a matching black, sleeves rolled up just below the elbows. Professional enough, but meant to be casual in hopes of putting you at ease. But her eyes gave her away—the kind of too-long stare that didn’t come from curiosity, but fixation. She wasn’t just studying you…

She was absorbing you. Every micro-expression, every tick of your jaw and twitch of your mouth.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)… I think I’ve watched you on tape more than I’ve watched my own family’s home videos.” She smiled, but it was cool. Brittle. Like she wanted you at ease but couldn’t quite bring herself to smile at a murderer with the same kindness she would a stranger. “I’m Doctor Maximoff, psychologist for the bureau.”

Settling into the chair across from you, she placed the folder on the table but didn’t open it, choosing to keep her eyes trained on you. “You don’t speak to men… and you’ve only said a few words to Agent Romanoff. Staying quiet even when someone is inches from your face screaming… I’ve seen people break from less.”

She folded her hands together, looking at you thoughtfully. “You’ve kept quiet for a long time but… I’d like it if you spoke to me.”

Your head tilted, the tip of your tongue peeking out from behind your teeth as you slowly ran it along your bottom lip and for a moment, she didn’t expect you to speak—even as her eyes followed the slow movement of your tongue—before you asked quietly, “That so, doctor?”

And Wanda’s grin deepened into something genuine as she watched you. “Yes. Because I don’t want to ask why. That’s too easy…”

She leaned forward slightly, letting her eyes trail over you slowly. “No, (Y/N)… I want to understand everything. From the beginning. Why you chose the victims, why you sit here acting like this is all an inconvenience… I want to know the woman beneath the blood.”

Locking eyes with her, an eerie smile passed over your lips and both of you knew, in that moment—

Nothing was ever going to be the same.

[pandasloredump]

Hey, wanna read Twilight and Midnight Sun at the same time rather than back-to-back? Can't blame you if you don't

Here's the order of events by chapter!

Twilight Preface

T & MS Chapter 1: First Sight

T & MS Chapter 2: Open Book

T Ch 3: Phenomenon & MS Ch 3: Risk

MS Ch 4: Visions

T Ch 4 & MS Ch 5: Invitations

T Ch 5 & MS Ch 6: Blood Type

MS Ch 7: Melody

T Ch 6: Scary Stories

T Ch 7: Nightmare & MS Ch 8: Ghost

T Ch 8 & MS Ch 9: Port Angeles

T Ch 9 & MS Ch 10: Theory

T Ch 10 & MS Ch 11: Interrogations

T Ch 11 & MS Ch 12: Complications & MS Ch 13: Another Complication

T Ch 12: Balancing & MS Ch 14: Closer, Ch 15: Probability & Ch 16: The Knot

T Ch 13 & MS Ch 17: Confessions

T Ch 14 & MS Ch 18: Mind Over Matter

MS Ch 19: Home & T Ch 15: The Cullens

T Ch 16 & MS Ch 20: Carlisle

T Ch 17 & MS Ch 21: The Game

T Ch 18 & MS Ch 22: The Hunt

T Ch 19 & MS Ch 23: Goodbyes

MS Ch 24: Ambush & T Ch 20: Impatience

T Ch 21: Phone Call

T Ch 22: Hide-and-Seek & MS Ch 25: Race

T Ch 23: The Angel & MS Ch 26: Blood

MS Ch 27: Chores

MS Ch 28: Three Conversations

T Ch 24: An Impasse & MS Ch 29: Inevitability

MS & T Epilogue: An Occasion

[insight-chronicles]

Chapter 1 - An Interesting Meeting

Word Count: 2.2k

Content Warning: Swearing

Summary: Chairman Go wants more information, and you agree to a date?

Author's Note: AU where Yoonho isn’t married

AO3

< Previous Chapter Next Chapter >

Masterlist

6 Months Later

It had started off as a lovely day, the sun was shinning, you had had a good night sleep and you even had the ingredients in to make panakes for breakfast. You had an amazing feeling about today. That feeling didn’t last long after you arrived at work.

It had been just over a week since the raid on Jeju Island, where so many of the Japanese S-Rank Hunters had lost their lives, and the Korean S-Ranks would have also died if it had not been for Sung Jinwoo and his perfect timing. The fact that this man, that was only recently been re-evaluated as an S-Rank Hunter, had destroyed the beast single-handedly, and on live TV no less, was nothing less than a miracle. The ‘Ant King’, as the media referred to the monster, very nearly took out all of the Hunters sent to clear the island, but the footage that was supposed to ease the public's fear instead showed them a different kind of monster. One that lived among them, one known by the name Sung Jinwoo.

The footage of Hunter Sung defeating the Ant King had been replayed many times since the completion of the raid, making people question why Hunter Sung had not been part of the original raiding team. At any given time, you could turn on the TV or open your phone to 10 different news sites either praising or cursing his name. The ones coming to his defence were using his mother as an excuse, saying he should be allowed to spend time with her as the first person to wake up from Eternal Slumber, and no one knew if or when she might succumb to it again. The ones dragging his name through the mud were also blaming the Hunter Association for not forcing him to fight or calling the Association incompetent for not knowing how strong he was and that he could have raided the island by himself without risking the lives of others.

You weren’t sure what to believe; one thing you did know for sure is that there was no indication in Hunter Sungs' file that he would have been able to take on the island raid by himself. You knew because you had checked his file probably 100 times since that day. Hell, you had checked it 10 times that morning alone after you had heard that the Chairman of the Hunter Assocation, Go Gunhee, had requested a meeting with you that afternoon.

You stood nervously outside the Chairman's office. It's not like it was your fault you didn't know the extent of Hunter Sung’s power. Chairman Go had been at the evaluation as well and had not indicated that he thought the power that Hunter Sung showed then was anything less than his full potential. So how could he blame her for this? Of course, she could just be overthinking it, and he wanted to see her about something else, but the timing was too coincidental to be about anything but Hunter Sung.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door.

“Come in”, you opened the door and stepped inside. Chairman Go lifted his head from the report he was reading through and smiled warmly at you, “Ah, Ms L/N, please come in, shut the door behind you and take a seat.” He gestured to one of the two chairs facing his desk. Whilst your back was turned shutting the door, you took another calming breath and wiped the palms of your hands down the front of your trousers. Feeling slightly steadier, you made your way across the office to sit in one of the plush armchairs.

“No need to look so worried, Ms L/N”, came a voice from behind you. You hadn't seen him when you entered the room, but your perception skills never let you down, which is why you were not surprised when you turned and offered a gentle smile to Woo Jinchul, who stood in a darkened corner behind you. You shook your head slightly, suppressing a laugh, at his attempt to be cool and mysterious as usual, or was he trying to intimidate you?

“Oh, I'm not worried. I'm just wondering what it is I can do for you, sir.” As you finished your sentence, you turned back to the chairman, a small smile turing up the corners of your mouth.

“Well,” the chairman cleared his throat, “I assume you are aware of how the raid on Jeju Island panned out.” You answered with a nod of your head. Once again, Chairman Go coughed, clearing his throat. He seemed worried to ask you about something. “Well, you see, we,” A glance at Chief Inspector Woo, “That is, I, was just wondering as to the details of Hunter Sung’s file. The results of his latest evaluation did not suggest that he was showing us just a fraction of his power, but the footage from Jeju Island would suggest otherwise. Of course, we all know that you are meticulous in your record keeping and would hate to suggest that there was a mix-up on the numbers, but we must face the facts. Did you see or feel anything that day at the evaluation that would suggest that he was not showing us his full power?” So that was it. Chairman Go was worried to ask you about the archieves; after all, he, more than anyone else, knew how hard you worked on them. When you started here everything was a mess, so unorganised. You had spent countless hours of overtime and even slept in your office on occasion - keeping a change of clothes in your office and using the showers attached to the training gym to remain presentable - to be able to re-organise everything on top of your normal workload. That was how you had risen through the ranks so quickly and how the System had found you.

You glanced down at your lap, stifling a chuckle. You made an S-Rank Hunter nervous! Tilting your head back up, you met Chairman Go's eyes, formulating a response.

“Uh, no, I can’t say I felt anything.” Not the lie that would usually be when you thought about it, considering you don’t feel anything when it comes to Hunter Sung. The higher-ups in the Association know that you have a higher than normal perceptive ability, but they are not aware of the extent, and you would like to keep it that way.

“Right, well, in that case, I think it pertinent that we learn as much as we can about this young man. His power is beyond anything I have ever seen, and he seems to keep getting stronger or at least revealing more and more of his strength” The chairman looked deep in thought for a moment before continuing. “I think this is a job for you, Ms L/N” Um, what?! Your mind screamed whilst you tried to keep your face impassive. “We need you to get close enough to Sung Jinwoo to get him to trust you and reveal the extent of his power. Ordinarily, a security operative would have this task, but Mr Sung would be able to spot them a mile off and become suspicious of their motives. Whereas you, my dear, are a lot less suspicious looking.” A cough came from the corner of the room, Chairman Go smiled “No offence, Jinchul.”

“None taken”, although some definitely was.

“So what do you say, Ms L/N?” You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Chairman Go just continued to smile encouragingly.

“Uhh, I mean, that's not exactly in my job description,” you hedged, buying yourself time to come up with a better excuse to stay away from Jinwoo. You really didn’t want to encourage him to ask questions about that time by the Gate.

“I understand completely,” you nearly sighed with relief, but then he continued, “consider you job description changed.” he looked so pleased with himself, but you just glared at him, “Of course, you’ll be compensated for this change in you duties.” This was so NOT what you needed right now, but you didn’t know what you could say to make the chairman change his mind on this.

“Okay, fine” you sighed. You would have to just find a way to uncover Jinwoos power without interacting with him too much.

“Excellent!” The chairman leaned back in his chair and clapped his hands together once, “I’ll get your pass updated so you can enter the training grounds whenever needed, and I’ll make sure that there is someone around to cover the new hunter evaluations so you can concentrate all your energy on this assignment. If you need anything, just ask, and I’ll get it done.” his gaze was so intense as he said that last bit that you were a bit worried about what you had just agreed to.

In a slight daze, you nodded, got up out the chair and made your way to the door. Just before opening it, you turned and clarified,

“Am I reporting my findings straight to you?”

“Yes, probably for the best. We don’t need more people than absolutely necessary knowing that we have no idea what Hunter Sung is capable of.” This was serious, you could not fuck this up. You nodded and left.

Out in the hallway, whilst waiting for the elevator, you shook yourself. You could do this. You could figure this out without revealing anything about yourself. Most people would see this assignment as a blessing. Being able to get close to South Korea's hottest up-and-coming Hunter AND be paid for it - who wouldn’t want that? Not to mention the cherry on the top for someone like you. You don’t know almost exactly what he's thinking and feeling all the time! Instead, you would be sitting there questioning why you can’t feel anything from him the whole time and would never be able to relax. As it was, you spent way too long thinking about Sung Jinwoo, you didn’t need more reasons!

The elevator doors slide open revealing Baek Yoonho, you smiled politely and gestured for him to leave before you got on. After all the chairmans office was on the top floor so he must have been coming here to see him.

“No, I, uh, just took one going up rather than down” he offered an awkward smile whilst rubbing the back of his neck. You breathed out a laugh, shaking your head before entering the small space and pressing the button for the basement where your own office was. “So, you just come from a meeting with the big man?” you nodded in response. “You’re not going to tell me what it was about, are you?” You shook your head no, Yoonho chuckled, “You're in a talkative mood today.” When you finally turned to face him, he caught sight of the worried look on your face. “Wait, are you okay? What did Go say to you?” His eyes started to glow golden, and you felt the air begin to vibrate as Yoonho tried to hold back his anger. In a panic, you reach out your hand, placing it on his bicep.

“Woah there, big guy, it's nothing, honestly. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” Your words and the reassuring smile on your lips seemed to calm him enough to keep his beast from showing. You did not need the distructive power Yoonho was capable of to be unleashed in such a small space.

“If you're sure?” His hand reached to cover yours where it rested on his arm

“I am; everything is fine.”

“In which case, let me help you take your mind off everything. Let me take you out.”

Not this again. You thought. When will he get the hint?

Since he offered you that lift 6 months ago, he's been pretty relentless in trying to get you alone. It has all been pretty innocent…at least it would seem that way to most people, but you knew better. You could feel what he felt towards you, and it was anything but innocent. You were just about to reject him again when a thought suddenly occurred to you. He was at Jeju with Jinwoo. He would know what happened during the media blackouts! Maybe you didn’t need to get Jinwoo to trust you, maybe you could get Yoonho and the other hunters to spill!

“Um, sure” Whilst you weren’t 100% convinced of a plan you came up with 10 seconds ago, you agreed to go on the “date”, but maybe you could make it as least date-like as possible.”But it will have to be lunch, and I’m busy for the next couple of days soo…” You trailed off, but Yoonho has a massive grin on his face.

“Yeah, of course, no worries, whenever you can do. I'm just glad you finally agreed!” 

Oh god, what had you done? Agreeing to two things you didn’t want to do in the same day! Whats wrong with you!

By the time the elevator reached the lobby, Yoonho stop, you had both agreed to meet in a few days' time at a cafe down the street. As Yoonho made his way across the reception area and out onto the street, he seemed to have a bit more of a spring in his step than he had before. You shook your head as the door slid back closed and the elevator continued down into the basement where the archives were kept.

< Previous Chapter Next Chapter >

@weaponxgames

@tanspostsblog

[rosemariiaa]

besides begging for a part 3.. even though you should give it to us :)

what are your all time favorite fics, i need some recs!! could be old and new

the way i was about to make a fic rec post lol!!

Fic Recs

@pb524830

Right where you left me- This was the first fic i’ve read of hers and i fell in love, the writing is something else i tell you

Pride and Prejudice- 10/10 would read it again it’s sooo good

Moth to Flame- I am loving this series so far , literally obsessed hello?

@imaginespazzi

You weren’t mine to lose- the amount of angst in that is so necessary and i just love it sm

UCLA fic- all time top 5 favorite series

GH- Begging for chapter 11 because i am too obsessed !!

@azzibuckets

For the love of the game- this was something else and i have sooo much love for it, cessa is a queen

Good luck Babe- hurt my heart but i still love it smmm

@thaatdigitaldiary

Open your eyes- ke knows what she is doing and i love it , that had me in awe i tell you

from ms to mrs- YES YES YESS

What Am I to You- YES.

@ohbueckers

two can play that game- i love tropes like these and ju is eating up the chapters left and right

What’s my name?- impatiently waiting on another chapter because that series did something to me..literally

HOAW- new fav fic hello?

@patscorner

Ace of Hearts- i will be harassing pat for chapter 3 don’t worry guys

@sierrale8ne

40 days and 40 nights- i just think this is spectacular and that’s all there is to say

Power trip- this was something else..everything about i adored literally

@mrsarnold

white ferrari- i love me some fics from leila, this fic was teww good i enjoyed it smm!

@cosmopretty

read her new fic on wattpad “her girl” i love it so far!!

i don’t have a specific fic i love because all of them are really good, i would say take your pick bc i’m indecisive!!

@money4martin

the nanny- i’m mostly reading this on wattpad and i loveee it, she’s such a good writer

@lupinqs

firsts- me being a pazzi girl, i loved this fic sm it’s one of my top 5 for sure

take me to church- i love everything about this series, like it’s really just a chefs kiss and it’s relatable too??

@makethemhoesmad

skip this part?- y’all know i love me some angst.. and karly delivered it perfectly with this fic! thank god!

liability- she likes to play with my heart but i forgive her eveytime bc the writing is impeccable, this series was a rollercoaster for me

@sellasstories @heyitssells

Close- i loved this with all my heart ,she’s amazing bye

@d3arapril

Invisible strings- yes.yes.yes.

@azzifuddworlddomination

Casual- my inspiration for my fic because hers i just can’t get over like i love you down 🤗

@bbydoll18xx

don’t even have a favorite, all her fics are chefs kiss and that’s the truth

@kmoneymartini

fics are sooo easy to obsess over hello?? i’m glad she’s my moot too

@wcbblife

all there is to say is yes and go read NEOWWWW

@iminlovewithpaigebueckers

i should slap myself because why haven’t i read any of her fics earlier hello? I FREAKING LOVE THEM?

@bueckersstrap

my sweet baby celeste and her writing 😫 i yearn for it thank you queen

@lovegalor333

chefs kiss EVERY.SINGLE.TIME

@pboogerswbb

my lila baby is on a roll and i need MORE.

@leilanihours

it’s saurrrr good 10/10 i love!!

@luvergirl-866

writing is so teaaa i’m obsessed with the pazzi series <33

@onlyhereforpazzi

love the pazzi fics down!!!

@pazzilover101

@pbaz7

everything written is just OUU

@bueckersbitch

my sweet baby yes

@ldapper

mhmhmhhh 🤭

@bucketbueckers

ouuuweeee i love

@starlighttsv

my sweet baby

@ohmybueckers

just.. FUCKKKK

@vamptizm

my queen 😊😊😊

@uconnwbbcrashout

@basketball-lesbians

you’re gonna love i swear

@bueckets

@loeysoi

10/10 would ready everything again <3

@hcneymooners / @spcncershasting

my fav twin <3, just beautiful

@cherryswisherz

——-

Ao3

Grow as we go- all time favorite pazzi series, i will be reading it again thank you!

