#she no longer even recognizes the face staring back at her in mirrors

[valleynix]

Can you explain more on the reality stuff please?

of course!!

so, as has been mentioned/implied, there are multiple "realities" within TPtM; this just means there are other versions of this setting going on, or perhaps past versions that have already come to pass (like with the Watcher)

in TPtM, the megamycete ("Black God") is literally a deity. it can do whatever it wants, and this includes allowing T-Miranda (TPtM's Miri) to traverse different realities by bringing her consciousness from one body to another through the megamycete, which acts as a vessel, of sorts

T-Miranda fully believes she is the one to depart one reality and go to another when she realizes, once again, she has failed, but this is not the case. it is all the megamycete's doing, and each reality is connected through this (assuming it has one), thus allowing for easier reality traveling

(does this make sense?? 😭)

the Watcher is from one many, many decades ago, who has been forced to watch each reality unfold and watch themself from another "world" fall victim again and again to T-Miranda's (megamycete's) plans. because the megamycete itself is able to store memories of those that have passed, it is also able to store the memories of other realities it has visited, which allows the Watcher to see those past events unfold over and over

honestly, with how many realities she's visited and how many times she's both witnessed Eva die in her arms and her "perfect" vessel (Reader) succumb to insanity/failure, one would think she would give up, but her god is not a kind one, and it promises the next will work. the next will be the reality she is able to see her daughter once more.

different circumstances do arise in each reality; that's why Reader and the Watcher look a bit different, or why sometimes Reader simply does not exist in a reality, or even why Miranda does not exist in a reality. it's a lot like alternate universes, i guess ? freaky

i realize this sounds like the megamycete just has a personal vendetta against Reader in any reality, but that's not the case LMAO. it really doesn't care about them, and is simply more interested in seeing how far its influence/power can spread either through them or through T-Miranda, seeing how the little bird mutant in the other realities are literally indestructible bioweapons dead set on killing anything in their path

i hope that makes sense!! sometimes this stuff makes more sense in my head and i struggle putting it into words 😭

[taurasiluvr]

how you can help palestine

★ req. "(paige x reader) you should play around with protective/ possessive/ jealous reader bc it’s always paige (not specifying ur fics, just in general) being protective/ possessive/ jealous and I need a switch uppp 😝 other than that I have no plot ideas but u always come through with ur fics 🎀🎀"

 ⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; nsfw under the cut, mdni. mean!paige, not too rough though, semi-public sex (in a private bathroom), fingering, teasing, praise.

 ⠀ ── ⠀word count ;; 2.6k

you sat at the bar, your lips curved into a frown as you sipped on your fruity drink. paige had brought you to the bar to watch a game and had been paying no attention to you whatsoever. you'd left her side an hour ago and you hadn't heard from her since ─ she was probably chatting with a group of friends by the pool tables, completely absorbed in the game and the lively conversation.

you sighed, feeling a mixture of annoyance and loneliness. the bar was buzzing with energy, laughter, and the clinking of glasses, but it all felt hollow without her attention.

you glanced back to try and find where your girlfriend was, only to find her talking to unfamiliar girl. your eyebrows twisted as you sipped on the drink, trying to figure who paige was talking to. the girl was leaning in close, laughing at something paige had said. a pang of jealousy hit you, and you couldn't help but wonder if paige even realized how much she was ignoring you.

you tried to shake off the feeling, but it lingered like a stubborn cloud. the bar's lively atmosphere seemed to mock your mood. uou watched as paige and the girl continued their animated conversation, their smiles and laughter only intensifying your frustration.

you sighed. fuck it, you thought to yourself. deciding you just couldn't sit there any longer, you finished your drink and stood up, making your way toward them. as you approached, paige didn't even notice you.

you laced an arm around hers, giving the girl a condensing smile. "who's this, baby?"

paige finally turned to you, an awkward smile on her lips. "hey," she said, clearly caught off guard. "this is liz, an old friend from high school. liz, this is my girlfriend."

liz smiled politely, though you could sense a bit of tension. "nice to meet you," she said, extending a hand.

you shook her hand, your grip a bit firmer than necessary. "nice to meet you too," you replied, trying to keep your tone light but unable to fully mask your irritation.

paige cleared her throat, sensing the awkwardness. "we were just catching up, watching the game."

"fun, aren't you the little multitasker, paige." you finally met paige's eyes, and they lacked their usual softness her gaze carried. oh, she was pissed ─ but so were you.

"yeah," she let out as she continued to glare at you. you could practically read her thoughts; "stop being so damn bratty."

but you couldn't help it.

"well, it's good to know you're having such a great time," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

"y/n,"

"i'm gonna go to the bathroom, so..." you shrugged before meeting liz's eyes. "it was really nice meeting you but i guess i'll catch up with you later, paige."

you knew you were being a bitch but you couldn't help it ─ was it so bad to want your girlfriend's undivided attention? sure, it was probably the alcohol making you more dramatic than usual, but the feelings were real. you turned on your heel and headed towards the bathroom, not waiting for paige's response. as you walked away, you could feel her glare on your back.

in the bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to cool down and collect your thoughts. you stared at your reflection in the mirror, taking deep breaths. maybe you were overreacting, but you couldn't shake the feeling of being sidelined.

you heard a knock on the door, feeling your frustration peak. "taken!"

"it's me, open the door." paige's voice was muffled but you could recognize it. you rolled your eyes, opening the door to meet your tall girlfriend's eyes, which were filled with annoyance.

"the fuck was that?" she mumbled as she pushed herself into the small bathroom. "i don't appreciate your attitude when we're just trying to have fun,"

you scoffed as you crossed your arms, leaning against the sink. "you didn't have to come, you could've just stayed with liz and had fun."

"you're making this really fucking hard, and you know how much i hate bratty attitudes." paige's voice came out low as she stepped closer, her presence filling the small space. you could feel the heat radiating off her as she towered over you, her frustration palpable.

"i don't like feeling ignored," you shot back, not backing down despite the intensity of the situation. "it's like i don't even exist when you're with her."

"jesus, since when are you so needy? is it the alcohol?" paige's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing.

"you are such an asshole! i'm not being needy." you huffed, turning your back to paige.

"seems like it, baby. can't handle me talking to other women, is that right?" paige's hand found your hips as she pressed herself against your back.

you met her eyes through the reflection of the mirror, the bathroom suddenly feeling even smaller. the tension between you crackled like electricity. paige's grip on your hips was firm, her presence overwhelming.

you squared your shoulders, meeting her gaze in the mirror with defiance. "maybe i just expect my girlfriend to care more about me than some random girl," you shot back, your voice laced with venom.

paige's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening. "really pushing it, y/n."

"maybe you deserve it," you retorted, refusing to back down. "you're acting like I don't even matter."

paige's jaw clenched, and in an instant, her patience snapped. "cut the fucking attitude, seriously. or do i need to fuck it outta you?"

you scoffed, feeling your face flush as she spoke. she pressed herself against you, her breath warm against your ear as your stomach twisted in need. the room seemed to shrink even more as the tension between you intensified.

"you think you can just say whatever you want and get away with it?" she whispered, her voice low and dangerous.

your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of anger, desire, and frustration swirling inside you. "maybe if you paid more attention to me, i wouldn't have to," you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly.

paige's grip on your hips tightened, pulling you even closer. "you want my attention?" she growled softly, her lips brushing against your ear. "fine. you've got it."

paige's hands slid up your sides, fingers digging into your flesh just enough to send a shiver down your spine. you met her gaze in the mirror, your breath hitching as her lips brushed against your ear.

"you don't get to act out and then demand my attention," she murmured, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "you needa learn how to behave, baby."

her hands roamed over your body, teasing and taunting as she spoke. your anger and frustration began to melt into a different kind of heat, one that spread through your veins and pooled low in your belly.

"paige..." you whispered, your voice betraying the conflict within you. you wanted her attention, but not like this, not in a way that made you feel even smaller.

"shh," she commanded softly, her fingers finding the hem of your shirt and slipping beneath it. "you wanted my attention. now, you have it."

her hands were everywhere, overwhelming your senses as she pressed her body against yours. your breath came in ragged gasps, and you felt a surge of need that matched the anger you had felt moments before. paige's grip tightened, her hands moving with a roughness that bordered on punishing.

"you think you can just throw a tantrum and get what you want?" she growled, her lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. "gonna learn tonight that it doesn't work like that."

her words sent a thrill of fear and excitement through you, the line between pleasure and pain blurring in the intensity of the moment. you bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan as paige's hands worked their way over your body, every touch a reminder of her dominance.

"want me to pay attention to you?" she asked, her voice a harsh whisper. "you're going to have to earn it."

her words were a challenge, one that you knew you couldn't back down from. you met her gaze in the mirror, your eyes filled with defiance and desire. "fine," you breathed, your voice trembling.

"fix your face, first of all." paige spoke, her voice mixed with annoyance and desire. "gonna fuck all that attitude outta ya, huh?"

she suddenly squeezed your hip, causing an unexpected moan to fall out of your mouth. paige's grip on your hip was firm, her fingers digging into your flesh as she leaned in closer.

her breath was hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "that's better," she murmured, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "let's get rid of that attitude."

her hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup your breast while the other traced a teasing path down your stomach. you bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds of pleasure that threatened to escape, but it was futile. paige knew exactly how to play your body, how to elicit the responses she wanted.

"i'm all yours, baby," she growled softly, her lips brushing against your neck. "and you're gonna remember that tonight."

you could feel the heat radiating from her body, the intensity of her presence overwhelming your senses. every touch, every whisper was a reminder of her dominance, and you couldn't help but surrender to it. paige's hand slid lower, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your jeans. you gasped, your body arching into her touch as she found your most sensitive spot.

"oh, paige," you moaned, your voice a mix of frustration and longing.

she chuckled softly, her breath warm against your ear. "that's right, baby. say my name."

paige rubbed your clothed pussy, watching your every move through the mirror. she caged you in with her arms on either side of you, her eyes dark with intent. the small bathroom felt even more confining as she leaned in closer, her presence dominating every inch of space.

"look at you," she murmured, her fingers working skillfully through the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. "so desperate for me, is this what you've wanted all night?"

you whimpered, your hands gripping the edge of the sink as you tried to steady yourself. paige's eyes never left yours in the mirror, her gaze holding you captive. the intensity of her touch, the way she controlled every movement, left you breathless and wanting more.

"paige, please," you begged, your voice trembling with need. "can't take it."

a slow, predatory smile spread across her lips. "you can take it," she whispered, her fingers pressing harder against you. "you will take it. my princess needs to learn patience, been too nice to you, huh?"

her words sent a shiver down your spine, the commanding tone only heightening your arousal. paige's other hand slipped under your shirt, her fingers brushing against your bare skin, teasing you further. the contrast between her rough and gentle touches was intoxicating, driving you to the brink.

"please," you whimpered, your voice breaking. "paige, need more."

her smile widened, a hint of sadistic pleasure in her eyes. "i know you do, baby," she murmured, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "but you're going to have to earn it."

she suddenly pulled her hand away, and you let out a frustrated whine, your body aching for her touch. paige's hands found your hips, and she spun you around to face her. her eyes were dark and dilated with desire as she pushed you back against the sink, trapping you with her body.

"you want more?" she asked, her voice a low growl. "show me how badly you need it."

her hands moved to your jeans, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping them before sliding them down your legs. the cool air against your heated skin sent a shiver through you, and you gasped as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down as well.

"look at you, so wet" she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. "so ready for me."

paige's hands were everywhere, touching and teasing as she pressed her body against yours. her lips found your neck, kissing and nibbling the sensitive skin as her fingers trailed up your inner thigh, finally finding their way to your core.

you cried out as she touched you, your body arching into her hand. "paige, please," you begged, your voice trembling with need. "can't take it, i need you."

"good girl," she murmured, her breath hot against your skin. "now, keep begging."

her fingers slipped into your soaking pussy, they began stroking you with a slow, torturous rhythm that left you gasping for breath. you clung to her, your nails digging into her shoulders as you tried to steady yourself.

"oh fuck, please," you whimpered, your voice a desperate plea. "need you, need you to make me come. please."

"that's it," she purred, her fingers increasing their pace. "keep begging, baby, wanna hear how much you want it."

"want it so much," you cried, your body trembling with need. "need you, paige. please, please make me cum."

"apologize, baby. i didn't get to enjoy the game cause of you," paige mumbled against your lips as you whimpered.

"i'm so sorry, please," you cried out as your pussy tightened around her fingers. "pleasepleaseplease, wanna cum so bad," you rambled.

her eyes flashed with satisfaction, and she leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss. her tongue danced with yours, the kiss deepening as her fingers worked you with relentless precision. the intensity of her touch, combined with the passion of her kiss, pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

"cum for me," she commanded, her voice a low growl against your lips.

with a final cry, you obeyed, your body shuddering as the pleasure washed over you. paige held you steady, her touch guiding you through the waves of sensation until you were left breathless and spent.

she gripped your face with her other hand before shoving the wet fingers into your lips, humming as you tasted herself on them. "fuck, that's right, baby girl."

paige smirked as she slipped her fingers out of your mouth, a satisfied glint in her eyes. "did so well," she murmured. "now, let's clean you up."

she helped you straighten your clothes, her touch surprisingly gentle after the intense encounter. you could still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm coursing through your body, your legs trembling slightly as you adjusted your jeans.

paige's fingers lingered on your skin, tracing soft patterns as she made sure you were put back together. she looked at you with a mix of pride and affection, her dominant demeanor softening as she pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

"you okay?" she asked, her voice low and soothing.

you nodded, still catching your breath. "yeah, 'm okay," you whispered, your voice a bit shaky but filled with gratitude.

"good," she replied, her smile genuine. "let's get back out there and enjoy the rest of the night, the girls are probably where we're at."

she took your hand, leading you out of the bathroom and back into the lively atmosphere of the bar. the noise and energy of the crowd felt like a stark contrast to the intense intimacy you had just shared, but with paige by your side, you felt a sense of contentment.

as you made your way back to your spot, paige glanced at you with a playful glint in her eye. "you gonna behave now?" she teased, her tone light but carrying a hint of the dominance that had just left you breathless.

you smirked, feeling a surge of affection for her. "oh yeah, paige," you replied, squeezing her hand. "i'll behave."

"good," she said, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your temple. "cause the night is still young, and i'm not done with you yet."

if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!

with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 3

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of sex, mentions of cheating, mentions of emotional abuse (Chrissy’s mom), absent parent, daddy issues, jealousy. Billy being Billy… it’s not what you think

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Someone you don't want to see shows up at your doorsteps.

Word count: 6.7k

Note: @mysticmunson thank you for helping me as always, you're the best! @somethingvicked thank you for the idea with Billy, it's working perfectly for this story

series masterlist

-

Steve had been so on edge ever since he found out about you and Billy. He knows that Tommy and Carol aren’t the most honest people. They strive off of chaos, they live for the drama and the lies and constantly make up new things to gossip about but for some reason, he believes their words this time. Billy had been following you around ever since he broke up with you– he had been running after you for some time now but never like this. You always rejected him, you were taken and not interested but now Steve can’t help but wonder, were you truly not interested or were you just rejecting him because you were with him? Were you secretly into Billy all this time? The thought of it makes him feel sick. 

He sits in his car, bouncing his knee as he stares out the window, waiting for his girlfriend. The parking lot is filled with students, he hears laughter and different voices. He sees Billy walking towards his car, the usual smug and arrogant look resting on his face. He straightens up, looking around to see if you’re around too, wanting to see if you will get in the car with him. What will he do if you do get into his car? 

“Hey!” 

Nancy’s voice startles him a little, he tears his eyes away from the blue camaro and turns to look at his girlfriend. 

“Hey Nance,” he smiles. He instantly leans closer to her once she’s seated, she meets him halfway, kissing him on the lips. Her eyes are closed, his are open and they flash with curiosity when he sees you through his window. You look his way and it’s enough for him to tense up. 

He expects you to get into Billy’s car but instead you go the other way, you pass by his car and look straight ahead, pretending to not see him or her. He breaks the kiss, Nancy doesn’t seem to mind, she leans back and puts the seatbelt on as she begins to talk about her project. Steve hums and nods along, turning his head to see where you are going. 

Are you going to Heather’s car? To Chrissy’s car? It turns out to be neither of those, instead you leave the parking lot and walk into the direction of the football field. Where are you going? 

“I figured that we could rent a movie tomorrow since we can’t hang out tonight,” Nancy says, “I really wanna get it done. It’s been nice to hang out with Jonathan again though, we should all go out together sometime!”

“Sure,” Steve mumbles and turns back to her when he no longer sees you. 

Her brows are raised and a confused smile is on her lips, “were you even listening?” 

He nods, “yeah, you want me to hang out with Byers,” he says with an eye roll. 

“Hey,” Nancy mumbles, hitting his arm, “he’s nice, you just gotta get to know him.” 

“Sure,” he chuckles, running his fingers through his hair, “nice.” 

Nancy shakes her head at him, raising her arm, she pulls down the sun visor and flips open the small mirror, a piece of paper that was tucked into it falls into her lap. Her brows knit together as she looks down at it. She picks it up, it’s just a simple brown paper that was ripped out of a notebook, she turns it around. Annoyance bubbles inside of her when she sees the writing on the note. It’s not much but it’s from you, it’s not signed but she recognizes your handwriting and the little heart, only you draw it like that. 

I love you 

She presses her lips together and glances over at Steve who is staring into blank space. 

How long has the note been here? Does he even know that it existed? 

“Here,” Nancy mumbles and throws it into his lap. 

Steve glances at her first, brows furrowed and lips parted, he notices the annoyed look on her face. He looks down at the note in his lap. Oh. 

“I didn’t know you still kept her things.”

Steve blinks as he stares at your handwriting. You drew a little heart next to your I love you. He swallows harshly. The weird feeling in his chest returns yet again. He didn’t even know the note was there– you did things like that all the time, leaving little notes everywhere for him to find. He kept them all. 

“I don’t,” he lies as he puts the note in his pocket after folding it, “I didn’t even know it was there. I’ll throw it away later.” 

Nancy nods, eyeing him from the side. She doesn’t like the way he folded the paper so neatly. He should’ve crumpled it up and thrown it out the window. 

“Okay.”

-

The scented candles in your room are lit, making the air smell like pumpkin spice and cinnamon. The light of your salt lamp makes everything appear softer, you never use the big light in your room, you hate it. The police’s every breath you take is playing in the background. 

“Are you going to the winter formal?” Chrissy asks as she flips to the next page of her new fashion magazine. You are both laying on your bed, the decoration pillows all over the floor. You look at the pretty dresses in the magazine. You would be wearing one of those next Friday if Steve wasn’t such a cheating asshole. 

“Nope.” 

She glances at you with a sad look in her eyes, “we could go together.” 

You give her a small smile as you shake your head. 

“No, it’s okay,” you say, “I don’t feel like going anyway, he’s gonna be there with her.” 

She sighs, her lips are set in a frown, “you know, I never liked him. As much as I hate to say it, I’m not surprised about his actions but Nancy?” She mumbles, “who would’ve thought that she’s such a.. bitch.” 

“Yeah, looks deceive, huh?” 

“Totally.” 

You told your friends about what Nancy said in the girls bathroom when she didn’t know that you were there. 

“She looks like one of those church girls.” 

A surprised laugh leaves your lips, “a church girl?” 

“Yeah, she wears those ugly long skirts and those preppy blouses that my mom forces me to wear when we go to church on Sunday’s,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes. 

“Is she a church girl?” You ask. 

She snorts and shakes her head, “I don’t think so, I’ve never seen her around.” 

You nod. 

She flips to the next page, eying all the dresses before her eyes land on the ugliest one, a giggle falling from her lips, she points at it with her pink nails, “looks like something she would wear.” 

You can’t help but laugh. 

“And that’s why she won’t ever be prom queen, that’ll be you,” you say, expecting to see a smile on her face but instead it falls and a frown settles in her features. 

“It’s not prom yet,” she mumbles, “and I don’t really wanna be the queen to some asshole’s king.” 

Raising your brows, you tilt your head as you look at her. Cupping your cheek, you lean your elbow on the pillow beneath you, “you mean, you don’t want to be Jason Carver’s queen?” 

A look of disgust crosses her features and she shudders at the mention of his name. 

“Mom forces me to go with him,” she says, looking like she’s ready to break down out of frustration, “I don’t want to go with him.”

Your gaze softens, you place your hand on her back, “then don’t go with him.”

She keeps her eyes locked on the magazine, “you know how my mom is, I can’t just not go, she’ll make my life a living hell if I don’t do what she says.” 

You never liked Chrissy’s mother, she was always horrible to her. Always pushing her to do and be ‘better’, forcing her to associate herself with people who already climbed up the social ladder, like Jason Carver. 

You sigh, wishing you could help her. 

“What if you just stop doing what she wants you to do?” You shrug. 

She sighs and opens her mouth to speak but you cut her off, holding your hand up, you sit up on your knees, “I know, I know, easier said than done but–” you pause, looking around your room, you eye the freshly washed and ironed cheerleader uniform, the cassettes in the little box on your floor, bands that are his favorites, singers that your friends love so much, you stare at the baby pink wallpaper and the colorful clothes in your messy closet– you should’ve closed the door, the sight of the mess makes you want to groan in annoyance. 

“But?” Chrissy mumbles as she waits for you to continue. 

You blink, tearing your eyes away from all the things in your room that you didn’t come to like on your own. You look back at your best friend. 

“If you do things for others, if you do things because they want you to do them or because they expect you to do them, because they like those things– you will end up feeling miserable at some point, you will lose yourself and one day you’re gonna realize that you don’t even know yourself, that you don’t even know what you like, what you truly want or… who you even are..” 

She lets your words sink in. For a moment it’s silent between the two of you. You look down at your hands while she stares at you. Sadness and realization crossing her features. You are trying to help, she knows it but you are also realizing something about yourself, she can tell by the lost look in your eyes. 

“I know that things would be tense if you just started going against her stupid rules or wishes but you can always come to me if things get tough at home,” you say, reaching out to take her hand, “I’m here and you know my mom won’t mind you staying with us.” 

Her eyes light up at your words, a smile tugs at her lips, she turns her hand around and squeezes yours, “you’re the best, you know that right?” She whispers. 

You smile at her words, you tilt your head, “no, I’m not.”

She frowns and rolls her eyes, “yes, you are.” 

“Says who?” You chuckle. 

“I do,” she says, proudly. 

“Oh,” you smirk, leaning closer to her, you don’t notice the way her eyes widen or the way her cheeks flush a little red, “you do, huh?” 

She blinks, her lips part and she stares at your face. Your face hovers over hers for a second before you lay back down on your bed and reach for the bat shaped pillow, the one you excitedly bought for your ‘halloween’ decoration, hugging it to your chest, you stare up at the ceiling, not noticing her stare or her tense body. 

“A-Are you sure you don’t wanna come to the winter formal?” She asks again. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

She looks down at her hands, “okay,” she frowns. 

“Hey,” you whisper, glancing at her, “you’ll still have fun.”

“With Jason?” She mumbles, rolling her eyes, “I doubt that.”

“You can still go with someone else. If your mom is gonna act like a bitch, I’ll kick her ass for you.”

A giggle falls from her lips and she shakes her head as she looks at you with a smile on her face. 

Rolling on your side, you prop your head up on your hand. Curiosity sparks inside of you. 

“Who did you really want to go with?” You ask, “I know there is someone.” You notice the blush on her face and it only deepens the longer you stare at her. 

“Oh uh–” she chuckles nervously, “n-no one, I just, I don’t wanna go with Jason.” 

“Are you sure about that?” 

She nods. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know that, right?” 

“I-I’m not.” 

“Good, we’re best friends, we tell each other everything, right?” 

“Yeah,” she whispers and gives you a smile that doesn’t really reach her eyes. “I’m gonna go now, I still have to study for the math test tomorrow,” she groans. 

“Oh.. yeah,” you mumble, trying to hide the disappointed look on your face. You hate being by yourself, there’s too much going on in your mind when you’re all alone in this house– you used to love it but ever since he left, it’s just been hard. “I gotta start working on the assignment.” 

Chrissy rolls her eyes just the way she did when you told her about who you got partnered up with. 

“You know, you could still take Billy up on that offer.” 

You snort at her words, “I don’t think we need Billy to kick his ass, Heather will do.” 

“Did you know that she accidentally bumped into him at Nick’s party last weekend? He was holding a drink and it got all over Nancy,” she giggles. 

Your eyes widen, you can’t even fight the grin off your face, “no way?” You gasp.

“Yes way,” she laughs as she reaches for her backpack, “he got all pissed and looked like he was ready to fight but when he saw Heather, he got all quiet– he even looked scared.” 

“He should be,” you chuckle. 

“And Nancy got all hysterical and ran off.”

You snort, “she deserved it.”

“She deserves worse for what she did– they both do,” she sighs. 

She never liked Steve, even before you started dating him, she couldn’t stand him. His presence annoyed her and more so when you two got together and she had to watch how he continuously messed with your feelings. 

“Yeah well, I don’t care anymore, I’m moving on…” 

She knows that there is no truth behind your words, you are not moving on. You still love him, she thinks that you always will. You always looked at him like he was the only light in your life, like he was the one who hung every star in the dark sky, it made her hate him even more because he never looked at you like that. 

“I’ll walk you to the door–”

“No, it’s fine,” she smiles, “you don’t have to.” She walks towards you and pulls you into a hug, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She squeezes you tightly before she lets go, giving you another smile. 

“Yeah, still gotta help you pick out the right shoes for your dress,” you say. 

She nods, “and maybe I’ll manage to convince you to come, after all,” she says as she pulls away and begins to walk out of your room, “I’d rather go with you than Jason,” she says quickly before she turns around and leaves the room, saying ‘bye’ in a sing song voice. 

You chuckle and throw your head back against the pillow. 

“Jason Carver,” you mumble in disgust. Not a single person could ever force you to go to the winter formal with him but Chrissy’s mother is the epitome of an evil witch, you know that she will make her life more miserable if she doesn’t do as she says. You understand why Chrissy would rather suffer through the night with him than risk a fight with her mother. 

Not even five minutes after she left, the doorbell rings. Looking around the room, you try to see if she forgot something, that’s what usually happens when she leaves, she rushes back in a few minutes later because she left her keys or something else. Sighing, you push roll out of bed and rush out of the room. 

The doorbell rings again. 

“I’m coming!” You call out, “since when are you so impatient..” 

Your socks are a little slippery on the hardwood floor, careful not to fall, you hold onto the railing as you hurry down the stairs. Grabbing the doorknob, you are already smiling in amusement, “let me guess, you forgot–” with your words caught in your throat and your smile falling quicker than ever, you only manage to stare at him in confusion. 

There he is, Steve Harrington, standing on your front porch with his hands in his pocket and an unreadable expression on his face. What does he want? 

Even though it was him who came here to see you, he stands frozen in place. He stares at you and you stare at him. You are both frozen, time stops, everything stops moving, right now, it’s just the two of you in this world. 

It’s the first time you look at him again, properly. All the sadness, all the pain and the longing comes creeping back. It was there all this time, hidden beneath all the anger but it was easier to deal with it when you started pretending like he didn’t exist anymore, when you forced yourself not to look at him anymore, when you threw all his things away, when you let go of him. How dare he show up here? 

Steve watches the way your eyes flash with confusion, anger and sadness, they soften for a split second. This is the first time you actually look at him again. This is the first time you are forced to acknowledge his presence again. A feeling he can only describe as relief rushes through him when you finally look into his eyes again. 

It feels like forever that you look at each other when in reality only a minute passed since you opened the door. You blink and take a step back, rolling your eyes, you go to shut the door without wanting to hear an explanation as to why he is here– “no.” Is all you say before slamming the door in his face but he is quicker than you, he always was. He places his palm on the door, stopping you from closing it, “wait–”

“Get lost, Harrington.” 

He sighs, he didn’t expect anything else from you.

You try to close the door again but he doesn’t let you, keeping his palm pressed against the wooden door, he stares at you with a stubborn look on his face. God, you want to punch him. 

“What do you want?” You ask as you finally give up and let go of the door, you cross your arms over your chest and take a step back, not looking into his eyes. You raise your brows and glare at him when he invites himself into your house, he shuts the door behind him. You shake your head in disbelief. 

He is wearing the stupid flannel that you used to love so much, the one you always stole from him– does it still smell like you? 

“We have to work on the assignment together.” 

Is he serious? 

“I told you, I’ll do it myself,” you snap at him before you turn around and make your way into the kitchen in hopes that he will leave but instead, he follows you into the kitchen. 

“We’re partners, it wouldn’t be fair to let you do all the work by yourself.”