Slow falling- i fear the author has given up on us but i will still like to have hope we get another chapter 😞

I’m pretty sure i have more but i can’t remember atm, i will add on as i find and read more fics!! 💌

[matchalovertrait]

Alegría v Caruso: Day 2, Pt. 3

"Please state your name for the court," Isabela requested.

"Enzo Bianchi."

"And what is your profession?"

"I am a chef, instructor, and culinary consultant," he began. "I currently hold a senior faculty position at the Santoro Academy of Culinary Arts, one of the most prestigious cooking institutions in Italy."

"Impressive," Isabela remarked. "And in your time at the academy, you've taught many students who have gone on to have successful careers, correct?"

"Yes. Many of my former students work at well-known restaurants or own thriving businesses."

"And you were the instructor of both Mr. Caruso and Ms. Alegría?"

"Yes, I had them in my class for a few semesters. I am quite familiar with their food and temperaments by now."

Isabela nodded. "So in your professional opinion, who was the stronger chef of the two?"

"By far, it was Mr. Caruso. Last I heard, he is a sous chef at a fantastic establishment. The place keeps popping up on my TikTok's 'For You' page in those 'Top 10 Places You Must Visit in Del Sol Valley' videos. I glow with pride every time it's mentioned."

Dulce stomach churned from the betrayal she felt. She had looked up to Bianchi and often visited him during office hours. He always told her how proud he was of her. The last thing she expected was for him to be a sellout.

Isabela continued, "How would you describe Ms. Alegría as a student?"

"She had passion, but she was impulsive with her ideas. Less disciplined."

Antonio quickly stepped in to counter. "Mr. Bianchi, I'd like to clarify something. You say Ms. Alegría was impulsive, yet isn't it true that she consistently outperformed Mr. Caruso?"

"Grades don't always reflect real-world skill," Bianchi replied promptly.

"No, but they can reflect consistency and dedication. Was she not one of the top students in the school's program?"

Bianchi seemed to shift with discomfort. "Yes, but Ms. Alegría ignored structure and experimented wildly. Sometimes her ideas worked, sometimes they didn't."

Dulce's eyes widened. That was only like, two times! And we all had a good laugh if an idea of mine failed terribly. In my defense, they were on Chapter 3, and I was already on Chapter 20.

Isabela smirked. "So, would it be fair to say that Ms. Alegría has a history of being unpredictable? Not as skilled as she seems?"

"Yes, I would say so. It doesn't seem farfetched to me that Mr. Caruso would be the victim here. Ms. Alegría could have manipulated him, made him feel like they were close, taken his ideas, and disposed of him once he wasn't needed anymore—especially if her own ideas didn't work."

Antonio gritted his teeth. That's not Dulce. Never in a million years. She is not like him.

"And yet, Ms. Alegría's so-called 'impulsiveness' led her to be one of the best in the program. 'Innovative' would be a better descriptor. Is that not a characteristic an exceptional chef would have?"

"..Well, yes. But she was more 'gimicky' than 'innovative.' Nothing groundbreaking. She had many failed ideas."

"But her innovative mind and perseverance are the very things that made her the creator of those recipes. Wouldn't you agree that Ms. Alegría has a unique style?"

Bianchi hesitated, "Yes, but not a very good one."

"That's not something her many fans would agree with. She stands out in a competitive industry with her flair. She takes risks, and they usually pay off. Isn't that what separates good chefs from great ones?"

Bianchi stayed quiet.

"The truth is, Ms. Alegría's recipes are hers. Not Mr. Caruso's. You just admitted she has a distinctive style, one that makes her stand out. And that style is apparent in the recipes—recipes that are not Mr. Caruso's. Should we compare the notebook entries to years-old videos from her channel?"

The jurors whispered to each other. Bianchi was speechless while Isabela tried not to let her anger show.

Antonio let the silence marinate in the air before closing off with, "No further questions."

That marked the end of Day 2. Unlike the chaos of Day 1, today had gone much smoother. But they had to make sure the momentum carried onto Day 3: The final day.

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

[organic-bloodbath]

Knife Princess - Part 10

Chishiya x Reader

Summary: You and Chishiya go to the doctor to get you diagnosed.

A/N: We're making progress. I truly don't know how long this series is going to be because i keep coming up with new ideas.

Chapters

♤♡♧◇

You sat in the hospital's waiting area with Chishiya, him sitting right next to you.

Your leg was bouncing fast out of anxiety and how nervous you were right now. Chishiya noticed it and gently laid his hand on your jean covered knee.

"It'll be alright," he tried to reassure quietly, though he couldn't help but have his heart racing faster than normal as well. You showed the anxiety taking control of you physically, but Chishiya tried his best to hide it deep inside of him, so you wouldn’t see how he truly felt about the situation you two were in.

"Ms. Suguru," a nurse announced. You swallowed and got up, glancing at Chishiya one last time who gave you a comforting nod.

The doctor took an MRI scan of your head, seeing if there was any sort of abnormalities in your brain.

As you were laying inside the massive machine tube, which name you had forgotten, you started to overthink immediately. You tried to stay calm and take deep breaths, telling yourself that it wouldn’t take long anymore, hoping being in this tight space wouldn’t cause a panic attack if this took longer than you had been prepared for it to take.

What if it was a tumor? Did tumors cause you to hallucinate? You didn't know anyone with a brain tumor or cancer so you weren't entirely aware of the possible symptoms. Maybe it was a tumor, and the doctor would tell you that you had four months left to live — at best.

Maybe you had inherited schizophrenia from your great-aunt and would be locked up in a mental hospital for the rest of your life. Your child would be bullied at school for their mother being lunatic and deranged. Maybe, maybe, maybe — there were so many maybes you couldn’t handle it if you had to wait for the result for too long.

“Shut up,” you quietly mumbled, trying to make your brain calm down, but didn’t succeed at it very well.

You felt like you were starting to suffocate, not knowing how long you had been inside the machine. It had probably been just a few minutes but it felt like hours. Heart beating almost painfully fast the more time passed, palms sweating and breath starting to tremble. You wanted to scream that you needed to get out but just then it was over and you were pulled out of the machine, as if the doctor had heard your panicked thoughts. You wouldn’t have been surprised if you had said words out loud which you thought you had managed to only keep inside your mind.

Chishiya took his turn in the scanner after you, letting you wait in the doctor's office. You had insisted to have an appointment together, since you had experienced the exact same thing. You needed someone on your side, someone who brought you comfort and managed to calm you down, to reduce the anxiety twisting inside your chest and stomach. And Chishiya was the person who could do all of that. Only his presence by your side brought enough comfort to let you relax. It felt as safe as when you had visited a doctor with your mother when you had been just a little kid — not that you’d compare Chishiya to your parent, no. He only awakened that same feeling of safety inside you.

Chishiya returned to the room with you sooner than you expected. Had it really taken you too that short time?

“Are you feeling alright?” Chishiya asked as he sat on the chair next to you.

“Mhm,” you mumbled and tried to smile, at least a little bit.

The doctor sat on his seat on the opposite side of the table. A small metal plate was attached to his white doctor’s coat with a name “Dr. Oshima” printed on it with black letters.

"Now, this is something I’m not sure i can explain very well," the doctor started, furrowing his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" Chishiya asked.

"Well, you told me you had experienced quite realistic hallucinations, correct?" You just nodded your head when the doctor glanced at you. "I'd start inspecting on possible schizophrenia, psychosis or something similar and there are some signs pointing at psychosis, yes, but it's a little different than what I've seen before on patients with such disorders. However, I would cross schizophrenia out of the list, if you were concerned about that.”

Both you and Chishiya furrowed your eyebrows, confused what the doctor exactly meant. But you let out a relieved sigh out of your lungs.

“You told me that these hallucinations started soon after the meteorite attack, correct?” the doctor asked, which you confirmed. “It is possible that you experienced a serious brain injury from the accident. A traumatic brain injury can cause psychosis on a person, so I would say it’s the most plausible cause for your hallucinations with the information I have now.”

So, no tumor or schizophrenia? Just a brain injury?

“Have you experienced any other symptoms that could point at a brain injury?” he asked. “Such as persisting headache, confusion, loss of coordination, troubles on speech?”

“Well, I’ve gotten some headaches, but nothing else, really,” you explained, which Chishiya admitted suffering as well more often than usual.

“Hm. I see,” he mumbled. “Well, the symptoms vary a lot from person to person. I can prescribe you with one medication to see if the symptoms go away and book an appointment for you in, let's say, a month? To see if the medication has started to work."

"Um," you started nervously and held your stomach. "Is it safe for a baby? I'm pregnant."

You felt awkward asking about it next to Chishiya, realizing that you hadn't mentioned about the pregnancy to him. Or had you? You weren't sure anymore. Besides, did you even have any reason to tell him about it? You weren't obliged to do that, you hardly knew the man. You noticed how Chishiya glanced at you from the corner of your eye, but you ignored him.

"I'll write you a prescription for the type of medicine which is the safest to take during pregnancy," the doctor explained, a reassuring smile on his face.

He typed something on his computer.

"I'd like to arrange you a psychiatric meeting with me but my calendar is extremely full for the next few weeks," the doctor sighed. "I can see if my colleague has more space in her calendar but if not, we'll see in a month, alright? If anything urgent comes up, give me a call."

♤♡♧◇

None of you said a word while you walked down the hospital's corridors and out of the hospital, both of you deep in your thoughts.

You hadn't told Chishiya you were pregnant, no, but he did have a feeling that you were expecting a baby. He had heard your conversation at the hospital with Niragi, though only a small part of it, but he had heard a mention of you being pregnant. As he had gotten to know you better, the thought had slipped his mind but it was still rooted in some part of his brain.

There had been really no reason for you to tell about your pregnancy to Chishiya, it wasn’t any of his business, he knew that. But he couldn’t help but think if the father was around. Chishiya could only assume that he wasn’t, since the only person Chishiya had seen you around was your brother. Although, of course Chishiya didn’t know what you did during the day or where you went, you didn’t tell Chishiya about your every move. Maybe you did spend time with another guy. However, surely the man in question would have taken you in to live with him after your apartment got ruined by the meteorite and not leave you to be dependent on Niragi.

Imagining you with another man stung Chishiya’s heart for some odd reason. Stop it, her life is none of your business, Chishiya thought.

The doctor had actually confirmed that you were crazy, that something was wrong with your head. Of course you had been prepared to the worst but walking into a pharmacy to pick up a new medication for you was like a slap on the face. You had still expected to hear words like "oh, it's just stress it'll go away on its own if you keep up with healthy lifestyle, such as enough sleep and balanced meals." No. You had to start eating pills which you had never taken before.

"Do you want to grab something to eat?" Chishiya asked, not sure if you'd just want to go back home and be alone or if you wanted – or needed – some company. Chishiya wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was the one who didn’t want to be alone at the moment, afraid of his brain starting to spiral and how there would be nobody to share the things he’d see or hear.

"I'm not really hungry," you said, even though you didn't remember the last time you had eaten.

"I've been with you for the past five hours," Chishiya pointed out. "You just think you're not hungry."

Now that you had confirmed to him that you were carrying a child, it was even a bigger reason to make you eat, even if you didn't feel like it.

"I'm fine, really," you groaned. "I'm sure you have something better to do anyway."

"I don't really," he shrugged. I just don't want to be alone right now because if i am, my brain won't shut up about things that don't exist and you make my mind calm down in some odd way, Chishiya thought but preferred to keep it inside his head. "I mean, we don't have to if you have something planned already."

"Well, i don't have anything, no," you admitted, feeling suddenly shy around him. Every time you had spent time with each other, you had just accidentally ended up together. He hadn't suggested or asked to hang out with you, previously you had just been forced to be in each other's company. Now he was asking to spend time with you just a little more? It made you feel all giddy and… wanted? "So, where would you take me?"

"What do you like to eat?" he asked.

"Anything, really," you shrugged.

The two of you ended up in a small place for some simple ramen, it was a place you had often went to and loved the cozy atmosphere, as well as the food there. You didn't care to go searching for any fancier restaurant, wanting just something quick and easy. This place was never packed full either.

“By the way, I’m moving out in a few days,” you revealed after a short silence, having called back to the real estate agent to accept the offer of the apartment you had gone to check out. “Found my own apartment.”

Chishiya was aware that you and Niragi living with Jae-sung had to be just a temporary solution but Chishiya still had an odd feeling inside him at the thought of you leaving. He had gotten used to having you one floor below him and having a chance of walking past you in the corridors or stairs at any moment he was leaving or going back to his own apartment. Having you live close to him. Now, he wouldn’t see you anymore.

“Oh, well. Congratulations,” he said, not sure what to say when someone moved into a new place. “Where are you moving?”

“You want to stalk me, huh?” you smirked.

“I’m not that obsessed with you, don’t worry.”

“Mhm. So, you admit you’re a little obsessed, hm?” you teased.

“You’re putting words into my mouth again,” he stated, not going to admit that he was growing quite fond of you day by day.

“That wasn’t a ‘no’.” You bit your lip, loving to tease him like that.

“I was only asking how afraid I have to be of bumping into you in a grocery store. Or if I have to change my schedule coming back home from work,” he explained and twirled the noodles on his plate with his chopsticks.

“Don’t worry, you can buy your groceries in peace and I’ll use different metro stops than you,” you replied. “It’s about half an hour walk from your place.”

So, at least you weren’t changing cities. Why did he care anyway? He didn’t, of course he didn’t. He’d be more than happy and relieved to get you out of the way and be able to live in peace. No, he wasn’t happy about that. Now if he wanted to keep seeing you, he’d have to call or text you. To ask for your phone number. Did you want to keep in touch with him or just move on with your life which didn’t include him?

“Chishiya?” you asked, startling Chishiya from his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“What were you thinking about? Zoning out like that,” you asked.

“Oh, nothing important,” Chishiya denied.

“It doesn’t have to be important, you know."

“It’s nothing, really."

“Alright,” you said, though feeling slightly suspicious of his behavior.

Both of you continued eating in comfortable silence for a moment, until Chishiya got the urge to break the silence.

"So, you think it's going to be a girl or a boy?" Chishiya asked, gaze at your stomach. He was a little unsure if you wanted to talk about it or not but he wanted to try. He wanted to know more about it, just a little bit.

"Oh, i don't think i'm that far yet to know," you chuckled.

"But what does your instinct say?" Chishiya asked, narrowing his eyes. "Mothers always have an instinct relating to their children. Or so i've heard."

"Well… i suppose a girl," you admitted. At first when you found out about being pregnant, your mind had been stuck on the option of abortion and how you wanted to get rid of the baby. But the more time passed, the better you had gotten used to the idea of having a child. You still got mixed feelings, of course you did, you weren’t exactly ready to become a mom but you couldn’t bring yourself to get an abortion either. You were scared and wished more than anything to have someone by your side as terrified as you. Niragi wasn’t the person for that or none of your friends either, not really, because they had no part in this pregnancy.

"Yeah?" Chishiya said, a little smile appearing on his face at the thought of you with a little girl.

You fell silent for a moment and put your chopsticks down on the plate, one question still bothering you.

"Um, this probably sounds stupid but…" you started, for a moment avoiding eye contact with Chishiya and swallowed a lump in your throat. "Are paternity tests 100% correct each time?"

Chishiya furrowed his eyebrows. "Yes, they are. Why?"

"Oh, i just, never mind," you mumbled, looking at your hands to avoid eye contact with him. Of course they were foolproof, what were you thinking.

"Everything okay?" he asked, though clearly seeing that something was worrying you.

You were unsure if you should start opening up to Chishiya, even though the more days passed it had started to become easier and easier to talk to him. You hadn't talked about this to anyone except Niragi and Takuro, and you hadn't exactly been opening up about a lot of details to them either. You hadn't talked about it to your friends either, you just didn't feel comfortable opening up to others easily. If you told about your pregnancy to your friends, they’d start going crazy excited and make you feel suffocated for all the attention you’d get. You weren’t ready for that.

If you told anyone that you didn't know who the father was, what kind of slut would that make you sound like? That would just sound like you were sleeping around with several men at once. Why would anyone believe you that you hadn't had sex with a man in months? That made it impossible to have a child growing inside you.

"Everything's fine," you assured, regretting that you had brought the subject up at all.

"Is the father in the picture?" Chishiya asked, feeling a sting in his heart that you'd already belong to someone else. It shouldn't be something that Chishiya would care about, it was none of his business, but he had an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach when he even thought about you in some other man's arms.

"No, he's not," you mumbled.

You wanted to tell someone that you didn't know the dad and to comfort you that there was a good explanation for that. Chishiya was as insane as you though — a damn doctor had confirmed it and put you on the same medication — so maybe he wouldn't think that you were a crazy slut. Right? Should you take the risk? Feel the relief of getting it out of your chest and have someone tell you that everything was going to be alright. That you'd find the answer soon. Help you to figure out what happened to you.

But was Chishiya the right person for that? You didn't exactly know each other well but there was this strange bond between the two of you which neither you or Chishiya could explain with words. The bond made sense in your head but if you had to explain it with words, you wouldn't be able to do that.

"Y/N?" Chishiya said when you had zoned out. You weren't sure if he had said something to you or if you had just floated in silence the entire time now.

"If i tell you something, promise me you won't think i'm even crazier than i've proved to be by far," you said, lowering your voice and having a much more serious expression on your face.

Chishiya only furrowed his eyebrows, growing both confused and curious. "Alright, I'll try."

"I… i don't exactly know who's the dad," you mumbled. That was something Chishiya hadn't entirely expected to hear. You saw the surprised expression on his face and had to continue before he’d reply anything. "And before you say anything, I'm not a whore.” You let out a deep sigh. “I… i haven't slept with anyone in months. I shouldn't even be pregnant."

Chishiya eyed you for a moment, glancing at your belly which had a slight bump already.

"The doctor has 100% confirmed that you're pregnant?" Chishiya asked. Maybe the doctor had misdiagnosed you, that happened sometimes, right?

"Yes," you replied. "You're a doctor. Is this, like, possible? To become pregnant out of nowhere?" Of course it wasn't.

“It’s not,” Chishiya replied, even though he knew you were already well aware of it.

Because you got me pregnant so you're supposed to do everything i tell you, you voice stated seriously.

Chishiya choke on his food, starting to cough violently, a few pieces of noodles flying back into his plate.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god, are you okay?” You filled his glass with more water and handed it to him. He took the glass and when his coughs had calmed down, drank the water in one go.

“What did you say?” he asked, his throat sore.

“I asked if you’re okay,” you replied.

“No, uh, before that,” he continued, coughing one more time. His face had turned now red.

“Um, just that if it was possible to become pregnant just like that,” you answered.

He had imagined it. Just imagined it.

♤♡♧◇

You arrived back home, Chishiya stopping at your door when you were searching for the keys in your purse. The entire walk back to this building all kinds of thoughts were racing inside Chishiya’s mind which he wouldn’t be able to talk out with you. All the dreams, voices and illusions had felt so real, but how real actually were they?

"Um, can i ask you something?" Chishiya asked, making you look at him. "Are you allergic to anything?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Why do you ask that?" Then, your eyes lit up, a playful grin spreading on your face. "Chishiya, are you planning to take me on a dinner, hm?"

"No, no i," Chishiya stuttered. "I didn't plan anything, like that, but… are you? Allergic to something?"

"Well, for peanuts, yeah," you answered and shrugged.

"I see," he mumbled, his behavior making you narrow your eyes.

"That all?" you asked.

"Yep, that's all," Chishiya replied.

You gave him one last weird look and closed the door behind you.

As you entered inside, Niragi was leaning against the wall a few metres away from the front door, arms crossed against his chest as he looked at you. Like he was a mom waiting her teenage kid to come back home late way over her curfew, ready to teach a lesson for not respecting the household's rules.

You rolled your eyes. "What?"

"What's up with you and that guy?" Niragi asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Are you stalking me now?" you scoffed.

"Just happened to see you together at the hospital," he said and shrugged. “Holding hands and all.”

"The fuck were you at the hospital for?" you asked.

He showed you his hand, bandages around his wrist. "Broke my hand.”

"Do i want to know why?"

"Probably not." He shrugged. "So, why were you there? You don't look ill or have broken bones?" He narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Was it some baby stuff and he’s the dad?”

“He’s not the dad,” you groaned. You sighed and pinched your nose, closing your eyes for a second. "I got my head scanned, alright.”

He was silent for a moment. So, you really weren’t kidding about going to see a doctor. But why would you go there with your neighbor? And not with Niragi, for instance?

"What did they say?" he asked.

"Got me antipsychotics."

"I see," Niragi mumbled. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe later,” you answered, now just wanting to be by yourself for a moment.

♤♡♧◇

Peanut allergy was one of the most common allergies, of course Chishiya knew that, but that didn't help the fact that the dream he experienced started to freak him out even more.

Chishiya was curious about what kind of dreams you had experienced, surely there were others which you hadn’t revealed to him. He remember all of the dreams about you. How he had held you close to him, touching every inch of you and done things which Chishiya hadn’t done to a woman in a long time. How he had made love to you. He could never tell you about those sort of thoughts, definitely creeping you out if you hadn’t experienced anything even close to that.

He had been correct on you having a peanut allergy, which made his mind linger in one another thing.

What kind of fucked up thought would it be if i was the father of your child, even though I've never actually slept with you? Otherwise than in my dreams, that is. You had been unsure about the father anyway.

Chishiya needed to start taking his medication this instant, starting to already think something even more insane like this.

"Jesus christ you're losing it," Chishiya mumbled and looked at the pills he had gotten from the pharmacy.

♤♡♧◇

After you and Chishiya had left the hospital, doctor Oshima kept sitting on his chair for a little while longer, staring at the MRI pictures of your brain. Both of your brains, trying to figure out what the specific diagnosis could be. They looked almost exactly same, it could have easily been two scans of one person’s brain but it wasn’t. He hadn’t seen anything like this before. Sure, it pointed to psychosis but there was something different compared to other patients with psychosis.

Then, he heard a knock on the door, his colleague's head peeking inside when he had yelled a sign for her to come inside.

"Did you print the documents for the patient in the morning?" his colleague, doctor Kisaragi, asked.

"Oh, yes. I have them right here," doctor Oshima said and handed them to her.

"Thanks, i'll get back home after checking these in."

"Hey, hold on," Oshima interrupted, making her stop. "Could you look at these MRI scans?" He handed the scans to her. "Two patients came in for suffering from hallucinations. What do you think that is?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the scans for a moment until her face went pale.

No, it couldn't be.

She had seen these sort of scans before. Once, 12 years ago. Two people had come to her office, just like you and Chishiya, claiming to suffer from severe hallucinations, them starting one day out of nowhere. A lot of time had passed, but doctor Kisaragi still remembered those MRI scans like it was yesterday.

Not only the scans, but also what eventually had happened to the two patients.

"Looks like psychosis,” she confirmed, looking back towards Oshima. “What did you prescribe to them?"

"Antipsychotics."

She knew the medication wasn't going to work more than make the illusions appear less often, at least at first. It would make them feel slightly less real, but they weren't going to completely disappear with antipsychotics alone.

If this was what she thought it was. Surely it had to be something else.

But if this was what she suspected… She had to help you. It felt almost like fate that you walked to her colleague's office, just like that, and she to the doctor Oshima’s office that same day. She would help you better than she had the last two people. Last time had ended up in a tragedy, but now she'd have a new chance.

"Could you make a call and book an appointment for me with them?" doctor Kisaragi asked. "I'd like to have a talk."

She needed to interview you, to hear what had happened to you in the Borderlands. What was the root of these hallucinations.

After all, she was a former Borderlands citizen.

♤♡♧◇

A/N: Hope i didn't forget to tag anyone <3

Tags:

@28361573

@audiiix

@valexqpt

@aemondsb1tch

@queenofviolenceandnerds

@moonchild323232

@lizxoxeth

@crazzzyyyy

@kimsrie

@tinyminxie

@potato-vagina

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 14 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12 / chapter 13 / chapter 15

You told Mrs George (or was it Ms George now? Too soon?) that you'd drive yourself to the school. Under no circumstance did you want to sit in close quarters to Regina. Besides, you knew she'd have to be there significantly earlier because she was performing. If the thought of being near Regina made you uncomfortable, that of being in that building made your skin crawl.

Why you were even bothering to go was beyond you. You'd been made into a laughing stock, a subject for people to talk about and twist around for the rest of the break. There was no PR response you could concoct to fix this, because for one, there was no time, and secondly nobody would want to hear it.

Maybe this wouldn't ruin your entire fucking life. Maybe you'd get over it eventually. Maybe it would all turn out fine. But it didn't feel like that. You could understand Regina more now, could see more clearly what she'd been talking about when she went on that rant.

Thinking all your problems would dissolve once you were old enough was stupid. That could only be applied to something vain, like pimples and pit stains and body odour. But issues like Regina's, utter self-hatred weaponized against society and everybody around her, and yours, chronic doormat syndrome with a side of people pleaser, could not just resolve. One could not pray the gay away, could not sweep it all under the rug.

You looked at the chicken sandwich in your hand. Mrs George had made some for lunch earlier and you'd swung by after the grocery trip to get you one. Then, she'd driven back to yours, helped you pack it all away, and made a weekly meal plan with you while you ate. It'd been nice. And the chicken sandwich was divine.

Your tummy was already full, but you didn't want to stop eating. You almost never got to really stuff yourself. The feeling of it was luxurious, though painful.

You put off going for as long as you could. You left at just the last minute, cutting it dangerously close. Didn't bother changing your clothes or anything. A hoodie and jeans, your usual jacket and scarf. By the time you arrived on the scene, the parking lot was pretty much deserted. You hustled to the gym where the thing was set up and easily found Mrs George and Kylie.

"C'mon, it's- it's- it's almost starting!" Kylie hissed at you, patting the seat next to her.

"Okay okay!" You whisper shouted back, mustering a little excitement for the little girl's sake.

Most of the performances were utterly dull. To be fair, the talent show was also an opportunity to get extra credit for some classes. Several people from your Spanish class took the stage. There was poetry and a couple songs, all mediocre at best. A pair performed a salsa number, which was surprising on two accounts. One, they were both dudes and two, they were good.

After Damien's dramatic rendition of Christina Aguilera's Beautiful, it was time for The Plastics to take the stage. Karen, Gretchen, and Cady were slowly revealed by the curtain. Cady stood front and centre, Gretchen to her left and Karen to the right.

Unlike many of the other dance performances of the night, the highlight was certainly not the choreography. The wow factor was hinged on the simple fact that it was them, specifically these girls, in latex, borderline slutty Santa costumes doing a provocative dance. The audience was not thrilled, the adults' reactions ranging from mildly uncomfortable to downright scandalized, while the other high schoolers looked on in either lust or disappointment that the act was missing the thing that had made it interesting in the first place.

Regina George had been the main attraction. Without her, without her effortless stage presence making the dance seem interesting, it was actually pretty embarrassing.

You had to look away when they started doing stunts. Karen went to the floor on all fours crab walk style, while Gretchen positioned herself behind her, and Cady geared up to- you couldn't watch. Suddenly, the music cut out and a heavy thump accompanied by someone's breath wooshing out of their lungs echoed through the gymnasium.

Kylie covered her mouth in a valiant effort not to laugh. You bumped your shoulder into hers. She bumped back. Mrs George had gasped and almost surged out of her seat. A beat of silence. Then, like water rippling, laughter began to bubble out of people.

You still couldn't watch. You could hear heels clicking on stage, groaning, and some frantic whispering. Kylie had tears in her eyes and her whole body was shaking.

"What's happening?" You whispered to her.

"Cady... She... Belly flopped the stage." She managed to get out before bursting into giggles.

"What? Is she, like, okay?"

"She's getting up. The principle's getting on stage." Kylie reported while you kept your eyes firmly on your lap. "He's gonna say something, oh, Gretchen's taking the mic-"

You had to look up when you heard your full name being spoken into the microphone, but regretted it as soon as Gretchen finished the sentence:

"-is a lesbian!" Quiet. Again.

You looked down so fast your neck cracked. Through the tinnitus in your ears, you could vaguely hear the principal admonishing Gretchen, the murmurs in the hall, their heels clicking off stage.

Why was Gretchen of all people announcing your sexuality at the talent show? What did she have to do with any of this? Maybe Regina had put her up to it. It didn't seem planned, though. You thought that Regina and Gretchen weren't talking.

"What's a lesbian?" Kylie asked you, all innocence and wide eyes.

"Kylie, don't ask that, it's not appropriate." Mrs George said.

"Why? Is it a bad word?" She turned to her mother. You took deep breaths and clenched your fists. Unclench. Clench. Everything was going to be fine.

"No, but it's not good to accuse somebody like that." Mrs George tried to explain gently, but you could tell she was out of her depth.

"But what does it mean?"

"Kylie, I said don't-"

"It means a girl that likes girls." You cut in.

"Huh... So like how boys like girls, but a girl likes a girl?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Okay."

You would've paid so much money for it to be that simple. Why you couldn't be afforded the benefit of the doubt that you weren't a pervert, riddled with disease, and out to get people? Why was it so unbelievable that you didn't want to change the world, you just wanted to get married someday? Why did kissing girls on the mouth make you a predator?

You suspected there were no real answers to those questions. Fear. Repression. The patriarchy. Religion. The wage gap. Whatever.

The show went on. You felt numb. Realistically, what could you even do? Stand up and shout that it wasn't true? That would only serve to put a name to a face. The next talents came and performed their mediocrity to the mildly interested crowd. There was a pretty good sleight-of-hand magician. Somebody had trained their cat to do tricks.

Eventually, it was Regina's turn to take the stage. You couldn't help but perk up when they announced her. Mrs George was out of her seat immediately, kneeling on the pathway to the stage with a video camera poised to film her daughter.

The curtains parted. She stood in the centre of the stage, mic stand in front of her. She smiled a little, eyes on her mom presumably.

Her hair was done in soft waves, framing her face so beautifully. Natural makeup kept light, a compromise between the bare face that you liked and the full beat she was into. She was wearing an old white tee shirt, the logo so faded you could barely make it out. That had been your shirt, you realized as you narrowed your eyes. You'd gotten it from summer camp, one that Regina hadn't been able to come with you to. After you came back she'd confiscated all the stuff you'd gotten there. Tee shirts, crafts projects, a whittled duck, braided cord. You'd always assumed she had thrown it all in the trash. On her wrist was a braided leather cord and a wood bead friendship bracelet. She had on Lee jeans that hugged her hips and thighs exquisitely. Those had been her mom's.

In her hands was the photo album. Everybody could read the front, Reggie & Jorts.

"Notice me... Take my hand..." She crooned into the mic as the soft melody of Briney Spears' Everytime began to play.

"Why are we strangers when our love is strong? Why carry on without me?"

You felt like you couldn't breathe.

"And every time I try to fly I fall without my wings," Her eyes scanned the crowd. You wondered if she was looking for you. "I feel so small, I guess I need you, baby,"

She found you. Your eyes met, hers clear and blue and somehow so sad, even as she glittered up on stage. Even with everybody's eyes on her, she was looking at you.

"And every time I see you in my dreams, I see your face," She sang so prettily, every note like a gentle caress, a soothing balm to your ears. You did so love to hear her sing.

"It's haunting me. I guess I need you, baby," Her eyes closed, like she couldn't focus on two things at once; looking at you and singing. She swayed gently with the rhythm, feeling the soft instrumental in her feet. Sneakers. Simple, white sneakers.

Her eyes opened again with the next lyrics. You tried not to overthink it, tried not to imagine things that weren't there, but maybe there was a glassiness to her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I make-believe, that you are here. It's the only way that I see clear. What have I done? You seem to move on easy."

You swallowed, eyes closing. You weren't sure what to think. Was this her way of apologizing? Was she trying to make up for what'd been said? Hadn't she just earlier today made your life living hell?

You leaned your elbows onto your knees and cradled your face in your hands. What were you supposed to do now? She was singing to you. This was the ultimate show of sincerity, of vulnerability, but what were you meant to do with it all in your hands? Your chest tightened and your breaths shortened.

The song continued, you knew the lyrics by heart, but only once she sang the next part did you open your eyes again.

"I may have made it rain, please forgive me. My weakness caused you pain, and this song's my sorry,"

You understood. Cowardly as it may have been, Regina was apologizing to you. Though the references were obscure enough that most, if not all, people would not know who she was singing to, it was quite clear this was a song for somebody.

You rubbed at your throat. It felt constricted, like something was tightening around it.

You couldn't shake the feeling that it was too late. As much as you would've liked to weep in gratitude, be swept in the relief that she was taking you back, irreversible things had happened. None of this made sense. If she hadn't pulled the stunt today then who had? Had she told somebody? Had Janis told?

Regardless, you were an outcast. If not, then ridiculed. You were scared. You had become a target. You didn't think anybody at Northshore was capable of the atrocities you saw reported on the news, but nobody who'd become a victim did until it was too late.

As it was, it didn't matter whether or not you forgave Regina. It didn't matter if she forgave you.

"I guess I need you, baby," As the last line of the song carried throughout the gymnasium, and after the split second of stunned silence before people began cheering and clapping, you got up and left.

You'd smoke a cigarette and get out of here once and for all. Then, you'd drive home and call dad. You'd tell him everything, tell him you needed to switch schools and that you were gay and that you'd made a real mess of things.

You'd take what was given, reap what'd been sown, and forget all about this goddamned town.

Forget all about Regina George.

Notes: Took a bit longer with this one. Sorry for the suspense! Here, have some more unresolved stuff! Also, I fucking love that song by Britney Spears. I've known Regina was gonna sing it for J since pretty much the beginning and finally, she did.