You clench your jaw at his words, how ironic of him to say that. Turning the light on in the kitchen, you walk towards the fridge and open it, distracting yourself from his presence by staring at all the food and drinks. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m used to doing all the work myself, my previous partner wasn’t much of a help,” you murmur, “in any way.”

Steve scoffs at your words, though he looks down in embarrassment, knowing exactly what things you are talking about. He places his hands on his hips and glances at you through his lashes, he eyes you for a moment before he speaks up, “listen, I-I wanna do better in school and I really want to work on this assignment.” 

You close your eyes, shaking your head, you take a deep breath. Why did he have to sit next to you today? 

“Since when do you care about being better in school?” You ask in annoyance, reaching for a water bottle, you close the fridge again and turn around to face him. He breaks eye contact the moment you raise your brows in question. 

He shrugs, “I wanna graduate next year and Mr. Higgins said that I–”

“Don’t care,” you interrupt him and sigh of boredom. 

He looks a little taken aback, furrowing his brows, he stares at you for a moment as he presses his lips back together. When he came here, he didn’t expect you to be so.. mean. Steve only ever knew you as the sweet girl, not once did you treat him badly in all the years he has known you. You never gave him the cold shoulder, not even when he deserved it. You were always kind, gentle and forgiving. 

Heartbreak changes a person but not like this, right? What happened in those two months ever since he left? 

While Steve tries to figure you out. You try to figure out how to handle this situation. 

Should you curse him out and kick him out of your house and show him how hurt you still are? Should you really give him that satisfaction? Or should you pretend to be okay, give him the cold shoulder that you should’ve given him years ago and act like you are fine with this, with working with him? 

You opt for the latter. You don’t want him to see the power he still has over you. You don’t want him to see how much you still want him.  

You can feel his eyes on you, burning into you, it makes your skin crawl. 

You take deep breaths before you look back up at him. 

“Don’t you have better things to do on a Thursday night?” You scoff. You know damn well that he never worked on homeworks or assignments when he was still with you, he had ‘better’ things to do. You were the one that did all these things for him. 

“Can we just work on this?” He sighs.

You roll your eyes and shrug, “yeah.” 

Surprise flashes in his eyes, he didn’t think that it would be that easy to convince you to work with him. For weeks, you wouldn’t even look at him, you wouldn’t even glance into his direction. He figured that it was because of how hurt you were after the breakup but now he begins to doubt that that is why you stopped acknowledging him. 

“Come on then,” you mumble as you make your way out of the kitchen, brushing past him. He nods, looking down at the floor, he turns around and follows you into the hallway, turning the light off on the way out. 

It feels weird to be back in your house, it feels so familiar yet so… strange. There isn’t much in your room that has changed since the last time he had been in here– only the lack of his things is noticeable to him. The bottle of his cologne that used to be on your dresses is gone and so are the collection of polaroids. He frowns, a weird feeling tugs at his heart. You got rid of everything. It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. He looks around the room that haunts his dreams– a piece of clothing that neither belongs to you or him is draped over the chair by your desk. It’s a black denim jacket. Clenching his jaw, he wonders if it belongs to Billy. The thought of you wearing his clothes, of you being with him makes him so.. angry. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” You mumble without looking back at him. You are already back on your bed with your notebook in your lap. He stares at you, the moment feels too familiar. He remembers climbing up to your window one night, he wanted to surprise you with flowers. You were sitting on your bed just like you do now but instead of the notebook you had a magazine on your lap and you were wearing pajamas. You looked so cute. 

“We gotta settle on a topic,” you say and raise your head to look at him. 

Steve’s brows are still furrowed, he still stares at you. He feels confused, irritated and a little hurt. You seem so.. okay. You look at him and talk to him as though nothing ever happened. Are you okay without him? Are you happier without him? 

He blinks, snapping himself out of his thoughts, he walks towards your desk, he pulls out the chair and sits down. 

“Yeah.. what do you wanna write about?” 

You shrug, “I don’t know, we could totally write an essay about snakes, there’s one in my room, right now.” 

His lips part and his face scrunches up in confusion, it takes him a moment to realize what you mean. His shoulders slump and he scoffs, “very funny.”

“I know,” you smirk. 

“We could write about basketball–” 

Your scoff cuts him off, causing him to roll his eyes. 

“Or about cheerleading–”

“Are you crazy?”

“I think you know more about cheerleading than I do, you were the one who convinced me to do it after all,” you say, tilting your head at him, “remember?”

He leans back in the chair, spreading his legs, he nods at your words and clenches his jaw, “yeah..”

There is so much tension in your room, his presence makes you angry. 

After the initial shock subsided and the sadness turned into anger, you began to curse him for what he did, especially when you found out that he had kissed her while he was still with you. That is something you will never forgive him, the lies and the cheating. 

The anger makes you feel stronger, it keeps the sadness away, for the most part, at least. 

“How about we do something more classy– although, you don’t do classy, so…” 

Steve rolls his eyes at your words, “not like you do it either,” he mumbles. 

You snort, not showing him the anger or the annoyance that you are feeling right now. You tilt your head and stare at him in question.

“I mean, given that you fucked Billy Hargrove out of all people,” he says with a looks of distaste on his face. 

What? 

You almost laugh in his face but you hold yourself back. 

He eyes your expression slowly, waiting for a reaction. He expects you to scoff, to look caught, to look embarrassed, to blush or to deny it all– just the way you always denied your attraction to Billy every time he brought it up but he gets nothing from you. Absolutely nothing and it only fuels his anger even more. The burning in his chest and stomach worsens when you look at him with a straight face. 

You look at him for a while, not moving, not saying anything, he can’t even read the look on your face. After a while, you sigh and look down at your notebook, “so how about we write an essay about Romeo and Juliet?” You ask, “you know, since it’s the only book you actually ever touched.” 

His brows knit together, his cheeks grow red, “are you not gonna say anything?” 

His irrational anger amuses you a little but you don’t show it. 

You look at him through hooded eyes, not raising your head, “I just did?” 

He rolls his eyes and stands up, walking towards you, “I mean about Billy.” 

“What about him?”

“Did you sleep with him?” He asks. 

His eyes flash with desperation. He wants to know, he needs to know. 

How ironic it is to see him beg for an answer when he has no right to even get one. He never gave you the truth so why should you? You are not his anymore.

His eyes are pleading. Why does he want to know? Why does he even care? He has the girl he truly loves, why should it matter what you do or who you do it with? 

“So, I’m not sure if you remember the story but in Romeo and Juliet, there’s obviously that tragic ending so–”

“Y/n,” he sighs. 

You close your mouth and glare at him, you used to love hearing him say your name, now you hate it. 

“Would you rather write an essay about Billy Hargrove?” You ask calmly, giving him a fake smile. 

“No,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Good, cause I don’t either.” 

He runs his fingers through his hair and huffs in frustration, closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“We could write about pride and prejudice.”

You lift your chin and look at him in surprise. You used to reread that book all the time, he knows it’s your favorite– he used to steal it out of your hands, reading some of Mr.Darcy’s lines in a mocking way, back then it made you laugh. 

“You didn’t even read it,” you murmur. 

“I can read it now,” he shrugs, “you still have it, right?” 

“We got a week to finish the essay, Steve. It’ll take you days to even finish and understand that book so don’t even bother–”

“No,” he says stubbornly, “I want to.”

You throw your hands up, “why?” 

‘Cause you wanted to choose the book for your next essay, you told him that weeks before.. her. ‘Cause you love it so much– or used to love it. 

He doesn’t look at you, he stares at the ground and shrugs, “just let me do it, please,” he says, “I can get started on the essay while reading it.” 

You try to figure him out. Why is this so important to him? He used to make fun of that book, of you reading so much. He would laugh whenever you offered to read it for him and now he suddenly wants to read it himself? 

Sighing, you get up and walk towards your bookshelf. You bend down and reach for the book before you turn back to face him. 

It feels weird to see him back in your room– a place he spent so many nights in, a place he used to kiss you in, a place he used to touch you in. 

“Here.” 

You hold it out to him, keeping distance between the two of you as though you are scared to come near him. His fingertips brush yours when he takes the book from you, warmth spreads across his skin and he finds himself looking at your face. 

You quickly pull your hand back and cross your arms over your chest, avoiding his eyes, “well, you should probably get started then,” you mumble, nudging your chin into the direction of your door, subtly kicking him out. 

“Yeah,” he breathes and looks back down, eying the cover of your beloved book, “what are you doing tomorrow night?” 

Just leave, please. You think to yourself. 

“Why?”

“Well, we could start working on it tomorrow,” he offers. 

“Yeah sure.” You don’t want to work with him, you don’t want to see him but agreeing to it will get him out of your house sooner, “I’ll call you.” 

“Okay.” 

You can feel his eyes on you, he is staring and it makes you want to both scream and cry. Leave, just leave. 

“I’ll get going.” He steps away, taking one last look at you before he turns around, “good night, y/n.”

You don’t say anything back, you stay silent, refusing to even look at him. You don’t notice the way he halts in his tracks when his eyes fall on the picture on your wall, the only one left of him. Steve knows that you didn’t keep it up because of him but it still makes something inside of him burn. There’s no other reminders of him left, only this one. You could have cut him out but you didn’t, you kept him there. His eyes soften and he glances at you. You are still standing there in the same spot, with your arms crossed and your gaze stuck to the floor. The urge to– no. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to leave. 

Your fingernails dig into your arms, you bite your lip as you feel the tears welling up in your eyes. The lump in your throat begins to grow. Why did he show up? You hear him walking down the stairs and it feels like forever until he reaches the door. The sob begins to threaten to escape. 

You slowly make your way towards your bedroom door, shutting it quietly. You press your back against it and look up at the ceiling. Tears roll down your cheeks the minute you let your guard down. 

“I hate you, Steve Harrington.”

-

Cold water dribbles down on him, making goosebumps rise up on his skin, he shivers at the feeling but sighs in content when he feels himself getting more energized again. Basketball practice tired him more than usual but that was probably because he stayed up all night, reading pride and prejudice. To his surprise, he ended up liking it more than he thought. Though he can’t stand Darcy for some reason. 

Another thing that kept him up was you. Your indifference, your lack of emotions, the anger and the sadness he had seen in your eyes the last time you had looked at him was gone. There is nothing in your eyes now, just simply nothing. It shouldn’t bother him, in fact, it should make him feel relieved to know that you are not hurting anymore but somehow it hurts him to know that you just don’t care anymore. 

He didn’t love you but you loved him, at least that’s what he always believed. 

Did you realize that you never loved him either? 

“What’s wrong, Harrington? Did you realize that you’re a shit player?” 

He can’t even help but sigh in annoyance. His jaw clenches and so do his fists. He waited until everyone was done showering, not feeling like interacting with anyone, he didn’t know that Billy was still around, if he knew, he would’ve been the first in the shower. 

He opens his eyes and glares at him. 

Billy looks at him with a smirk on his face, he turns the water on and closes his eyes as he steps under the stream. 

Steve decides to ignore him, turning his head away from him, he reaches for his shampoo with shaky hands. Just the presence of Billy is enough for him to shake out of anger. He hates him so much. 

“Heard you were at y/n’s house last night.” 

At that, Steve tenses up. How and why does he know? He keeps his eyes down as he begins to wash his hair. 

“Yeah, so?”

Billy chuckles, taking a moment to reply. 

“What were you doing there?” 

“How’s that any of your business?” Steve mumbles in annoyance. 

Billy shrugs, narrowing his eyes at him, “when assholes like you go to their ex-girlfriends house it’s usually to fuck,” he says, smirking. 

Steve shakes his head, “we’re working on an essay together.” 

“Mhm.” 

To his surprise, Billy keeps quiet for the remaining time. Steve quickly finishes up and leaves the shower after wrapping a towel around his waist, wanting to escape him as quickly as he can. 

Steve can’t stand to be in the same room as him for longer than a minute, he always felt that way about him but especially after hearing those rumors about you and Billy from Tommy and Carol. It still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Back in the locker room, he scrunches his face up in disgust, it smells like sweat, too much deodorant and cologne in here. No one is around anymore, everyone has already left. 

Steve reaches for his dirty clothes and stuffs them into his duffle bag before he starts getting dressed. He puts on a pair of boxers and his jeans and reaches for his belt when Billy walks back in. 

Steve’s jaw feels tense from all the clenching but he can’t stop it. Every time he sees him, he thinks of you and him together. He thinks of you being touched by him, of you being kissed by him, of you being– god, he can’t stand it. He can’t stand the thought of you being touched by Billy Hargrove or any other man for that matter.

He knows that there is a huge chance that you aren’t with him or with anyone else but he can’t be too sure. 

“Did you fuck her?” 

Billy smirks when the question finally tumbles out of Steve’s mouth, he knows that he has been dying to ask. He stays silent and puts his clothes on instead, taking his time with it. 

Steve puts his sweater over his head and turns around to face Billy, who is already staring at him smugly as he dries his hair with the white towel. 

Steve’s nostrils flare and he feels like throwing a punch at him already, he clenches his fists, fingernails digging into his palms. 

“Why are you asking a question that you already know the answer to?” Billy smirks. 

He stiffens a little, gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to do what he so badly wants to do. 

“I don’t know the answer, that’s why I’m asking.” 

“Why do you want to know?” Billy chuckles as he tilts his head to the side, he throws the towel back on the bench and puts his white tank top on, “you dumped her.” 

Billy walks towards him slowly, he looks confident, he always does. He looks directly into his eyes, the smugness remaining on his face. 

“Let me tell you something.” 

Steve drops his arms to his sides and puffs out his chest, raising his chin slightly. His heartbeat quickens, not out of fear but out of anticipation. 

“When you came to school with your new little plaything, she left. I found her behind the school, she was crying.” 

Nothing good will come out of his mouth next, Steve already knows it. The thought of you crying over him does little to mend the anger in his chest. 

“Wanna know what I did?” Billy asks, raising his brows. He licks his lips and grins a little as he steps closer. 

Steve nudges his chin up. 

“I took her home and I fucked her so hard that she forgot that you ever existed. In fact, I think a good fuck was all it needed,” Billy chuckles darkly as he looks him up and down, “‘cause you clearly never fucked her good enough.” 

Steve is seething, burning and trembling with anger. The smirk on the blond’s face is only fueling his anger. 

“Now I’m not the only one,” Billy smirks at the angry look on Steve’s face. His cheeks are red, the brown in his eyes vanished completely, all there is now is blackness. He is not just angry, he is in rage and Billy is loving it. “A little birdie told me that she’s been sneaking around with one of the stoners, so..” Billy laughs, turning around with satisfaction in his eyes.

Steve doesn’t know whether to throw a punch, to scream at him or at himself for feeling this way. He wants to throw up at the thought of you fucking Billy, of you sneaking around with some loser. 

Billy grabs his stuff, he puts on his brown leather jacket. He can sense Steve’s anger and it makes him feel more satisfied than ever. 

“Let me tell you a little secret, Steve. Girls like her, the ones who get left behind by their daddies, they’re a little damaged but they keep going. They still got a little hope left, but the moment they get their heart broken by some asshole they fall in love with, they’re damaged beyond repair. Even if you come crawling back to her and she ends up being stupid enough to take your sorry ass back, she will never be the same again. You crushed her poor little heart.”

Steve is breathing heavily, his knuckles are white from how hard he is clenching his fist. He would love nothing more than to finally throw that punch but he holds himself back, knowing that it will only make things even worse. 

Billy slaps his hand on Steve’s shoulder, narrowing his eyes, he chuckles, “loosen up, King Steve, go and get your little geek. I’ll take care of y/n, I think she’s better off with me anyways. At least she feels something when I fuck her.” 

And with that, Billy leaves him standing, knowing the damage he caused, it leaves him more satisfied than ever, to know that he messed with him— to know what it takes to mess with him.

next part

-

only tagging friends!

@mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @take-everything-you-can @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sherrylyn628

[irisintheafterglow]

welcome back to coparenting megumi with satoru (megs' birthday edition! because it's basically winter and i wanna write more found family fluff)

you're well aware that megumi is not a normal child.

you're reminded of it on a daily basis when he tells you about the low-level curses he spotted around the corner while he and tsumiki walked home from school. you're reminded when either you or satoru immediately go to the corner where he saw the curse and exorcising every curse within a four mile radius. you're reminded when he sees a dog and immediately wants to summon his divine dogs, even though his cursed energy isn't at a level where he can activate it without being wiped out for the rest of the day. but mostly, you're reminded on his birthdays that he was not born and will never be normal. still, satoru makes it his mission to give the boy what he calls a "bangin' birthday."

the other kids in his class would have their parents bring in cupcakes or goodies on their special day; megs, however, would probably argue that the other kids aren't deserving of the sweets you brought. so, on his 7th birthday, he's in class for barely an hour before you sign him out at the front desk. his eyes stare out the back window at the passing cityscape and he sips on a smoothie you had waiting for him when he met you at the front office.

"i thought you had a mission?"

"i called in a few favors and got today off," you reply happily, smiling wider when his fingers automatically grab your pinky. as you pull into the driveway of his first surprise, the tiniest gasp of realization leaves him and you wink at him through the rearview mirror. "recognize that sound, megs?" he nods furiously, throwing off his seatbelt as soon as the car is parked with excitement you'd never seen from him before. the barking coming from the house you've pulled up to only increases in volume while he practically runs up the front path and, with no warning, two gigantic dogs burst into the front yard and into the arms of the birthday boy.

"they still know me!" he beams as the two dogs nudge his face with their foreheads, sticking their nose against his clothes and licking stray drops of smoothie. "look, they still like me!"

"i see, megs," you say with a melancholy twist in your chest. even though he was becoming better at summoning his own divine dogs, you knew he missed the ones that helped him break his mental block in the first place. like no time had passed, megumi herds the dogs back into the house and they dutifully follow. you shoot your friend a text, thanking her for letting you use her house and letting him see the dogs she adopted all those years ago. while she worked in her office upstairs, she very generously gave you the rest of the first floor to use for birthday festivities. festivities, you noticed, were much more decorated than you previously planned it to be.

while megumi slips his shoes off at the door, the dogs race over to a gigantic box in the center of the dining room, barking furiously at it like it was an intruder. it's wrapped in shimmering, bright blue paper that gives you a headache the longer you look at it and looks suspiciously large enough to hide a 6-foot-something idiot. you knew you raised megs right when he's also immediately suspicious of the package, eyeing it with distaste as if he already knew what (or who) was inside.

"i'm guessing from your face that you didn't put that there," he remarks and you shake your head in acknowledgment. "any idea what's in it?" you swear you can hear a stupid giggle from inside the cardboard and you stifle a laugh.

"don't know," you say with fake indifference. "maybe it's a present from the dogs."

"it'd probably be hard for them to wrap seeing as they don't have thumbs," he states blankly, still frowning at the obnoxious wrapping paper. "wanna just put it somewhere to get it out of the way?"

"sure," you start, an idea popping into your head and a sly grin working its way onto your face. "i guess...i'll just throw it in my domain for now-"

"surprise!" as if on cue, the top of the box breaks open to reveal your very panicked boyfriend who despised portaling into your domain. he's wearing ridiculously oversized party glasses with frames shaped like balloons and his clothes are covered in metallic confetti that sprinkles onto your friend's floors. the dogs break into another bark-fest and satoru shushes them urgently; you break into giggles and help him step out of the box. "where's my favorite birthday boy?"

"why were you in there?"

"it's called a surprise, megumi. people have them when they want to have fun," he quips and you click your tongue, picking a stray piece of confetti from his hair. he murmurs an apology under his breath, kissing your forehead like he wasn't in bed with you a few hours earlier. "hi, gorgeous."

"hey, handsome. your limbs alright after being stuck in there?"

"a little creaky, but i'll survive," he reassures you, stretching out his ridiculously lanky arms as an example. his hand gestures to the ungodly amount of streamers and balloons that were much more than you'd bought last week. "i did a little redecorating."

"i see that," you chuckle. "alright, megs. you ready for your next birthday activity?" he looks up from his spot on the floor, where he'd somehow convinced the dogs to lay on either side of him.

"there's more?"

"mhmm, and it involves some strawberries from the fridge. you wanna help me wash them?" he nods and walks over to the fridge with the dogs trailing behind him. "there should be a strainer already in the sink."

"you still think we'll be able to make it to the park?" satoru asks quietly, pulling you into his arms and watching the winter sky become more unfriendly. "i can protect us from the rain, but a storm would probably ruin the atmosphere we've got goin' here."

"i agree," you murmur. a glance at the mirror shows megumi standing on a stool in front of the sink, sneaking washed berries to the dogs. "though, i don't think he'd mind just staying here."

"i also agree. i can order some lunch and go pick it up while dessert bakes. i need to go grab tsumiki, anyway," he suggests. "she can help me pick out matching cozy sweaters for when we watch a movie."

"i think megs would rather die than wear a matching sweater with you, sweetheart."

"true," he concedes. "but i'll do that, then. need anything else while i'm out?"

"no, just for you to get back faster."

"i'll be here before you can even blink, beautiful."

"are we making me a birthday cake?" megumi calls from the kitchen, finally noticing the ingredients stacked neatly on the island counter. "and does that mean i can throw food at satoru?"

"if you can get him to turn off infinity, then sure," you reply. your boyfriend makes a face of betrayal and you stick your tongue out at him. "tell him it's for your birthday present."

"gojo, i know what i want for my birthday!"

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[crguang]

wasted with longing, part 3

Knowing Kafka is a rollercoaster of emotions you can’t escape from no matter how much you beg to touch the ground.

friends with benefits, some domestic bliss before the storm, 6.5k words

part one part two

A/N: no smut warning woah…. actual development woahhh… cant believe i wrote this much without throwing in some sex i think i might like this criminal :/

“So… Can I come in?”

Kafka’s self-assured tone sounds lazy, indifferent to the predicament she finds herself in, and her lips are fixed in that practiced smile like she’s genuinely happy to see you despite bleeding through her shirt on your doorstep. You stare at her disheveled state, a hundred questions dancing on your tongue and unable to voice any of them. Instead, you open the front door wider and urgently usher her into your apartment with a hand wrapped around her uninjured bicep. Kafka makes a sound of surprise, though it fails to convey any. She lets herself be moved and quietly walks further inside your place. 

“What happened?” The door shuts behind you, but you’re already leading her down the hallway towards your small bathroom. “Where do you even come from?!”

Your words quaver more than you would like as you flip the switch and motion for her to sit on the toilet seat. You can feel her eyes on you while you messily rummage through the cupboards beneath the sink, pushing old medicine bottles aside and cleaning products out of the way. The weight in your stomach grows heavier the longer you search for your first-aid kit, shutting the wooden cupboards and throwing open the one behind the mirror desperately. Apart from prescribed and over the counter medication, you find nothing that would be of help at this moment.

“Where is it?… Fuck, where is it?!” You lay your palms flat on the counter, head dropping low to think. 

“Calm down,” Kafka says calmly, a slightly amused lilt in her voice, “I’m not going to die.”

You ignore her horrible attempt at reassuring you and try to recall when was the last time you used the bandages in the kit. You cut yourself cooking some weeks ago but you remember going to the bathroom to fish them out… It has to be around here somewhere. You bite your bottom lip anxiously, your pulse in your ears like an oppressive presence, and force yourself to take in a breath so you don’t succumb to your panic. If it’s not in this room, it must be laying in your storage closet. You spare the other woman a glance to find her already looking at you, obediently silent. She doesn’t seem to be in any pain but you know it’s a facade, you’re only taken aback by how easy it is for her to pretend that nothing is amiss. You straighten up, run a hand over your face to clear your head and order her not to move before walking out to find the aforementioned closet.

You make an even bigger mess of your storage closet as you search for the med kit, lifting boxes you don’t recognize and throwing plastic bags full of random trinkets out in the hallway. Your heart is in your throat, you can feel your eyes sting with the familiar weight of unshed tears, but you can’t stop looking. The thought of Kafka bleeding out before anything is done appears in your distressed mind and worsens your anxiety despite the probability of it happening being low. If this wound turns out to be something you can’t stabilize on your own, you’ll call the emergency services. You push aside a basket filled with yarn, letting  out a shuddering breath at the sight of a clear case with a red cross on it. You waste no time grabbing it and heading for the bathroom, not bothering to close the closet door. When you walk back in, Kafka has managed to take off her bloody shirt and is facing the mirror over the sink, a hand still applying firm pressure on her shoulder. She turns your way to acknowledge you and takes a peek at the box in your hands. 

“What are you doing? Sit down,” you swallow the lump in your throat so you don’t sound as strained. 

Putting the kit on the counter and lifting the lid, you take out a few non-stick bandages. From your peripheral vision, you see Kafka complying with your shaky command and suppressing a chuckle. She hasn’t said much so far, which is uncharacteristic of her quick witted nature. You pick up a clean face towel from one of the shelves in the corner and rinse it with warm water. You step in front of her and gesture to the wound.

“Let me clean it.”

Once again, Kafka doesn’t protest. Her guarded gaze is on you, following every twitch of your brows and inaudible intake of breath, almost sizing you up as you lean in close to treat her wound. Her small smile is frozen on her face, and you can’t tell what it’s meant to convey anymore. She carefully takes her hand off her shoulder. The small puncture wound leaves a bloody trail down her skin, but even you can tell that it’s no longer bleeding profusely; the worries filling your head shrink and finally allow you to think more rationally. You bring the wet towel to her skin. You’re more meticulous with your hands than you thought you could be, softly washing away the specks of dried blood on her shoulder and around the injury. At this distance you see faint bluish veins that you had no reason to notice before, they slither down her neck and fade away above her collarbone. You wipe the deep red from her usually flawless skin, brushing over it with a mindfulness opposite from the lustful touches you’re accustomed to; your sole intention is to soothe her pain instead of taking pleasure from her. You are suddenly aware of her proximity in this unfamiliar context. She sits close without the headiness of sex, quiet and alert, and you can feel the warmth of her body from where you stand, your head is bowed and one of her thighs rests between yours. 

Kafka looks up at you through her lashes but you have no way of understanding the light behind her eyes. You think perhaps all of her strength goes to withstand the pain she’s in. You still feel your beating heart against your ribcage, its erratic pace gently growing steady, while her chest rises and falls easily. Your breaths fill the silence around you. As the cloth delicately clears away the blood, you sneak a glance at her and your eyes meet. Your hand falters on her skin. Her rosy-lilac irises speak of tenderness that does not fit her, like a deceiving front to conceal her emotional distance. You see them but there is nothing beyond them, nothing that she allows you to glimpse at. Even so, you’re privy to a side of her you don’t yet know. There’s still traces of blood on her cheek she meant to wipe off before seeing you, and without thinking, you lift the towel higher to clean it off with a few smooth strokes. Kafka blinks once and you do the same rapidly, sharply turning away from her piercing stare to finish dressing her wound. In the stillness of your home, new truths are unknowingly written. 

To stop the bleeding and prevent infections, you take out square non-adhesive bandages and peel one of them off. She’ll have to see an actual doctor for treatment, but you realize that the situation is not as bad as you initially thought. The sight of her bloody shirt and glove terrified you at first glance; you slowly realize that all of it must not have been hers. Unease settles in your stomach a second time. What could she possibly be implicated in to show up at your door with an injury like this?

“Why’d you come here?” You ask softly now that the worst has passed, eyes focused on carefully applying the bandage to her skin. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital for this?” 

“Wasn’t serious enough,” Kafka replies nonchalantly. She gazes at your furrowing brows and incredulous expression like she’s been doing since you opened the door. She doesn’t answer the first question.

“Serious enough? Your shirt is dyed red. How’d you even get this?”

“It’s just a gunshot wound. A little Band-Aid should fix me right up.”

“What the fuck?!”

In your loud disbelief your fingers press into the small hole in her shoulder and Kafka winces, clenching her jaw tightly. You quickly withdraw your hand. The bandage is halfway peeling off from her skin and she brings a gloved hand up to properly apply it herself. 

You step back from her frame, lips parted in incredulity. “You got shot?”

Kafka uses her free hand to peel off the second bandage and apply it over the first one, not looking at you as she does so. “Relax, the bullet didn’t go all the way in and I already took it out. It’s a minor scrape now.”

“You got shot?”

“Ugh, not so loud… I’ve had a long day.”

“You need to see a doctor. Are you insane?”

She raises her head towards you. “I don’t need a doctor, just a place to stay until tomorrow.”