Taglist will be posted separately. If you want to be added to the list, please comment on that post! Thank you!

[obscuretobyfox]

The recent UNDERTALE/DELTARUNE Newsletter revealed a ton of concept art for enemies, done by Splendidland! There's way too much to make individual posts on, so I'll just post all the art with notes here!

"My friend Samanthuel (aka Splendidland) did a ton of concept art for Chapter 2! Sadly I couldn't use all of it because many of the concepts didn't end up aligning with my final vision for the game, but the designs themselves are super amazing! I'm thankful I got to use any of them.

Specifically I really wanted to use the paint enemy as a miniboss, since I thought it would be really fun mechanic.

Below were her notes on all of them! She also provided ideas on how she thought they could be used." - Toby Fox

"I was given the broad theme of "cyber world" and told to pretty much just design whatever I wanted, expecting only a handful to actually make it in. I made all of these within a couple days, just making whatever came to my mind." - Splendidland

(From here on out, all quotes are from Splendidland.)

"01: Hacker Guy (idk what their name is), wants to discover the secrets of the world and has special abilities, though they aren't aware of them. "Hacks" by randomly smashing keys and even swinging their mouse around in the air, could keep escalating in silly ways.

02: Handsome Face...

03: When they stand over a spot that can be "hacked into", their cursor shaped head turns into a pointing finger. They don't notice this change, so it's up to you, the player, to help them."

"04: heheh....

05: Funny Egg, their body contains a virtual pet. Can the fate of this pet be altered? Maybe not... Has an existential crisis if the pet dies, as their body is a battleground of life and death.

06 :Broken Image, their life is in ruins

07: Recycle Bin

08: Trash Fly, represents uncollected "garbage data"

09: Kiss-kiss"

"10: Painter, would basically be like Adeleine but with crude ms paint effects, especially the airbrush."

"11: Diskette, spins in place until talked to. "despite my looks, i am totally unable to save your progress"

"12: some kind of "internet" thing idk

13: "Data", little icon like creatures who march onwards with unknown purpose. they take part in the festival."

"14: Popup. hides underneath a tile and springs upwards annoyingly. touching its forehead makes it return underground temporarily. a pest."

"15: Virus, its head sways back and forth as it tries to hover in the air."

"16:Anti Virus, is it a cop or a doctor? maybe they see you as an enemy as you're an "outsider"?

17:Corrupted data or something"

"18:"Cyber World", a rough vision of what a world inside a computer could look like

19:Cyber House"

"20: Masked Dancers, they participate in the festival, each colour has a different movement pattern and dance style. very rough concept" Which one is your favorite? Mine is probably the tiny data creatures!

[mirims1997]

A Line Crossed

Summary: Following the Pr written statement released by Ashlyn, Bellingham’s new love interest, Jude Bellingham finds himself in the midst of media scrutiny. In an attempt to save his image, his mom hires a sharp Pr agent who takes over to fix Jude’s tarnished reputation and along the way ends up mending his heart.

————————————————————————

Chapter 1: A bad Impression

This is extremely personal' - Real Madrid star Jude Bellingham’s girlfriend Ashlyn Castro releases emotional statement as she hits back at dating history claims

Jude Bellingham's girlfriend Ashlyn Castro speaks out in 'extremely personal' monologue on claims about her dating past and 'escort site' hoax

I stared at my tablet in utter disbelief as the onslaught of news articles about Ashlyn Castro, Jude Bellingham’s alleged girlfriend, invaded my feed. “How can they be so reckless? I definitely thought he had a better media team. They work with whom again? This is such a rookie mistake. Don’t you think?” Sierra, my office mate, is barely ever right about anything. But today, she is spot on. This, indeed, is a textbook PR disaster. How can they do this to Bellingham? A 10 minutes video reiterating poorly woven arguments, easily detectable lies and a laughable show of self victimization on top of that? Someone is getting fired as we speak. I turn off my tablet, take a sip of my now-cold latte and watch Sierra continue her monologue about the does and donts of our job.

“My hair is getting longer. It needs a trim.” I try to shift the topic to something else and that seems useful enough to shake her out of her Bellingham stupor as she blinks at me incredulously. “Can’t you let it be a bob? You are too serious looking with that pixie cut. It scares off clients.” That’s the point, I mutter to myself.

A knock sounds on the door sparing me any further conversation with opiniated Sierra. Bernardo confidently strides in, smirking at me like he won the lottery. “You are called in for a meeting Miriam. HR and the lots. With that personality of yours, I am surprised you survived this long.” If glares could kill, Bernando would be withering at my feet. “3 months is a record in our company. Even interns stick around much longer, but can’t say I won’t miss your haughtiness.” I gather my tablet, drink the last sip of my coffee, ruffle my unruly hair and reapply my lipstick. “Bernando, darling, have you considered stand up comedy? Makes for a lovely career! And you are a natural. You make me laugh every morning with how ridiculous you are.” The last thing I heard as I slammed the door behind me was the shrieks Sierra let out as she laughed her ass off.

————————————————————————-

As I stood outside the office. I stared at my reflection in the mirror placed next to the door. I cannot for the life of me figure out why a PR agency would have mirrors hang in all kinds of unseemly places there but today, I am glad it is. I smoothed down my sheer green shirt and perfectly tucked it in my black pencil skirt. I ruffled my dark locks one more time and toyed with my golden hoops to ease my anxiety. I looked really good today. And for what is worth, I’d rather be dismissed looking immaculate than walk out of the door looking like Bernando. I knocked the door and entered the office in confident strides, the sound of my heels clicking disturbing the eery silence. I looked at the head of HR searching her eyes for any sign of anger or at worst of disappointment. Too busy psychoanalyzing my terrifying boss, I did not notice the presence of another equally intimidating woman. “Hello Ms Miriam. I’ve heard great things about you. I am Denise Bellingham, mother of Jude Bellingham, the Real Madrid football player. I’ve personally requested this company’s best media specialist agent and your name was immediately brought up by Ms. René over here. My son’s public image has been sabotaged due to an unreliable social media specialist and I need someone brilliant enough to rectify the situation as soon as possible.”

I stared at Denise as she spoke so gracefully as if she had everything she said written and memorized before coming here. Not one hair was out of place. Everything about her was pristine and monitored, from the spotless and ironed collar of her white blouse to the way she moved her hand in an enchanting manner. That is a woman used to bending the world to her way. That is a woman I understand and can work with.

“Miriam Gibran, Social Media and Digital marketing specialist. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance Ms. Bellingham.” I shook her hand firmly as she stared me down.

“You are quite young. You must be really good if you are your superior’s number 1 suggestion.”

“Thank you Ms Bellingham. I take my job very seriously. That is why I am baffled as to why Mr Bellingham has thought it wise to skip our first debriefing. I do understand that as the head of his affairs and mother, your presence should suffice. But in such delicate matters and if we are to follow my work approach, he needs to be here.” I can see Mrs Renée glaring at me from the corner of my eyes, probably fuming at the obvious jab at Jude’s character.

Something shifted in Denise’s face, her lips quirking to half a smirk.

“In fact, Ms Gibran, Jude is..”

“Here.” A masculine heavily accented English voice sounded from behind me as a door closed softly. I could feel the overwhelming presence of a tall body basking in the pin drop silence that followed his entrance. I turned around and there he was :the Jude Bellingham, hands in pockets, eyes dangerously piercing and lips tagged into a smirk. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him as he sauntered towards my increasingly flustered boss. He smiled at her nervousness and shook her hand then held it with both hands. What a disgusting display of good English boy charm.

When his eyes finally met mine. I felt a jolt in my chest at the blatant shift in energy. Gone is all that good lad charm. In its stead a predatory gaze Swiped across my face and body in a barely noticeable manner, knocking the wind out of me and sending a shiver down my spine. I will be damned if I show it.

“Miriam right? Beautiful day outside! Don’t you think?” He glanced at me trying to gauge my reaction at his infuriatingly irrelevant comment, an attempt at placing me in a category, so he can act accordingly for the rest of our transaction.

“Sure! Very beautiful. So is Ashlyn, but here we are dealing with ugly consequences. Sit down Bellingham. I don’t like my time wasted.”

Hello Jude girlies! This is the first chapter of A line crossed. I look forward to hearing your thoughts

[winchesterwild78]

The Tutor

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Warnings: Nothing too bad yet, just a chapter to establish the story. Some language and some physical grabbing.

**Trigger Warning: Some of this chapter could be considered Domestic Violence. It’s grabbing an arm, and being controlling.**

A/N: Just a quick idea that popped in my head. A short series, maybe 2 or 3 chapters. I don’t know yet. No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction. Jensen has children in this, but I do not use their real names. 

Reader is a teacher and is asked to tutor Jensen’s child. Things develop between Jensen and the reader. I do not condone cheating, again, this is a work of fiction.

This chapter got a little long. Sorry not sorry. 😀

Minors DNI 18+

It was about 5 am when your alarm went off. You rolled over, grumbled and turned it off. Your husband was still sleeping next to you. Crawling out of bed you went to your bathroom and jumped in the shower. 

About 15 minutes later you were dressed and ready for work. You’d been a teacher for about 10 years, and you loved every second of it. Your husband encouraged you to expand your talent and offer tutoring in the afternoons as a way to help save money for the summer months when you didn’t get paid. 

You talked to the principal of your school and she told you she’d put out feelers to see if anyone had a lead on a possible need for a tutor. 

Grabbing your coffee, lunch and bag you headed for your car. It was a chilly morning, but you welcomed the change in temperature. As you pulled in the parking lot to the school, you noticed you were one of the first ones there. 

You sighed, gathered your things and got out of your car. As you walked in the building you saw the principal was in her office already. “Hey, Y/N, hold on a second.” You walked to her office door and waited for her to get off the phone.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m glad I caught you. So I talked to a friend of mine and she said she knows a couple who is looking for a tutor for their children. They have 3 kids, an older daughter, and a set of twins, a boy and a girl. The mother is out of town, but the father wanted to come in and see you in action and then sit down with you. Is that okay with you?”

“Oh, yeah that’s fine. Is he coming in today?” “Yes, if you were okay with it he wanted to come in today. If they decided to go with you, they’d want you to start ASAP.”

“Um, okay. Yeah. That’s fine. Hopefully it doesn’t distract my kiddos, but sure. Tell him to come by whenever.” “Great! I’ll give him a call.” You nodded and walked to your classroom.

Before the kids arrived, you sent your husband a text.

You: Hey, I might have a potential tutoring gig. Ms Smith is having a dad come in today. He and his wife wanted to see me in action. I’d be tutoring their three kids. I’ll let you know how it goes. I love you, babe.

Hubby: That’s great, you sure three kids won’t be too much? I love you too.

You: 3 kids? I teach 22 kids all day. I think I can handle 3.

Hubby: Yeah, you’re right. 

You finished getting things ready for the day as the kids started to arrive. “Good morning Ms Y/L/N!” The kids greeted you as they came into the room. “Good morning everyone.” 

Once the students got settled you called them to sit on the carpet to talk about today and how there might be a visitor. They were excited. You taught 5 & 6 year olds, so anytime there was a visitor it was always a big deal. 

“Now I want you all to be on your best behavior, and if we have a visitor I want you to do your best to ignore them, okay?” The kids nodded in agreement. 

A few hours later you were reading a book to your students when you heard your classroom door open. Glancing over you saw the principal and a man walk in. You kept teaching, not paying attention to the people in the room. 

When you read books, you are very animated. The kids would giggle and were completely engaged. At the end of your story you asked questions and called on some students to answer. A few minutes later you had them go back to their desks to complete the writing assignment you had given them. 

As you walked around checking their writing the principal approached you. “Ms Y/L/N, this is Mr Ackles. Mr Ackles, this is Ms. Y/L/N, our favorite Kindergarten teacher.” Your eyes went wide. Standing in your classroom was Jensen Ackles. His green eyes sparkling like emeralds under the fluorescent lights, his sandy brown hair perfectly styled, and he smelled like heaven. 

He extended his hand to shake yours. “Hello Ms Y/L/N, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.” You took his hand in yours and your breath hitched. You knew who he was, you’d been a fan for years. “Nice to meet you too, Mr Ackles. I look forward to speaking with you more about the tutoring needs of your children.” 

He smiled and nodded. The two of you couldn’t tear your eyes away from each other. You unconsciously bit your lip. The sound of a little voice pulled you two out of your trance. “Ms Y/L/N, is this right?” One of your students came up with her paper for you to check. “So what should this sentence start with?” Her bright eyes looking at you and then down at her paper, “Um, oh a capital.” You smiled and nodded.

She went back to her seat and fixed her paper. “Okay guys, remember to capitalize, and illustrate your writing. Don’t forget your setting and color.”

Your principal came up to you, “We are going to head out, I’ll give Mr. Ackles your number so you two can set up a meeting.” You nodded and thanked them, then they left.

Your heart was still pounding in your chest and you felt a warmth fill your body. Girl, get it together. He’s way out of your league, both of you are married, and you might be tutoring his children. This is just a celebrity crush. Keep it professional. 

The end of the day came quickly. You were cleaning up your classroom when you heard a knock on your classroom door. Looking up you saw Jensen. Your breath caught in your throat. “Excuse me Ms Y/L/N, I hope I’m not disturbing you.” “Oh no, I’m just cleaning up before heading home. How can I help you Mr Ackles?” 

“Well I really liked what I saw today. You were engaging and gentle but you can see your students know your expectations. I’d like to offer you the tutoring job if you’d like it.” “Oh, of course. May I meet your children before I officially start? This won’t work if the kids don’t like me.” 

Jensen smiled and nodded. “I’ll text you my address and you’re welcome to come by this afternoon.” “Sure, that would be great. I can’t wait to meet them and your wife.” You smiled. “Well, she’s out of town right now, so that will have to wait.” “Okay. If you need to wait for her, that's fine. I want her to be fine with me tutoring the kids too.” “Nope, this was something we’d talked about before she left, and she knew I was going to hire someone as soon as I could.”

“Okay, great. I’ll come by this afternoon then. I’ll see you later Mr Ackles.” “Jensen, please call me Jensen.” “Jensen, then. Feel free to call me Y/N.” He smiled and so did you. When he left you pulled out your phone to text your husband.

You: Hey, heading to meet the kids I might be tutoring. The dad asked me to come by this afternoon.

Hubby: Okay, I’ll see you at home later then. Love you

You: I love you too. 

You set your phone down and finished cleaning. A few minutes later your phone went off.

Unknown: Hey, Y/N. This is Jensen. My address is 123 E Main Street. Can’t wait for the kids to meet you.

You: Hey, Jensen. I can’t wait to meet them either. I’ll be there in about 20 minutes. Just finishing up here. 

Jensen: Great! See you then.

You finished what you were doing and grabbed your stuff heading out of the school. Driving to Jensen’s house you were nervous but excited. You’d tutored before, but never for a celebrity and definitely not for someone you had been crushing on for decades. 

Pulling down the long driveway you were in awe at the spacious home that stood before you. Putting your car in park, you grabbed your bag and got out. 

Before you could knock on the door it opened and Jensen greeted you with a smile. “Hey, Y/N, glad you could make it.” “Hello, Mr. Ackles, thank you for having me.” “Please, call me Jensen.” You nodded and smiled, “Okay, Jensen.” 

He welcomed you into his spacious home and led you to the living room. “Please have a seat, and I’ll get the kids down here. Would you like anything to drink? Tea, water?” “Um, sure, I’ll have water if you don’t mind.” “Sure thing. I’ll grab it and the kids.”

You sat on the couch as Jensen left the room. You heard him calling the kids and the sound of feet on the stairs. 

Jensen and the kids came back to the room. He handed you the water. “Thank you.” He nodded and smiled. “Kids, this is Ms Y/L/N, she’s going to be your tutor. Ms Y/L/N, this is my oldest, Annie, and the twins, Jessica and Jensen Jr., we call him Jr.” “Hi guys, it’s nice to finally meet you three.” “Hello Ms Y/L/N, it’s nice to meet you too.” Jensen’s son walked over and sat next to you, “Are you married? Do you have any kids?” “Yes I am married, and no I don’t have any children yet. I’m a teacher so my students are like my kids right now.” 

The five of you sat in the living room talking and getting to know each other. After the kids got tired of talking and asking you questions, they left the room. Leaving you and Jensen alone. “So, Y/N, what do you think? Think you can handle them?” You smiled and nodded, “Yes. They seem really sweet, I’d be just fine with them.” 

“Well, all that’s left is to talk about schedule, pay, and the NDA. The NDA is to protect everyone involved. You’re more than welcome to contact an attorney to look it over.” You smiled and nodded. About 45 minutes later you and Jensen had talked about your schedule, the pay and he’d given you the NDA.

“So, Y/N, do you have any additional questions for me?” “Yes, when will your wife be back, I’d love to meet her too.” “She won’t be back for a few weeks, but you’ll get to meet her when she returns.” You nodded and stood, “Well, Jensen I better leave you to it. I need to get home anyway. I have some things to do for work.” “Of course, well thank you again for coming by this evening. Let me walk you out.” 