You swallow thickly, lifting a hand to your hairline and pacing back and forth in the enclosed space. You can’t believe what she’s saying. No normal person just gets shot on a random Thursday and acts so nonchalant about it— having seen the proof of it, your mind is reeling with questions you’re not sure you want the answers to. Kafka has always had an air of mystery around her and the kind of confidence that makes you think that she’s invincible. Looking at her now, sitting in your bathroom after you tended to her wound and seemingly unbothered by the favor she’s asking of you, your chest constricts with a foreboding feeling you can’t name. Your gaze drops to her discarded shirt on the floor. You want to ask her what she’s done, whose blood is on her clothes, but your throat tightens as if begging you to keep your mouth shut. Kafka watches the emotions play out on your face and speaks up again.

“You stayed home.”

It takes a few seconds to meet her eyes, your reply agitated, “What?”

“Last time we talked, I told you not to go to work today. Despite your lack of trust in me, you stayed home. Why?”

She seems to be genuinely wondering why, but you don’t have an answer to give her. You don’t know. There was something about the seriousness with which she suggested you call out of work that made you uneasy come this morning, all traces of her usual aloofness were gone, even if she meant for her delivery to be casual so as to not rouse any suspicions. It was a split decision, you picked up your phone and called in sick before fully understanding the implications of your actions. You trusted your gut, not her. 

“Something came up,” you lie instead and confront her, “You knew something was going to happen today— or planned to come by, that’s why you wanted me here, right? You know I get off work at 7 and I wouldn't have been home.”

Kafka gives nothing away but you know she doesn’t believe your white lie. If she feels anything about this show of distrust, she keeps her cards close to her chest. She shrugs with her uninjured shoulder.

“Maybe I just missed you.”

There it is, that flirty, teasing expression you’re used to seeing on her face. She’s deflecting and is for once doing a terrible job at it. She won’t tell you the truth, you know that much. Irritation burns the walls of your throat. In a way, you’re both lying to each other so you shouldn’t expect something you yourself are not ready to give her; then again, she’s the one who showed up at your door with a swelling injury and she has the guts to ask you to stay overnight while blatantly ignoring your attempts at finding out the circumstances of her situation. You don’t react to her taunt, you only cross your arms and stare at her, unamused. Your heartbeat has picked up several paces and you’re uncomfortable with the awareness of it drumming inside you. Kafka sighs in faux-exasperation. 

“It’s only for tonight. I’ll be gone in the morning.” When you don’t reply, she hesitantly adds, “Please.”

You’re torn, her stubbornness will keep her from seeking a medical expert and you have no idea what she did to get it in the first place. Either way, she’s putting herself in danger, and if you let her stay for a while at least you can make sure she doesn’t worsen her condition before her wound stops bleeding completely… You run a hand over your face. Might as well make dinner for two. 

Kafka’s in the shower and you’re chopping the vegetables you bought earlier this afternoon, your mind a few miles away as you move efficiently around the kitchen. You told her that if she was going to sleep over, she should change into more comfortable clothes. Weirdly, she didn’t make any lewd comments and simply accepted the oversized shirt and plaid pyjama pants you gave her before walking out of the bathroom.. She must have a lot on her mind too, you suppose. Maybe she’ll be more inclined to share a little later. The pasta is currently boiling so you get started on the sauce, letting it simmer on the stove while you take care of the veggies you’ll be steaming to eat as a side. The running water quickly becomes background noise while you busy yourself, a sound you’re not very used to hearing when you’re not the one showering, but the pitter-patter relaxes you a touch. You’re no longer on the edge of an anxiety attack, though worry still resides in the depths of your heart considering the situation you find yourself in. You try to focus on the dinner you’re cooking instead of the bloodstained memory of Kafka’s clothes. They’re in the washing machine now, but you remember how soaked they were vividly, crimson and haunting. You instantly thought the worst, and when suddenly confronted with the prospect of losing her, you panicked. Anyone would have reacted the same in the face of a bleeding person, you tell yourself, but you can’t deny that the thought deeply unnerves you. 

You don’t register the sound of the water being turned off. You stir the rosé sauce and lower the heat under the vegetables, then incorporate the pasta into the creamy goodness. The smell of freshly cooked pasta fills your nose and reminds you of how little you ate today. You take out two plates from a cabinet and pour a generous serving in each one, adding a little more vegetables for yourself. You’re gently laying them on the kitchen island in the middle of the room when Kafka walks in with her hair still damp from the shower. Her face is bare, her long locks loose past her shoulders, and she’s wearing the clothes you lent her. The shirt hangs around her thighs over the cotton pants, big enough to be cozy on her. She looks… mundane, more refreshed than an hour ago. In such plain attire, she doesn’t seem as enigmatic or intimidating, but rather like your average citizen. It’s a harsh contrast to the way she presents herself and the cocky, in control woman you usually see. She strides into the kitchen and leans on the island to glimpse at the food you made. You don’t realize that you’re staring until she looks at you and raises an eyebrow, a small confident smile on her lips.

“See something you like?”

You avert your gaze and turn around to take out the parmesan from the fridge. Your skin warms up from the embarrassment of getting caught, but you manage to hide your flustered expression from her sight. Your stomach buzzes with a feeling you attribute to bashfulness. This is yet another side of Kafka you’re discovering, she’s never stayed until morning light before. You’ve long exceeded the limits of what you’re familiar with tonight, the feeling is the same as the night you undressed her for the time; excitement and nervousness swirled in your belly, each caress revealing inches of unexplored skin to your eager touch. You face her again and find that in this moment, you feel no disquiet. 

“Is that for me?” Kafka sits on the stool across from you and points to one of the plates. 

You grate some parmesan on top of the pasta before pushing the portion towards her. She stares at it for a few seconds then lifts her questioning eyes to yours. She seems to hesitate for the time it takes you to pull out a fork from a drawer and give it to her, but she eventually thanks you quietly. She means it for more than dinner. You nod once in acknowledgement. 

You take a seat on the stool next to her and glance at the way she turns the fork over in her hand, looking at the food in search of answers instead of eating it. For a couple minutes there’s only the sound of metal on ceramic as you eat while Kafka is lost in thought, absentmindedly picking at her vegetables. After swallowing another bite, you decide that you’re sick of the awkward silence. 

“You don’t eat pasta?”

Kafka blinks. In an instant, her cryptic smile stretches her lips and she stabs some pasta onto her fork, sticking it into her mouth. Her face lights up after the first chew. “Mmm. Never had a home cooked meal that actually tastes like food.”

“Really?”

“I’m not much of a cook.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She purses her lips, silverware hovering in the air, though she’s not offended. 

“I just can’t picture you wearing an apron.”

“That’s because you usually picture me wearing nothing.”

You make a face but don’t refute her point, to which Kafka’s smile widens an inch. You stuff food into your mouth to give you time to think of a reply. She watches you with an amused look, leaning her chin in her hand.

“Not even a little protest…”

“Oh, shut up,” you shot back indignantly, “should’ve dropped the bottle of hot sauce on your plate…”

Kafka’s deep chuckle compels you to look at your dinner instead of her. “Makes no difference to me. My pain tolerance is pretty high, it might make the flavors pop out a bit more.”

You’re reminded of how easily she kept her composure earlier, as if getting shot at is a regular occurrence for her. Flashes of her bleeding shoulder come back to your mind and you quiet down a bit, poking a broccoli with the tip of your fork. Kafka immediately senses the shift in your mood. She pauses, watches you toy with the vegetable for a short moment, then twirls her own fork in her hand.

“Don’t worry,” she reads your mind effortlessly, “a scrape like that will heal in no time and will barely leave a scar. Besides, you won’t care much for it the next time I’m undressing in front of you.”

You roll your eyes at the innuendo but it successfully brings you out of your thoughts for the time being. You lightly shake your head.

“Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

“Not the only thing…” she drawls, but the way her gaze drops to your chest and leisurely trails up to stare into your eyes, the beginnings of a smirk on her lips, suggests otherwise. She rhythmically taps the island’s surface with a finger. 

“...Just eat your food.”

Kafka laughs softly and complies. You’re thankful for her restraint to make a dirty joke. As you both eat, the atmosphere around you shifts into a comfortable space you don’t feel the need to fill with mundanities. Still, you end up telling her about yourself after some prompting, about your friends, how it felt to move away from your parents and get your own place— even the doubts about your career and how you don’t think it’s something you want to do anymore. Kafka watches you all the while, her cheek in her palm, and comments on certain things but mostly keeps quiet. You don’t realize how much you’ve confided because she’s surprisingly an excellent listener and you get a little high from her undivided attention. Your almost empty plates lie forgotten on the kitchen island. You turn on the stool to face her fully at some point, your knees brushing her thigh, and the casual, innocent contact makes your heart race. Her presence is just as exciting outside of the context of a hookup, your pulse creates a melody for this moment. Unbeknown to you, you've already made up your mind; she looks prettier under the kitchen lights at night. 

“You should quit,” Kafka repeats the advice she told you days ago, following the movement of your head as it tips backwards in exasperation. “You can make money doing anything, you might as well enjoy what you do.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue, “my life is stable as is. I don’t even know what I want— it would be so irresponsible to drop everything just because I’m not fully satisfied with how things are now.”

“Then find out what you want and execute it.”

You sigh loudly, leaning on the island to rest your forehead on your arm. She makes it sound easy but quitting your research job in an engineering department might damage the fragments of relationship you have with your parents. You only see them a couple times a year, sometimes for a week during the summer, but they make sure to let you know how proud they are that the money they invested in you is paying off. You know they can’t control you anymore and yet, the guilt of them struggling to put you through school is ingrained in your gray matter. Despite the heavy weight they constantly put on your shoulders, you truly do want to please them. You moved to another corner of the world and can still hear your mother’s disapproving voice in your ears. 

“I wish I knew if whatever I end up doing is the right choice,” you mutter, laying your chin on your forearm and staring straight ahead. “It’d be nice to know how this all ends.”

Kafka doesn’t respond immediately. She ponders for a while, fingers drumming on the stainless steel. 

“Mmm. There’s more joy to be found in the unknown, I think,” she says after a pause. “More excitement.”

“More anxiety too.”

“They often come together, don’t they? Both make you feel alive, having one without the other might breed a certain… emptiness.”

You furrow your brows. “You’ve clearly never felt anxious.”

Kafka only smiles softly. “In any case, you can’t live your life fulfilling other people’s wishes. I’ve never found selfishness to be ugly.”

Once the plates and pans are washed half an hour later, you stop by the bedroom to pick up a blanket and a pillow for Kafka to sleep with. You walk back into the living room, items under your arms, to see her sitting cross-legged on the couch, TV remote in hand. The screen is bright in the dim light and illuminates the room around it, painting moving shadows on the walls. You put the pillow down on the armrest with the folded blanket over it. Kafka is scrolling through your streaming applications and stops to acknowledge you. 

“Want to watch something?” She asks. “I don’t remember the last time I sat down for a full movie.”

The invitation is so ordinary that you hesitate for a few seconds. Watching a movie after cooking her dinner…? A corner of your mind is screaming that this sounds like a casual date but you quickly shake that thought away for its absurdity. She needed a place to stay for the night, that’s all. Once again, she’s more using you than anything else, you’re a safe place to come to because you have trouble refusing her. You prove your own theory right by accepting her offer and closing the hallway and kitchen lights before taking a seat next to her, putting a reasonable distance between you. You fold your legs on the couch and lay a forearm on the armrest as Kafka continues to scroll through the different apps. She lets out comments like “sounds boring” and “ugh” after skipping certain movies. She’s mostly talking under her breath, eyes fixed on the TV screen. The blue light applies a similar hue to her skin tone and adds vitality to her irises, they appear more vivid and alert. The sharp shadows in her hair are even darker against such a vibrant source of light and the sight of her brings to mind a beautifully composed photograph. You take a mental picture of her like this, in sleepwear with her hair free of the ponytail she puts it in every day, staring intently at the screen like a kid who’s been allowed to stay up past her bedtime. 

“What about a horror movie?” You propose, taking your eyes off her frame to look at the TV.

“No. They’re never scary. This one looks less mediocre than the others.”

You read the synopsis of a psychological thriller together. The movie doesn’t particularly speak to you but you tell her it seems nice anyway. You’re not surprised to learn that she enjoys mind games. Kafka adjusts her position on the couch so that she’s mimicking your own and presses play, leaning an elbow on the armrest to rest her cheek on top of her fist. You try to focus on the movie, the pacing is too slow to catch your tired mind’s attention for more than ten minutes at a time, and an hour passes with you sneaking glimpses at the woman next to you from your peripheral vision. She’s not close enough that you can feel her warmth like you could in the bathroom earlier, but the air around you feels the same; a sort of domestic intimacy that has no place between the two of you because you can’t imagine meaning that much to someone like her. You can’t snuff it out, no matter how many times you tell yourself to look at the scene in front of you. Since she’s waltzed into your kitchen hours ago, you can’t help noticing habits that give you the false impression that you know her. Her fingers twitch when she’s lost in thought, they typically drum on whatever surface she can get her hands on or subtly move in the air like she’s conducting a symphony. She eats her vegetables last. She doesn’t shy away from eye contact when you speak. These little things don’t make up a person, and yet, for someone who doesn’t reveal much of herself, they’re quirks that few get to see. 

Kafka is watching the movie with an unimpressed expression, which has you suppressing a smile. Occasionally, she comments on whatever is happening—mostly complaints about the direction the movie is going or how much better it would be if the human responses were more realistic. You simply nod along, already somewhat dozing off near the climax of the story. The aftermath of your anxious evening is catching up with you and you’re in a comfortable enough position at the moment, it doesn’t take long for fatigue to descend on your body. Your eyelids can’t bear their own weight and you rest your eyes for a couple of minutes, leaning your head on the armrest. You don’t witness how the movie ends. You’re falling asleep on the couch, the TV acting like background noise, and you forget that this is where Kafka is supposed to sleep. You don’t register soft fabric being laid over you, only catch sweet notes of vanilla belonging to the soap you use in the shower.

A sore ache in your neck pulls you out of a dream whose contents now elude you. Your brows twist indignantly, a muted groan vibrates along your throat, and you drowsily turn over on the couch to face the back cushions. You hear the bathroom door open and close, which eventually reminds you that you’re not alone in the house. Your eyes slowly blink open at the thought, momentarily blinded by the living room’s semi-darkness. It takes a minute to regain your bearings, you turn over a second time and notice soft threads of morning light seeping through the cracks of the closed blinds. It must be a new day already, though not very early based on how gloomy it still is outside. You have the reflex to check your phone for the time and realize that you don’t remember its last location. The cozy blanket falls to your lap when you sit up to look around the room. You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you recall the events of last night; Himeko calling, opening the door to a disheveled Kafka, rushing her to the bathroom for basic treatment… In between two of those, you must have discarded your phone somewhere here out of panic and didn’t touch it once afterwards, too preoccupied by the dizzying sensation of finally seeing past Kafka’s usual demeanor. Pulling the blanket off of you, you quickly scan the coffee table and check the couch cushions in case you threw the device on it yesterday and it fell through the cracks. Your fingertips touch the silicone of your phone case deep between the cracks of back pillows. You only struggle to pull it out for a few seconds, sighing in relief when you have it back in your hands, Tapping open the screen, you learn that it is currently a little past 5 in the morning and curse under your breath at the reminder of work in a couple of hours after spending the night on your couch. You scroll down the notification screen to see if you got any last night.

You’re confused at the amount of text messages you didn’t receive due to your phone being on silent. You blink rapidly at the dozens of concerned texts wondering how you are coming from your friends and some coworkers you get along with. You got a message from Himeko right after you hung up on her, but it’s just three question marks in succession so you make a mental note to call her back this evening. Opening the multiple texts a coworker sent you, you don’t comprehend them immediately. Your thumb hovers over the screen as you read the words “Stellaron Hunters” and “infiltrated”, and in a moment of denial, you exit the conversation to open another from a friend repeatedly asking if you’re safe. They sent an article attached to the first message; it’s a publication dating from around 6 PM last night posted by an IPC affiliated news company popular in the city. You don’t feel the instant your chest stutters at its contents. Unblinking, you stare at the urgent sentences reporting an incursion in the building you’ve worked in for years by a group of people you’ve only vaguely heard of from gossip around the office. The Stellaron Hunters, interstellar criminals notorious for their worth in credits, had the means to break into the mechanical engineering research lab of the Intelligentsia Guild with the goal of stealing hardware for a machine you remember personally working on about 8 months ago. You were part of the team of researchers assigned to this project to make sure it was a viable one before it could be produced. Once the green light is given, it gets sent to the lab and is out of your hands. You recall doing extensive research for it in a small time frame because it was a priority for your supervisors to start working on it as soon as possible. Now, the key component was the target of a larceny. 

As you read, the world outside of the screen and the muffling in your ears disappears. Your digit quivers over the words “multiple casualties”. Most of them are security guards who attempted to stop the thieves in action, but some of the engineers you once met in person have also been stated as losses. Your eyes sting from being kept open for longer than a minute, you can’t hear the trembling breaths clumsily tripping past your lips either. The death toll is 19 human lives— all for a piece of hardware. Your collar seemingly constricts your throat, choking you silent. You are trapped by sudden guilt, it teasingly snakes around your guts and squeezes them tight like tentacles around an easy prey. What-ifs rush at you as if mocking your cowardice; what if you hadn't worked on this project and hadn’t allowed it to see the day, what if you switched careers like you’ve been wanting to for a long time… You don’t look at your hands but your mind supplies the image of them dipped in blood regardless. The white page of the article burns your retinas, yet you scroll further down to read the end of it. The IPC has taken matters into their own hands and sent out forces to apprehend the culprits while they still hide in the city, which does nothing to alleviate your distress because the Stellaron Hunters wouldn’t have earned a reputation if they were so easily caught. You dread the idea of facing your coworkers again after such a tragic event, even more so the simple thought of walking back into that building knowing what transpired there. You finally squeeze your eyes shut with a shaky exhale, trying not to picture red stained floors and mechanical equipment. When you open them again, the attached pictures at the end of the publication freezes the blood in your veins.

This is your first time associating faces to the group of criminals who are only ever mentioned by their faction name. The phone screen turns dark from inactivity but the wanted poster is seared into the walls of your occipital lobe, creating a reality-perfect image of the woman’s enigmatic smile and unmistakable rosy irises. Your reflection stares back at you, expressing consternation, and in the same instant, the bathroom door opens again. Heeled footsteps make their way down the hallway like a foreboding rhythm, clacking across the wooden tiles on a mission to reach the front door. The weight on your chest grows heavier once they’re close, and they eventually come to a stop behind the couch you’re sitting on. Your fingers tremble at the sound of her voice near your ears. 

“You’re awake.”

It hits you, then. What happened last night, how Kafka received that gunshot wound, her advice from earlier this week—- it was a warning rolled in a layer of passivity, a peculiar request she couldn’t tell you the extent of without revealing her hand. If you had gone to work yesterday, one of the casualties could have been you. Her and the Stellaron Hunters must have been planning this for a while, perhaps weeks or months. You feel as though you’ve fallen in the ocean from a great height in the middle of the night, an icy wave of hurt clogs your ears and has you succumbing under the tumultuous waters. 

Kafka tilts her head to the side and makes a teasing remark about you not being fully up and about, rounding the couch to wave a gloved hand in front of your face. Your head mechanically turns to look up at her. She’s dressed in the clothes she wore yesterday that she put in the dryer as you were washing the dishes. Her hair is in its everyday loose ponytail, aside from the sunglasses over her head and down to her asymmetrical boots, she’s ready to go. Her coat is on, leading you to believe that she planned to slip away while you were still asleep. Kafka observes the brewing emotions on your face and the heavy rise of your chest, then takes a quick glance at the phone still in your hands. Her relaxed smile drops an inch. You stare at each other for a moment and she doesn’t say another word during that time, reading you through the purse of your lips and the contempt in your eyes. After a minute of quiet, she lazily crosses her arms under her breasts. 

“You don’t seem scared,” she says without breaking eye contact, like she’s close to figuring you out but is missing an important variable.

You don’t dwell on the fact that you are indeed not afraid of her or what she’s capable of, mainly wounded by the amount of stuff she’s kept from you. If you knew who she was back in that store, you would have never let her approach you no matter how intriguing she looked. It’s as you think this that you realize something else; her efforts in pursuing you coincide with the time you had just finished working on that major project and you can’t help thinking that all of it might have been premeditated. Your stomach churns. 

You manage to find your voice, swallowing once to wet your dry throat. “Were you never going to tell me?” Your sentence comes out weaker than it should have, bordering on pathetic affront.

“No.”

Her honesty gives you whiplash. For all she’s lied about and omitted, she chooses to be honest when it hurts the most. 

“It was always going to play out like this,” she continues, “some things are inevitable and all possibilities are already written. This way is less gruesome than the others, don’t you think?”

“What does that mean?”

Kafka smiles with her eyes closed but instead of a comfortable familiarity, it raises the hair on your arms. 

“Well, I’m happy to know that you heeded my advice. I even looked for you and got hurt in the process. Quite chivalrous of me, isn’t it?”

Her lighthearted comment sounds like it’s meant to assuage the maelstrom of feelings mounting inside of you. It is so ridiculous, so devoid of genuine meaning, that it only stokes the burning embers under your skin. You struggle to contain your outrage, the sight of her pleased smile and indifferent posture has your fingers curl into a fist.

“Aw, don’t make that face,” Kafka uncrosses her arms and pulls at the ends of one glove so it fits snuggly on her hand, “this is the best possible outcome. I made sure of it.”

“Out.” You’re surprised the word made it out of your clenched jaw, and by its frigidity. She looks you over and even after everything, you notice the slight dip of her lips. You repeat yourself. “Get out.”

“Still upset?”

“Leave, or I will tell the authorities where you are.”

In a flash, a light glimmers in Kafka’s eyes and her features twist with amusement. “Really? You’d be accused of complicity.”

You know that. Your anger is impulsive and a darker part of you wishes to cause her turmoil like the one she’s putting you through. Kafka watches you closely. Her attention doesn’t fluster you anymore. She finds whatever answer she’s seeking in the determined stare you’re giving her. 

“Gutsy…” Her muttered reply is more directed at herself but betrays her attraction. Her eyelids drop as she glances at your lips, then she meets your gaze with a fake sigh. “Oh, fine. I’ll see you later, then.”

“No—”

Kafka lifts a hand up to wave at you cheekily and is outside the door before you can tell her that you don’t want to see her again.

[soldiersslut]

GHOST OF YOU — SOLDIER BOY "CHAPTER TWO"

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

Warnings: Language, herogasm, canon violence, Soldier Boy being himself and a smartass

Word Count: 3,649

Author's Note: I am so happy to see this story receiving so much love already. It really helps and pushes me further to continue with the story. There is so much I have planned, but all in due time. Thank you so much again!

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED PLEASE LET ME KNOW. DON'T FORGET TO FOLLOW, HEART, AND REPOST. THANK YOU AGAIN!

It was obvious you were exhausted, it was so bad to the point you did not hear everyone else wake up and talk about the plan for the day. Eventually, Butcher left to find food. Hughie was left in charge to control Soldier Boy and his radiation level. The less angry, the better. Soldier Boy remained on his side of the bed and watched TV. From time to time he would look down at you.

“Is she always a heavy sleeper?” he asked. Hughie looked up from his phone and observed.

“Yesterday was a hard day so I don’t blame her for sleeping in.”

Soldier Boy nodded and still stared. “I remember when I first met her, man, she was a firecracker. Nothing could get past her. It’s surprising to see her sleeping so peacefully like this.”

Hughie furrowed his eyebrows together. “I’m sorry, you two know each other?” That made no sense to Hughie. Last time Soldier Boy had awaken was back in the 70s. You weren’t even born yet.

“Are you stupid or fucking stupid? Of course I have. We served—” and on cue, Butcher entered with food. Hughie looked down at the radiation reader and realized it had gone up once again. Maybe it was best if Hughie doesn’t bring it up again. Though he will mention it to Butcher when they are alone.

Butcher dropped the food on the table and shook you to wake up. “Morning sunshine, get up and eat. I am going to head back out again in a bit to find the twins’ location.”

You opened your eyes and rubbed them. The sun was hitting your face and it was bothering you.

“I need a shower first,” you said. Quickly, you strode to the bathroom and locked the door. You stared at yourself in the mirror expecting to see bruises but there was nothing. The water pressure was not as strong as you would like it to be, so it took a bit longer than the normal shower time to finish. You were able to overhear everything and constantly rolled your eyes at Soldier Boy’s arrogant voice.

Soldier Boy was already becoming a headache, and you have yet to hold an actual conversation with him. The few moments you have heard him speak has been cruel and perverted.

He’s also suffered betrayal.

You sighed and wondered what else did Soldier Boy have inside his pandora box. He is unpredictable, and that made him dangerous. When the water began to run cold you knew it was time to get out. You dried off and put on the same clothes from yesterday.

Butcher had announced he had a contact who will be able to get him the TNT twins location.

“I am going with you.”

The more you avoided Soldier Boy the better. Last night’s words were still at the forefront of your mind and as much as you would like to ask him right now he is short-tempered and your attitude from last night hasn’t helped.

“Why the fuck can she go, but I cannot?” Soldier Boy demanded to know. You beat Butcher to the punch and rebutted back.

“Because you are Soldier Boy and at any moment anyone can recognize you. The last thing we need is you blowing up again and taking us down with us. So shut up, eat your food, and let us get to work.”

Soldier Boy’s jaw clenched. “You got a lot of fucking nerve talking to me that way. Last time I remember the men used to put women in their place. When the hell did society go wrong.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. Soldier Boy was a lot of things and maybe it should not be shocking he is being a misogynistic prick, but the fact he still thinks society has not moved on from that. “And you still wonder why you aren’t coming with us?”

That was the last thing you said before marching out of the room. Butcher wanted to ease the tension in the room, “might be that time of the month.” He left and followed you to the car. You were already inside with your arms cross.

“Don’t even think about making me apologize to him,” you warned.

Butcher let out a groan, “I won’t make you apologize but you need to butter it up with him. At the rate you are going he is going to bloody blast you. Do not let him get to you.”

You went on a rant after that.

“How do you expect me to not say anything to him? I am not going to worship the ground he walks on. If he wants respect then he needs to give it back.” Butcher agrees, but they need to be prioritizing the bigger picture and that is Homelander’s death in the hands of Soldier Boy.

Bucher decided to switch topics and discuss who was his contact. It is a C-list Supe who was friends with the twins before they were apart of Payback. The drive was over within an hour. “Let me do the talking, last thing we need is for you to make another enemy.”

If that was Butcher’s way to humor, he sucked. The Supe had no problem in giving away the location of the twins. On the drive back you decided to voice your concerns.

“Did I tell you what Crimson Countess said before her death?”

Butcher shook her head. You explained what happened inside the trailer and shared your concern with the way Soldier Boy acts around you. Granted, he is a dick but he allows you to talk to him the way you do. If it was anyone else he was quick to get offensive.

“Countess probably confused you with someone else. When you know you are at death’s door you are desperate to say anything, and with what you are telling me she was just trying to get under his skin,” he shrugged.

It still wasn’t convincing enough, “then why stare so fucking much?”

Butcher let out a chuckle. “Be serious, he’s been asleep since the 80s. He probably wants to pull his wanker and let one out at the thought of you.” You looked at him terrified.

He began to laugh just looking at your reaction. In the end you were convinced that it was all in your head and the answers were right in front of you. Upon returning Butcher informed Soldier Boy and Hughie that we will be heading out to Vermont.

Most of the conversation happened between Butcher and Hughie. You were sitting in the back with Soldier Boy and just like before, your knee touched his. Only difference this time is his hand was resting on his knee and his pinky reached out to touch your knee.

The car was parked a good distance away to avoid detection. The rest was walked on foot. “So, what is happening here?” you asked. Hughie looked through the binoculars and to both of your surprise this was herogasm.

Soldier Boy took pride in admitting that he founded it, and Liberty helped him with it. Your scrunched up face was obvious and he took notice. He smirked for a second and focused back the task at hand.

“Just give me three minutes,” Hughie suggested.

“I can go with him to cover more ground,” you offered yourself.

Soldier Boy shook his head. “Absolutely not. You are going to sit this one out.”

For a moment it felt like a vein popped on your temple. “The hell you mean I am staying here? I am not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself and the sooner we finish this the better.”

Soldier Boy’s jaw clenched again and he got closer. He towered over you. “Trust me, sweetheart, with the way you are speaking to me I wouldn’t want to save you. Honestly, where the fuck did this attitude come from?” he snapped.

“Has it ever crossed your mind that you are the problem?”

Hughie interrupted, “I’m just gonna go.” In seconds, he was gone and without his clothes.

You were too angry to argue with Soldier Boy, let alone look at him. Those three minutes felt too long. After time has passed, Butcher and Soldier Boy left to infiltrate.

“Stay,” Soldier Boy ordered and pointed his finger. The binoculars were handed it to you. You faked a smile and watched them leave. Like hell you were going to stay. As soon as they walked through the doors to the house you were on the move. Instead of entering through the front door you went through the pool door. You have seen a lot of things, but never in your mind would you have ever imagined a Supe orgy.

You did your best to avoid everything and everyone. The last thing you needed is to give someone the wrong impression, and anger Soldier Boy.

It was surprising to see one area of the house empty.

“MM,” you said, shocked to see him here. He was also shocked, but he knew that meant one thing. He called out to you demanding to know where Soldier Boy was. You explained the plan and noticed his eyes diverted behind you.

“One simple fucking order, you cannot even handle that?!”

You could recognize that voice anywhere at this point. Slowly, you turned and noticed just how angry Soldier Boy appeared. Though, between him and MM you weren’t sure who was angrier. Without wasting a second MM threw the halothane glass and Soldier Boy inhaled it in as if it were a Marlboro cigarette.

“MM, no!” you yelled, and tried to push him back but he was determined to fight Soldier Boy.

Butcher had to come in and stop Soldier Boy from proceeding further. He gave Soldier Boy the information he wanted.

“You are coming with me,” he ordered and yanked your arm; dragging you with him.

“Let go of me!” you yelled and started hitting him, but he was not budging. Both of you came to a stop in one of the living rooms and noticed the horribly aged TNT twins. Why is he so keen in taking you everywhere.

Crimson Countess was able to remain cool and calm partially, but these twins screamed guilty based on their reaction and stuttering. It was obvious how they tensed up almost to the point they froze on the spot.

“Holy shit, mimicry! You’re alive!” Tessa spoke up, sounding a little too excited. She opened her arms expecting some hug from you and she even dared to move closer. Soldier Boy stood in front of you.

“Don’t you dare come near her or I will rip those fucking arms off of you” he threatened.

Tessa backed up right away.

“What is she talking about? Who is Mimicry?” you asked. You placed your hand on Soldier Boy’s shoulder; trying to get him to move out of the way. Soldier Boy looked at your hand placement and then looked at you. This was his moment to test out his theory and ask once again who exactly are you.

“You’re Mimicry,” Tommy answered and let out a light but nervous laugh as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Mimi, please help us. Tell Ben that all of this was a mistake and we didn’t mean any of it.”

At this point the twins might as well get on their knees and beg. You could feel Soldier Boy tense up under your touch. You looked at him and noticed his behavior was completely off. He was no longer portraying a confident soldier. This time, you can see a man attempting to fight off his demons.

“The hell is wrong with you?” you asked. You stood in front of him and tried to make him snap out of it. The twins saw an opportunity and aimed for your back. Soldier Boy noticed and pushed you out of the way. You hit the wall and went unconscious.

When you woke up you had the biggest headache, and your back was sore. You remembered what happened before and quickly got up from the floor. People were crying, screaming, and there was lots of bodies everywhere. You let out a sentence full of profanities and walked around. Soldier Boy was nowhere seen, neither was anyone else.

You called out to Butcher, Hughie, and MM. Shit, you even called out to Soldier Boy. From a distance you could hear fists connecting to bones, bodies hitting the walls, buzzing sounds, and just a lot of fighting. You didn’t even have to say anything to see who was fighting. Your eyes went wide at the sight of the familiar United States cape fighting against Butcher and Soldier Boy.

Soldier Boy was thrown to the ground while Homelander choked Butcher. He raised him up from the ground.

“Hey!” you yelled, without giving it a second thought. You pulled out your gun from its holster and started shooting at Homelander. It was expected the bullets were not going to hurt Homelander but it is a big enough distraction he didn’t choke Butcher to death. Just as you predicted, Homelander dropped Butcher to the ground and turned to look at you.

Homelander burst out laughing, “and what exactly can a human do against me?” Without a second thought his eyes glowed red and aimed at you. It was instinctual to try and use your arms to block off the lasers, but they were not going to do shit against him. You had closed your eyes expecting the worse but nothing came your way. You opened your eyes and they went wide to see Soldier Boy in front of you, and holding off the laser with his shield.

“Not a damsel in distress, huh?!” he asked. Of course he had to be a smartass. “Listen to me for once and hide!”

You knew better now than to get in the way. This time you did listen to him and ran out. You were out of breath by the time you got outside. Annie called out to you. “We need you, there’s a lot of people hurt!”

This was the best thing to do. This is what you were good at. Without a second thought you began to help people as much as you can all until ambulances showed up and took over. Loud, shattered glass can be heard above and you looked up to see Homelander leaving in a rush. A wave of relief washed over you. Soldier Boy, Butcher, and Hughie walked out. Soldier Boy was looking through the crowd until he saw you.

You knew there was no fighting him in staying. You looked at Annie and MM. They were both frustrated at the thought of you leaving.

“I’m sorry,” you said and walked towards the other group. Soldier Boy was satisfied and all four of you left. They explained what happened with Homelander.

“I’m still waiting on the thank you.”

This was unavoidable, and it was tempting to roll your eyes but now was not the appropriate time.

“You will get your thank you when I feel like it,” you mumbled knowing he heard you.

Soldier Boy scoffed and shook his head. “Fuck! Nothing I do satisfies you!”

“Will you two give it a rest?! It has been a very long day” Butcher protested, obviously irritated.

“You want a thank you, fine! Thank you, Soldier Boy. Thank you for actually being a hero and saving someone. What would we ever do without you?” you sarcastically spoke.

Soldier Boy’s jaw clenched, “you know what, fuck you and I hope your pussy dries up every time some guy wants to screw you.”

“And I hope you get STDs.”

The car ride fell into a tensed silence. You nor Soldier Boy could say anything without provoking each other. Hughie asked Butcher where they will be going for the night, and there is only one place Butcher could think of.

The Legend.

It was approximately a five to six hour car ride. You were trying hard to not fall asleep but it was inevitable. Now that you were not on a fight or flight mode your body began to ache, and it demanded rest. By the time they arrived to Legend’s home you were in deep sleep. Hughie tried to wake you up.

“Let her sleep. She sounds better like this” Soldier Boy said.

He didn’t wait for Butcher or Hughie to say anything. He put the shield on his back and walked around the car to open your door. He opened it and caught you in his arms. You were so deep asleep you didn’t realize Soldier Boy had lifted you in his arms and carried you inside as if your the weight of paper.

Butcher knocked hard on the door. It was the middle of the night and they needed a place to rest. Legend was more asleep than awake when he heard the knock. He was ready to yell at whomever was waking him up at this hour but seeing Soldier Boy carry you in his arms, it was like deja vu.

“It has been a very long, and shitty day. Where can I put her down?” Soldier Boy asked. Legend was too shocked to say anything. It’s impossible for you to be alive. Butcher snapped Legend out of it and pointed to where the bedrooms are located. When Butcher, Hughie, and MM came to visit you weren’t with them.

“I need a drink,” Legend said.

“At this hour?” Hughie asked, sounding concerned.

Legend nodded and poured himself a drink all the way to the top. Soldier Boy walked out of the room where he placed you down, and marched towards Legend with purpose.

“Wait—” Soldier Boy did not give Legend a chance to speak. He grabbed him and lifted him up from the ground, slamming him against a wall. Butcher and Hughie rushed to get Soldier Boy off of Legend.

“I swear to you, Mimicry is dead! That isn’t Mimicry! It’s impossible!” Legend explained, fear can be heard in his tone.

“You’re lying! How is she here then?!”

Soldier Boy was angry, he was practically seeing red. Flashes of Mimicry’s body appeared in his mind. She died in his arms and yet, she is here.

“Because that isn’t her! I don’t know how it is possible but Vought retrieved Mimicry’s body from Russia. There was an open casket ceremony! I went and she got buried with her suit! I saw when they put her on the ground!”

Finally, Soldier Boy put Legend down.

“Can someone explain what the bloody hell is going on?!” Butcher was angry. Something was going on and everyone appears to be afraid to say something.

“You will not understand because Vought deleted everything about Mimicry, but she was a member of Payback for the longest time. She was Soldier Boy’s right hand and possibly the most loyal one to him. She died trying to break this one out of Russia. The Russians told Vought what happened and Vought believed the safest thing to do was to make everyone forget about her. Nowadays, no one knows she ever existed.”

The Legend moved to one of the drawers. He opened it and looked through it until he found what he was looking for. He handed it to Butcher.

“Holy shit,” said Hughie. Butcher and Hughie were speechless. It was you and Soldier Boy. His hand was around your waist, holding you close, and your arm was on his waist. The cameraman caught the perfect moment of the both of you staring into each other’s eyes. There was a smile on your face. It was the definition of a woman in love.

Legend continued to speak, “the person in the room is not Mimicry, unless she has demonstrated any superpower. That is not her.”

For Soldier Boy it felt like someone ripped through his chest and held a tight grip on his heart. The more Legend spoke, the more it got twisted.

“What were Mimicry’s powers?” Butcher asked.

“She was able to get any Supe’s power with a touch. Including my own,” Soldier Boy answered. This time he poured himself a drink.

“It still doesn’t make any sense. She is human, and obviously Mimicry isn’t. We have seen pictures of her growing up and having a normal life. She has never shown any powers” Hughie explained.

“The woman in the room isn’t Mimicry.” Soldier Boy had been in denial of it but he remembered your hand on his shoulder back at herogasm, and yet there was no display of power.

“If this isn’t Mimicry, how is it she looks exactly like her? Did Vought clone her?” Hughie and Butcher had so many questions.

Legend shook his head, “if they were going to start cloning Supes I would have heard something by now. Truthfully, there is no explanation. Almost as if God and heaven, or even the devil, wanted to give Mimicry another chance at life. She always dreamed of a family, sadly it was taken away from her. She had a baby and that baby lived, and so on. What I can guarantee is that she is from Mimicry’s lineage.”

Soldier Boy stared out the window with the cup on his hand. Once again he felt himself lied to. He was being given something back, and now it feels like it got taken from him.

Your entire existence is a sick and twisted lie, and he despises you for carrying her face. He is reminded every time he has to look at you.

“This has never happened before with any Supes ever. Word is barely spreading that Supes can have babies when Mimicry was the first to ever have one a long time ago. If Vought finds out about her existence,” Legend warned and pointed to the room where you continued to sleep, “they will come for her.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Three

Author's Note: Phew! A lot got unpacked and I hope it is making sense! We will be speeding through the end of season three (with a few changes) in one or two chapters, and afterwards it will be my take of season four and further on. Thank you so much again for all the love and support!

Tagged List: @seven709 @sadpods @mayafatimakhan @deans-spinster-witch @justiceforquentin @ultracarpediemfan @bitchykittenconnoisseur @spacecowgirl126

[igotyupls]

GYM BRO’s? GYM HOES!

(SNSD Choi Sooyoung x Male reader) rewritten!! WC: 3440 + also if u previously read it then read after the keep reading, from then on ive added and changed the story

Sooyoung stumbled into the brightly lit 24-hour gym at stupid o'clock in the morning, unable to stay still in her apartment . With SNSD’s big summer/late-summer comeback announced, her schedule was absolutely shit lately between vocal training, choreography bootcamp hell, and a new diet that had her craving carbs 24/7. 

Call her crazy, but a good workout sounded way more appealing than yet another hour tossing and turning in bed. 

The location near their dorm was usually blissfully empty at ass o’clock in the morning too - perfect for looking like a disgusting post-workout mess without judgment. She swiped her membership card at the empty front desk, earbuds already queued up with a stupid EDM mix. 

Rounding the corner towards the cardio equipment though, Sooyoung came to an abrupt halt. 

Wait a damn minute...was that...a guy? 

Working out alone in the free weights corner? Well crap, so much for having the place to herself, she thought.

Squinting across the room, she vaguely recognized him - one of their fan-sites maybe? He seemed just as startled to no longer be alone, nearly dropping the dumbbell in his hand with a awkward fumble. 

“Oh shit! Sooyoung-ssi?” His eyes bugged wide, literally about to pop out, “Shit, sorry, I didn’t think anyone else would be here this late...” 

Sooyoung snorted, shifting her gym bag higher on one shoulder. “You and me both, dude.” An awkward silence passed of them just standing there staring. *sigh* no use being a bitch about it, she decided. Gym’s open 24/7 to members, even nosy fanboys. 

Tossing him a casual chin jerk goodbye, she headed towards the treadmills. 

“Well don’t let me mess up your sesh or anything,” she called over one shoulder, queueing up her go-to cardio playlist. Setting her phone on the ledge, Sooyoung hopped up on the belt and started jogging.

The familiar burn soon had her zoning out - eyes fixed on her reflection in the big wall of mirrors, volume cranked enough to drown out any other noise. 

Including the sound of fumbling weights behind her...as the same flustered fanboy now seemed incapable of  looking away from Sooyoung's sweaty reflection. His eyes tracked her bouncing boobs barely contained in the old Nike sports bra, and down to those leggings leaving nothing to imagination with each pounding step. 

((a/n: so for the sake of my sanity we’ll all pretend this is a treadmill and that the fila is a Nike, alright? Good.🫡))

Sooyoung noticed the attention after a few minutes, torn between rolling her eyes or biting back a smug grin. Fan service was part of the job after all - but she also knew damn well what she looked like working out in minimal fabrics. Didn’t mean she enjoyed feeling ogled like a piece of meat, but the ego boost was kinda nice. 

Nearly 45 minutes and 5 miles later however, tiredness sank in as Sooyoung began cooling down to a walk. 

Her leg muscles felt more like limp udon noodles at this point, chest heaving to gulp oxygen. Risking a glance behind her, she noted the fan seemed to be wrapping up his own workout now too - re-racking an impressive set of heavy dumbbells across the open floor space.

Sooyoung slid her feet to a stop on the treadmill, skin sticky with sweat. She bent down to stretch her quads and muscles briefly, back to the weight area. 

When she straightened up from touching her toes, the guy was much closer than expected - openly staring with those wide dark eyes.

"Feeling pretty bold over here aren't we?" Sooyoung arched an eyebrow, unflustered. His mouth snapped shut audibly, face and neck flushing darker.

"S-sorry noona!" he stammered, glancing away and raking a hand through his messy black hair. "I just uh...wanted to say nice workout? You really seem like you know what you're doing..." His awkward compliment trailed off into uncertainty, still avoiding direct eye contact.

Sooyoung couldn't help chuckling internally at just how shy this random fan was at interacting with her one-on-one, especially with so much exposed skin on display. She had to admit she didn't exactly mind the shy flattery. After over a decade pressure-cooking in the entertainment industry, it was actually sort of refreshing.

"I thought maintaining stamina is important for those long music show rehearsal hours," she replied easily, straightening up with a slight groan as her abdomen muscles protest. 

Noticing the guy's eyes follow the flex of her defined abs, she had to hide another smirk. Too easy.

"But clearly you know what you're doing too," Sooyoung continued with a glance at the impressive set of free weights he had been using earlier

"I don't usually see guys your age lifting that heavy without a spotter."

Pink still dusted his sharp cheekbones, but he met her gaze now without the prior dose of awkwardness at the indirect praise. 

Rubbing the back of his neck almost shyly, his lips quirked upwards.

"I try to hit the gym pretty consistently. Can't let you idol types have all the good bodies, you know." Y/N murmurs with a smirk, a smile.. somewhere in between

Was he...flirting back now? Sooyoung thought as she cocked her head, curiosity piqued by this boost of confidence in him, 

She noted that he really was very good looking, with feline eyes and a sharp jawline that complemented the defined muscles under his sweaty workout t-shirt. No wedding ring either she observed.

"Oh really now?" she challenged, arms crossing under her boobs subtly. Enjoying the way his dark, definitely interested gaze automatically tracked and traced her tits, she took a half step closer.

"Maybe you could...give me some tips then?" Batting her lashes innocently, Sooyoung gestured one manicured hand at the bench press station nearby. "My upper body strength is definitely my weakness in dance practice lately." She says, 

Y/N looks momentarily caught off guard by the bold invitation, his adams apple visibly bobbing in a hard swallow. But then he regains his confidence, lips quirking in a smirk again.

"It would be my pleasure to help demonstrate, Sooyoung-ssi” he says with his eyebrows raised and the smirk plastered on

Sooyoung watched with interest as the handsome fan confidently adjusted the bench press bar to a heavy weight for her petite frame. Clearly trying to impress her. Smirking slightly as he patted the black vinyl meaningfully in invitation, she walked closer. Intentionally lingering longer than necessary in his personal space before fluidly getting into position on her back.

The barely there bra did nothing to save her from the cold of the bench against her mostly bare skin. Goosebumps rising, Sooyoung tilted her chin up towards her impromptu trainer hovering near her.

"Well show me what you've got Mr. Gym Rat," she prompted cheekily. 

His appreciative gaze flicked down to where her nipples had peeked almost visibly through the sweat-damp bra barely covering them. 

Clearing his throat, Y/N carefully guided her hands into position holding the loaded barbell now held above only inches from her breast . 

Sooyoung noticed how his fingers lingered, thumbs sweeping the inside of her wrists.

"Right uh, form is pretty important obviously..." Y/N started out slightly unevenly. As he began explaining proper technique, one large hand pressed unnecessarily against her toned stomach - supposedly to demonstrate using her core muscles.

"Make sense?" he asked, unconsciously stroking along her defined abs with his thumb distractedly. 

"Mmhmm..." Sooyong managed, hoping she didn't sound as breathless to his ears as her own thudding pulse. She chalked it up to a normal physiological reaction - an undeniably hot guy was freely running his big hands all over her pretty much naked skin. It had been awhile since she got this type of casual intimacy with her crazy schedule and long-term even busier relationship. 

Noticing her physical response, Y/N's lips curved slyly. He leaned down close, caging her under the heavy bench bar. "Why don't we start with a set, see how you handle it?" The intentionally lowered voice raised involuntary goosebumps on her skin,

Swallowing, Sooyoung tried focusing on proper breathing and form as she guided the weight smoothly down. But with him hovering so intimately close, she became hyper aware of every inch of bare skin exposed to the gym air and his wandering gaze. 

Each brush of his fingers igniting sparks over her nerves. 

Biceps burning from exertion, she carefully guided the barbell back into its holders. Breath coming shorter, she couldn't resist looking sideways up at him through her lashes. 

Heart kicking faster seeing pure lust in his hooded eyes. She should tell him to back off, that she wasn't some groupie to take advantage of. Should remind him she had a whole career, a boyfriend even - a goddamn celebrity boyfriend none the less. But the words died on her lips as his palm smoothed down her stomach again.

"I think you need another set baby..." 

The risky nickname from his mouth sent a new flood of wetness between her clenched thighs. Recklessly she arched up into his arm, just enough to make her stiff nipples touch across his wrist. His low hum is satisfying to her ears.

Maybe she could blame it on the adrenaline crash later she thought, Or the fact that she hasn’t gotten laid properly in weeks thanks to her and Jung Kyung-ho’s overlapping schedules . 

But right now, feeling so desired and drowning in endorphins was exactly what Sooyoung needed after endless brutal days of smiling through every nonsense using her idol-persona as a shield

So here and now, Sooyoung threw caution fully out the window. Grabbing a fistful of her Y/N’s sweaty shirt, she yanked him down insistently, crushing their mouths together. He responded immediately, large hand pulling too-roughly in her messy ponytail to angle her head for better access. 

She bit and pulled at his lower lip sharply. "What's your name anyway?" Sooyoung asked against his mouth, just realising she had no clue who this fan who felt so good pinning her down was,

"Y/N..." he managed, kissing wetly down her throat. Hearing the breathless need filling his voice sent another slob of wetness straight between her legs. 

"Hmm Y/N-yah..." Testing his name on her tongue earned a responding groan. His hands slid boldly up from her shaking stomach to cover her neglected tits, kneading roughly through the thin cloth of her sports bra. White burst behind Sooyoung's shut eyelids, back arching off the vinyl bench. 

"Oh fuck..." she moaned out. The vulgarness is a stark contrast from her idol act coming out unfiltered. 

Y/N’s dark chuckle against her hammering pulse made her inner muscles clench on nothing. 

"That's it baby, tell me what you want," he murmured , thick fingers tweaking her hard nipples for emphasis.  

"Ahh!" Sooyoung whimpered as the sensation went straight to her clit, hands flying down to roughly shove down the band of her leggings and underwear before she peeled her sweaty bra over her head. Tossing it carelessly to show her gorgeous bare tits with stiffen nipples. His pulse racing double time seeing literal fantasy material come to life right in front of him. "Holy fucking shit..."  Y/N mutters,  staring open-jawed,

"Like what you see?" Sooyoung purred, noting his stunned expression. Inching closer she took his shaky hands, guiding them onto her exposed tits. Hot soft skin filled his palms and Y/N groaned at finally living out countless fever dreams.

"Fuck yes... You're even sexier without clothes noona."

He tested their size and weight gently. Watching with wide crazed eyes as she bit her kiss-swollen lower lip on a moan when he thumbed over her nipples teasingly, properly now that her bra is off.

"Been wanting to get my hands on these perfect tits for years..." he rasped before ducking down to capture one of the brown peaks in his mouth.

"Oh god!" Sooyoung's shocked cry as he lavished attention on her breasts with lips, tongue and a hint of teeth. He smirked around a mouthful of her boobs.

"Sensitive here huh?" Tweaking her spit-slick nipple sharply in emphasis.

"Yes! Fuck..." Grinding against his thigh slotted between hers searchingly, Sooyoung fisted a hand almost too-tight in his hair. Urging him to give equal attention to her other needy tit.

The power rush left Y/N lightheaded. Never in a million years did he imagine his long-time celebrity crush would be practically humping his leg whining for more. He needed to be inside her like five minutes ago.

With urgency he flipped Sooyoung, bending her over the bench. Groaning reverently at the sight of her flawless bare ass and soaked panties.

"Fuck you have no idea how many times I've jerked off imagining this perfect ass up in the air for me." He emphasised the filthy words with a sharp open-palmed spank to one plump asscheek. Her answering moan urged him on. Gripping her slim hips bruisingly tight, he dragged his still covered dick along her slit.

"Please Y/N-aah... Want to feel you inside..." Hearing Korea's darling beg so prettily to be fucked sent Y/N into overdrive. With shaking hands he shoved down his boxers, dick springing free and almost smacking her ass. Groaning at the first glide of his angry red dick through slick soaked folds.

"Tell me how bad you need this cock baby..."  He asks as he teases them both - rubbing his swollen purple head along  her pussy but refusing to enter. 

Sooyoung whined, circling her hips urgently. "Please, feel so empty... Fuck me oppa!"

That was all the permission he needed. Tightening his hold on her hips,, Y/N thrust forward - plunging into her  incredibly tight velvet heat in one relentless slide. Balls slapping harshly against her clit. 

"Holy shit!" They both choked out. Frozen for a second, from just pure bliss

Then Y/N was fucking into her hard and fast - years of suppressed longing fueling his brutal pace. The lewd slick sound of their smacking flesh filled the empty gym. Her sharp cries urged him deeper.

Draped over her arched back, he slid a hand down her shaky stomach. Through the neat patch of pubes to circle her clit in firm strokes.

"Don't stop, please...I'm so fucking close!" Sooyoung whined, sharply circling her hips with his still imperceptibly swelling dick nestled deep inside her. Y/N starts fingering her clit in fast strokes, wanting to push her over the edge,

"Be a good girl and cum on oppa's cock," he rasped directly into her ear. Licking along the line of her throat when she tossed her head back, mewling.

"Oh god, fuck yes I'm cumming!" Sooyoung wailed, vision white as she orgasms hard - cunt spamming erratically around him. Milking every last drop of cum from his buried dick as she shook through endless waves of dizzying twitches.

Y/N fucked her slowly through the intense aftershocks until her limbs went limp, slumping forward. Soft puffs of breath hitting the bench under her flushed cheek. Holy hell she looked completely fucked out like this - hair, a wild mess, his release leaking steadily from her well used pussy.

Unable to resist, he carefully pulled out his sensitive dick free with a wet sound and her whimper, making him groan again as even more juices dripped freely down her soppy cunt in globs now coating her thighs. Gripping her ass cheeks, he spread them eagerly - her slick puffy folds still shaking, twitching.

Ducking down without hesitation, Y/N licked broadly up the entire crease. Tasting the salty-bitterness of her orgasm mixed with his semen.

"Ohhh fuck..." Sooyoung jerked, overstimulated nerves clearly on fire. But he just hummed directly against her, the vibrations making her squirm as he straightened his tongue. Spearing deep into her pussy to taste everything,

He gripped her hips again to hold her trembling body still, continuing to spear his tongue relentlessly into Sooyoung's oversensitive canal "Oh god, oh fuck!" Sooyoung whimpered and gasped as the intense sensations crashed over her overloaded nerves. The lewd, slick sounds of his sucking filling the empty gym.

Just when her thighs started really shaking from the stimulation, he finally let up. Pulling back to admire his handiwork once more with a satisfied groan.

But he isnt done with his bias yet,, he pressed two thick fingers back inside her velvet heat. Smirking when she jerked and whined at that light penetration.

"Mmm , you'll take a little more for your fan ,right?" He purred slyly even as she shuddered through another weak orgasm.

Not giving her a chance to recover, he quickly lined himself back up. Nudging just barely inside once more.

Sooyoung blinked sluggishly up at him, lips parted and slick with spit, eyes filled with tears even. "Ohhh f-fuck I can't..." Sooyoung whined, still shaking through the aftershocks. But despite her pleas she eagerly pushed her ass back for more of Y/N's thrusting fingers.

"Mmm yes you will," he growled. "Gonna make you cum all night..."

The lewd sound of his fingers pumping her soaked pussy echoed around the empty gym. Her broken whimpers urging him on.

"Oppa wants that sloppy cunt nice and wet before you take this dick again."

Adding a third finger, he twisted them until she bucked sharply - abusing her g-spot mercilessly. "Oh shit! Oh shit don't stop..." Sooyoung babbled, rocking her hips desperately to get those thick fingers deeper.

Y/N chuckled darkly at how needy she was for it already. His free hand cracked down hard on one jiggling ass cheek, making her yelp.

"Fuck yourself on oppa's fingers just like that. Let me see you cum again."

Arching sharply, Sooyoung braced her hands properly - shamelessly riding his thrusting fingers now. The lewd sound of her soaked pussy sucking them in greedily echoed with her pitched cries.

Right on the edge, Y/N suddenly ripped his hands away - ignoring her scream. Gripping her hips tight enough to bruise, he rammed balls-deep into her still-spasming cunt. Bottoming out so deep she saw stars.

"OH FUCK yesyesyes!" Sooyoung babbled mindlessly.

Y/N set a brutal pace instantly - their slick bodies slapping together loudly. Obscene squelching noises coming from where their juices dripped down her trembling inner thighs.

"Yeah? Oppa's cock feels good pounding this tight pussy?" He rasped filthily against her ear. Her constant and almost musical 'ah-ah-ah's with every deep thrust said it all.

Flipping her easily onto her back not the nth time, Y/N hooked one slim leg over his shoulder - driving himself impossibly deeper. Loud smack of balls against her ass echoing.

Sooyoung's next orgasm crashed through her violently - back bowing off the bench as she wailed his name. Cunt spasming erratically, trying to milk his cock.

Not nearly done with her, Y/N manhandled her limp body into his lap , as he sat down on the gym’s vinyl flooring next - spearing up into her dripping hole once more. Sharp cries ringing out as he bounced her roughly on his dick by the hips.

"Yes yes fuck! Shit I can't..." Sooyoung babbled, still cum drunk and now full on crying. But her petite yet tall  body continued riding him eagerly. Tits jiggling wildly with the force of it.

Reaching around, Y/N's thick fingers found her throbbing clit again. Rubbing messy circles as she squeezed almost painfully a fourth time. Her rhythmic contractions pushed him closer to the edge too.

But he still wasn't done using her gorgeous body yet.

Pulling out abruptly mid-orgasm, he smirked at her wrecked wail. Manhandling her to knees, he fisted himself rapidly - aimed right at her sweat-slick back curved so beautifully before him.

"Look so fucking good on your knees noona... Now tell oppa what you need," he gritted out, squeezing the life out of his own dick,

Whining and grinding her ass back desperately, Sooyoung glanced over one shoulder. Eyes glazed and burned into his.

"P-please...want you to cum all over me oppa," she begged prettily, pink tongue swiping across her swollen bottom lip. "Mark me as yours..."

"Fuck!" Y/N roared, fist flying rapidly over his slick dick. Her nasty plea instantly triggered his release. He painted her back and ass cheeks in endless ropes of white hot semen - marking SNSD's lead dancer Sooyoung as claimed, way more claimed then her man could ever mark her.