The two of you walked towards the door. “Thank you again, Y/N for agreeing to take this job. We’ve interviewed so many people and they couldn’t get past my status to focus on the kids.” “If I’m being honest Jensen, I’ve been a fan of yours for years, but I promise that will not interfere with my job.” Jensen stepped a little closer to you, and your heart beat faster, “I’m glad. I think this is going to work out for everyone.” A blush filled your cheeks and you bit your lip. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jensen. Please tell the kids goodbye.” He nodded as you stepped out of the house.

Getting into your car, you let out the breath you’d been holding. Driving home you couldn’t focus on anything but how gorgeous Jensen looked. Stop it girl! You work for him now. If you can’t stop these thoughts there is no way you’re going to be able to work for him. Your focus should be on his children. Both of you are married, and his wife is absolutely gorgeous. 

About a half hour later you were pulling in your driveway. Your husband was already home. Walking in the house you announced you were home, “Honey I’m home.” Your husband, Jeff, came around the corner and pulled you into a hug and a kiss. 

“How was the meeting with the family?” He asked as he pulled back. “It was great. The kids are so sweet. The wife is out of town and the dad is super nice too. There is a little problem. Well, not really a problem, but something I need to tell you.” “Okay, babe, is everything okay?” “Yeah, so the dad asked me to sign an NDA.” Your husband laughed, “Why is he a secret service agent or a celebrity?” You got a serious look on your face and your husband’s laughter died down. “What? Is he really?” “He and his wife are celebrities. It’s Jensen Ackles.”

Your husband pulled away and looked at you in surprise. He knew how much you liked Jensen and how much of a fan you’d been. “Yeah, I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with you working for him.” You looked at him confused, “What? Why not?” “Oh I don’t know, maybe because you’ve had the hots for him for years.” 

“Jeff, come on, really? I have no interest in him. I love you and I’m married to you. This is a job to help bring in more income for us. Besides, the pay is incredible. I tried to negotiate because I felt it was too much, but he insisted. We’d make enough in two months to pay off our credit cards.” 

Your husband’s jaw tightened, “I don’t care. I forbid you to take this job!” “I’m sorry, what? You forbid me?!? What the hell is wrong with you?” He stepped closer to you, “You heard me. You can’t take the job.” You scoffed and walked away. Jeff grabbed your arm, “Don’t fucking walk away from me!” “Let me go Jeff!” You pulled your arm away and walked to your shared room, locking the door behind you.

You sat on your bed and cried. How could he act like this? You two had been married for years and never had you given him a reason to doubt your loyalty. He’d never grabbed you before and you would never let him do it again. 

You pulled out your phone and sent a text to your best friend.

You: Hey, can I come crash at your place for a bit. Jeff and I had a bad fight. I don’t want to be here right now.

Y/B/F: Absolutely. Are you okay? Do you need me and hubby to come over?

You: Yeah, I’m okay. No, I’ll be okay. I’ll call if I need you.

Y/B/F: Okay babes, see you soon.

You grabbed your suitcase and put some work clothes and casual clothes in it. You grabbed your toiletries and other things you needed. As you walked out into the living room Jeff was sitting on the couch. You could see he was still pissed. “Have you come to your senses, Y/N?” “Yes I have, I’m going to Y/B/F’s house until I figure things out. You will NEVER put your hands on me again!” 

He stood and your heart beat fast. As he walked closer to you, you could see the rage in his face. You had been with him for years and you had never seen him like this, you were scared. 

Jeff stepped closer to you, mere inches from your face, “That’s right, go run to her house and go be his whore.” You didn’t say anything. You grabbed your bags and left. 

Driving down the road the tears started to fall. How could he act like this over a simple job? Why was he so jealous over Jensen? Sure you liked him, but you would never act on those feelings.

Pulling into your friend’s driveway you saw her open the door before you got out of the car. She ran up to you and threw her arms around you. “Oh sweetie, what happened?” She saw your tear stained face. “I told him about the tutoring job I took and he lost it. Told me I couldn’t take it and then he grabbed my arm. When I told him I was leaving he told me to go be the dad’s whore. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” 

“Let’s get you inside, eat and I’ll open a bottle of wine. Then we can talk.” You nodded and grabbed your things. Her husband walked over and gave you a big hug, “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m gonna head out so you girls can chat. Enjoy dinner.” He placed a kiss on your head before heading out the door. 

Y/F/N and you grabbed the food, and wine and sat down in the living room. “So why would he get so pissed about a tutoring job?” “Well the dad asked me to sign an NDA, he’s a celebrity. I guess Jeff thought I’d sleep with the dad or something. I just don’t understand.” “Oooh who is it?” “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Maybe I can ask if I can tell you, but I want to respect his privacy.” “I get it, but Jeff still shouldn’t have gotten pissed about it. Sounds like he’s got something to hide honestly.”

You hadn’t thought about that before, but now you couldn’t get it out of your head. Maybe he was the one cheating on you and was projecting. “Well even if he is, I don’t think I can go back to him. After he put his hands on me and the way he tried to intimidate me before I left. I can’t live with that fear.” “You are welcome to stay here as long as you want. We’ve got you girl, and don’t worry he won’t get near you here.”

*Time Jump 3 months*

“Okay guys, let’s get up and stretch for a bit. We’ve been working hard. Who wants to go outside and play for a bit?” You asked the kids after spending about an hour working with them at the kitchen table. The kids jumped up and ran outside, laughing and racing each other. You smiled as you started to clean up the table. 

Jensen walked into the kitchen and smiled, “Break time, I see.” “Yeah, they needed a break and so did I. Can I get you a coffee, Jensen?” Jensen walked over to the coffee pot, “No, let me get one for you. You’ve been busy educating my children. It’s the least I can do.” 

Jensen grabbed a coffee cup and filled it up, sliding it to you at the kitchen bar. You nodded and told him thank you. He filled one up and leaned against the counter. “So, how are they doing? Are you still okay with working with all three of them?” “Oh they are amazing children. You and your wife should be very proud of them. I adore them.” 

“Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that.” “So if you don’t mind me asking, when is Mrs. Ackles coming home? I know she’s been out of town on a trip for about a week.” “Oh, yeah she’s on a girls trip. I believe she will come back next week. Maybe she’ll be around more after she gets back.” You could see the pain in his eyes and it broke your heart. “Well I can’t wait to sit and chat with her. I enjoy talking to you, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy sitting and talking to her too.” 

There was a pregnant silence that fell between you two, you looked up and met his eyes. They had a softness to them and were full of kindness. You blushed and smiled. The silence was broken by the sounds of crying. Jensen and you jumped up and ran outside. His daughter, Jessica was sitting on the ground crying. You and Jensen ran over to her and saw her knee was bleeding. 

Jensen scooped her up and carried her in the house. He sat her on the counter and you stood next to her. “Shh, it’s okay baby girl. Your daddy is going to get the first aid kit.” You rubbed her back and wiped her tears. 

Jensen came back carrying the first aid box. You held Jessica’s hand as he cleaned up the wound. “So Jess, what do you want for dinner? I bet you can get your daddy to get you whatever you want.” “I want cheeseburgers and ice cream, she sniffled.” “Ooh that sounds yummy. Does your daddy make good burgers?” She smiled and nodded. 

“Okay baby girl, all done.” Jessica looked at Jensen, “It didn’t even hurt.” Her eyes were wide. You smiled and Jensen looked over at you and smiled. “Well I think Ms Y/N has the magic touch then.” “Yes she does. Ms Y/N, can you stay for dinner?” Jensen was shocked, “Oh honey, Ms. Y/N has to get home to her husband. She can’t stay for dinner.” 

“Well, Jessica, if it’s okay with your dad I’d love to stay for dinner.” “Yay! I’m gonna go tell Jr and Annie.” You helped her down and she took off. As you were helping Jensen clean up, he looked at you, “Thank you for keeping her calm, but you really don’t have to stay. I’m sure your husband is waiting for you.” 

You put your head down, trying to hold back the tears. Taking a deep breath, “No, he’s not. I really would like to stay if you’re okay with it.” “Yes, that would be great. Jess really wants you to stay.” “Okay, let me help you cook then.” “Oh no ma’am, you are our guest.” 

You smiled “Please, it’s the least I can do.” “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?” “Nope, you’re not.” You laughed. “Okay, fine.” He chuckled.

Thirty minutes later you and Jensen were calling the kids in to wash up for dinner. Dinner was delicious and after dinner Jensen pulled out the ice cream. Jessica was excited, because they didn’t get ice cream often. “My wife would kill me if she knew I was giving them ice cream. They tend to get a little wild.” You both laughed. 

After ice cream, the kids went to the living room to watch tv while you helped Jensen clean up the kitchen. His phone rang as you two were cleaning. He sighed before he answered and walked out of the room. 

You kept cleaning and a few minutes later he came back in. “Sorry about that. It was my wife. She wanted to talk to the kids.” “Oh it’s not a problem. That’s sweet she calls when she’s away.” “Yeah, it is.” His jaw tightened a bit. 

The two of you reached for a bowl at the same time and your hands brushed against each other. A chill went through your body. You two looked at each other and you bit your lip, he swallowed hard. 

“Sorry,” you said as you pulled your hand back. “It’s okay.” Jensen cleared his throat, “Well it’s getting late. I’m sure your husband is worried about you.” You took a deep breath, “No, we um, actually split up a little over 3 months ago.” Jensen placed his hand on yours, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That has to be hard.” “Yeah, it has been. Things just got really bad, so I left. I’ve been living with my best friend and her husband since.” 

“Well, if it gets too crazy there we have a guesthouse you’re welcome to stay in. I know the kids would love to have you around more.” You smiled, “That’s a generous offer, but I think I’m okay where I am right now. Besides, that’s a decision I think your wife should be included in.” “I understand, the offer stands though. She’d be fine with it. She’s always willing to help people.” “Thank you, I appreciate that. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

About an hour later the kids were in bed and you were getting ready to head home. “Well, thank you for dinner and a wonderful evening. I will see you on Monday.” Jensen stood to walk you to the door. His hand brushed lightly on the small of your back and a shiver went through you. “Good night, Jensen. Thank you again for dinner and the conversation.” “Good night, Y/N, and you’re welcome.” Jensen reached out and pulled you into a hug. You took a deep breath and breathed him in. God he smelt amazing, and he was so warm. 

When you two pulled away he lightly ran his thumb over your cheek. You instinctively leaned into his touch. Your breath hitched, “I should go.” You whispered. “Yeah, you probably should.” 

Jensen stepped closer, you bit your lip. His thumb ran over your chin, pulling your lip out of your teeth. Your breathing grew more rapid and your heart beat wildly. His lips were inches from yours, your breath mingling with his. He licked his lips and leaned even closer. You felt his lips ghosting over yours. “Jensen..” “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” You looked at him, your voice caught in your throat. “Y/N, do you want me to stop?” “No,” was all you said. 

Jensen’s lips crashed into yours. Soft but forceful and full of passion and need. Your mind swirling, your heart pounding as his tongue licked your lips asking for entrance. You parted your swollen lips and his tongue took dominance in your mouth. Jensen’s hands went into your hair and pulled you closer to him. Your hands wrapped around his neck. 

The kiss seemed to last for hours, the need for air causing your lungs to scream for oxygen, but in that moment Jensen was the only thing you needed to live. When the need for air became too much, you both pulled away, panting with swollen lips. 

You were blushing and Jensen was smiling. “I’ve been dying to do that for a really long time.” You smiled and bit your lip. His hand brushing against your cheek, “So beautiful”. You took a deep breath, “Good night Jensen.” He placed a soft peck on your lips before you walked out of the house. 

Driving home all you could think of was the kiss. You’d dreamed of kissing him for years, but he’s married. What did the kiss mean to him, to your job? Would he want to do it again, would you? Your mind was racing with thoughts of the kiss and how you could still feel his lips on yours. The sound of your phone pulling you out of your head.

Jensen: So I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I swear I didn’t plan that. 

You: You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I liked it. Honestly, a little too much. 

Jensen: I liked it too. I’d like to do it again if you want.

You: I like that more than you know, but you’re married and my boss. I’m not sure it’s a great idea.

What the hell are you doing!? Jensen Ackles is telling you he wants to kiss you again and you’re shooting him down. Ugh!

Jensen: I understand. Please don’t think this changes anything or affects your job. It doesn’t. You’re amazing with my kids and I wouldn’t want to mess that up.

You: Thank you. I appreciate you saying that. Good night, and I’ll see you Monday.

Jensen: Good night, Y/N. Sweet dreams and see you Monday.

As you crawled into bed that night all you could think about was the kiss and how wonderful his hands felt on you. A small pang of guilt crept into your head when you thought about his wife. You still couldn’t believe you told him you didn’t think kissing him again would be a good idea. His lips were so soft and damn was he a good kisser. 

Could you really still work for him after this, or would the pull to kiss him become too much?

Tags are open, let me know if you want to be tagged.

Tags:

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @deana1245 

@mostlymarvelgirl @i-love-ptv

@iwouldfightforfrenchie @spxideyver

@peachhiz 

[sapphicandgraphic]

Safe House—Chapter 4

Synopsis: Natasha is a lawyer, and you’re a key witness in one of her cases. Fearing for your safety, she offers her home as a safe house during trial prep. While living there, she and her wife Wanda start to fall for you.

Chapter: 4/10 in which Natasha learns more about reader’s past, and things get steamy when Wanda x Nat give reader a boxing lesson in the garage.

Series Warnings: Non-magical AU, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, protective WandaNat, fem reader, age difference, WLW

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of sexual violence

Natasha was sitting in her office with a stack of files and an espresso when she heard some commotion in the hall. She tensed momentarily, then smiled when she recognized the familiar grumble. Her personal assistant, a young man named Ari,  appeared in the doorway, looking vaguely harassed and uncertain. 

“Ms. Romanoff,” he said. “You’re 10:00 is here.” 

“Thanks, Ari,” she said, waving her hand to signal that he should send them in. He nodded then stepped back as Yelena rounded the corner, looking slouchy and sullen. 

“Terrorizing the front desk again, are we?” Natasha tried her best to sound disapproving. 

Her sister shrugged. “They make it so easy.”

Yelena smiled sweetly at Ari and gave him a little sardonic wave before closing the door firmly in his face. 

Natasha groaned. “You’re lucky I already made partner,” she said. “Otherwise I’d have to disavow you entirely.” 

Yelena snorted, then strolled across the office and threw herself into one of the chairs opposite Natasha’s desk. Her posture was lazy, casual, but Natasha could see the flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

“You summoned me?” 

Natasha nodded, steepling her fingers diplomatically, trying to gather her thoughts. “How are things at the farm?”

“Oh boy,” Yelena chuckled darkly, leaning back and resting her boots on the edge of the desk. “Trying to butter me up with small talk?” 

“What?” Natasha asked. “I can’t ask my only sister how she’s doing, sequestered in a secret hideout hundreds of miles outside the city?” 

“Not really your style.”

Natasha deliberated for a moment, then walked around and shoved her sister’s feet off the polished oak surface of her desk. 

“That’s more like it,” Yelena grunted. 

Natasha rolled her shoulders, irritated at being provoked. 

“Things at the farm are fine. Clint’s been on high alert, but nothing out of the ordinary,” Yelena said. “And the kids all said to tell you that I’m the coolest auntie in the world.”

Natasha smirked, but ignored the jab.

“Whatever you called me here for,” Yelena continued, a note of real worry creeping into her voice now. “Must be pretty bad if you’re so anxious to avoid the subject.” 

“Fine,” Natasha sighed, relenting. “I wanted some background on our friend.” 

Yelena narrowed her eyes, walls immediately going up at the idea of betraying your confidence. “So ask her.” 

“It’s sensitive,” Natasha said, leaning against her desk. 

“Since when do you let that stop you?” Yelena scoffed. She had seen her sister tear hardened criminals apart in pre-trial. 

Natasha shifted, crossed her arms. “I’d like to spare her the discomfort, if I can.” 

Yelena seemed to soften instantly. “Alright, what do you want to know?” 

Natasha had figured this angle would get her sister talking. Still, she felt a small pang of guilt. The topic wasn’t a pleasant one. “The other night,” she began. “She told me the story of how you met. Said she was going through a dark time and you pulled her out of it.”

“Sounds about right,” Yelena said.  Her eyes flickered toward the floor and Natasha sighed. 

“Well, what did she mean by that?” She pressed. “Is there anything illicit or criminal that could damage her credibility during cross-examination?”

Yelena chewed her fingernail, stalling. “She was partying a bit too much.” 

“Drugs?” Natasha guessed. “Sex?” 

Yelena nodded, but Natasha could tell there was more she wasn’t saying. A cold, anxious fear suddenly gripped her. The idea of you putting yourself in dangerous situations made her skin crawl, and she dreaded the answer to the next question. 

“What else?”

Yelena looked away, clearly distressed at the memory.