Chests heaving, he eventually tugged her fucked-out body upright against him. She mewled weakly feeling their mixed cum and her juices now dripping freely out of her loose fucked out vagina and down her thighs and his.

"Let's get you cleaned up hm?"

Scooping her up easily, Y/N carried his pliant bias towards the locker room showers....... [A/N: lol pt2 coming out soon , i might finally surpass 5 if not 7k words, it'll be a personal milestone, took down the previous one cause i noticed typos and added bs, i didnt spellcheck it or even read through it prior to posting like an idiot, anyway req: @snsdyb]

[corruptedcaps]

Tastes

It had started innocently enough. Claire had found the latex skirt at a thrift store and had taken a shine to it. The normally conservatively dressed girl was taken aback by her own interest in the skirt. It was shorter than what she was usually comfortably with, the material was something she detested and the colour matched none of her existing clothes, in essence it was the furtherest thing from her own tastes but for some reason she walked out of the store with it newly purchased.

“Wow I don’t know why I wanted this so badly but I’m glad I did it looks great!”. She said happily later at home. She spun around in front of the mirror smiling to herself.

“This will be perfect for my date later.” She said to herself taking in her figure from every angle.

However something was feeling off. Something not quite right like she was missing something. It clicked.

“My hair is all wrong and I need a facial.” She said snapping her fingers in her moment of realization.

She was never one to care that much about her appearance but a half hour later she was in the salon being convinced to go for a drastic hair change.

“Are you sure? That’s a big difference from what I have now.” She asked the hairdresser who suggested it.

“Absolutely it is but right now your hair says ‘nice to meet you’ but what you really want it to say is ‘it’s nice to meet me.” Replied the hairdresser.

Claire liked the sound of that. Really liked the sound of that as she started to feel a warmth below her waste that was unusual for her.

“Do it.” Claire said in a low register that was laced with sudden confidence and the hairdresser got to work.

As the hairdresser got to work Claire closed her eyes and let her mind drift. She imagined the look on the face of her date when she would show up later looking like a new woman.

“He probably won’t even recognize me, he’ll think I’m there to steal him away. Mmmm that’s kind of hawt.” She thought as the hairdressers’ fingers massaged her scalp sending her further into her fantasy.

“Claire? Sounds like some unfuckable loser. I’m Chantelle, my tastes are as rich as my name sounds.” She imagined saying to her date.

As her fantasy continued she felt a pleasurable tingle coarse through her body, unaware that her simple latex skirt was growing up her body, absorbing her top underneath the salon cape draped over her.

“You seem like a man of refined taste, but can you keep up with mine?” She said in her fantasy while her lips curled up into a seductive smile.

“How about we go back to your place and I’ll show you how delectable my taste can be.” She giggled in her mind playfully.

“All done!” The hairdresser suddenly said, breaking Claire from her fantasy. As the hairdresser moved away, Claire finally got a look at herself in the mirror and her instance reaction was one of shock.

“Who is that?” She wondered as she gazed at the beauty in front of her. Her hair was big and eye catching, her face was smooth and painted with bitchy perfection. Even her eyes seemed to sparkle. So captivated she hadn’t even noticed her outfit had changed.

The longer she stared at herself the longer she felt a coldness wrap around her heart. Altruistic feelings were being sapped from her as more narcissistic thoughts slipped in in their place. Her face rested into a bitchy pout.

Rising from the chair like a regal queen she clip clopped over to the register in high heels not realizing that she had walked in with sneakers on.

“You look wonderful miss.” The hairdresser praised as she rung her up. Claire basked in the attention. She did look wonderful.

As she walked back through the mall towards her car she felt the eyes of every man on her, drinking her in. The longer they looked the more her mind became wicked and vain.

“Of course they can’t stop looking, it’s not everyday they see a goddess.” She thought to herself as she took her time getting to the parking garage, she needed everyone to see her. She craved it.

Again so occupied by her thoughts that she didn’t feel her outfit change on her body, becoming shorter, tighter. Her heels became taller as her breasts pushed her dress to its breaking point.

The outfit had reached its final form and in turn had totally corrupted Claire. As she stepped into the parking garage and eyed her beat up car she nearly gagged. This wouldn’t do for a woman of her status.

Thankfully a she spotted a handsome man hitting the alarm off button on his expensive convertible. He would do, Claire thought to herself as she stalked over to him.

“Excuse me, but would you do me a kindness and drop a girl like me home?” She said rocking up to him.

“I’m sorry but-” he said turning around and going mute at the sight of her. She gave him a fake smile as she put her hand on his shoulder.

“I would be so grateful if you could.” She said batting her long eyelashes at him. Looking down at his hand she noticed a wedding ring. Even better she thought wickedly to herself.

“For sure, no problem. Please get in Miss…?” He replied transfixed by her.

“Chantelle.” She simply said as she walked around to the passenger side.

“Chantelle? That’s a gorgeous name.” He said as they both got in the car. She sat seductively across from him.

“Suits me then don’t you think?” She said flirtily making him gulp.

“So eh, where can I drop you?” He said starting the engine.

“Oh your house will do.” She said putting her hand on his thigh. He gulped again as he pressed the button on his car to close the roof, he had a feeling he was going to need the privacy.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Hardest truth (2/3) - Lewis Hamilton

Sequence: It comes with the territory / Hardest truth / Not even ours

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: angst, self image problems

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Full blown angst. This is turning into a sad story, I couldn't help it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Y/n could hear Lewis’s voice, asking her something, but her thoughts were too loud.

How could she keep up with this? How could she love someone as deeply as she loved him when she didn’t even recognize the woman staring back in the mirror?

“Y/n,” Lewis’s voice cut through her haze, his tone gentle but insistent. “Are you leaving me?”

The weight of his words hit her like a punch to the gut. She blinked, looking at his reflection but feeling miles away.

The truth was, she didn’t know the answer.

His question sent her spiraling back moments that had brought them here, into the darkest corners of her insecurities, where she felt more like a shadow than the person she used to be.

The room felt smaller than usual, its corners dark and closing in on Y/n.

She’d been to those hotel rooms countless times, with friends laughing, drinks flowing—back when she felt like she belonged in places like this.

But that night, Y/n stared blankly at the mirror, the sound of Lewis’s shower in the background like white noise, reminding her of all the things she no longer could willingly recognize as background noise, things she couldn’t even discern about herself.

A message from her friend lit up the phone screen, the words tugging at the invisible thread between her sanity and her heart.

Are you ever coming out again, or are you officially MIA forever?

She swallowed hard, hesitating before typing back a half-hearted excuse about why she had flown away to another GP.

But the truth lay there, right beneath the surface, glaringly obvious. She hadn’t been out with them in months.

She also hadn’t been herself in months.

Her heart sank as she stared at the empty screen, feeling the weight of what she couldn’t admit to myself.

She wasn’t avoiding them because she was busy. She was avoiding them because she didn’t recognize who she was anymore when around them—around anyone, really.

The bathroom door opened, steam wafting out as Lewis stepped into the room, towel draped loosely around his hips. He looked at her, a soft smile on his face, but his eyes were searching.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and full of concern.

She forced a smile. “Yeah, just... long day.”

He nodded slowly, but his gaze lingered on me, like he could see past her words.

Lewis had always been good at reading between the lines, especially the ones she tried so hard to hide.

“Take it easy tonight. You’ve been pushing yourself too much.” he said, walking over to her and brushing his hand across her shoulder.

The warmth of his touch soothed the tension in her muscles, but it didn’t reach much deeper into the ache inside.

They were having dinner when it happened again.

The words left her mouth before she could stop them, sharp and cutting, laced with frustration.

It was over something small—something trivial, really. Lewis had forgotten to tell her about a last-minute appearance, and she was left scrambling to adjust plans.

It was hardly his fault, but her voice rose, her anger disproportionate to the situation.

“I don’t know why you can’t just—” She stopped mid-sentence, the heat of the moment dissipating as quickly as it had ignited.

She blinked, suddenly feeling the weight of her own words, and the person who had just spoken didn’t sound like her.

It wasn’t her.

Lewis didn’t react right away. He just sat there, his fork frozen mid-air, his eyes steady and calm, as if he knew exactly what was happening.

“Y/n,” he said softly, setting his fork down, his eyes locking with hers. “This... it’s not about the appearance, is it?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

He was right, of course.

It was about all the things she hadn’t been able to say—about the parts of her that had slowly been slipping away, swallowed up by the pressures and insecurities she didn’t know how to deal with.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me” She finally whispered, her voice breaking. “I just... I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

Lewis reached across the table, his hand finding hers. “You’re still you, Y/n. You’re just... We’ll figure it out.”

She squeezed his hand, trying to believe him, but a part of her had already started to retreat.

His reassurance, as gentle and sincere as it was, felt like a bandage over a gaping wound.

Then another day, another comment. Another reminder of the person she was supposed to be.

She scrolled through her phone, the photos of Lewis and her at an event plastered across social media. The comments digging deeper into my skin.

She doesn’t even look like she belongs there.

She’s changed so much since she started dating him.

I miss the old Y/n.

She closed my eyes, the phone slipping from her hands as she leaned back against the couch.

She didn’t need strangers on the internet to tell her she wasn’t the same.

She felt it every day, in every interaction, every smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The couch dipped beside her, and she felt Lewis’s arm slip around her shoulders.

He didn’t say anything—he just sat there, his presence a quiet comfort.

But it didn’t change the gnawing feeling inside her, the one that kept reminding her she was losing herself, piece by piece.

“Y/n,” he murmured after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t” she said, her voice shaking. “I don’t even know where to start.”

He sighed, his hand gently rubbing circles on her arm. “I know this is hard. I’ve... been there too. Feeling like you don’t know who you are anymore. But I promise you, we’ll get through this together.”

And she wanted to believe him.

She wanted to believe that love could fix this, that Lewis could somehow pull her back from the edge.

But the truth was, she didn’t even know how to save herself.

And their love, as strong as it was, couldn’t teach her how.

Then that night.

It was supposed to be a fun. An event they’d been looking forward to for weeks.

But as she walked into the venue, surrounded by people she didn’t recognize and flashing cameras, the familiar wave of unease washed over her.

She smiled, posed, did all the things she was supposed to do, but inside, she was crumbling.

She could feel the eyes on her, the whispers behind her back, the comparisons to everyone else in the room.

By the time the night was over, she was emotionally drained.

She collapsed onto the bench of the bedroom as soon as they got to his home, her face locked into her reflection in the mirror.

Lewis sat beside her, his hand resting gently on her back. “Rough night?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

“It’s getting harder, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice soft.

She nodded again, feeling the tightness in her chest.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m worried about you. I don’t know what to do... how to help.”

She looked at him through tear-blurred eyes. “I don’t think you can help, Lewis. I don’t even know if I can help.”

His face fell, his eyes full of fear. And in that moment, she realized what she had been so afraid to admit for so long.

She was losing herself. And no matter how much they loved each other, she didn’t think their love was enough to save her.

She met Lewis’s gaze, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the only way to save herself was to let go.

She didn’t want to hurt him. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone, but how could she love him the way he deserved when she couldn’t even love herself?

“I’m scared” she finally said, her voice quiet but steady. “I think... I think I’m losing myself.”

Lewis looked at her, his eyes full of understanding and pain. He nodded painfully slowly, reaching out to take her hand. “I know…And I’m scared too.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, their hands entwined, both of them finally understading that the love they shared wasn’t enough to fix what was broken inside her.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the hardest truth of all.

______________________________________________________________

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[guccifrog]

WRONG NUMBER FINAL

matt sturniolo x f!reader

some of y'all bout to be real mad at me :3

y/n's pov

I let out a sigh, as my eyes scanned the ceiling, I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of misery. The cold bed sheets beneath me were like a prison, binding me to the spot, it was then that I realized I had been lying there for days.

The past few days had been like shit for me, that even the simple act of standing up seemed like a difficult task. I couldn't take Matt out of my head. That it was starting to hurt even worse now. I missed him, I missed us. I missed whatever we had going on, I missed his voice, I missed him holding me close to him. I missed everything about him. It was like a piece of my heart had been ripped out, leaving a gaping hole that nothing could ever fill.

God I hate it when I can't get him out of my head. It's like he's become some sort of drug I can't get enough of. every time I close my eyes, all I see is his face. It's been days since I last talked to him, but I just couldn't bring myself to answer his texts. I knew if I did, I'd just end up saying something that'll just regret later.

My head pounded in agony as I sat up, the room spinning wildly around me. I felt nauseous and weak like I could barely stand on my own two feet. I slowly crawled my way to the bathroom, every movement making me wince in pain.

 Once I was in there, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at the poor reflection looking back at me. My eyes were dull and lifeless, my normally pale skin now a sickly shade of gray. My hair was a mess, tangled and greasy from not bothering to wash it for days. I looked like death warmed over. It didn't help that my reflection seemed to mock me. I didn't recognize the person looking back at me anymore. I felt like I was some sort of shadow of my former self,

I stared back at myself. It's not like I was some sort of prize or anything special. He'll get over it, eventually. But the words seemed hollow even to my own ears.

I ran my hands through my hair and took a deep breath trying to calm down, but it seemed to only make things worse. 

I turned away from the mirror, unable to look at myself any longer, climbing back into bed, pulling the covers up over my head, and trying to shut out the world. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the feeling that I was slowly drifting away from everything that had once been familiar and comforting.

It wasn't even that big of a deal, why was I feeling like this? I'll get over it soon, right? It wasn't like it was the end of the world or something. But still, the pain didn't seem to lessen, it felt like someone had carved out my heart and stomped all over it. the truth was, I was scared. Scared that this was how it was going to be from now on.

I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to feel something else. But all I felt was this aching emptiness, that made me feel like I was floating in the void.

 His face kept creeping into my thoughts, his voice echoing in my head. It was like I couldn't escape him, even when I was in the middle of enjoying something else.

My brain refused to process anything else. I couldn't focus on anything else. It was like my entire world had been reduced to just one person, and now that he was gone, there was nothing left. I felt so empty. Like a shell of the person I used to be.

I needed to get out of the house. I needed some fresh air, some time away from everything that reminded me of him. I got up, threw on some clothes, and grabbed my keys. I didn't even bother to brush my teeth or wash my face. I just didn't care anymore.

matt's pov

I sat on my bed, my head pounding because of how much I was overthinking. I shouldn't have rushed things. I knew it the moment I had kissed her. I had been so sure that she felt the same way I did, but I guess I was wrong. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I have to ruin everything by acting on my feelings?

I threw myself back on my bed, the pain in my chest growing more intense with each passing second. What was wrong with me? Why did I always have to screw things up? It wasn't just this, it was everything. I couldn't seem to get anything right. And now I'd probably lost the only person who really understood me. It was like a physical weight pressing down on my chest, making it impossible to breathe.

The hours dragged on as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, replaying everything over and over again in my head. I needed to talk to her, or to hear her voice at least, and to somehow make things better. But how could I do that without making it worse? I didn't want to lose her, but I knew that I had to call her eventually.

With a heavy heart, I reached for my phone, staring at the screen for a moment before dialing her number. Again. And again. And again. But each time, the phone rang and rang without anyone picking up.

 I was beginning to feel like a pathetic loser, calling her over and over when she clearly didn't want to talk to me. I should just accept that I had fucked things up and leave her alone. But I couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, if I called one more time...

My finger hovered above the green "call" button, hesitating for a moment before I finally pressed it, Maybe she'd pick up, and we could talk about what had happened. Maybe we could find a way to make things right again. Or maybe, she'd just hang up on me, and I'd be left here, feeling even more shitty than before.

"hey bitch, I'm probably sleeping or re-watching my little pony or maybe I just don't wanna answer you, just leave a voice message even though I'm not gonna listen to- beep"

Oh. Well, I guess I'd better leave it at that then. I hung up the phone, feeling more miserable than ever. I had hoped that maybe she'd want to talk to me, but I guess not. I sighed, rubbing my eyes tiredly. Maybe I was being too hard on myself. Maybe she just needed some time to process things.

But again, I needed to talk to her, I just couldn't help it. I was sure I'd go insane if I didn't, So, I did the only thing I could think of, I quickly got up, grabbed my jacket and keys, and headed out the door. 

If I wasn't able to talk to her on the phone, then maybe I could just go see her in person. Maybe she'd be more willing to talk to me if I was standing right in front of her.

I drove to her house, my heart pounding in my chest as I passed through familiar streets and landmarks. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. What if she doesn't want to talk? What if her parents answered the door? What if she didn't want to see me at all? The uncertainty was killing me. My brain was a mess, trying to think of every possible outcome, every possible scenario.

I decided to stop at a flower shop along the way and buy her a bouquet, just in case. I wanted to look like I was just bringing her flowers as a friend, not like I was some desperate ex-boyfriend. I didn't want to make things any more awkward than they already were.

As I pulled up to her house, my heart was racing, my palms sweaty. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, and then stepped out of the car, making my way up to the front door. 

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just turn around and leave. But it was too late for second-guessing now. With a deep breath, I lifted my hand to knock on the door. 

No answer. I knocked again, a little louder this time. Maybe she was in the backyard or something. Maybe she was just taking a moment to herself. I tried the door, but it was locked. I knocked again, this time a little more frantically.

Nothing. There was still no response. I knocked one more time, just to be sure, but the silence that followed only made my heart sink further. With a heavy sigh, I leaned against the door, feeling like an idiot for even coming here. What had I been thinking? That she'd just open the door and invite me in like everything was okay?

I looked down at the bouquet of pink tulips in my hand, feeling ridiculous for even bringing them. Maybe I should just leave them here on the porch and leave, but something held me back. I couldn't just walk away without at least trying to talk to her. With a deep breath, I took out my phone and dialed her number, hoping she would pick up this time. After what felt like an eternity, it rang...and rang...and rang. No answer.

"Excuse me ?" 

I looked up from my phone, startled by the voice. Standing in the driveway was an old woman, probably in her late seventies or early eighties. She was wearing a floral housecoat and a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

"Um, hi," I said, a little sheepishly. "I was looking for...um, is y/n here?"

The old woman looked at me with confusion, before widening her eyes in realization" You mean the young lady who lived here? Oh dear, she would usually greet me every day but I haven't seen or heard of her in days, I'm assuming she moved out"

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. No, that couldn't be it.  

"You must be her...friend?" Her voice trailed off, her expression gentle and sympathetic.

"Um, yeah," I replied, my throat feeling tight. "I mean, I was"

The old woman must have sensed my discomfort because she put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Don't you worry, dear. Sometimes people need time to themselves, and they find it in the most unexpected places. You never know, she might just be around the corner, waiting for you to find her."

Her words were meant to comfort me, but they only seemed to make things worse. I wanted to believe her, I really did. But the feeling in my gut told me something different. It told me that I might have lost her, and that this time, it might be for good.

With a heavy sigh, I thanked the old woman and made my way back to my car. As I drove away, my eyes stung with tears.

I tried to distract myself with music, and the scenery around me, but it was no use. The image of her face, the way she looked at me when we were together, it was burned into my memory.

Maybe this is a sign, that I need to move on. To accept that whatever we had going on was over and focus on my own life. But how could I possibly do that when all I could think about is the way she used to laugh at my jokes, the way she would pout and frown her eyebrows playfully every time I teased her. Those memories are engraved into my brain, and I don't think they'll ever fade.

 I didn't want to let go. I didn't want to forget about her. But what choice did I have? Could I keep living this way, constantly thinking about what could have been, and what might never be again? I couldn't. I had to find a way to move on.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts, debating whether to delete her name or keep her in my life like a constant reminder of what I'd lost. In the end, I decided that if I wanted to truly move on, I needed to let her go. So I deleted her number, her email address, and even blocked her social media accounts.

I had to accept the fact that it was over and move on. It was the only way I could possibly heal. Even If I cared- no, loved her with all my heart, there was no point in holding on to something that wasn't there anymore. I needed to let go and find peace.

 It was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was one I knew I had to choke down.

the end

jkjk 😆

2 years later

y/n's pov

"Hey! Stop" I yelled as I watched my dog, pepper, run with my phone between her teeth. She darted around a corner, out of my sight. I sighed, running after her, just as she disappeared around another corner. 

"Pepper, come back!" I called, beginning to lose patience. I turned the corner and saw her sitting in front of our front door, her tail wagging excitedly, I breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to her, bending down to pick her up. "That's a good girl," I cooed, kissing her head. As I stood back up, I glanced down just to find my phone shattered into a million pieces on the ground.

 "Oh no," I muttered, "I guess that's the end of that." I sighed, knowing I'd have to save up for a new phone now. I picked up the pieces of my phone and stuffed them in my pocket, then reached for the doorknob, and entered my house.

I needed to tell my mom, or else she'd get worried. I knew she had an old phone lying around somewhere. I went to her room and started searching through her drawers, looking for the phone.

 After a few minutes of digging, I finally found it, buried under a pile of old magazines and makeup. I smiled to myself, feeling relieved that I had found it. I quickly grabbed the phone and went back to my room, shutting the door behind me.

As I sat down on my bed, I inspected the phone more closely and realized that It was my old phone, the one I had before I got my current one. I powered it on, relieved to see that it was still working. 

Luckily I didn't have a password set up on my old phone, so I was able to use it right away. I immediately went to check my contacts only to find that all contacts I had were just numbers now. 

I didn't recognize any of them. "How did this happen?" I wondered out loud, as I dug through the rest of the phone, looking for any clue as to who these people were or how I had gotten their numbers. After a while, I came across a number that looked exactly like my mom's. "That must be it," I thought to myself, before clicking the message icon and started typing.

THE END ☆

HEY OML U MADE IT TO THE END OF YHE STORY 🤩🤩🤩🤩💯💯💯 but anyways I just wanna thank u all for sticking around (corny ass zay) I'm so so So so grateful for all of the support y'all gave me to continue this shitty ahh series it really makes my day everytime I read u guys's comments I love u all fr muaaah 💕

taglist ☆

@mattestrella @chrisfavoritepepsi @sunsetsturniolos @littlebookworm803 @sturniozo @sturniolooooo @athaliahxoxo @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ev3rgreenxtrees @nonamegirlxsturniolo @crybabycat1 @mooniethesimp31 @ducksturniolo @ifilwtmfc @pepsiimaxx @sleepysturnss @lustfulslxt @ilovemattsworld @hrt-attack @flowerxbunnie

@secret-sturniolo @iluvmeeen @that-general-simp @swangelss @familynotfandom @fuckshitslover @styles-sturniolo @lvr-111 @opheliaofficial07 @kiarastromboli @hearts4chriss @braindead4l @sturniolosreads @mattsturnzzz09 @itssophiasstuff @mayhem-72 @b2cute @buckys-celestes @4iriss @bitterspoons

[kyleoreillylover]

Loyalty- Chapter 1: The Beginning.

Series Summary/Masterlist

tag list: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more @selena-tyler-564 @saintaquarius

Chapter Summary: The cracks in your sweet persona are showing. Jey wants to help you through them, and Roman wants to capitalize on them.

word count: 13,992 (ik it's long but bare with me!!! you'll get less chapters more content, trust me pls :)) warnings: manipulation, cheating, wrestling related violence.

WRESTLEMANIA BACKLASH 2020

Blue. 

Blue used to be your favorite color. The serene hue that used to beckon memories of tranquility, now seemed tainted by the complexities of the present. Your once form fitted sparkling blue gear was now blood stained and glimmering with sweat, the championship it matched no longer in your grasp. 

But now, the color made you want to throw up. The sight of you made you want to throw up.

You stared back at your reflection in your dressing room mirror, the dressing room mirror reflecting an image you hardly recognized. Your face was bruised and distorted, your eye swollen shut and lip cut and bleeding from the fight you were in just moments ago with Ronda Rousey.

And just a few minutes before that match, you were informed that you would be dropping your Smackdown Women's Championship to her, because they thought that was what was best for business. Because not telling you beforehand wasn't what was best for business.

Casting you- the nicknamed Princess of Pain of WWE because of your kind nature and killer attitude in the ring-one of the biggest babyfaces on the roster, one of the biggest merch sellers, one of the greatest on the mic and in the ring, and finally one of their champions after so many years of crawling to the top from the NXT food chain to your win against Sasha Banks in one of the most historic main events ever at Wrestlemania to hold your first main roster title- to the side after less than a month as a champion was best for business.

Making you finally have your moment on the grandest stage of them all only to have it shattered so soon at Ronda's request after she just came back from her months-long vacation was best for business. 

Sami tried to console you, he knew from the look on your face as you left the meeting before your match and ran into him that something was horribly wrong.

But you brushed off his attempts at comforting you with a solemn smile and a 'I'm fine, don't worry about me, Sami.' and took off before he could inquire any more. If he pushed any more with those brown eyes that always seemed to know what you were thinking and those warm arms that he outstretched towards you, you knew you would fall into them and cry. 

You decided instead of yelling at management, you tried to make the best of it and lead Ronda into a good match and push any animosity you had and be cordial- you could get another opportunity in the future. And maybe this would lead to one of your friends-like Liv or Rhea-taking the title off of her and getting their moment they absolutely deserved.

But all those thoughts left your brain when she stared back across the ring from you with that stupid smirk across her face and went off script and punched you square in the nose so hard that it broke and your face was trickled with blood before the bell even rang.

There would be no holding back, you thought. Even if I lose, I'ma make sure I come out the true fucking winner and make her work for it.

And work for it Ronda did. The two of you beat the holy hell out of each other. Under the bright lights, punches were not pulled, and bodies were broken.

The commentary table was destroyed when you pile-driven Ronda through it. Your face was covered in grim and blood from where Ronda attacked it, the blood getting into your eyes and making you wipe it every 5 seconds. and Ronda's shoulder was dislocated from where you rammed a chair into it, relishing in her cries of pain.

How's it feel going off script now, bitch?, you thought. 

Sami knew you weren't okay though when Ronda finally got you into a sleeper hold and your eyes fluttered shut after hanging on for so long, and instead of tapping out as planned, deciding to pass out.

Ronda clearly didn't like what you were doing, since she tightened her grip on your neck and didn't let go for a full five minutes, only pushing herself off of you when Adam Pearce and medical/security staff finally convinced her to let go of you.

"I'm what's best for business!" She screamed into your face, waving your title around with a cocky smirk on her face as she watched you glare at her, pushing away the medical staff weakly and refuse to get on the stretcher, much to their chagrin. "Not some nice weak little bitch who peaked in NXT!"

Her words hurt more than the physical pain you were in, and you kept repeating them in your mind as you wiped your face, wincing with every wipe.

You went to medical, but there was only so much they could do. They put your nose back in place, (Sami barged into the room and forced you to let him stay, and his hand almost broke under your grip when the doctor was fixing your nose), disinfected your lip, gave you some pain meds, and told you that you'd be cleared to wrestle in a couple of weeks, and instructed you to put ice on your bruised body. 

Sami was planning on getting your stuff from your locker room and bringing you to your hotel room so he could help you relax (much to your annoyance, all you wanted to do was be alone and wallow in your own self-pity), when you ran into a concerned looking Kevin in the hallway.

The scene he saw before him- Sami trying to wrap an arm around you to help you up and your stubborn ass refusing him, made him explode in anger and concern. But much like with everything Kevin says, it came out in the worst way possible.

"Just because Ronda knocked the marbles outta your head doesn't mean you get to act stupid. Let Sami help you, you dumbass!" he shouted, gesturing wildly in his frustration.

You glared at Kevin, not in the mood for him tonight.  Why he thought he had any right to speak to you like that was beyond comprehension. He was no longer your best friend, so he shouldn't be acting like he even cared. He didn't care when he cost you how many championships when you were about to win them, did he? Of course now he wants to speak with you.

Despite the pain and the swirling emotions, you managed to push Sami away, moving closer to Kevin with a fiery gaze.

"Oh, so now you wanna care about me? Very funny." you spat, your voice dripping with disdain. "And last time I checked, Ronda came out that match with a broken shoulder, and if you don't get away from me in the next 5 seconds, I'll break yours too."

Kevin huffed as if he couldn't decide between continuing the argument or stepping back, but he saw Sami rubbing your back and trying to comfort you despite your resistance, and he couldn't hold back his sharp tongue or his jealousy.

"Does that only apply to everyone or is Sami the exception as always?" Kevin shot back, his frustration evident in his tone. "For fucks sake, your bleeding and all you can care about is the fact that I'm telling you the truth, and you can't handle it like always."

Your fists clenched at your sides as Kevin's words pierced through the haze of pain and anger. You wanted to scream at him, to make him understand the turmoil raging within you, but the searing pain in your body drowned out any coherent thoughts.

Before you could retort, Sami stepped between you and Kevin, cutting Kevin with a glare that could cut through steel. "Are you seriously jealous that I'm trying to take care of her? Maybe you would have that opportunity if you actually acted like you cared about her!" Sami mocked, his voice low and seething with frustration.

Kevin knew he should've focused on your physical and mental state instead of starting the argument, but the fire was lit and Sami only added to the gasoline. "Maybe I would've had that opportunity if she didn't constantly take your side and ignore her actual best friend!"

At Sami's incredulous look at his statement, Kevin scowled and glared at him. "Don't act like I'm not right. No matter what I do, it's always Sami this, Sami that. 'Oh Y/N, we hate Kevin, we can't trust Kevin.'  Like I don't exist. Like he's the only one who gets to be there for you!" 

Sami glowered at Kevin, shaking his head in disbelief. "I do get to be the only one there for her! Because you weren't there for us when we needed you."

This time it was Kevin shaking his head in disbelief, a wry smile on his face. "Oh my god, do you not hear yourself? We, we, we? You don't care about her, you just care about trying to avenge yourself for the past! You only want her to yourself because you know that your own actions pushed her away, so you are trying to blame yourself on me!"

Your head throbbed with pain as their argument escalated, each word feeling like a dagger in your already wounded heart.  The realization that this altercation was about more than just your well-being dawned upon you. They were fighting for a place in your life, a place you were struggling to define for yourself amidst the chaos of tonight.

"Blame your actions on me! Blame your short comings in your careers on me! Blame Y/N's shitty title reign on me! Blame everything on me, because that's what you always do!  Y/N can't see past your stupid sweet smile and fake friendship to realize that you're manipulating her emotions!" Kevin retorted, his voice rising in frustration.

"Enough!" Your voice shattered through the heated exchange, cutting their argument short. Breathing heavily, you felt the pain and exhaustion wash over you, but a surge of anger and hurt fueled your words. Both men turned to you, their angry expressions faltering at the angry expression on your bruised up face. 

"This is not about you two!" You shouted, your voice a mixture of frustration and agony. "This is about me! About what happened out there!"

You gestured vaguely toward the arena, a reminder of the brutal match you just endured. "This is not about which one of you gets to be by my side or who's the better friend. This is about how I'm feeling right now, which is like absolute shit! I just got my ass handed to me in the ring, and all I want is to be left alone!"

Your voice cracked with emotion as tears welled up in your eyes, a combination of physical pain and the emotional turmoil caused by the situation. You turned to Kevin, who was taking a step forward, his expression now more concerned than combative. 

"Kevin..." You struggled to maintain your composure, wiping away a stray tear. "You want me to stop blaming you? For everything? For all your mistakes? For my 'shitty title reign'?" Kevin winced as your words hit him hard. "Well, I'm sorry if I'm not in the mood to hear about how you're such a great friend and how you care about me after everything that's happened tonight."

Your voice cracked as you fought to keep your emotions in check. "But I'll stop blaming you forever. We are done. Forever. You want to feel no more guilt? You choked on your words, a mix of anguish and frustration bubbling up inside. "Here's your freedom from the burden of my friendship, Kevin. Congratulations."

"Y/N..."

"And you!" You turned to Sami, who had been until he just now piped up quietly standing by, his face twisted with concern and guilt. "Kevin is right. You seem to think you know what's best for me, but you don't! You both think you know what's best for me, but you don't!"

Your voice trembled with emotion as you struggled to articulate the storm of feelings raging within you. "I'm tired of this, Sami. I'm tired of feeling like I owe you everything because you've been there for me. I'm tired of you expecting me to be okay with everything when I'm not! I'm tired of being pushed and pulled in every direction, as if I'm some prize to be won!"

Sami's eyes widened in shock and hurt, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch your arm, but you flinched away from his touch.  The pain, both physical and emotional, was overwhelming, and you couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take their expectations anymore.

"So I'm done with this. I'm done with the both of you." Your voice shook  as tears streamed down your face, your body trembling from the sheer weight of the emotional turmoil. "I just want to be alone. Please, just leave me alone."

Without waiting for a response, you turned away from both of them and staggered down the hallway, pain pulsating through your body with every step. The sounds of their voices, their arguments, and the echoes of your own shattered feelings reverberated in your mind as you disappeared into the corridor, seeking solace in the solitude of your dressing room.

And now, there you sit, surrounded by the eerie silence of the empty dressing room. The chaos of emotions swirls within, echoing the bruises and wounds that adorn your body.

Eventually you showered and changed into a hoodie and shorts, but you sat right back in your seat, your mind a heavy fog you didn't know how to navigate.  Not some nice weak little bitch who peaked in NXT! Not some nice weak little bitch who peaked in NXT!

You're not sure how long you've been sitting there, lost in the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. A knock on the door interrupts your solitary moment. Assuming it was Sami or Kevin, you rolled your eyes before realizing you didn't want to see either of them again tonight, or ever.

"I said I want to be alone! So go away!" you call out, your voice strained from the emotional outburst.

"If you're assuming it's those parasites you call best friends, you are mistaken, miss." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the voice, and you stood up to see who it was.

The door creaked open slowly, and in stepped a figure you didn't expect to see- Paul Heyman.

"Paul? What are you doing here?" you asked, wiping away tears and trying to compose yourself in the presence of the unexpected visitor.

"I came to see you. May I have a moment of your time, please?" Paul's tone was calm and measured, and there was something in his demeanor that seemed earnest.

Despite your reluctance to engage with anyone at that moment, there was an air of sincerity in Paul's request that piqued your curiosity. You nodded silently, gesturing for him to proceed.

"I watched your match tonight," Paul began, his gaze steady as he spoke. "What happened out there was unfortunate, to say the least. But I must admit, I was impressed by your resilience, your determination to give it your all despite the circumstances."

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of where Paul was going with this. His presence felt unusual, especially considering the two of you never directly interacted much before. 

"I know we're not directly associated, you and I being on different levels and divisions of the playing field, but I couldn't help but notice something remarkable about your performance," Paul continued, his expression thoughtful. "Your tenacity, your ability to hold your ground, even when faced with adversity, it's something that caught my attention."

You remained silent, studying Paul's demeanor. His words were unexpected, and you couldn't quite grasp his intentions behind this unexpected visit.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping any boundaries, but I believe there's potential in you that hasn't been fully realized yet," Paul remarked, his gaze unwavering. "You have something special, something that transcends mere championship reigns or victories," Paul emphasized, his expression earnest. "You have the ability to connect with the audience on a deeper level, to evoke emotions, to tell a story. That's a rare gift, one that can't be overshadowed by a single match or a title loss."

You blinked in surprise, not expecting such words from Paul Heyman of all people. His assessment of your performance and his acknowledgement of your capabilities left you momentarily speechless. You'd never imagined receiving this level of acknowledgment from someone of his stature, especially not in the midst of your emotional turmoil.

"I... I don't know what to say," you stammered, your voice wavering slightly as you struggled to process Paul's unexpected praise.

"Take a moment, breathe," Paul offered, a reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I simply wanted to express my genuine admiration for what you showcased out there tonight. Despite the outcome, you displayed a raw emotion and resilience that's commendable. You have the fire, the determination, and a resilience that's quite admirable. But sometimes, in this business, one needs more than just talent and determination to succeed."

You frowned slightly, feeling a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "Excuse me, but what exactly are you trying to say, Paul?" you inquired, your voice tinged with a hint of caution.

Paul paused for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully.

"What I'm trying to convey is that sometimes, the most powerful narratives in this industry are born out of moments like this. Moments of struggle, of pain, of setbacks. Your journey resonates with the audience because it's real, it's relatable. You've faced challenges, setbacks, and yet you continue to fight, not just in the ring but against the odds stacked against you. And that's where true stories are born, in the depths of adversity."

You didn't know how to react to Paul's words. He was offering a perspective you hadn't considered amidst the chaos of emotions and conflicts you were dealing with, but why he was expressing this to you was still a mystery.

"I understand this might be a lot to take in, especially given the circumstances," Paul acknowledged, his tone empathetic. " But I believe that your journey doesn't end here, with this loss. It continues, it evolves, and it becomes something greater. It doesn't end with a loss, it starts with one."

You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to discern Paul's true intentions behind his unexpected pep talk. His words were both encouraging and cryptic, leaving you with a sense of curiosity and intrigued. 

"I appreciate your perspective, Paul," you said cautiously, your voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and skepticism. "But why are you telling me this?"

Paul smiled slightly, his eyes glinting with a sense of intrigue. "Because I want to help you start your journey." He pulled out something from his pocket and handed it to you - a business card with The Bloodline's contact information.

"I understand you are old friends with Roman Reigns," Paul explained. "The Head of the Table. He's been quite impressed with your work, always has been. But tonight he would like to offer you something more than just admiration. He wants to offer you an opportunity."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. The idea of being offered an opportunity by your old friend Roman tonight was unexpected, to say the least. You glanced down at the business card in your hand, then back up at Paul, waiting for further explanation.

"Roman sees potential in you, in what you bring to the table," Paul continued, his tone measured yet confident. "And he's not just saying it as a friend-he is saying it as the Head of the Table, as the leader of The Bloodline. And I understand that the two of you have history, a friendship that predates your WWE career. Upper management might not believe in you, but Roman does, trust me. And after tonight, he sees that they need to believe in you too."

Your mind raced with a flurry of emotions and thoughts. The unexpected turn of events, the offer from Roman, the belief that someone like Paul Heyman seemed to have in your potential - it was all overwhelming, especially in the midst of your emotional turmoil and the fallout with your friends.

"I am gonna be really honest and tell you that I am bruised, I am beaten and I don't have the mental capacity to absorb all of this right now." You admitted,  your voice trembling slightly with exhaustion. 

Paul chuckled, smiling wide at you. This was going well.

"I understand. I didn't expect you to have it all figured out in one moment," Paul reassured, his tone understanding. "Take your time. Rest, recover, and if you ever want to explore possibilities beyond what's currently being presented to you, if you want to tell a story that truly reflects your spirit and resilience, give me a call." 

You stared at the business card in your hand, surprised at the turn of events.  "Think about it," Paul said, noting your contemplative expression, before nodding at you and leaving the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sank back into the chair when you were once again enveloped by the silence of the empty dressing room. You didn't know what to think, what to do, how to act. All you knew was that you wanted to go to your hotel room and sleep this day off. You sat up, grabbing your phone and checking it.

outgoing text to Seth <;3: I need you tonight. come over to my room?

read.

You sighed, but your body was not surprised and too weak for you to be angry. You could deal with your brooding boyfriends self later. You didn't have the emotional capacity to baby him on why he should care about you right now.

You grabbed your stuff, heading out of the dressing room with a heavy heart and a weary body. Your uber ride was quick, and you finally arrived at your hotel room.

The exhaustion and emotional weight of the day settled in as you entered the room, the only solace being the relative quiet and isolation. You decided to take a quick shower, hoping that the warm water might provide a momentary escape from the chaos of the day. As the water cascaded down, you felt a bit of the tension ebbing away, though the emotional turmoil lingered.

After the shower, you slipped into comfortable pajamas, feeling the heaviness of the day sinking in. Your phone dinged with a text, and you picked it up, expecting it to be Seth or one of the girls asking if you were okay.

Instead, the message was from an unknown number, which struck you as odd. Curious, you opened it to read:

"Hey, it's Jey. Paul gave me your number. I know you was expecting Roman, but unfortunately, he's occupied right now. He wanted me to reach out to you instead. If you need anything or want to talk, I'm here. Take care."

You blinked in surprise at the unexpected message from Jey Uso. Why he might be reaching out on Roman's behalf was a bit puzzling. Why any of this was happening right now was puzzling. You didn't have the energy for this. So despite the curiosity gnawing at you, you didn't respond.

Turning your phone off, you snuggled into your bed, the warm covers offering you comfort from your pain. Your eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion taking over, and soon, you were lost in the realm of sleep with only one thought on your mind.

You were going to get your comeuppance, no matter what. 

liked by yaonlylivonce, sethrollins, beckylynch, uceyjucey and 500,000 others

Y/N: Vacation was just what I needed 🏖️

view all comments:

user: you deserved better!! ronda shouldn’t have taken ur title!!

user: so are u staying in the wwe or walking out?

user: wwe got u fucked up if they think we just gon' take that!!

livmorgan: mother!!!

sethrollins: my girl!

↳beckylynch: mhm.

↳user: huh?

↳user: nah becky rlly tweaking rn 😭

user: why didn't Seth go with you?

↳ user: and they don't even post each other like that no more 👀 but lemme not be messy 😭

"Why do we even need to think of adding a new person in the Bloodline? She ain't even talk to none of us anyways." Jey sighed as he shut off his phone from where he was checking your Instagram, in anger or disappointment he didn't know.

It had been almost 2 months since you were seen in the WWE, and you never responded to his text message. Or, according to rumors, to any of the higher ups either. Apparently you told them you'd come back when you were ready, and left it at that, leaving them just as much in the dark as the fans were.

Jey just assumed that you were feeling overwhelmed or needed some personal space to get better and that's why you ain't respond to him, but after the first week he concluded you were ignoring him deliberately.

"Roman, she ain't even trying to reach out or nothing," Jey continued, frustration evident in his voice. "Paul's been trying to push her into this whole thing, but she's just ghosted everyone. What's the point of bringing her into the mix if she don't even wanna be here?"

Roman glanced up from the papers on his desk, his expression unreadable. He had his suspicions about your absence, but he chose to keep them to himself.

"Give her time, Jey," he said calmly. "If she's not responding, it means she's not ready or willing to engage. We can't force her into something she's not comfortable with. Trust me, I know how she is. She's like you; she moves at her own pace and needs space, otherwise that fire she has will simmer down."

Jey let out a frustrated sigh, tossing his phone onto the table. He understood what Roman was saying, but for whatever reason it still frustrated him not to hear from you. He never even talked to you-you shared the same circle but never crossed paths-yet when he saw your Instagram pics he felt a connection that he couldn't explain.  

"I just feel like we're all sitting here waiting for something that might never happen," Jey muttered, looking up at Roman with a mix of concern and frustration.

Roman checked his watch and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head, his gaze fixed on Jey. "Trust me, we won't be waiting any longer." 

Jey raised an eyebrow, confusion written all over his face before a knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Roman gestured for Jey to open it.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing you , standing in the doorway. Your appearance was a stark contrast from the last time they saw you—determined, your gaze steady despite the tiredness in your eyes, your aura a mix of confidence and vulnerability. It was evident that the time away had changed you, but in ways they couldn't quite discern.

You glanced between Roman and Jey, a mixture of emotions playing across your face—resilience, uncertainty, and a hint of determination.

"Y/N?" Jey exclaimed in surprise, his eyes widening as he took in your presence. Roman remained composed, his gaze fixed on you as he gestured for you to come in.

You hesitated for a moment but Jey closing the door behind you prompted you to step forward into the room. You were wearing a low cut black tank top, your hair pulled back into a messy bun, and loose jeans, a far cry from the glitz and glam of your WWE persona. You hadn't expected to come back just yet, but something in you told you it was time, time to face what you had been avoiding.

"Sorry I'm late-" You tried to apologize but Roman interrupted, his voice calm and composed. "No need to apologize. You're right on time. Take a seat."

You pursed your lips, sitting down as indicated, feeling the weight of the atmosphere in the room. Roman's composed demeanor didn't fail to remind you of the authority he held, even in a casual setting like this.

"I know I've been MIA, and I haven't been responsive," you began, your voice tentative as you glanced between Roman and Jey. "There's no excuse for my absence or for not responding to your messages."

Jey opened his mouth to speak, but Roman held up a hand, indicating he should remain silent for now. "We understand," Roman said calmly, his gaze fixed on you. "We just wanted to ensure you were okay. We know you needed your time. Are you healing up okay?"

You nodded, the weight of their understanding and non-confrontational approach easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "Yeah, I'm getting better, but it's been a process." You admitted, lifting your shirt slightly to reveal a faint scar along your ribs that made both men wince. "As you can see."

"Damn, Ronda really fucked you up, huh?" At your glare, Jey winced and apologized, "I mean, sorry. Didn't mean to be rude. Just saying, it's good to see you back though. People here missed you."

Roman inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Indeed. Your absence has been felt, Y/N."

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you. Being back here, facing Roman, it was both daunting and strangely comforting. "I... I didn't plan on coming back just yet, but something made me reconsider."

Jey leaned forward, curiosity evident in his voice. "What made you change your mind?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much you wanted to disclose. You were close with Roman after all, not Jey. But something in his gaze told you that this conversation was one you could trust them with. Trust him with. 

"I needed time away, time to think, to heal. But something in me told me it was time to face things, to come back and finish the journey." 

Roman leaned back into his chair, his gaze still focused on you. "I'm glad that you're back, and I apologize that we haven't been in contact like we used to. Being the head of the ribal Chief comes with its own responsibilities, and sometimes that means we overlook things. But I assure you, you're still family to me. Which is why I sent Paul after you to make sure you were alright."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at Roman's words, the mention of Paul's involvement still puzzling you. "Yeah, about Paul?" you questioned, confusion evident in your voice. "He reached out to me a while back, but I didn't quite understand what he wanted. Something about an opportunity."

Roman nodded, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes. I told him to check up on you, see how you were doing. But most importantly, to ask you about an opprounity." He paused, leaning forward, his demeanor shifting to a more business-like tone. "And that is to be my right hand woman." 

Your breath caught in your throat at Roman's statement, and you were sure that if you were drinking water that would have been the moment you'd have spat it out in surprise. "I-I'm sorry?"

Roman, to his credit, maintained his composed demeanor, his gaze steady yet filled with a hint of amusement at your reaction as he repeated himself. “I want you by my side, as a part of the Bloodline. To be the right hand woman I need. You've got the fire and resilience that I've been looking for. You might have been gone for a bit, but it doesn't change what you bring to the table. And I want to make you start your journey and realize you bring the whole damn universe to the table."

You were speechless, your mind reeling from this entire converstation.  Being invited to be a part of the Bloodline, to serve as Roman's right hand, it was beyond anything you had imagined or anticipated. 

"I... I don't know what to say," you stammered, your mind racing with a flurry of emotions. "But.. I'm not blood like the rest of you. I'm not a part of your family, Roman. I don't know if I fit in with the Bloodline."

Roman leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he observed your reaction. "That's why I said my right hand woman, not my right hand blood. Like with  Paul, he's my wiseman and not my blood. You can be that, and so much more." Roman's words were deliberate, his tone holding a weight of certainty. 

Roman's words were deliberate, his tone holding a weight of certainty. "You can be the greatest woman's champion the WWE has ever seen. You can be the greatest asset to the Bloodline, regardless of blood relations. You can be the greatest woman to hold this position, all the power, and you don't need to be blood to achieve that." He leaned closer to you, his eyes fixated on yours, his words laden with conviction. "All you have to do is acknowledge me."

You breathed heavily,  were taken aback by Roman's sincerity and the offer itself. It was something you hadn't anticipated, especially after your absence and the confusion that surrounded your return. "But why do you want me?" You asked,  your voice a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. "I mean, I've been gone for so long. There are others who could be much better at this role, much more qualified than I am."

Roman leaned back in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips as he regarded you. "Even after all these years you are still as modest as ever," he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

"I want you because you bring something to the table that others might not possess. I realized that in this group of men that I lead, I need a woman that can calm our fires and amplify our strengths, yet ignite those same fires when necessary. I need a woman that can command respect without uttering a word, someone who carries their own weight, and someone who's unafraid to respectfully challenge me when needed because I trust your judgement after years of friendship. You possess a fire that's essential for what I envision. You might not see it, but I do."

You were stunned by Roman's words. His perception of you and the role he believed you could play within the Bloodline were far beyond what you had imagined. The weight of his trust and the responsibility he was offering left you feeling both honored and overwhelmed.

"I... I need some time to think about this," you finally replied, still processing the enormity of Roman's proposition. "It's a lot to take in, Roman. I appreciate the offer, but you must understand that I need a minute to-"

"I understand," Roman interrupted, his voice gentle yet firm. "Take all the time you need. I don't expect an answer right away. Just know that the offer stands, and whenever you're ready to give me your response, I'll be here." He leaned back, giving you a reassuring nod that you delivered back. "Jey, walk her out."

Jey, who had been observing the exchange in silence, leaned forward and stood up, nodding at Roman. "Sure thing, Uce." He turned to you, offering you a small smile as he was a gentlemen, but his expression was guarded. "C'mon, I'll walk you out."

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you. Standing up from your seat, you cast one last glance at Roman, who nodded in acknowledgment before you followed Jey out of the room.

As you walked alongside Jey, silence enveloped both of you. It was a strange feeling—being back here, facing the unexpected turn of events, facing your own emotions, and considering the proposition Roman had offered. Jey seemed contemplative, as if he had questions but chose not to voice them until you were almost at the exit.

"Why?'

You blinked at Jey's question, taking a moment to process his words. "Why what?" you asked, slightly puzzled by his sudden inquiry.

"Why you?" Jey clarified, glancing at you with a mix of curiosity and scrutiny. "I mean, I know ya'll are friends, but you've been gone for a while. You've been quiet, and suddenly, the Tribal Chief wants you back as his right hand. What's so special about you?"

You paused, considering your response. Jey had a point. Your sudden reappearance and Roman's offer might seem surprising to someone observing from the outside. Taking a breath, you decided to offer a glimpse of your perspective.

"I wish I could give you an answer, Jey." You replied, your voice measured as you walked alongside him. "But I honestly don't know. This all happened so fast. One minute I'm trying to cope with my loss, and the next, Roman's offering me a position within the Bloodline." You looked at him quizzically before continuing. "Why do you think Roman offered this to me?"

Jey furrowed his brows, contemplating your question. He wasn't expecting you to seek his input on the matter. Nobody really asked him for his opinion within the family, but there was something in your gaze that prompted him to consider your query seriously. Maybe it was because you actually desired his opinion in a time where no one else did that slightly warmed his heart, but he’d never admit it.

"I don't know," Jey replied honestly, shaking his head slightly. "But Roman sees something in you. Something that he thinks can be an asset to us. You might not see it, but he does."

He paused, glancing at you briefly before averting his gaze. "Maybe it's 'cause he trusts you. Or maybe there's something you bring that nobody else does. I ain't sure, but I know when Roman makes a move like this, he's got his reasons. He don't just do things without a reason."

You nodded thoughtfully, giving Jey a smile as you processed his words. "Well, whatever the reason, I hope it leads to me seeing you around more often,” you added with a light chuckle, trying to ease the tension slightly.

Jey offered a small smile in return, though his expression remained somewhat guarded even though he wanted to be friendly. A nice pretty girl wanted to be his friend and all he was doing was analyzing her for answers on Roman. “Yeah, we'll see about that," he replied cryptically before opening the door for you. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

You gave Jey a nod of acknowledgment, appreciating his gesture. "You too, Jey. Thanks for walking me out." With a last smile, Jey watched as you left the arena, your beautiful presence disappearing as you stepped out.

‘Damn,’ Jey thought to himself, there's something more to her than meets the eye.’ Maybe he had underestimated you. Maybe it's worth paying attention to.

And maybe he wouldn’t hate getting to know you more.

You winced slightly as you changed into your gym clothes in the locker room. It had been a few months now since you got hurt, and you were now cleared, but your body still hurt like a bitch.

It had also been a few months since Roman asked you to join the Bloodline, and you gave him your answer a few weeks later: A resounding yes.

You tried to acknowledge him in the confines of his office with the Jimmy, Jey and Paul with you, but Roman told you that he'd make you acknowledge when you passed his test and he would know for sure you were loyal to the Bloodline. Roman told you in the meantime thought to get acquainted with the rest of the members, and to start training with them until you were ready to be on TV again. Which led to you going to the Bloodline's own personal gym located in the arena and training and hanging out with the twins.

Jimmy was funny, cool, and always hyped up, and quickly took a liking to you because of your shared humor and your kind spirit; the two of you were always goofing around and letting loose. But Jey was- as you found out- a tough nut to crack.

It wasn't like he was rude- he never yelled at you or treated you poorly. In fact, he was quite respectful, but  but he had a guarded demeanor around you. He was more reserved, observant, and often seemed lost in his thoughts. You found it a bit challenging to get him to open up or engage in conversations beyond the necessary exchanges during training sessions.

It was like there was an invisible barrier that kept you both at a distance. You couldn't quite pinpoint why, but there was an underlying tension whenever you were around him. You tried to engage in conversation, crack jokes, or even just ask about his day, but his responses were always short and guarded.

It was like he had his guard up around you all the time, but it didn't make things awkward or uncomfortable; rather, it made you more determined to break through that barrier.

But it wasn't your own doing that almost broke through that barrier though. It was Kevin. One day, after a particularly tough training session, you were sitting on the bench catching your breath while Jey was nearby, lost in his thoughts as usual. You glared when you saw Kevin coming over to you.

"This is a private gym, Kevin. I knew you were stupid, but I didnt think you were illiterate." You spat at him. Kevin wasn't fazed by your reaction, instead coming closer to you. 

"You're right. This is a private gym for the Bloodline. So what are you doing here?" Kevin huffed at you. This had to be a mistake, there's no way you would join the faction that tried to take him out.

"I am here as part of the Bloodline. So you need to leave." You stood up, facing Kevin with determination in your eyes. The tension in the air was palpable, and it seemed like a confrontation was inevitable.

Jey, who had been nearby, observing the interaction, raised a cautious eyebrow at Kevin's approach and your response. He had seen you and Kevin exchange words before, and it was clear there was some animosity between you two. He and everyone knew you guys were ex-best friends, and Jey wasn't one to meddle in others' business, especially when it came to personal disputes, but something about this situation made him uneasy.

Kevin glanced between you and Jey, his expression morphing into one of disbelief. "You?" He scoffed, his tone laced with incredulity. "Part of the Bloodline? That's a joke, right?"

 When you didn't respond, he chuckled sarcasatically, like he couldn't believe it. "Are you kidding me? Are you stupid? Damn, I was right when I said that Ronda knocked some marbles outta your head. You really think that joining them is a good idea? They are nothing but manipulative shitheads."

You rolled your eyes, unamused by Kevin's insults. Typical Kevin, never congratulating you on anything good you do or are a part of. "You don't know anything about what's going on, Kevin. So just leave."

But Kevin seemed undeterred, his voice rising slightly. "They're using you, Y/N. Can't you see that? You're better than this. Don't let them drag you down into their mess. They'll chew you up and spit you out like they do with everyone else."

You tried to ignore him and go back to lifting your weights, but Kevin snatched the dumbbell from your hand, causing you to stand up abruptly, a mix of frustration and anger evident on your face. "Give it back, Kevin," you demanded firmly, your tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"Not until you tell me what the hell is going on with you! Are you this demented that you can't see when you're being played?"

"Seems like the only demented person here is you!" You tried to grab he dumbbell back, but Kevin held onto it firmly, a stubborn look on his face. The tension in the gym escalated as your argument continued, both of you getting more heated with your words.

"They are just using you!"

"Of course you would know about using people, that's all you ever do!"

"God, you are so much like Sami! So fucking naive and stubborn!"

The mention of Sami seemed to strike a nerve with you. You clenched your jaw, your expression turning stony as you took a step closer to Kevin.

"I told you that I'm done with you and Sami," you seethed, your voice low and filled with a dangerous edge. "So give me back the dumbbell and get the fuck out of here, and the fuck out of my life."

"Im just trying to protect you, damn it!" 

"She don't need your protecting no more, she got the Bloodline." The both of you turned at the sudden interruption, and you looked up at Jey who moved in front of you and was glaring at Kevin with an intense gaze, his tone firm and commanding.

"Excuse me? This doesn't concern you, so just leave us alone." Kevin glared at Jey, not appreciating his interference. To him, Jey was just another member of the faction that he despised and that was using you. 

Jey narrowed his eyes slightly, his stance unwavering and  his voice steady as he spoke. "She's a part of the Bloodline now, Kevin. It does concern me. Give her the dumbbell, and leave us alone."

Kevin stared back at Jey for a moment, his eyes flickering between Jey's imposing stance and your determined one, and you thought that a fight would break out between them, but eventually, he dropped the dumbbell with a scoff. "

Fine. But don't think that I'm letting them take you from me." With that threat, Kevin shot one last glare at both of you before storming out of the gym.

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of the confrontation easing off your shoulders. Turning to Jey, who was still standing in front of you, you were taken aback by the protective stance he had taken during the argument.

"Thank you, Jey," you said softly, grateful for his intervention. "I appreciate you stepping in."