“Lena,” she said, voice gentle. “What else?” 

“I don’t know for sure,” she insisted. 

“But you have a theory,” Natasha guessed, waiting for her sister to elaborate. Yelena stood up, walking toward the large window that looked out over the city. 

“I think she was…letting people hurt her,” Yelena said quietly, casting around for the right words. 

Natasha felt a tightness in her chest. She desperately needed to switch into attorney mode. She wouldn’t be able to do her job properly if she let these inconvenient personal feelings throw her off balance. 

“Hurt her how?” She asked, voice shaking slightly.

“She would get super fucked up and go home with strangers.” Yelena frowned. “I remember one or two times afterward, she had bruises. On her neck and her face.” 

Natasha squeezed her eyes together, feeling sick. “Maybe it was consensual? With a boyfriend? Girlfriend?” 

Yelena shook her head. “These were not…safe experiences.” 

Natasha swallowed around a lump in her throat, nodding to indicate she understood. “How long?” 

Yelena pursed her lips, thinking. “Seems like it stopped a few months after we met. That spring she started tutoring more students in our class, then got a job as a TA. But I don’t know how long it was going on before then.” 

Natasha sighed. She had figured there would be skeletons in your closet—everyone had them, even people who weren’t estranged heirs to infamous criminal syndicates. But she hadn’t counted on how painful it would be to hear these details, how difficult she would find it to process. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Natasha said, approaching her sister and laying a hand on her shoulder. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you’re protecting her in the long run.” 

Yelena ducked her head. “I should have protected her then.” 

“Hey,” Natasha said, brows furrowing at the pain radiating off Yelena. She pulled her sister into a fierce hug. After a second, she felt her relax, leaning in, accepting the comfort. 

“I knew something was going on,” she said, voice rough with emotion. “I should have—“

“You did plenty,” Natasha interrupted firmly. “She said it herself, you were a friend when she had nobody.” 

Natasha gave her sister a little shake to emphasize the words, hoping to banish any regrets she might have. Yelena gave a last shuddering breath before stepping back and wiping her eyes.

“If that’s all, I better go,” she said. “Cupid will be getting antsy downstairs.” 

Natasha gave her one last searching look before nodding. 

“Tell him I said hey. And enjoy your time in the spotlight, Auntie ‘Lena,” Natasha teased. “Because when this is over, I’m coming to the farm…and I’ll be bearing gifts.” 

“Bribes,” Yelena sniffed, looking imperious.

Natasha hummed. “You say tomato…”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Natasha made updates to other case files, but her mind kept drifting back to you, picturing the stubborn set of your jaw, the stormy look in your eyes; remembering the way Wanda had calmed you last night, coaxing the dark, violent shadows of your past out into the open.

And now, she saw flashes of what her sister had shared—you, numbing your pain, disappearing into the night with men willing to hurt you, reappearing in the morning with bruises on your pretty face and neck. She shook her head, as if she could banish the mental image from her mind’s eye. 

Maybe bringing you home had been a mistake. Natasha could feel herself slipping past the line of strict professionalism, tilting toward something protective, possessive, personal. And there was no mistaking Wanda’s dark expression at the dinner table. Like she’d burn the world down before she let anyone hurt you again. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. She sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face. 

“Come in,” she called. 

Pepper walked into the office, looking immaculate as always, and carrying a brown paper bag. 

“Hey, stranger,” the blonde said, her face shifting into a bright smile that Natasha couldn’t help but return. “Figured you probably forgot to eat lunch today.”

Natasha glanced at her watch, surprised to see how late it had gotten. Before she could respond, her stomach growled and the other woman chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Pepper regarded Natasha carefully as she unpacked and plated the food. “Tough case?” 

Natasha leaned back, running a hand through her hair. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

Pepper nodded politely, as if this response was expected. “Tony said you were being evasive.” 

Natasha snorted. “I’m not being—“

The other woman pinned her with a dubious expression—a signature look of piercing disbelief that she usually reserved for the courtroom—and Natasha stilled. 

“There’s a girl,” she admitted. “A witness who approached me, ready to offer testimony that could damage some very bad people.” 

“But?” Pepper prompted, delicately slicing her filet. 

“I don’t think her testimony will matter unless we continue investigating, collect a bit more evidence.” 

“Is she willing to help you build the case?” Pepper chewed thoughtfully, and Natasha nodded. “So what’s the problem?”

“It’s dangerous,” Natasha said, the words sounding lame even to her own ears.

“Hate to break it to you, Nat,” Pepper said, quirking an eyebrow. “But if that bothers you, you might be in the wrong business.”

Natasha paused, worried she had said too much. Pepper regarded her for a moment, then she smiled. 

“Uh-oh,” she said, knowing glint in her eye. “You like her.” 

Natasha took a bite of food, figuring it wouldn’t do any good to try and deny it. Not when Pepper was so perceptive. 

“Well,” the other woman continued. “If you think you have a case, you have to pursue it. My advice? Keep the investigative team small, only work with people you trust implicitly. We have contacts in the police department if you need recommendations.”

“Not necessary,” Natasha smirked. “I know a guy.” 

Pepper wiped her mouth delicately with a paper napkin. “That’s good. And I understand it’s early days, but don’t keep Tony and me in the dark longer than you have to. As your partners, we’re here to provide support.”

Natasha opened her mouth to explain. 

“I know you’re used to operating on your own,” Pepper interrupted, as if reading the other woman’s mind. “But you’re not alone here. We work better as a team.” 

Natasha nodded. “It’s nothing personal,” she said with a note of apology. “I’m just playing this one close to the vest until we have hard evidence. It’s…sensitive.” 

Pepper nodded, finishing the last bites of her lunch. Then she reached over and patted Natasha’s knee affectionately.

“We trust you,” she said. “It’s why we made you partner.” 

Natasha nodded, the knot of anxiety in her chest tightening slightly as she watched the other woman stand. 

“And Nat?” Pepper paused the doorway, a sympathetic look on her face. “Try not to get too attached.” 

Natasha waited until Pepper had disappeared around the corner. Then she leaned forward, burying her head in her hands with a groan. “Too late,” she sighed. 

______________

Wanda was curled on the sofa with a book when Natasha finally walked in the front door of the house later that evening. 

“Hi, baby,” she said, lighting up at the sight of the other woman. 

“Detka,” Natasha breathed the word, feeling some of the tension instantly leave her shoulders. 

“What’s wrong?” Wanda frowned, clocking the cloud that seemed to be hanging over her wife. 

Natasha shrugged. “Just a long day.” 

Wanda waved her arms. “Let me hold you.” 

Natasha placed her bags on the floor and kicked her shoes off before complying, walking into the room and sinking into Wanda’s embrace. She smelled like vanilla and something woody, spicy. For several long moments they laid together like that; breathing slowly, heartbeats syncing up, each grounding the other. 

“Where’s our girl?” Natasha’s tired question was slightly muffled against her wife’s neck. 

“Our girl, huh?” Wanda purred. “I like the sound of that.” 

Natasha shifted so she could look at her directly. “Me too.” 

They let their mutual admissions hang in the air, the idea of you blooming between them. Wanda smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind Nat’s ear. 

“She’s out in the garage.”

Natasha nodded and pushed herself off the sofa, wandering through the kitchen and toward a small side entrance. 

She heard you before she saw you—the sound of fists hitting canvas. Your back was to the door and you didn’t notice Natasha enter the room. She took the opportunity to watch how you moved. Each step was light. You circled the bag like a coiled spring, fists darting out in clean patterns, your stance comfortable. For a moment, she wondered if this could be the explanation for the bruises Yelena had seen, entertaining the thought with no small amount of hopeful desperation. But then she remembered her sister’s words. These were not safe experiences. 

“Hey,” you called, finally noticing Natasha. You ran an arm across your forehead. The sweat was beading and dripping down your face, your shoulders, your chest. “You’re home.” 

Natasha smiled, walking across the room and taking a position on the opposite side of the bag. “How was your day, slugger?” 

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, stubbornly ignoring the flutter of affection it stirred in your chest. 

“I think I’m driving Wanda crazy,” you confessed. 

“Join the club,” Natasha laughed. “What happened?” 

“Nothing, exactly,” you said. “I guess I was pacing, fidgeting. She finally sent me out here to ‘burn off some energy’, like some sort of manic border collie.” 

You took a few light jabs at the bag, and Natasha was again reminded of an angsty teen. 

“Well, come on,” she said, angling a lopsided smile at you. “Show me what ya got.” 

You circled the bag, considering her challenge. You moved with a natural boxer’s rhythm—heels slightly raised, shoulders loose.

“So,” you huffed, firing a double jab and then a right cross. “Did you talk to your cop friend?” 

“Shift your weight more on the cross,” Natasha replied. “You’re leaving it in the air.” 

You raised your eyebrows at her briefly, then reset and threw the combination again, snapping your hips through the hook. Natasha grunted softly, absorbing the impact. You had the sudden thought that you wouldn’t mind hearing her make that noise in a different context, and Jesus Christ, you really needed to get laid. 

“Better.”  

“You didn’t answer my question,” you said, trying not to let her praise go to your head. 

Natasha exhaled slowly through her nose, like she had been hoping to avoid the topic altogether. You noticed for the first time that she seemed tired, drained, and you felt a fresh wave of guilt. Your presence here obviously wasn’t making things any easier on her. You were just another burden, another problem for her to solve.  

“I got in touch with him today,” she said.  

You nodded. “And?”

Natasha was only half-listening, running an appraising eye over your form. 

“Think of the hook like turning a doorknob,” she said. “Tight, not wild.” 

Your first instinct would usually have been to argue, push back. But something about Natasha’s tired eyes and low voice knocked the resistance right out of you. So you swallowed back your initial frustration and followed her instructions. Your fist smacked the leather with a short, powerful turn. 

“Very good,” Natasha murmured, and this time you couldn’t ignore the way her words washed over you, landing squarely in your chest, filling you up with something warm and peaceful.

You kept going for a bit longer, circling the bag together, the rest of the world falling away. Neither of you noticed Wanda appear at the door, intending to announce that dinner was almost ready. But the words died on her lips as soon as she caught sight of you both.

You were wearing sweatpants and a sports bra, your entire body glistening from the exertion, muscles flexing along your shoulders and back. Natasha had pulled her jacket off and rolled her shirtsleeves up. A light sheen of sweat had gathered on her brow, at her temples, and a barely noticeable smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth, a telltale sign that she was really enjoying herself. She heard Natasha’s low voice say something about follow-through, describing a technique, and Wanda was gripped by sudden inspiration.

“Show her what you mean, detka.”

Natasha’s head snapped up, and she regarded Wanda through hooded eyes. You glanced between the two women, holding your breath, trying to interpret the electricity that seemed to ripple in the air. For a moment, Wanda thought her headstrong wife might refuse to play along, that Natasha would cut the tension with a joke or a self-deprecating laugh and the moment would be forgotten.

Then Wanda felt her mouth go dry as she watched her wife step away from the bag, moving behind you smoothly. Her fingers only hesitated for a moment before darting forward and gripping your hips. She pulled you close, so that your back was pressed against her front. Then she ran her hands down your arms until they settled around your wrists. Once she had you firmly in her grasp, she rotated, guiding you through an uppercut twist. 

“Feel that?” She asked, voice slightly hoarse. “How you have more control?” 

You nodded, not sure you could speak.

“Again,” Wanda commanded softly, and it was suddenly crystal clear who wielded the control in this room. 

Natasha stilled, deliberating. You could feel her posture stiffening, the desire to resist flickering to life again; but you could also feel the way her breathing became slightly uneven, the shudder that went through her shoulders as she wrestled with the urge to give in, to submit. 

You turned your head slightly, making eye contact with Wanda for the first time since she’d entered the garage. She had a slightly dazed look on her face, like she couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. But there was something playful and challenging there, too—like she was pushing Natasha in a familiar game and she fully expected to win. 

From this angle, Wanda could see a flush rising in your throat that had nothing to do with the workout and everything to do with the intimate demonstration. Natasha finally caved, manipulating your body again, the motion gentle but firm. Wanda’s eyes met yours, and she arched an eyebrow.

“Relax,” she instructed. “Let her lead.”

You exhaled, long and slow, then leaned back, letting your muscles go slack with surrender. Nat took your weight easily, bracing on her back foot, supporting you. The feel of her, so solid and warm, was overwhelming. You wanted to sink into it, to disappear in the warm caress of her hands, her voice, her safety. 

“I’ve got you,” she murmured in your ear, causing a shiver to ripple up your back. 

You glanced back at Natasha, uncharacteristically shy, and your chest ached when she smiled. Wanda crossed the room until she was standing toe-to-toe with you. She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“My good girls,” she said tenderly, her eyes shining with pride. And suddenly, it hit you. You were right where you belonged. Cocooned between the steady, protective weight of Natasha’s embrace and the unflinching affection of Wanda’s gaze. It took your breath away, how these women who were still practically strangers somehow managed to see you in a way no one else ever had, to know you better than you knew yourself. As if she could follow your thoughts, Natasha squeezed you closer, resting her face against your neck for a brief moment. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Wanda said, voice gentle. “Go get cleaned up, dinner’s almost ready.” 

It was like Wanda had released you both from a spell, something which had just moments before been impossibly charged and all-consuming. The air seemed to come back in the room, and the energy between the three of you suddenly shifted, became easy and domestic again. Natasha released her hold on you, ruffling your hair playfully. You ducked out from under her hand, bounding toward the house with a spring in your step despite the pleasant ache in your legs and arms. 

“I’m getting a shower,” you said.

“Don’t use all the hot water,” Natasha groused, wrapping her arms around Wanda. 

You chuckled. “Okay, dad.” 

You meant it as a joke, but noticed the way Natasha stilled,  the way Wanda’s breath caught in her throat as she leaned toward her wife. 

“Guess that makes me mommy,” Wanda murmured. 

Her voice was so soft that you weren’t sure she had intended you to overhear. But there was no mistaking the comment. And you didn’t think you’d ever be able to forget the way she licked her lips right after she spoke, the way Natasha’s fists clenched reflexively at the pet name, making the veins in her arms and hands even more prominent. As you hurried upstairs a few moments later, her words still echoing in your ears, you realized you’d have to make this shower an extra cold one.  

Taglist: @wandanatlov3r @ciaoooooo111 @milflovers4

——————-

Like this story? Subscribe to my Patreon for access to all content and early chapter updates! It costs less than a cup of coffee to support an indie writer, and unlock all the sweet, smutty, sexy content your heart desires…

[waterthatsmoe]

After releasing chapter 7 of the game I'm feeling a bit sad and would like to talk to someone (hope you don't mind). Do you think this is where the game will end? Malleus was the last of the dorm leaders (maybe they'll do something with Yuu, but not sure), is that really it? The end of such a glorious game?

DUDEEEEE NO WAYYY

There's definitely gonna be a

book 8: ✨️therapy✨️

In all seriousness, I read somewhere that Ms Yana has talked about possible RSA storylines!

Honestly, twst is at the peak of its popularity right now. They recently overshot apple music in terms of profits due to book 7 💀💀 so I don't think they'll be stopping any time soon. I can definitely see twst going on for 10 years or more!!

There's still a lot more things to explore like the 4th years!! So many unutilied charcaters to be twisted!! INTERNSHIPS!!! Not to mention, some of the characters have canonically aged up by end of book 7, so we can potentially have new freshies coming in too!! And that's just the NRC side ❤️❤️

There's so much to explore with RSA counterparts, like their dorms, the school, and their potential dormleaders or even their teachers!!!

Twst is a VERYY big thing in Japan, so dont worry broski, twst is gonna be safe for a very very long time

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: A year has passed since Imani and Jameson's painful breakup. Once again, fate draws the two together again...but it's not as joyful reunion as either thought they'd have.

Warnings: smut (18+), toxic relationship, mentions of therapy, out of control drinking, and emotional breakdowns, sex (p in v, creampie, dirty talk) -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 8k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

Anaïs Lucas sat at her writing desk, the faint scent of her signature jasmine lingering in the air. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall. She flipped through the pile of papers in front of her, gaze landing on the embossed invitations for Jameson’s album release party.

Pride made her smile. Her son had an advantage when he got into the industry, yes. He had her name and his good looks but nobody could ever pretend her baby couldn’t sing or that he didn’t work his ass to keep what he got. After he announced he was pushing back his album last winter, Anaïs watched people doubt him. Come January 2026 – a few short weeks from then – they would know that he was worth the wait.

She picked one up, running her fingers over the gold lettering.

You are cordially invited to the premiere of Midnight & Dawn A celebration of James Lucas’ third album

It was elegant, timeless—everything she’d expect from her son’s team. Yet, as perfect as it seemed, something was missing.

Or rather, someone.

The party was in a matter of days and she knew for a fact that Imani wasn’t on the guest list. It made sense. The two had broken up and hadn’t so much as whispered each other’s name in public. Imani had moved on. Jameson had moved on. The cute little girl she’d seen him out with – but had yet to meet – seemed to be distracting him just enough.

But she knew her son. She knew what he wanted. She tried not to be that kind of mother but she couldn't help herself. He was her only child and she wanted him to be happy. She just wouldn't be mentioning any of this to Toni, Imani's aunt and her closest friend.

Anaïs reached for her phone, dialing a number she knew by heart. “Anderson? It’s Anaïs.” Her voice was warm but commanding, the kind that left little room for argument.

Anderson Allen was the head of public relations at Jameson’s label. He had insisted on signing a deal with a label that didn’t feature his mother but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have connections. “Ms. Lucas! What a surprise. How can I help you?”

“I was getting ready for Jamie’s party,” she began, her tone casual but deliberate. "But I heard that the guest list wasn’t complete. You all work so hard over there. I would hate for an omission to ruin the party."

Anderson hesitated. “Omission?”

“Yes. Imani St. Cirie,” Anaïs said smoothly.

The pause on the other end of the line was longer this time. “I—I wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate, given their history. Jameson hasn’t mentioned—”

Anaïs cut him off with a light laugh. “Oh, Andy, let’s not overthink this. Imani is an important part of Jameson’s life, personally and professionally. Inviting her would be…a gesture of goodwill. Besides, I’m sure she’d appreciate the opportunity to celebrate his success.”

Anderson’s voice was cautious. “I suppose we could add her to the list…”

“Wonderful,” Anaïs said, her smile bright. “I’d like to personally handle delivering her invitation. Consider it my little project.”

“Of course, Ms. Lucas. I’ll have one prepared and sent to your house immediately.”

“You’re a gem, Anderson. Thank you.”

Anaïs ended the call and leaned back in her chair, a satisfied expression on her face. She didn’t need anyone’s permission to do what she believed was right for her baby.

When the invitation arrived later that afternoon, Anaïs carefully wrote Imani’s name on the envelope in her graceful script. She slipped it into a sleek courier envelope and sealed it with a flourish.

“Deliver this directly to Ms. St. Cirie,” she instructed the courier who arrived at her door less than an hour later. “Make sure it’s in her hands before the day is over.”

As the courier left, Anaïs poured herself a celebratory glass of champagne. She wasn’t blind to the complications of Jameson and Imani’s past, but sometimes, fate needed a little help—and Anaïs Lucas was more than happy to provide it. 

The studio was alive with energy, even though it was just the two of them. EJ asked for them to run through the albums again. They'd been previewed for the label, accepted, turned in, and there was release party planned for the next night...but still. He wanted to hear the album one more time. Jameson didn't hesitate to go. As the final song climaxed, EJ poured whiskey into two glasses. He slid one across the console to Jameson, who sat slouched in his chair.

“To the masterpiece,” EJ said, raising his glass. “A double-disk album. That’s some legendary-level ambition from my boy.”

Jameson laughed, shaking his head as he reached for the glass. "Very glad I could surprise you all."

EJ snorted. "Hey! I believed in you always. It was touch and go there for a while for everybody else. When you pushed the album back, them niggas started getting nervous. But I knew...my boy was gone get into his bag. I just ain't expect two damn albums at once."

Jameson smirked, tapping his glass against EJ’s before taking a sip. “Here’s hoping they don't flop.”

“Flop?” EJ scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re about to shut the whole industry down. Tomorrow night’s party is gonna be the start of something huge. We need to celebrate. Let’s go grab a drink. Celebrate properly.”

Jameson shook his head, setting the glass down as he finished off the amber liquid. “Un-uh. I’m good, man. I’m tired as fuck. You kept me chained to the recording booth most of the year. I'm going home. Getting in the bed.”

EJ smiled at his friend. “You sure? A little fun won’t kill you.” “Yeah, I’m sure,” Jameson said.

With nothing left to do, EJ finished his drink and threw his hands up. "Alright. I did my best. Aye...I'm proud of you."

Jameson wrinkled his nose, standing from his seat and grabbing his jacket. "Don't get soft on me and shit."

EJ followed his movements, a serious expression on his face. "I'm for real. I was worried about you. Not because of the album. Just because you're my friend. You came out the other side of that shit and I'm proud. I was glad when you stopped drinking every day and started getting fresh air but...therapy? Channeling your shit into music? Camille? You’re looking ahead. I'm happy for you, man." 

Even without him saying her name, she lingered between them. Imani was the unspoken, untouched aspect of his life that he still couldn't face. Still, he knew EJ meant well so Jameson smiled. “Thank you. For everything. You been solid while I got myself together. I owe you, E.”

It was a rare moment when the two stopped teasing each other enough to express what they felt. If Genie was his sister, EJ was his brother. He didn’t know who he’d be without either of them. Before he could change his mind, Jameson leaned in and gave EJ a tight hug. It only lasted a second but he could feel the other man hug him back.

“Alright. Enough of that.” EJ muttered, breaking away and shoving Jameson’s shoulder playfully. “Go home. Go be boring. I’m going to kiss my girlfriend until she blushes.”

He still couldn't wrap his head around EJ and Genie. When Genie had shyly told him she was dating EJ, his first reaction had been disbelief. He never felt a vibe between them but over the next few months, EJ had proved he was crazy about Genie. So Jameson stepped back. He didn't kick up a fuss or cause a problem. When he found time to get out of his own head, he was happy for them.

It was an innocent statement but Jameson recoiled, holding his hand over his ears. “Ew. Don’t tell me nothing you and Genie got going on.” He quickly picked up his jacket, shrugging it on while EJ laughed, calling out to him.

“You better lock Camille down so you can learn from us!”

Jameson walked through his front door and immediately noticed something was off. The lights in the dining room were dimmed, candles flickering on the table, and soft jazz played from the speakers. He’d left the house silent and dark before going to meet EJ. Only three people had a key beside him. His mother, who was not going to set a scene. Genie, who never used it. And EJ, who he just left. Jameson rounded the corner of his living room, entering the kitchen. There stood a woman, at his sink, with her back to him. He recognized her immediately. The messy way she piled her dark brown hair on the top of her head gave it away. 

Camille.

There was something about the way she carried herself—an effortless elegance like she owned the space around her. As one of the most famous young models in the industry, Camille was a striking woman. She held her head high no matter what, her posture perfect. She moved around his kitchen as if this was her home. It was the same way she had approached him – like he was already hers. He admired it, even if it reminded him of someone else, someone he couldn’t quite shake.

“Camille?” he called, dropping his keys on the counter.

She jumped, whirling around with wide eyes. She was wearing an apron with splashes of water on it over her sleek black dress. “You’re…You’re home early.” There were plates on his table, a romantic dinner for two was the obvious aim and he softened. They were casual. Beyond casual but she always took care of him.

Jameson raised an eyebrow, slipping back into the moment. “Am I not supposed to be here?” He asked her, shrugging out of his jacket as he moved further into the kitchen. “How’d you get in?”

“EJ came to let me in before he met you.” She said softly, her gaze following his movements – lingering on his forearms before she turned back to turn the running water off. “H-He was supposed to keep you out for another hour.”

And then it all made sense. The fact that he’d called him out at all to ‘listen’ to an album they’d been listening to for almost a year. Then to want to go out for drinks afterward? His best friend was trying his hand at matchmaking and Jameson couldn’t blame him. Camille was good to him. He’d be a liar to say she wasn’t.

“Ah,” Jameson said, nodding his head. “So, that’s why he was so insistent on hanging out tonight.” He stepped closer, tossing his jacket onto the counter before leaning against it, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry I ruined the surprise.”

Camille pouted but the second she got a good look at him, she brightened and the annoyance melted away. “I thought we could celebrate your album being finished. Just the two of us. I’m happy for you.”

Jameson smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. Thank you for caring.” He reached out, tugging her closer using the apron. “What’s for dinner?”

“Caprese salad, seared scallops with risotto, and white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.” “Sounds very impressive.” “It is. I slaved over a stove for you.” “I’m flattered.” “You should be. Not all of my friends get this kind of treatment.” “No?” “Un-uh.” “Damn. I must be really good in bed.”

Camille burst out laughing, slapping her hand against his chest. “You’re aight.”

“That wasn’t a no so I don’t think I was wrong.” Jameson teased her, leaning in to kiss her cheek softly. He released the apron before wrapping his arm around her to untie it. When he brought the strap over her head, he tossed it onto the kitchen island 

“Jameson! We have dinner. I already prepared the–” “Put it in the oven. We’ll eat it later.”

He didn’t have to explain any further. She watched him pluck a fork from his kitchen drawer and then she went to do exactly as he told her to do. Jameson waited patiently, taking a seat on a bar stool and pulling the cheesecake toward him. Once she was done and the food was set aside, he patted the stool next to him. “C’mon. Get off your feet.”

In her Chanel dress and high heels, Camille made herself comfortable. 

They settled at the kitchen counter, side by side on barstools, sharing bites of the rich dessert. Jameson fed her from his fork, kissed her, and put aside the fact that he felt a twinge of guilt for bringing her into his house. This was good. He was moving forward as EJ said. There was nothing wrong with that.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jameson told her softly, offering her another bite of cheesecake. When she took it, he followed it with a kiss. Light and sweet. She leaned into him, silently asking for more. Instead, Jameson offered her more cheesecake. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

She glared at him before his confession became clear. Cami gave him a bright smile, her tongue cleaning the whipped cream her mouth left behind on the fork before she spoke. “There is really nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Imani ran her hands over her dress as she looked over her appearance in the mirror. She did a small turn to the left and then the right to see. No flaws. She looked damn good as usual. She sported a new blonde hair color with hints of pink, a brown sheer dress that accented her curves and left little to the imagination, and her wrist and neck were dazzled in diamonds. It was perfect. Undoubtedly, a ten out of ten. Yet, she sighed and turned her body once more like something would change to make it even better. 

“Girl, if you don’t get out that mirror and go to that party, I’m a drag you there myself.” Her hairstylist said. Imani chuckled. “You look good. Now go get your man.”

She waved the woman off. “It ain’t even like that!” She hadn’t seen Jameson since their break-up last year. She only knew him through TV screens, magazines, and as a voice blaring through the club speakers. He was no longer the man that held her at night, told her she was beautiful or showered her with kisses. For the first time since they met, he was James Lucas. And she hated it. 

Imani said her goodbyes to her glam team as she sauntered to her door and then to the SUV. She slipped inside then the driver shut the door behind her. She pulled the ring on her ring finger on and off then on and off all over again.

It was the ring that Jameson gifted to her for Christmas last year. She pulled it out of her jewelry box when she was anxious, only wearing it at home to avoid speculation from the media and her fans. It was her stress reliever that no one knew about. But tonight, it served a different purpose. 

She wanted Jameson back. Bad. And Imani believed wearing his ring to his album release party would show him that she hadn’t forgotten about him. How could she? He was all she ever thought about. She thought she did the right thing when she ended things with him. They were just going to end in heartbreak like they always did. Imani thought breaking the cycle would solve everything. Yes, she was heartbroken when it happened but she always believed she would get over it and feel better. But she didn’t. She never felt more alone. 

For the first three months after their breakup, she distracted herself with work. She dove head first into Diary’s promotional rollout. Anything her label or management wanted her to do, she did it to avoid being with her deafening thoughts of regret and being alone. But her promo tour only lasted for so long. Then she tried partying. She tried drinking. She tried being with other people, but they never lasted long. All she did was compare them to Jameson. 

Despite all her efforts, nothing and no one could fill the void in her heart left by Jameson. His memory lingered in every corner of her mind. She wrestled with herself over the thought of reaching out to him, hesitant and afraid of what she might find. What if he had moved on? What if he wanted nothing to do with her anymore? She knew little about his current life, only catching glimpses through a few tabloids. According to them, he now resided in the bustling city of New York and was dating a woman named Camille, but they didn’t seem serious at all. Maybe she still had a chance. 

When she received a mysterious invite to his album release party, it felt like fate. A sign that she needed to make a move and get him back. She couldn’t let fear hold her back this time. So she booked a flight to New York with her trusted glam squad to help her and now her plan was underway. 

She was still fidgeting with her ring once they reached the club. The blinding lights of the paparazzi never phased her. She didn’t mind the attention. But tonight, their presence only added to the growing uneasiness and heat rising in her skin. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself not to let them distract her from her goal — winning Jameson back. 

With a sigh, she stepped out of the SUV and was immediately swarmed by a frenzy of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. The familiar chaos only felt like an obstacle in her path. 

“Imani, you look stunning! Love the new hair.” “Are you here to see James?” “How do you feel about him and Camille? Do you know that they showed up here together?”

The last question nearly stopped her in her tracks. Her heart fell back into the abyss of despair that hope once saved it from. Jameson and Camille? She thought they weren’t serious, so why the fuck was she at the party with him? Fuck! Imani should have stayed home. Too many eyes were on her to turn back now. Instead, she simply smiled at the question and entered the club.

After she was inside, she made a beeline for the bathroom, ignoring all of the eyes and whispers. Imani needed to take his ring off before anyone noticed. She walked inside, thankful that no one was in there. Then she closed and locked the door so no one could see her lose it.

She felt like such a fool. There was a war raging inside of her. Of course, he moved on. It had been a year. Did she expect him to wait forever? But the other side screamed, how dare he move on? He told her they were soulmates. He said he would never give up on them. Was it all a lie? “Just twenty minutes.” She mumbled to herself. “I can do twenty then I’ll leave and go home.”

Imani exhaled deeply. She pulled the ring off of her finger and shoved it into her clutch. She unlocked the bathroom door, opening it, only to be met with Genie.

She stared at her like a prey making eye contact with its predator.  Her mind had been so clouded with thoughts of Jameson that she didn’t even think about their storm of friendship. She hadn’t seen Genie since last year. She ignored her texts and phone calls like her best friend was a scorned lover. One day, Imani was going to explain, she just didn’t imagine that day to be today. 

The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Imani finally parted her lips to speak. “Genie, I-” She couldn’t even get her sentence out before the woman moved past her and into the bathroom. Imani sighed, deciding that tonight wasn’t the best time to discuss their broken friendship. She walked back into the club and looked for Toni, the only one she talked to during the whole year. Her energy turned into a dark cloud and she needed someone to brighten it if she was going to make it to twenty minutes.

He heard the whispers before he saw her. Imani had shown up. 

And finally, he saw her.

For the first time in a fucking year, he laid eyes on her. Not a picture. Not an interview or a photoshoot. He saw her.

Relief hit him so hard that he exhaled sharply. She was okay. After Christmas last year, she had essentially disappeared from his life. He didn’t call, he didn’t text, he had even chosen to unfollow her on Instagram but Jameson quickly found out that he wasn’t the only one left behind. Genie had lost Imani as well. 

The two didn’t talk anymore. He had nothing to go by that she was okay. The blogs reported every lover and every move she made…but none had been able to tell him if she was genuinely doing okay. He could see for himself – in the flesh – that she was doing damn good.

She was standing alone in the quickly filling club, framed by the soft glow of lights. He could see her observing the crowd, looking for someone. Was it him? When their eyes met, she seemed frozen. Her eyes went wide and he knew immediately she wasn’t looking for him. 

He felt a hand against his stomach and immediately broke eye contact with her. Camille was gazing up at him, a question in her eyes. Jameson had to steady himself before he smiled at her. “I’ll be back.” He heard himself tell her but knew that he shouldn’t leave. He did it anyway, walking across the room as every thought in the world passed through his mind.

The relief that he felt ended, replaced by anxiety. Why did she come? Was she trying to support him? Was she curious about the music? Did she want to rub it in his face that he had lost her? Did she want him to see how fucking good she looked? All of the questions he asked himself set him on edge but he didn’t stop moving in her direction.

His eyes ran from her blonde hair down to her tan dress. And a wave of lust hit him. 

The fabric clung to her body. It was barely there. He could see her body, sculpted abs and thick thighs. Perfectly measured underwear that hid…Well, he knew what it hid. He was so intimately acquainted with her body that he could find her in the damn dark. He couldn’t think like this. Jameson shook his head to clear the thoughts but flashes of memories raced through his mind. Late nights with him sinking his teeth into her thighs as they trembled, the way her abdomen contracted when she was coming around his fingers. The way she called out for him, the word ‘Daddy’ fell from her lips. All of it came rushing back to him with stunning clarity. Shit! No. No!

He wasn’t doing this. Camille was watching him. He had to get right. So many fucking therapy sessions and he was backsliding into chaos already.

By the time he got to her, he had control of himself again. “Hi.” He said softly.

He watched as she slowly turned to look at him. There was no ignoring one another. Not right then. Her lips curved into a smile but he knew right then that something was wrong. It didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t light up the way she usually did when she was happy.

“Hi, Jameson.” “Thank you for coming. It’s nice to see you.” “I…It’s nice to see you too.”

A lull of silence hit them and awkwardness set in. Before, they could talk about anything and everything but now? He didn’t know what to say.

EJ found Camille standing near the edge of the room, sipping a glass of champagne with practiced ease. She looked every bit the supermodel she was, tall and poised, her sleek black gown clinging to her statuesque frame. But her eyes—dark, searching—betrayed her. She was watching Jameson, observing the way his gaze seemed to drift toward Imani no matter where she stood. Even when he excused himself from her side and greeted other partygoers, everybody in the room knew where he was going.