Jey shrugged slightly, his guard still up but a hint of something softer in his expression. "Didn't seem right to let him get in your face like that," he muttered, his voice gruff but underlying concern evident in his tone.

You nodded in understanding, feeling a sense of camaraderie in the way Jey had backed you up. "Yeah, he's always been like that." You chuckled slightly, trying to lighten the mood. "Always thinks he knows what's best for me."

Jey's lips twitched into a small smile, a glimmer of warmth breaking through his guarded demeanor.  "Sounds familiar,"he replied cryptically, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing around the gym before his gaze settled back on you. "You good?"

You nodded, offering Jey a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks again." There was a brief moment of silence between the two of you, before Jey cleared his throat, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as he spoke up. "Listen, I know I ain't been the most welcoming or talkative. Just... didn't feel like my place to get involved with your business. But.. I gotta ask you something."

You paused, curious about what Jey wanted to ask you. "Sure, what's up?" you replied, your tone inviting despite the underlying tension from the earlier confrontation with Kevin.

Jey hesitated for a moment, his guarded expression faltering slightly as he glanced away before meeting your gaze again. "Why you ain't text me back?"

You blinked, taken aback by the unexpected question. "Why didn't I text you back?" You echoed, surprised by the sudden inquiry. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, unsure of how to respond to Jey's question. After a beat, you offered an honest answer, wanting to address his concern no matter how embarrassing it would be.

"It wasn't intentional, Jey," you began, your voice gentle as you met his gaze. "Everything happened so suddenly, and I needed time to myself. I didn't mean to ignore you or anyone else. And Seth... you know my boyfriend, right?" Jey nodded, and you continued, "He saw it and kind of got...don't laugh... jealous about you reaching out, so he asked me not to reply to anyone outside my close circle."

You chuckled nervously, feeling a bit embarrassed admitting it. A boyfriend shouldn't have an issue with you talking to whoever you wanted, but Seth wasn't a good boyfriend, as much as you didn't want to admit it.  "I didn't want to make things worse by explaining, so I just... didn't respond to anyone. I'm sorry if I offended you."

Jey raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of understanding mixed with a hint of surprise. "Oh." Jey nodded slowly, processing your explanation, a small smile threatening to break out on his face. He aint even do anything yet your man was getting all jealous. 

You spotted the smile and groaned, holding your hand in your face in embarrassment. "You said you wouldn't laugh!" you protested, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Jey chuckled lightly, the smile finally breaking through as he shook his head at the sight of you being bashful. " "I ain't laughin', I'm just... surprised. Seth really got jealous over that?" He shook his head in disbelief before looking back at you with a more serious expression.

You let go of your face and looked up at him, shrugging and Jey felt his heart hurt slightly when your smile was replaced with a frown at the memory of your relationship. 

"It's okay, Y/N. You ain't gotta apologize. Don't worry about it. It's in the past." Jey reassured you, his tone gentle as he placed a hand on your shoulder briefly, a gesture of comfort. "I get it, you needed your space. I just wanted to know you were okay." Seth clearly wasn't a good guy if he was getting you all worked up like this, clearly not appreciating the literal goddess in his life that was you. Roman was right, Seth really was an idiot. 

You offered Jey a grateful smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his understanding. "Thanks, Jey. I appreciate that." Despite the earlier tension, you felt a certain warmth in this moment of connection with him.

Jey nodded, a small smile still playing on his lips before that guarded expression returned. "Anytime. Just... next time, let me know you're taking a break, yeah?" he said, a hint of playful teasing in his voice before his expression turned serious again. "I'll see you around."

 With that, Jey nodded at you before walking away, leaving you to contemplate the unexpected exchange.

And now, you were getting ready to have another training session with him and hopefully break through his tough demeanor. As you were lacing up your sneakers, the door opened, and in popped  in Becky Lynch. You smiled at the sight of one of your closest friends, who was also now the Raw Women's Champion- you couldn't be more proud of her.

But that smile dropped into a frown at the sight of her in near tears, and when her eyes locked onto yours, they seemed to fill with more emotion.

"Hey, what's wrong?" you asked, concerned as you stood up and walked over to her, opening up your arms to her for a hug.

Becky rushed into your arms, her body shaking slightly as she held onto you tightly, her voice muffled against your shoulder. "I-I can't tell you."

You furrowed your brow, concern deepening as you gently rubbed her back. "You can tell me anything, you know that." You brought the both of you to the couch and sat down, waiting for Becky to calm down enough to speak. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and looked at you with teary eyes.

"You're gonna hate me. God, you're so nice and understanding, and I'm about to ruin it." Becky wiped her tears, trying to steady her voice as she spoke. 

"No, you're not." You tried to hug her again, offering reassurance. "Whatever it is, Becky, I won't hate you. Just tell me what's going on."

Becky pulled back slightly, her eyes locking onto yours, a mix of guilt and pain in her gaze. "Seth and I have been sneaking behind your back."

Your heart stopped and your mind went blank. You had a million thoughts rushing through your head, but you couldn't seem to process any of them. The silence lingered between you and Becky as the weight of her confession sank in.

"What?" Your voice turned cold but was barely above a whisper as you processed the words Becky had just confessed. It felt like the ground beneath you had crumbled, leaving you suspended in a state of disbelief.

Becky winced, her gaze filled with remorse and regret. "Yes, we've been seeing each other," Becky admitted, her voice wavering with guilt. "It started a while back. We didn't mean for it to happen, it just... did."

Your throat tightened, and you felt a surge of anger and hurt swirling within you. You had always supported Becky through anything and everything. When she needed someone, you were there for her, yet she betrayed your trust in the worst way possible. And she came in here and hugged you and tried to get your comfort when she was the one who caused you such pain.

It felt like a punch to the gut. You were used. You always gave too much and received betrayal in return. You pulled away from Becky, your expression a mix of shock, hurt, and anger. 

"How long?" The question escaped your lips before you could stop it, your voice barely audible as you fought to maintain composure.

Becky  sighed, her expression pained. "Please, don't make me hurt you even mo-"

"How. Long." Any traces of the kind, caring tone had vanished from your voice, replaced by an icy coldness that mirrored the betrayal and hurt you felt. Your eyes bore into Becky's, demanding an answer despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within you.

Becky sighed heavily, looking down as if unable to meet your gaze. "A few months. I'm so sorry, Y/N. We never meant to hurt you. It just... happened."

"You never meant to hurt me." you repeated, feeling a surge of disbelief and anger rising within you. "While I was dealing with everything, you and Seth... behind my back, and you never meant to hurt me!?" You shouted , your voice cracking with the weight of betrayal and hurt. The pain cut deep, and the sense of betrayal overwhelmed you.

Becky's eyes filled with more tears, her voice shaky as she tried to explain. "It was a mistake, Y/N. Please, I never wanted this to happen. I was just confused, and I know that's not an excuse, but I never wanted to hurt you."

You shook your head in disbelief, feeling anger and heartbreak intertwine within you. "You knew what I was going through. You knew how much I was struggling, and yet, you did this." Your voice wavered as you struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the betrayal. "You came to me for comfort, you acted like nothing was wrong, and all the while... this was happening."

Becky reached out to you, her expression desperate and remorseful. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. Please, I never wanted to hurt you. You are so sweet and kind, I didn't want to tell you because I knew how much this would hurt you, so I thought keeping it to myself would solve that, but I couldn't live with the guilt." She waited for your answer, but when you didn't respond, Becky paused, her eyes pleading for forgiveness. "Please..."

You looked up at Becky, your vision clouded by a mixture of pain, anger, and betrayal. Her desperate plea for forgiveness echoed in your ears and fueled your anger. It was rare that you would get angry, because you couldn't control yourself when it happened, but this was an exception.

 How dare she act sad when she 's the one who caused this pain? How could she deceive you like this? 

You stood up from the couch, distancing yourself from Becky, your eyes red with anger. "You're right, I am sweet and kind." You got up and closed the door, making Becky's eyebrows furrow in concern.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

You ignored her and slowly made your way to her, and Becky could clearly see the anger in your usually sweet eyes. It was terrifying. She realized too late what you were about to do. "Maybe that should change. Right. Now."

Jey sucked his teeth in concern as he made his way down the hallway, checking his phone to see if you messaged him back. You were 20 minutes late, so naturally he got concerned and annoyed at the fact that you were late. Maybe you and Kevin got into another fight? The thought made him walk faster to your locker room.

As he approached the hallway it was in, he heard banging and raised voices and saw  a crowd that was surrounding something. Immediately Jey realized it was your locker room and a knot formed in his stomach.

He quickly pushed through the crowd and saw you holding Becky by the hair and slamming her against the wall, anger etched deeply into your expression, and Seth trying and failing to separate the two of you. 

"You're sorry, Becky!?" You screamed into her face, slamming her into the wall again, punching her over and over again, the anger clouding your judgement. Your nails digged into her skin, and tears streamed down Becky's face as she tried to shield herself from the blows.

Seth tried to intervene, but you grabbed him and slammed him onto the floor, hitting him low before going back to Becky. "The both of you mean nothing to me! Nothing!"

Jey's heart sank at the sight before him. He immediately rushed forward, trying to pry you away from Becky. The look on your face scared him. It was a side of you he had never seen before. "Y/N, stop! Stop it!"

You were consumed by rage, blinded by the betrayal and hurt that coursed through you. It took all of Jey's strength to pull you away from Becky, holding you back as you continued to struggle against his grip, your fists clenched, yearning to lash out again.

You tried to claw at Becky, grabbing her hair but Jey quickly grabbed your hands and restrained you, trying his best to calm you down and keep you from causing more harm. "Y/N, calm down! Please, calm down!"

Becky was visibly shaken, tears streaming down her face as she held her head, the impact against the wall still ringing in her ears. "I'm sorry, Y/N. Please, I never meant to hurt you."

Your adrenaline-fueled rage had consumed you, and you tried to fight off Jey, but he dragged the both of you away from the chaotic scene. He had to use all his strength to hold you back, your struggle showing no sign of ceasing. "Y/N, stop, it's enough! It's over!"

The commotion had attracted the attention of security, who swiftly arrived to help Jey calm the situation. They assisted in separating you from Becky and Seth, guiding each of you to different areas to diffuse the tension.

You were seething with anger and pain, your emotions swirling into a maelstrom that clouded your thoughts. Jey kept a firm grip on you, trying to talk you down. "Y/N, look at me. You need to breathe. You're not thinking straight."

You were too far gone to be responsive to Jey's words. All you could think of was Becky and Seth kissing each other, betraying your trust, and the way they had deceived you. The hurt was overwhelming, clouding any rational thought.

Jey continued to hold onto you, trying his best to calm your raging emotions. "Look at me."

You were shaking with anger and pain, your eyes blazing with an intensity that Jey had never seen before. He knew that trying to reason with you in this state would be futile, but he had to do something to snap you out of this anger-fueled haze.

He grabbed you and hauled you both into the nearest locker room and sat you down on the couch. You were shaking and tried to stand up to make a break for it, but Jey blocked the door, firmly keeping you inside. "Y/N, listen to me. You're not thinking clearly. You need to breathe and calm down."

You glared at Jey, your chest heaving with anger and hurt. "Let me go, Jey. I need to... I need to..."

"You need to calm down first," Jey interrupted, his voice firm but filled with concern. You tried to push past him, but he wouldn't budge. 

Your hands trembled with rage, and you felt an overwhelming urge to lash out again, to confront Becky and Seth, to make them understand the pain they'd caused. But Jey's presence and his calming tone managed to break through the fog of your emotions, albeit slightly.

"You ain't going nowhere, Y/N. What you gon' do is sit ya pretty ass down and some deep breaths for me, drink some water, and try to calm yourself."  Jey instructed, his voice commanding yet filled with genuine care. 

"I can't calm down!" You shouted, the pain evident in your eyes as you tried to push him one last time, until he managed to gently restrain you, forcing you to sit back down on the couch.

Jey sat beside you, maintaining a firm yet comforting grip on your shoulders. "Yes, you can. Take deep breaths with me, okay? In... and out." He demonstrated the rhythm, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, encouraging you to follow suit.

"B-but they-"

Jey gently interrupted you with a reassuring tone. "They ain't worth your peace, Y/N. Right now, you need to focus on you. I know it hurts, but you can't let them see you break. They ain't worth it. You are worth more than that."

You took in a shaky breath, trying to emulate Jey's breathing pattern. Inhaling deeply, you closed your eyes and attempted to regain control over your emotions. Gradually, your breathing began to steady, the adrenaline slowly subsiding.

"That's it." Jey encouraged softly, noticing your attempts to calm down. "Keep breathing. You're doing great." Whenever the anger seemed to rise again, Jey would gently remind you to focus on your breath, guiding you through the calming exercise until your breathing regulated, and the storm of emotions began to ebb away, leaving behind a heavy, lingering ache.

As the initial shock and fury lessened, tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Jey sensed the shift in your emotions and pulled you into a comforting hug. "It's okay, Y/N. Let it out. You've been through a lot."

You clung to Jey, the dam finally breaking as you sobbed, the weight of betrayal and hurt cascading out of you. Jey held you close, providing a steady presence and a comforting embrace as you allowed the flood of emotions to pour out.

"T-They fucking went behind my back," you choked out between sobs, your voice raw with pain and betrayal. "I trusted them, Jey. I trusted them with everything."

Jey rubbed your back soothingly, offering silent support as you let out the pent-up emotions as he tried to not get angry himself. He would defiantly be beating Seth's ass after this. "I know, Y/N. I know," he murmured gently, his voice filled with empathy.

After what felt like an eternity, your tears eventually subsided into soft sniffles. Jey released you from the hug but kept a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You did good, calming down like that," he commended softly.

You nodded, feeling emotionally drained but slightly more composed. "Thank you, Jey," you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

 "I'm sorry you had to see me like that." You had an embarrassed expression, feeling a mix of shame and gratitude for Jey's support. "Now you know why I usually try to not get angry, cause I'm scared of what it can make me do."

Jey gently shook his head, offering a comforting smile. "Nah, don't apologize. I get it. You honestly reacted better than I would have."

At your hearty chuckle, Jey smiled warmly. "Hey, I'm being serious. If that were me, I'd probably have caused more damage." He chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension. "But seriously, you did good by calming down. Shows strength."

"Yeah right," You retorted, grabbing the drink from Jey's hand and taking a long sip, grateful for the hydration after the emotional turmoil. "I felt like I was losing it back there."

"That's not a bad thing, y'know?" At your quizzical gaze, Jey continued. "Feeling your emotions, letting 'em out, that's normal. And I know you usually like to be the sweetest person in the room, but that's also letting people walk all over you."

Jey paused, choosing his words carefully. "Jimmy is the same way, y'know? He is the kindest soul, but sometimes folks take advantage of that. You gotta find the balance, Y/N. If you wanna be in the Bloodline, you can't let nobody mess with you. You gotta let your inner rage out, otherwise ain't nobody gonna respect you or see you as an equal."

You sighed, capping the water bottle and nodding slowly at Jey's words. "Yeah, I know. It's just... it's hard to find that balance sometimes. I don't want to hurt people, you know? I try to be understanding and kind, but then things like this happen." You glanced away, still processing the whirlwind of emotions.

"I know you don't," Jey reassured, patting your shoulder gently. "But sometimes, folks need to see that you ain't to be messed with. It's about respect, and right now, you need to focus on you."

You nodded, knowing he was right. You always tried to be the peacekeeper, but it was more of a weakness than a strength. "You're right, but when I get mad I tend to lose control. That's why I try to not get angry. I don't want to hurt anyone."

Jey gave you a sympathetic and understanding look. "I get it. But you gotta stop being this goody two-shoes all the time. It's eating you up inside. You gotta learn to stand up for yourself and let people know when they cross the line. That anger? You gotta embrace it cause it's a part of you.

You sighed, feeling torn between your innate nature and the advice Jey was offering. "I'll try, Jey. But it's hard. I don't want to become someone I'm not."

"You won't. I won't let you." You blinked at the kindness and conviction in Jey's tone. "I know I haven't been the most welcoming person, but that's cause I have trouble opening up to people. But I see you, Y/N. I see how much you care, how much you try. How you are loyal to the core." Jey paused, his expression softening. "And I know you'll be loyal to the Bloodline, right?" 

You didn't hesitate to nod in response. "Of course, Jey. Always." Despite the whirlwind of emotions, your loyalty was unwavering. "I appreciate you opening up to me, and I can promise you that I won't betray that trust."

Jey smiled, satisfied with your response. "Good. I need you to be loyal, because... I really like having you around. But I can't have you 'round if you ain't loyal to the family. And I know you and K.O got some history..."

"That's in the past." You interjected, trying to dismiss any concerns Jey might have. "Kevin and I have our differences, but I am done with him and anyone else that is a problem for us. I promise you." You gently laid a hand on Jey's arm, reassuring him of your commitment.

Jey stayed silent for a moment, staring at you as if he could see inside your soul, seeing if your words held true. After a moment, he nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Okay. But it ain't up to me if that's true, it's up to the chief." You gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before his phone dinged and he glanced at the notification.

"It's the Chief, he wants to see you." Jey pocketed his phone before holding out his hand to you, helping you stand up from the couch.

You nodded, accepting Jey's assistance as you stood up, feeling a little more composed than earlier.

"Thanks, Jey. Walk me to him?" You asked, feeling a bit more confident asking considering he told you he likes you now. Jey gave you an affirming nod. "Sure thing. Let's go."

As the two of you walked through the corridors, Jey kept a close eye on you, making sure you were holding up okay after the intense emotional outburst.

When you reached Roman's office, before you grabbed the door handle, Jey grabbed your hand and spoke in a hushed tone, his voice serious yet supportive. His hand felt soft and comforting as he gripped yours gently. "Y/N, I got your back. Just be honest with the Chief, alright? He can see through lies. Just tell him what happened."

You met Jey's gaze, appreciating the sincerity in his eyes. "I will, Jey. Thank you, really." With a deep breath, you nodded to signal that you were ready to face Roman. Jey gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it, standing back as you opened the door and entered Roman's office.

Roman glanced up from his desk, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern as he noticed your state. "Y/N, come in." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Care to tell me what happened?"

You internally winced at Roman's tone. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts before speaking. "It's Becky and Seth, Chief." Your voice wavered slightly as the flood of emotions threatened to resurface. "They've been... they've been sneaking around, behind my back. And I just exploded."

Roman's brow furrowed as he observed your demeanor, his expression turning serious. "Explain."

You recounted the events that had unfolded, detailing Becky's confession and the subsequent emotional turmoil you'd experienced. Roman listened attentively, his expression unreadable as he took in every word you spoke.

"And you lost control," Roman summarized, his tone stern yet controlled.

You nodded, feeling a sense of guilt for having lost your composure. "Yes, Chief. I'm sorry, I just... I couldn't handle it."

"No, you handled it perfectly." You furrowed your brow in confusion at Roman's unexpected response.

"Look, I am sorry for the emotional turmoil you are experiencing right now, make no mistake about it." Roman clarified, his tone softer now. "But this angry, out of control, fiery and real version of you is what I wanted out of you. What I am working to get out of you. Not the meek and docile version. That version isn't strong, it's weak. I want you to be strong. I need you to be strong."

Roman leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful.  "I told you that I wanted you to join the Bloodline because I needed someone to be loyal, strong, and willing to stand their ground. You proved that today. I didn't ask you to join for a moment. I didn't ask you to join because I thought you were just going to be another face in the group. I asked you to join because I saw something in you. And what I saw today? That's what I've been waiting for."

You were taken aback by Roman's words, his perspective catching you off guard. You expected reprimand, not validation for your display of raw emotion. "Though attacking without running it by me is not the usual protocol, I appreciate the fire in you, Y/N. Loyalty and strength are the cornerstones of the Bloodline. Today is an exception."

Roman leaned forward, his gaze intense as he met your eyes. "But you won't do that again without my permission, you understand me?"

You nodded quickly, Roman's tone making the gravity of the situation clear. Yes, Chief. I won't let it happen again without your say-so."

Roman leaned back, his expression shifting to a more contemplative one. "Now, as for Becky and Seth..." He paused, his gaze piercing through you. "They've made their bed. But that doesn't mean we let this slide."

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of trepidation and curiosity about what Roman might do next. "What do you want me to do?"

Roman leaned forward again, his tone low but firm. "Remember the test of loyalty, Y/N?" Roman's voice was a low rumble, filled with authority. "This is yours. I want you to observe them. Gain their trust. Make them believe everything is fine, that you've forgiven them."

Your eyes widened slightly at the magnitude of the task. It was a test of your loyalty and acting skills. "But Chief, I'm not sure I can do that. After what they did..."

Roman's gaze hardened, his voice brooking no argument. "This is a test, Y/N. You wanted to be part of the Bloodline, and this is what it entails. I need to know you're capable of playing the game when needed. You don't have to forgive them. You don't even have to mean a word of what you say to them. But you'll do it for the family. Understood?"

You nodded, albeit reluctantly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Yes, Chief. I'll do it."

Roman leaned forward again, his tone low but firm. "I want you to show them where their place is in the hierarchy of the Bloodline. They've disrespected you and the family. At Elimination Chamber, I need you to take that title from Becky. Make her think it's a non-personal rivalry, make her believe she's going up against just another challenger. But I want you to make it personal. Show her the consequence of betrayal. Show her what happens when you mess with us. Mess with you, my right hand woman."

You wanted to argue with him, but the taste of revenge was bittersweet on your tongue. However, you couldn't deny the commanding presence of Roman's orders. "I understand, Chief. I'll make sure to handle it."

"Good." Roman's tone softened slightly.  "I want that title, Y/N. That title belongs with us, with the Bloodline. Show Becky why betraying the family has consequences. Make her feel it. And remember, this is only the beginning of your test."

You shot Roman a confused look. "What do you mean, Chief?"

Roman leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady as he regarded you. "Becky and Seth crossed a line, and their actions won't go unpunished. Jey will handle Seth at Elimination Chamber as well as the other competitors- Kevin, Sami, Daniel Bryan and Cesaro."

Roman gave you a knowing look when he mentioned your two former best friends. It seemed Roman had devised a plan, a grander scheme beyond just your personal feud. "But at the end of Elimination Chamber, you will understand what I mean. You will begin to see the bigger picture. This is your initiation into the family, and it starts with showing your loyalty and strength. Do you understand?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of Roman's words and the task he had assigned you. "Yes, Chief. I'll do what needs to be done."

Roman seemed satisfied with your response. "Good. I trust you'll handle this accordingly." He leaned back in his chair, signaling the end of your conversation. "I know you have a big heart. But trust me, this isn't about revenge. This is about power and control. This is about securing our dominance in this business. There are no good guys or bad guys, there are just humans who have been betrayed and those who betrayed. And sometimes you have to hurt before you get justice."

Roman's words echoed in your mind, leaving a sense of determination mingled with the weight of the task ahead. He was right. You need to be focused on what's best for you instead of what you think is right. Morals had no high ground here, only the will to survive and dominate. And you wanted to dominate.

"Thank you, Chief. I won't let you down," you replied, steeling yourself for the challenges that lay ahead.

Roman nodded in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable yet reassuring. "You're dismissed, Y/N. Focus on what you need to do. The family comes first."

With a nod, you rose from the chair, feeling a mix of determination and apprehension about the tasks ahead. You left Roman's office, the weight of his instructions heavy on your shoulders.

As you exited Roman's office, Jey caught your eye, and you shared a brief glance. He approached you, a serious yet supportive look in his eyes. "You good?"

You nodded, albeit with a hint of uncertainty. "Yeah, I'll manage."

Jey placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, offering you a reassuring smile. "You got this, Y/N. Just remember, do what you gotta do. Roman's got a plan. He's doing this for the family. The Bloodline. For you. You have to do whatever he asked of you. You have to obey, or you'll get hurt. I can't let you get hurt." It seemed like Jey didn't plan on saying the last sentence out, but he didn't waver. Instead he paused, gauging your reaction.

You nodded, acknowledging Jey's advice, and reciprocated with a grateful expression. "Thanks, Jey. I appreciate it, appreciate you." You thought of hugging him, but decided against it, not wanting to make Jey uncomfortable.

Instead, you gave Jey a thankful nod and a small smile.

Jey patted your shoulder once more before stepping back. You're welcome. Take care of yourself, alright? I'll see you tomorrow, we can grab some food. Lord knows you need it, I haven't seen you eat any snacks at the back." Jey joked lightly, trying to lift your spirits.

You chuckled softly, grateful for Jey's attempt to lighten the mood. "I'll try not to starve, Jey. Thanks for looking out for me."

He gave you a playful nod before stepping back, letting you proceed on your path. "Of course. See you tomorrow, girl."

As walked away, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you. The weight of Roman's orders and the task at hand lay heavy on your mind. The idea of deceiving Becky and Seth, all the while planning your revenge, felt conflicting. But you knew what was at stake - your loyalty to the Bloodline and the need to assert your place within it. Could you really act like everything was fine when, in reality, you were seething with anger and hurt?

You spotted Becky about to leave, and decided you could.

"Hey, Becky!" She looked up at her name being called, and you approached her with a composed demeanor, despite the turmoil within you. She seemed scared when you came closer to her, as if expecting you to physically lash out again. However, you maintained your calm, albeit somewhat strained, composure.

"Hey, Y/N," Becky greeted cautiously, her voice tinged with apprehension.

You took a deep breath, trying to mask the storm of emotions brewing inside you. "I just wanted to say that I appreciate your honesty earlier. It took a lot of courage to confess." The words felt hollow leaving your lips, but you knew this was part of the task Roman had assigned.

Becky looked surprised by your response, her eyes darting with uncertainty. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. It's eating me up inside."

You gave her a small, forced smile. "I understand, Becky. I was angry earlier, but I took some time to calm down, and I realized that I appreciate you coming clean."

Your voice sounded composed, almost unnaturally so, as you forced yourself to maintain a calm façade. "Is Seth okay? I hit him when I was angry."

Becky seemed taken aback by your composed demeanor, but she nodded, trying to hide her surprise. "He's fine. Just a little shaken up, but he'll be okay." She paused, studying your face for any signs of the anger she had witnessed earlier. "Are you... okay, Y/N?"

You nodded, masking your true emotions behind a façade of calmness. "I'm fine, Becky. Just needed some time to cool off." The words felt like a lie, but you knew you had to play your part in this act.

"I am hurt, but you are one of my closest friends, and I don't want out friendship to end like this, Becks." You forced a smile, hoping it appeared genuine.

Becky's expression softened with a hint of relief. "I'm really sorry, Y/N. I hope we can work through this somehow. I hate that I hurt you."

You nodded, trying to maintain the charade of forgiveness. "I'm sure we'll figure something out. How about I ride with you to the next show tonight? We can talk more then, if you want."

Becky looked surprised at your offer, clearly not expecting this response. "Uh, yeah, sure. That would be great, actually."

You nodded, trying to hide the turmoil within you as you made plans to continue this act. "Alright then, lemme grab my stuff and we'll be on our way." You tried to keep your tone neutral, not wanting to reveal the depths of your true feelings.

Before you left, you walked closer to Becky and wrapped her in a tight but short hug, trying to appear as if everything was normal. "I'll see you outside in a bit, okay?"

Becky returned the hug tentatively, still wary after the earlier altercation. "Yeah, see you."

With that, you turned away, your façade slipping for a moment as you clenched your fists in frustration and pain. Unbeknownst to you, Paul was lurking in the shadows, reporting to Roman and making sure you weren't acting out of line.

"Everything's going to plan, my Tribal Chief."

Roman responded after a couple of seconds, smirking to himself as he laid back in his chair. 

"Good. I knew she could do it.  Becky and Seth are first, Sami is a non-variable, and mark my words, Kevin is next. 

Do you think she can follow through with our plan at Elimination Chamber, my tribal chief? Becky is one thing, Kevin is another.

A flurry of bubbles appeared on Paul's phone for a moment before Roman replied, his message filled with unwavering confidence.

"She will. Don't doubt your Tribal Chief. Y/N might have a big heart, but she knows where her loyalty lies. And soon, everyone will understand what happens when you cross the Bloodline."

And soon they will.  

[screamingoverfiction]

So, This Is Love?

Fred Weasley x f!-reader. House mentioned as Slytherin but not super important. Reader isn't described except as having dimples. 18+ Smut ahead. Minors DNI! Not Edited.

I totally didn't start writing this over the summer and then forget about it in my drafts...totally.

Word Count: 4.25k

---------

"You seriously don't have a date?" Madelyn questioned, raising a brow as she continued curling her blonde hair.

"I don't need one. I'll just pick up some bloke on the sidelines if I want to dance," Y/n said, smoothing her dress and checking herself in the mirror a final time.