EJ stepped up beside her, his presence casual but deliberate. “You’re handling this well,” he said, his tone low enough to keep their conversation private from prying ears.

Camille turned her head slightly, offering him a polite smile. “Handling what?”

He gave her a knowing look, one that made her sigh and take another sip of her drink. She broke the pretense that nothing was happening. “You’re not blind, Camille. You see the way he looks at her. And the way she avoids looking at him. There’s history there—deep, messy history. You’ve got to know that.”

Camille’s expression didn’t waver, but she set her glass down on the nearby table, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “I know,” she said simply.

EJ raised an eyebrow. “And you good with that?”

She shrugged, the movement graceful but dismissive. “What am I supposed to do? Pretend it doesn’t exist? Jameson’s been honest with me about Imani. I know what she means to him.”

EJ leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “What she means to him and what she still means to him might not be the same thing. I’m not saying this to scare you off, but if you’re serious about Jameson, you need to be ready to fight for him. Because that connection they have? It’s not something that just disappears.”

Camille tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Do you think I’m not serious about him?”

EJ hesitated, then shook his head. “I think you care about him. I think you’re good for him, too. But I also think Jameson’s still figuring out what he wants. And if you’re not careful, you might end up hurt. She’s got this... gravitational pull on him, sure. But it’s not healthy. You’ve seen how far he’s come this past year. That’s because of you, Camille. Not her.”

Camille’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I appreciate the concern, EJ. Really, I do. But I’m not here to fight anyone for Jameson. If he wants to be with me, he knows where I am. And if he doesn’t?” She spread her hands, her tone light but firm. “Then I’ll let him go. I’m not the kind of woman who clings to someone who doesn’t want to stay.”

EJ studied her, a flicker of respect crossing his face. “You’re a lot calmer about this than I expected.”

Camille chuckled softly, her gaze drifting back toward Jameson, who had finally approached Imani. “I’ve spent my entire career competing—for jobs, for recognition, for respect. But love? That’s not something you should have to fight for. Either it’s there, or it’s not. And if Jameson’s heart is still with Imani, then there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

EJ nodded slowly, impressed by her composure. “Fair enough. Just... be careful. He’s a good guy, but if things get messy—”

“They won’t,” Camille interrupted gently. “Because I won’t let them. I care about Jameson, but I care about myself too. If he can’t give me what I deserve, I’ll walk away. Simple as that.”

EJ exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Camille smiled again, this time with a touch of warmth. “Thanks, EJ. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, no matter what happens.”

EJ glanced back toward Jameson, then back at Camille. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their conversation, and stepped away, leaving her to watch Jameson from afar, her expression unreadable.

“You look good.” He said softly, immediately regretting the words. “I mean, I like your dress.” Nope, that was fucked up too. 

“Thanks,” Imani looked at his outfit. It was already difficult for her to face him, but did he have to look handsome too? This may have been the second hardest thing she’s ever done. “You look uh—you look nice too.”

He peered down at his fit. All black, Gucci. Jameson lifted his hand, pressing it to his sleeve as if he just realized he was wearing clothes worth five grand. “Thank you. It’s just…something thrown together. I’m glad you came. Really.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I did too. Congrats on the album, Jameson. I’m—“ she paused, searching for the right words to say. “really happy for you.”

“Really?” He tilted his head, peering down at her. “Then why do you look upset?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Imani answered quickly. She wasn’t fine at all. She made the wrong decision to come to this party and now, she had to face a best friend who probably hated her and an ex she was still in love with. She was mentally kicking herself. But he didn’t need to know that.

He knew it wasn’t true but he couldn’t exactly call her on it. That wasn’t his place anymore. “Mhm.” He said softly, giving a nod. “I…I really do hope you’re okay, Imani. Things ended between us but I want you to be happy. Always.”

“I..I want you to be happy too,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m glad to see that you are. I really am.”

“Thank you. It…it took a while to get back to being happy.” The conversation between them was so fucking stiff and he hated it. He watched her fold her arms against her chest, knowing there was a wall between them. They talked to each other like strangers. Once upon a time, he could tell her anything. They could say everything to one another – except the shit that really mattered. And now they couldn’t say anything at all. “Finishing the album helped. Wouldn’t have been able to do that without a lot of people. You included.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m glad I could help. I can’t wait to hear it.” Imani smiled. “Uh, I’m going to go look for Toni now. I’ll see you around?”

He opened his mouth to say something – anything – but instead, he felt a hand against his arm. Jameson turned to look down at her, surprised by her presence. “There you are.” She said softly.

Imani looked between the couple, still with a smile that he couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “Hi, I’m Imani.” She reached her hand out. Her eyes glanced down at his wrist. She looked back at Jameson with narrowed eyes. The watch on his wrist looked like the one she had sent him a year. Why the fuck was he wearing that? While he was with another woman? 

His head turned so quickly that he almost sprained his damn neck. He watched as Imani introduced herself to Camille, in such a friendly way that he was almost offended. Damn. She could at least pretend to be jealous. Camille gave her a smile in return and reached out to grasp Imani’s hand and Jameson inhaled sharply. He did not see this coming and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

“Nice to meet you.” She said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Imani let go of Camille’s hand. “Nice to meet you as well. You’re very pretty.” She looked back at Jameson. Then at Camille. “Well, I’m going to leave you guys to it. Have a good night.” She said, turning around and walking away quickly before she could hear another word from either of them. 

It took a minute for Genie to pull herself together. When she passed Imani, it had broken her heart not to say anything but she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe any of this shit. When Jameson and Imani broke up, her heart broke for them both. She didn’t know the details but knew it was bad. Jamie was drinking heavily and Imani was out of contact. But she kept trying. She would start by sending a message every week. Then it became every single day. She wanted to be there for Imani. She begged her to reach out if she needed anything…and she never did. 

It was like she lost her best friend. At first, Genie grieved. Every time something wonderful happened with EJ, she wanted to pick up the phone and call Imani…but she knew she wouldn’t answer. Then the grief turned into anger. She resented being so easy to forget.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she finally said, her voice shaky as she approached EJ. She could see his jovial attitude shift when he saw the look on her face. “I don’t know what I thought I’d feel seeing her again, but this wasn’t it.” She hadn’t even known Imani would be there but she knew that maybe there would be a good chance. Still, seeing her again had been a shock to the system.

EJ ushered her from the main floor, getting her comfortable in an isolated corner as he watched her with a steady, concerned gaze. “You wanted to see your best friend. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“She’s not my best friend anymore,” Genie snapped, then immediately winced at her attitude. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. I just…” She blinked back tears, pressed her hands against her temples. “I mean... she was. For so long. But now? I can barely look at her. She completely shut me out.”

EJ leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s probably not anything you did, baby. Maybe Imani needed space. It had to hurt ending things with Jay.”

Genie looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Of course she’s hurting. I know that. I just... I’ve tried, EJ. I’ve called, texted, even sent emails. Nothing. And now, after all this time, she shows up here, at Jameson’s party of all places, looking like she’s completely fine. Like she doesn’t even care that I miss her.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and she quickly turned away, pretending to adjust the strap of her dress. EJ sighed and crossed the room to her, his movements slow and deliberate, giving her space but offering his presence.

“She does care,” he said softly, though there was a flicker of something sharper in his tone. “You don’t just forget someone like you, Genie. Maybe she’s just... not ready to face everything yet.”

Genie let out a bitter laugh, swiping at her cheek. “It’s been a year. How much longer do I have to wait? How much longer do I have to pretend it doesn’t hurt that she’s just... gone?”

EJ placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re allowed to feel this. It’s okay to be angry, to be sad, to miss her. Just don’t let it eat you up inside.”

Genie turned to him, the tears finally spilling over. “I don’t know how to let it go. She was my person, EJ. And now, it’s like I don’t even exist to her.”

EJ’s jaw tightened as he pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her tightly. He couldn’t help the frustration bubbling in his chest—not just for what Imani’s absence had done to Genie but for the pain she had caused Jameson too. He didn’t say it aloud, but part of him felt like Imani had been selfish, leaving behind the people who had loved her most.

“You exist,” he murmured against her hair, pushing aside his bitterness for Genie’s sake. “And you’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

For a moment, Genie let herself believe him. In the quiet of EJ’s arms, she let herself grieve, not just for the friendship she had lost but for the part of herself that felt like it had been left behind with Imani.

EJ held her tighter, his mind drifting back to Imani’s face at the party. He’d keep his thoughts to himself, but if she ever wanted back into their lives, she’d have to prove she deserved it.

Imani’s patience was wearing thin, and she couldn’t last another minute in this crowded club. What the hell was she thinking, flying thousands of miles to see a man she hadn’t spoken to in a year? She shoved her way through the throngs of people, not bothering to find her aunt in the chaos. All she wanted was to escape, to retreat to her hotel room and try to make sense of everything. 

As she burst through the club doors and into the cool night air, Imani finally exhaled the breath she had been holding since running into Genie. But it didn’t bring any relief. Everything felt like shit and it was all her fault. The weight of loneliness settled on her shoulders like a familiar burden, one that always found its way back to her despite her best efforts to keep it at bay. But this time it hit harder than ever before and threatened to swallow her whole.

Before she could fully immerse herself in the depths of her sadness, a familiar voice jolted Imani out of her thoughts. “Mani? Leaving so soon?” It was Jameson, accompanied by Camille, their arms entwined as they walked towards her. Imani’s heart dropped at the sight, knowing that she was once in Camille’s place. A pang of envy and longing washed over her, but she quickly masked it with a forced smile. “Oh, I’m not feeling well, so I’m a head out,” she lied, trying to sound nonchalant. Jameson’s eyes narrowed slightly as if he could sense something was off. But then Camille leaned in closer and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, distracting him. “I know y’all ain’t out here to bring me back.”

Camille’s laughter tinkled through the air, her eyes sparkled as she glanced at Jameson. “No, we decided to leave early.” she said with a grin playing on her lips. Imani squinted at Jameson, studying his facial features intently. There was something off about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Why are you leaving your album release party so soon? Is everything alright?” Imani’s voice was gentle but curious, her gaze searching Jameson’s face for any clues. “I’m just tired,” he answered, but there was a slight quiver in his voice that betrayed his words. Imani could see the lie in his eyes, but she knew better than to press the issue. That was Camille’s job now.

“Jameson and I are going to go get some rest,” Camille said softly, doting on a 6’3 grown ass man like he was a baby. She wanted to hate it...but she knew she'd done the same when they were together. Imani’s eyes flicked back to Camille as she pat his chest and gazed at him. She tried to think of something to say next to the couple, but she was too focused on the way she said his name. It replayed over and over again in her mind. Her stomach was in knots at the sound of it. 

She was reminded of all of the times she used to call him that. Then she looked back at Camille. She was still looking at Jameson with the same look Imani used to have. Imani hated how he could invoke that look in another woman. She was the only one who should get to experience the look of love, lust, and admiration. She hated him for it. 

Where the fuck was her driver? She pulled her phone out of her clutch, opening it with her Face ID. She tapped over onto her call log, realizing that she never fucking called him. Imani was in such a rush to get away from the couple in the club that she forgot to do it. And yet, she still ended up face-to-face with them again. Fate wanted to torture her tonight. 

Imani quickly tapped the contact name and asked the driver to come get her. Luckily, he was just around the corner. There was silence between the three of them. Everything she planned on saying to him before her arrival was thrown out of the window when she first arrived. It all had fallen to shit. Now, her imagination filled those spaces of broken words. All she could see was Camille and Jameson, full of lust, in his house together doing what she would have done to him after his album release party.

Thankfully for her, Imani’s driver finally pulled up and disrupted her thoughts. He got out and opened the door for her. She walked over to the SUV, stepping inside of the car. “I’ll see you guys later…” She said, looking over her shoulder. She hoped her words never came to fruition. 

“Be safe and have a good night,” Jameson said lowly, watching her leave. She nodded, sitting down in the passenger seat of the vehicle. The driver closed the door. Once he pulled away from the curve, she pulled out the ring again. She toyed with it in her hands. Imani went into this party, hoping that the ring would spark a new meaning. She had no idea that meaning would be that it was her only connection to Jameson.

"You too quiet." Jameson muttered, pulling his hand from Camille's mouth. She gasped for breath when he did, immediately moaning out his name. "That's much better."

"Yes, baby. Right there. So good."

She was breathless as she clung to him. They were in the middle of his bed, she was on his lap -- long limbs wrapped around his neck and hips as she ground her hips against his.

Jameson groaned, feeling Camille's tightness stretch around him. Her enthusiasm was always a turn on and he let out a long, slow moan as he thrust deeper. Each powerful stroke, sending vibrations through her body that made her whimper in delight. Every time she moved on top of him, her breasts bounced enticingly against his chest, sending shivers down his spine.

"Ooh! D-Don't stop. Jamie! Just like that..."

The scent of sweat and sex filled the air as they moved together in perfect harmony. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mingling with their heavy breathing and tender moans. Camille's nails raked down his neck and back, leaving small trails of pleasure and pain that only fueled his desire further. He gripped her hips tightly, holding her close as they lost themselves in each other's touches.

He lifted his head to capture her mouth, tongue brushing against her own as he plunged deeper into her mouth -- imitating their movements. Their tongues danced together sensually while their bodies moved in rhythm on the bed beneath them. As he felt himself nearing climax, Jameson pulled back from the kiss to look into Camille's eyes - filled with lust and desire - before letting out a long growl.

"You like that, baby?" She asked him softly and Jameson nodded, words escaping him as his grip tightened on her hips. They'd been sleeping together long enough that she knew what it meant. She pushed her hands against his shoulders, legs unwinding from around him as he went crash back onto the bed. "Go ahead. Give it to me, Jamie." she whimpered.

Camille's nails dug into Jameson's skin as she rode him, leaving small crescents that stung but only made him harder. He groaned deeply, his hands finding purchase in the sheets as he arched his hips and thrust into her. He felt every curve of her body against him, every undulation sending shockwaves through his dick.

"That's what you want?" He asked her through gritted teeth. "Yes!" She responded, nodding her head. "I deserve it. I'm your good girl."

He couldn't take it much more. His head fell back onto the bed, eyes closed, but his hands knew where to go. He lifted them from the sheets, grasping her hip with the left and relentlessly rubbing at her clit with his right thumb. Camille's legs tightened against his outer thighs as she crumbled forward and came on top of him with a shout.

With a final thrust, Jameson cried out as he came inside her, their bodies trembling together in unison. As they came down from their high, Camille cuddled against Jameson's chest, their hearts beating in sync. She nibbled on his earlobe softly before pulling away slowly with a satisfied smile on her lips.

He sat in the dark in his living room, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city through the curtains. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling. Jameson fiddled with the watch on his wrist, loosening the band and twisting it around, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it off.

Camille had gone to sleep hours ago, slipping into sleep with the ease of someone unburdened. For a couple of hours, he managed to forget…everything.

But when it was over, and Camille’s breathing had evened out beside him, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The weight of his thoughts returned with a vengeance, and they all centered on one person.

Imani.

The way she had looked at the party—poised but distant, like she was shielding herself from the room, from him—was burned into his memory. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment she left, her face unreadable as she slipped into the car. He had been overwhelmed by her presence, thrown off balance by the sight of her after so long.

When she had walked away, leaving him and Camille standing there, all he could do was grab a passing glass of champagne. Then another. He had swallowed down two before he realized what he was doing—regressing, using alcohol to dull the sharp edge of his emotions.

He had told Camille he wanted to leave. She didn’t hesitate, her concern for him evident as she agreed. But as they made their way out, they ran into Imani on the street.

The moment replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape. The brief, stilted conversation. The way she looked at him like she was holding back a storm of emotions. And then she was gone, slipping away into the night.

Her face was trapped in his mind now, every detail vivid and unrelenting. The way her lips pressed together as if holding back words. The flicker of something—pain? anger?—in her eyes. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

All he wanted to do was fix it.

But that wasn’t his job anymore.

He brushed a hand over his head, exhaling sharply as he tried to shake off the thoughts. The urge to call her was overwhelming, a near-physical pull, but he knew it would be a mistake. One glimpse, one rushed conversation, and he was right back where he’d been months ago—thinking of her, wanting her, needing to know if she was okay.

He needed to get a damn grip.

Jameson sat up, running his hands over his face. The watch shifted on his wrist, its weight a constant reminder of the past he couldn’t quite let go of. The room felt too quiet, too still, and his thoughts too loud.

He stood, padding softly out of the living room and into the kitchen, boxers slung low on his hips. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring out at the city lights.

He had made progress this year, clawing his way out of the darkness that had consumed him after their breakup. He had rebuilt his life piece by piece, and Camille had been a steady presence through it all. But tonight had unraveled something in him, and he hated that it was Imani who had the power to do that.

He sighed, setting the glass down. He couldn’t keep letting her haunt him like this. He wouldn’t.