Y/n had been looking forward to the masquerade ball for a while, eager to be unknown to all, free from her burdens, and able to dance her heart out without worry.

She was now descending the stairs into the common room, her face concealed by a beautiful masquerade mask. Her lips broke into a wide grin. No one could recognize her.

She practically skipped down the halls, not caring about anything or anyone, happy to be free from her life, even for only a night.

When she arrived at the great hall, her eyes went wide in awe. It was beautiful. Colorful banners hung around every wall, and the floor was converted into a ballroom.

She descended the stairs, still smiling from ear to ear. She was unable to hide her joy. It was like she was a little girl again.

She stepped into the great hall, eyes scanning over the seemingly hundreds of students, and she didn't know any of them. It was exhilarating. 

As she looked out the room, her eyes connected with someone else's, a tall boy with beautiful brown eyes and fiery hair wearing a black mask.

She tilted her head with a small smile, and he copied her, the grin on his lips making her heart jump. Y/n raised a brow, and he once again copied her, the silly, childish smile on his lips making her laugh.

She bit back a smirk, glancing around before wading through the crowd, her heart skipping a beat when he made his way toward her as well.

They met in the middle, staring at each other behind masks, neither knowing who the other was. 

"Care to dance?" The boy started, offering his hand, a sly smile twitching on his lips. She knew that voice, somehow- somewhere, but she just couldn't place it.

"You sound familiar," Y/n said, placing her hand in his, her heart rate increasing as he positioned his other on her waist, starting to dance.

His smile widened. He twirled Y/n around to the soft orchestral tune of the song, eyes never leaving her. He didn't know a girl this beautiful existed.

"So do you," He spoke, hand returning to her waist, gaze flickering down to her perfect lips before snapping back to her eyes.

"What's your name?" The boy asked between songs, his brown hues staring deep into hers.

"That ruins the fun. Don't you think?" Y/n laughed, flashing him her infamous grin, her dimples shining through. 

He swore he knew that smile, those dimples…

"I suppose you're right," The boy replied, smirking, sliding his hand into hers once again as the song started.

They danced for what seemed like hours, song after song, asking each other various questions between the music, wishing the moment would never end. Yet, by the end of the night. Neither had a clue who the other was.

"Attention, students," A booming voice Y/n knew as Dumbledore called out over the room, stopping everyone in their tracks.

The boy and Y/n looked up. Brows furrowed in confusion at the headmaster's words.

"At exactly 11 p.m., your masks will no longer be enchanted. You are free to leave before then if you wish to remain anonymous, or the dance will continue for thirty minutes afterward if you wish to stay," Dumbledore announced, causing gasps to leave almost everyone's lips.

Y/n quickly whirled to see the clock. It read 10:49 p.m. She had ten minutes to leave.

She turned back, meeting the boy's gaze. His eyes were unreadable, his handsome features locked in an expression of indecisiveness. 

"I guess we have a decision to make," Y/n said quietly, swallowing thickly and pursing her lips.

They stared at each other silently for a moment, neither having the courage to speak until he finally opened his mouth.

"You can leave if you want," He said, his eyes still curious about who she was, but he wouldn't force it.

Y/n bit her cheek in thought, reminiscing the night, how he made her laugh, his charming and witty personality, and his somehow proper yet clumsy dancing. And it was a plus that he was divinely handsome, even from the little features she could see.

"I don't think I want to," She finally answered, her lips forming into a slight smile.

His eyes visibly lightened, breaking out into a grin; he glanced around before tugging her through the crowd, hand in hand.

He led her outside near the archway into the courtyard, his hand still tightly gripping hers.

"Privacy," He spoke, eyes flickering to her lips, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed.

Y/n stepped closer until they were almost chest to chest, her heart beating incredibly fast. Her hands were resting on his shoulders, eyes unable to leave his.

She glanced at the clock behind him: 10:59. It was now or never.

"Kiss me," She whispered quickly, surprising even herself with the desperation in her voice. 

He didn't hesitate to lean down, crashing his lips against hers, his hand cupping her cheek as the masks magically disappeared from their faces.

But neither pulled back, too entranced by the kiss to even remember to breathe. It was as if their lives depended on the sweet taste of the other's lips.

The boy leaned further into her, his hand on her hips, drawing her in. Y/n parted her lips, welcoming him with equal passion, her hand traveling from his shoulder to the back of his neck, lacing her fingers in his soft hair.

After what felt like hours of kissing, they slowly pulled away, equally terrified of what was to come.

Y/n couldn't open her eyes. Their foreheads rested against each other while they waited for their courage to brew.

He was the first to step back, and then Y/n opened her eyes, finally locking onto his beautiful- beautiful face. 

Her jaw went slack, her expression paling as she stared at his equally mortified face.

Frederick Weasley.

The infamous prankster of Gryffindor, along with his twin. Notorious for picking on Slytherins, Y/n included- not that it wasn't reciprocated, but still. 

Fred Weasley.

"You've got to be fucking with me," Y/n said, stumbling back, an expression of horror taking over her features.

She ran her hands along her face and through her hair, eyes wide while she tried to process exactly what was happening.

Fred could only stand there, shocked, his mouth unable to form a coherent sentence. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

“Anyone but you!" Y/n said again with a groan covering her face and glancing back, making sure that she wasn't hallucinating.

"I should've known from the dimples," Fred finally said with a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away, swallowing thickly.

"You get that if anyone finds out about this, we're dead," Y/n hissed, pointing a malicious finger in his direction.

Fred rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw and leaning against the nearby pillar, an expression of deep thought on his face. His freckles seemed to shine in the moonlight.

"Don't say fucking a word," She spoke sternly, not looking back as she walked away.

"You know, for a second, I thought... Fred sighed, shaking his head, his posture tense.

Y/n froze in her tracks, her eyes softening slightly before returning to a scowl. She turned around, their eyes connected, and she couldn’t keep the mask up any longer.

"In another world, Weasley," Y/n said quietly, but he heard. She could tell by the way his features softened.

He huffed a sour laugh, rubbing his jaw and then running that same hand through his messy red hair, flashing her a quick smile. His brown eyes were lighter now, a twinge of that mischief she knew him for.

"See you around, Y/n," Fred called back, lowering his head and walking in the other direction.

Y/n rolled her eyes, biting back her smile as she walked down the corridor, back to the Slytherin common room, and away from Fred.

Or so she thought.

Before she'd even reached the portrait door entrance, he was sprinting down the hallway, but Y/n didn't hear his rapidly approaching footsteps until he was directly next to her.

She turned her head as he slowed to a stop, cheeks tinted red from running, breathing heavily. His eyes bore an unreadable emotion.

"What are you-?" She started to ask, but his lips were on hers before she could finish, his hands on either side of her face.

The kiss was short and plain, simply testing the waters. He pulled back, swallowing thickly and searching her eyes for any sign of anger, ready to take a slap if needed.

Y/n blinked once, scoffing slightly.

"You're an idiot," She breathed, shaking her head, grabbing him by the collar, and yanking him down until their lips connected.

Fred kissed her back almost immediately, one hand cupping her cheek and the other resting on her hip.

Y/n knew it was wrong, knew that she was putting them both in danger, but oh, how she felt so warm in his embrace.

Her mind was screaming for her to pull away and slap him across the face, but her heart, her body-her soul wouldn't let her.

Y/n always thought there was no room for anyone in her heart except herself, but he was slowly changing her mind, cracking open the stone casing of her soul and weaseling his way inside without lifting a pinky. Many suitors had tried and failed to break down her walls for years, and he'd done it in three hours.

Gathering her thoughts, she pulled away, wide-eyed and dazed. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath she took.

Fred stared into her eyes with a soft, warm sincerity she'd only seen in movies and read about in fictitious novels, and now it was real. She wasn’t thinking coherently anymore. She wanted him, and he wanted her. 

Why couldn’t they have each other?

They were practically running through the Slytherin common room, trying and failing to shield Fred’s identity from the other students.

“I’m pretty sure at least three first years saw us,” Fred whispered to her as they reached the top of the steps.

“Fuck. I’ll just scare them into not snitching,” Y/n sighed, peering down the hall before unlocking her dorm.

Fred laughed at her mumbles, smiling wickedly as she pulled him inside the dorm with her by his tie.

Their lips met before the door was even shut. Fred had to quickly push it shut before deepening the kiss.

His hands were on her hips, inviting her into his arms, which she eagerly accepted. Fred spun them around, pressing her back to the door.

Y/n couldn’t suppress the small, almost whimper-like gasp that escaped her lips when his lips trailed down her jaw.

Fred smirked against her skin, softly kissing and biting her exposed throat, leaving hickeys and open-mouthed kisses wherever he could.

Her breaths were more so moans and pants at this point. Her eyes closed to bask in the pleasure of his lips.

He skillfully lowered to his knees, propping her legs over his shoulders, her dress bunched to almost her waist.

Their eyes met again. Hers looked down at him through hazy lust and his piercing into hers with burning desire.

“May I?” Fred asked, gently tracing circles and kissing her inner thighs, waiting for her permission.

Y/n quickly nodded, the yearning heat in her core already pooling wetness in her panties.

“I need words, angel. Please,” He said again. Those warm pools of brown were entirely focused. Not a single thought behind them wasn’t about her.

Y/n closed her eyes, knocking her head back and swallowing thickly before slipping her eyes to his again.

“Yes, Fred, please,” She whispered, choking down her pride and letting herself fall apart for him.

Fred smirked, lowering himself further down and cupping her heat. The sudden jolt of her body and the gasp she emitted made his cock strain against his trousers.

The apex of his palm pressed into her clothed clit, making her bite back moans. His lips attacked her inner thighs, marking hickeys, and then kissing them better.

“So wet, and I haven’t even touched you,” He murmured into the soft flesh of her thighs. Oh, how he could die a happy man between her legs.

Y/n hand flew to his hair, lacing her fingers in the red strands as his lips made their way to the place she wanted them most.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of her underwear, slowly pulling them down in an almost teasing manner.

Y/n clenched her jaw, glaring down at Fred as he smirked back, his grin widening at her disdain.

“If you want me to do something, all you have to do is ask nicely,” He spoke, quirking a brow and rolling his tongue along his cheek to hide his enjoyment.

Y/n huffed, shaking her head and shoving her shame into a deep dark corner.

“Do something…please,” She replied in an almost whisper.

“What was that? Speak up, love,” Fred said, even though he’d heard her every word.

“Oh fuck off you-” She started, but he cut her off with his tongue, slipping it inside her aching slit.

Y/n let out a loud, gasping moan, knocking her head against the door and arching herself further into Fred.

“Shh. I thought you didn’t want the others hearing us?” Fred cooed, a hint of mischief lacing his tone.

His tongue worked against her clit, flicking over the sensitive little bud while he slipped a finger inside her entrance, adding a second once after a few moments, curling them up against her g-spot.

“Fuck you,” Y/n breathed, her mouth hanging open as his tongue and fingers worked magic between her legs.

Fred smiled into her cunt, hitting the perfect places with each stroke and thrust, tongue lapping up the juices of her arousal as they leaked from her needy cunt. One of her hands was in his hair, the other covering her mouth to muffle the erotic sounds threatening to spill from her lips.

Suddenly, the knob beside her hip began to turn, making her quickly uncover her mouth and stop whoever it was from coming inside.

Fred quickly shot up at the noise, his eyes going wide.

“What the hell-? Y/n, are you in there?” Madelyn called from the other side of the door, jiggling the knob again.

“Uh, yeah, but I’m uh-” Y/n tried to think of an excuse, but nothing came to mind. She looked down at Fred for help, but his lips simply turned into an evil smirk. Pressing a finger to his lips before continuing to eat her out, flattening his tongue and running it up her slit to her clit before closing his lips around the nub and sucking.

Y/n gasped out, clasping a hand over her mouth before uncovering it to hold the door again.

“Hold on. Are you getting fuck-”

“Madelyn, I think you should find someplace else to sleep!” Y/n shouted, cutting Madelyn off.

Y/n heard a snort from the other side, along with a mumble of something incoherent.

“Enjoy your night, Y/n. Don’t get pregnant,” Madelyn snickered, walking down the hall without another word.

“You are a complete and utter imbecile-” Y/n hissed at Fred, moaning out in pleasure as his fingers hit her g-spot, her gummy walls clenching around his lanky digits as she neared her orgasm.

The knot in her core was tightening faster than she could comprehend. It was burning and coiling- seconds away from breaking.

“Freddie-” She whimpered his name, her fingers tightly gripping his hair, making him smile against her cunt, his brown eyes staring up at her with mischief and lust.

The knot in her stomach snapped. Her legs tried to close around his head as her back arched against the door. The waves of pleasure coursing through her veins enough to make her eyes roll into her head.

Fred forced her legs apart, letting her ride out her high, his tongue lazily stroking her clit as her thighs shook with pleasure, chin dripping with her juices.

Y/n swallowed, her chest rapidly rising and falling as she struggled to regain her breath. One of her hands was still in his hair, loosely grasping it.

She lowered her eyes, looking at him through a hazy lidden gaze. His hair was messy and falling over his forehead, his tie was now loose, hanging half-hazardously around his neck, and his eyes were staring into hers with pure passion and devotion.

“Hi,” Y/n spoke. Her mascara was runny and smudged, and her forehead had a slight shine of sweat, but Fred thought she was beautiful. He was completely and utterly enamored.

Fred laughed, smiling up at her and shaking his head, the corners of his eyes creasing as he smiles.

“Hi,” He replied, setting her carefully back onto her legs and rising to his full height, looking down at her once again.

There was silence for a moment, and then Y/n brought her hand to the back of his neck, connecting their lips.

Fred kissed her back, lifting her into his arms again and carrying her to the closest bed.

“Ah- no, this is Madelyn’s,” Y/n quickly said.

Fred rolled his eyes and carried her to the other, setting her down before hovering overtop and kissing her deeply.

Y/n started unbuttoning his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until she could remove it from his body.

Fred threw the shirt, not caring where it ended up. Y/n’s hands ran down his torso, tracing from his broad shoulders to his abs. It was safe to say he was muscular and toned with muscles, but not obnoxiously.

Y/n kissed along his jawline as he unzipped her dress, leaving a hickey directly on his jaw.

“If you get me a detention-” Fred muttered as he started to drag her dress down her shoulders. 

“Oh, hush,” Y/n spoke, tenderly kissing the fresh bruise and leaning back to admire her work.

If she were a patient woman, she’d take her time to kiss every freckle dotted across his pale skin, but her mind was clouded with lust. She’d kiss them later.

Y/n finished taking off her dress, not caring where it fell to. Fred was kissing along her throat, one hand snaking around her back, unclipping her bra with concerning skill and tossing it to the side.

“Done this much?” She inquired, smirking when he lifted his gaze to hers.

“I’ve had my fair share of practice,” Fred replied, matching her teasing energy. Reaching forward to her face, he brushed a stray piece of her hair away, smiling softly.

Their eye contact felt intimate, as if it meant more than a night of lust. 

“Fred,” Y/n said quietly, her hand reaching up, fingers dancing along his jaw.

“Yeah?” Fred answered. Even if he didn’t know it, he was completely, and utterly hers. It was as if she’d enchanted him.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” Y/n whispered, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone. Her pupils dilated, longingly staring into his eyes, his beautiful eyes.

Fred swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his mouth opened to speak- but no words left his lips. He couldn’t answer her. There were no words to describe how he felt.

So instead of speaking, he dipped down, connecting their lips again, kissing her with so much force and passion that their teeth clashed together, but neither seemed to care.

Her makeup was a lost cause at this point. Her lipstick was smeared everywhere, across his lips, along his cheek, and down his jawline.

His hands ran along her body, massaging her chest, his mouth leaving hers to start kissing her breasts, tongue flicking over sensitive nipples, teeth nipping softly.

“Oh- Fred-” She mewled, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, hand lacing into his hair, small sharp whimpers flying from her lips.

Fred groaned as she reached down to his trousers, her fingers hooking into his belt loops and pulling him even closer.

He skillfully unbuckles his belt with concerning ease, tossing it to the floor and returning his lips to hers.

Y/n pushed her hips up against Fred’s bulge, still covered by his boxers, and he couldn’t help but rasp out a low noise from his throat, almost a moan.

Y/n slid her hands down his toned abdomen, her nails lightly scratching his v-line as she dipped her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, starting to tug them down impatiently.

Fred lets out a breathy laugh at her impatience and quickly helps her pull his boxers off, freeing his already-hardened cock. The red tip leaking pre-cum.

Y/n’s eyes widen slightly. She expected him to be above average, but not this big- he was at least 8.5 inches in length with a pretty sizable amount of girth as well as a slight curve to the right. 

Fred noticed her expression and laughed, taking her chin in his hand and bringing her lips back to his as he hoisted one of her legs up over his shoulder, the head of his cock teasingly rubbing up and down her slit, bumping at the hood of her clit.

Y/n let out a soft whine, biting her lip and pressing her cheek against Fred’s freckled shoulder as she bucks her hips against his dick, practically begging for him to thrust inside. 

“Fred, please-” Y/n says breathlessly, her leg hooking around him.

Fred, detecting her neediness, kisses her on the cheek before slowly and gently easing his cock into her wet and aching pussy, but no matter how ready she thought she was the stretch of his size made her tense up. 

“Fuck- you’re tight. You gotta relax f’me, sweetheart,” Fred says through gritted teeth, the squeezing of her walls around his cock almost enough to make him burst on the spot.

Y/n lets out a shaky breath, adjusting to his size and letting out a moan as he pushes all the way in, her insides feeling so full as he starts to move. 

Fred thrusts in and out of her cunt at a moderate pace, not wanting to hurt her by being too rough. It was her first time taking a cock this large.

The head of his cock nudges against her g-spot just right, causing her to let out a string of whimpers and whines, occasionally bumping against her cervix, which was only slightly painful. His pelvis grinding against her clit in just the right way to stimulate the bud.

“F-Faster-” Y/n says in an exasperated voice, needing Fred to go faster, her second orgasm already building in her stomach, the white-hot feeling causing her to curl her toes

Fred doesn’t hesitate to follow her command, picking up the pace and groaning against her neck as she clenches around his cock, telling him she’s close to finishing, as is he.

“Fuck- Y/n. I don’t think I can last much longer-” Fred manages to say through heavy breaths, sweat rolling down his skin as he grips the sheets until his knuckles go white.

The sound of skin slapping together consumes the room as Fred’s thrusts become more sloppy and desperate as he nears his orgasm, his breathing uneven and rushed.

“Ah- Fred, I’m coming-” Y/n says, her climax building up fast and crashing over her hard, back arching, hips spasming against his as her legs shake. Her eyes seemed to roll into the back of her head as the hot waves of pleasure hit her like lightning.

Fred finishes a few seconds after, barely managing to pull out before he comes, hot ropes of white cum shooting from his cock onto her stomach as he rides out his high.

Fred collapses beside her, both of them breathing heavily as they recover from the previous activity. 

Fred is the first to rise, grabbing his boxers and sliding them on before kissing Y/n softly on the forehead. He walks to the bathroom and grabs a towel, wetting it with warm water. 

The feeling of a warm damp towel on her stomach jolts Y/n from her little trance, and she looks up at for a moment Fred as he cleans her up before laying back down with a tired sigh. 

Fred simply smiles and sighs, biting his cheek as he gets up and starts to root through her closet for a shirt she can wear to bed, finding one with a picture of a Hippogriff on it and then handing it to her so she can slip it on.

Y/n lays in her bed, makeup a disaster and her hair a mess, but Fred thinks she could never be more beautiful.

“Are you staying?” Y/n asks from her bed, finally managing to sit up, drinking the glass of water Fred had fetched for her. 

“I can if you want me to,” Fred says, stopping in the middle of gathering his clothes, not expecting her to want him to stay.

Y/n bites her lip and shifts a little on the bed her face flushing slightly as she murmurs. “I want you to,”

----

Hope you all enjoyed it and have a wonderful day!

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— i’m still on that tightrope ; you showed tsukishima your vulnerable side before when you were crying in front of him, but he didn’t know that there’s another part of you that he really thinks need to be saved

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

The day had finally come to check your exam results, and the anticipation weighed heavily on your mind. It was also the day your holiday began, and you knew your mother would be arriving soon to pick you up. You’d been dreading this moment, feeling a mix of nervousness and unease about your results. Your mother’s words from earlier still echoed in your head, and the thought of leaving the dorm and facing her expectations made you feel even more anxious.

Sitting at your desk, you hesitated before opening your laptop. The uni website loaded slowly, the spinning circle on the screen only adding to your nerves. When the results finally appeared, you scanned the page quickly. A- in most subjects. Relief flooded you briefly until your eyes landed on the grade for Molecular Biology—a B.

Your heart sank, the wave of sadness washing over you. It wasn’t a terrible grade, but it was a stark reminder of your struggles. You thought back to that exam, the one Tsukishima had helped you prepare for after you’d collapsed in the infirmary. The one you hadn’t been able to study enough for. A B was fine, you told yourself, but it felt like a failure in the context of everything you’d been through.

You glanced at the clock—it was nearly 1 PM. You needed to pack and get ready for your mother’s arrival. You pulled on a thick white sweater, tugging a beanie over your head, and stared at yourself in the mirror. The reflection didn’t show the confidence you wished you had right now. Instead, it showed the worry etched into your expression.

Your phone buzzed with a text from your mom: I’m here, sweetie. In the parking lot. You sighed heavily, knowing you couldn’t delay any longer. Grabbing your bags, you walked out of your dorm room, the door clicking shut behind you. The pavement outside was still damp from the morning rain, and the air had a crisp chill, signaling the approach of winter.

As you approached your mother’s car, parked at the curb, she spotted you and waved, a warm smile on her face. But before you could respond, another car pulled up beside hers. You recognized Yamaguchi stepping out of the passenger seat, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw Tsukishima behind the wheel.

Your mom rushed to greet you, wrapping you in a tight hug and kissing your temple. “Oh honey, I’ve missed you so much! How’s university been?”

You forced a smile, trying to hide your embarrassment as you noticed Yamaguchi glancing in your direction. “I told you about it almost every day, Mom.”

She pulled back slightly, still holding you by the shoulders. “Yes, but it’s different hearing it from you in person.”

You gave a small nod, trying to keep the conversation light. “It’s been fine,” you said, opening the trunk of her car to load your bags. Your mom followed closely, her eyes never leaving you.

As you were about to close the trunk, your mom’s voice broke the silence. “Have you checked your exam results, baby? You said they were coming out today.”

A surge of anxiety rushed through you. Your mom pulled out her smartphone, quickly navigating to your student account. It was always like this—her managing everything as if your grades were a reflection of her own achievements.

Your gaze drifted to Yamaguchi, who was unloading his luggage from the other car. Tsukishima was helping him, but you noticed him glance in your direction too. When your eyes met his, you quickly looked away, not wanting him to see the turmoil inside you.

Your mom gasped sharply, her eyes widening as she stared at the screen. “What is this? Did you do something wrong? Did you skip classes in Molecular Biology? Why is this a B?” Her voice grew louder with each question, irritation seeping into her tone.

You felt your stomach drop. You knew she’d be upset, but hearing her disappointment out loud stung more than you’d anticipated. “Mom, it’s just a B. I still made it to the upper ranks. It’s not a big deal. I tried my best.”

“Not a big deal?” she snapped, her voice tinged with disbelief. “This is your first semester! The first semester is supposed to be the easiest to ace. What have you been doing with your time?”

Your voice wavered, your earlier confidence crumbling. “Mom, it wasn’t as easy as you think.” You could feel Tsukishima’s eyes on you, and the embarrassment of having him overhear your mother’s scolding only made you feel worse. You knew he understood exactly what you meant, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Tsukishima stood by Yamaguchi’s car, his jaw clenched as he listened to your mother’s harsh words. He could see the way your shoulders hunched, the way your voice trembled, and it tore at him. He hated seeing you like this, knowing how much it hurt to be criticized by someone who was supposed to support you. A part of him wanted to intervene, to tell your mom to stop, but he didn’t know how. This wasn’t his place, and yet, every word she spoke felt like a personal attack on you—and by extension, on him.

Your mom scoffed, her frustration evident. “Where’s your scarf? I told you to wear something warm, or you’ll get sick.” She rummaged through your bag, pulling out the red scarf she had packed for you. Wrapping it tightly around your neck, she muttered, “Do you ever listen to anything I say?”

“Mom, I did,” you whispered, trying to appease her, but the disappointment in her eyes cut deep.

Without a word, she opened your bag and began searching for something. You knew exactly what she was looking for—the medicine box she had packed with ginger tonic and vitamins, the ones she insisted you take every day. When she finally found it, her face darkened as she counted the remaining sachets.

“It’s still twenty left,” she said, her voice cold with anger. “You should have only fourteen by now. You’ve skipped taking it for six days.”

You saw Yamaguchi heading into the dormitory with his luggage, leaving Tsukishima alone by the car. He watched you with a frown, his expression growing more concerned as your mom continued to scold you. You tried to maintain an emotionless face, but inside, you were crumbling. The humiliation of having Tsukishima witness this moment made it even harder to hold back the tears.

Tsukishima’s chest tightened as he watched the scene unfold. He remembered how he had been with you in the lab—strict, unyielding, often pushing you harder than anyone else. In that moment, it struck him how similar his behavior had been to your mother’s. He had treated you the same way, expecting perfection, giving little room for mistakes. The realization sent a pang of guilt through him, making him feel complicit in the pain you were enduring now. He wanted to do something, anything, to ease that hurt, but he felt paralyzed by the weight of his own actions.

“Mom, please, stop—” you started, but she cut you off sharply.

“No, you stop,” she retorted, her voice rising. “This is exactly why you shouldn’t be living in a dormitory. You’ve been neglecting everything I’ve told you to do.”

You sighed heavily, the weight of her words pressing down on you. In a moment of defiance, you grabbed the ginger tonic sachets from her hand. Tearing one open, you drank it quickly, the bitter taste burning your throat. But you didn’t stop there—you reached for another, and then another.

Tsukishima’s frown deepened, his concern palpable as he took a step forward, as if to stop you. He didn’t realize it at first, but his instinct to intervene was clear. When you reached for a fourth sachet, he moved to block your hand, gently taking the tonic from you. He couldn’t let this go on any longer—seeing you punished like this over something so small was unbearable.

But when you met his gaze, your expression was unreadable, and for a moment, Tsukishima’s heart sank. He thought you were angry at him for stepping in, for overstepping boundaries that weren’t his to cross. The guilt from earlier only intensified as he realized how much he had contributed to your suffering. The way you looked at him now reminded him of every time he had scolded you in the lab, pushing you just as hard, expecting nothing less than perfection. It broke his heart to think that he had added to your burden, that he had been another source of pain for you.

You took the sachet back from him without a word and downed it in one gulp, the bitterness making your stomach churn. But you didn’t care. You needed to prove something—to your mom, to yourself, to everyone who thought you couldn’t handle this.

By the time you’d finished the sixth sachet, your mom’s anger had shifted to shock. She stared at you, her face pale as she struggled to process what had just happened. “There. I took it,” you said quietly, your voice hollow. “And I’m not leaving the dorm.”

Your mom’s eyes narrowed, her surprise quickly replaced by the familiar anger. “Get in the car now,” she ordered, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “I’m telling your father about this, and we’ll see what he has to say.”

You felt utterly defeated as you climbed into the car, your body numb and your mind racing. As your mom slammed the trunk shut and moved to the driver’s seat, you couldn’t help but glance back at Tsukishima. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the conflict in his eyes—he wanted to help, to stop what was happening, but he didn’t know how.

Tsukishima stood frozen, his heart heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. He wanted to do something, to fix this, but he didn’t know how. All he could think about was the pain in your eyes, the way you had looked at him, and how he had contributed to it.

The drive home was silent, the tension between you and your mom thick enough to cut with a knife. As the city streets blurred by, you couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that had settled in your chest. Your mom’s words echoed in your mind, each one a sharp reminder of how you’d failed to meet her expectations.

But more than that, you couldn’t stop thinking about Tsukishima—about the look in his eyes when he’d tried to stop you, about the concern that had etched itself into his features. It was a small comfort, knowing that someone had cared enough to step in, even if only for a moment.

As the car sped away from the university, you closed your eyes and leaned back against the seat, trying to push away the lingering sadness. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t something you could escape from so easily.

i’m sorry i didn’t post it yesterday, i was so busy spending my weekend with my friends and i just watch it ends with us and crying the whole night, i hope you guys enjoy your weekends too and please let me know anything you want to say about this series 🌸🫶🏻🥹✨🐭

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun

[madaqueue]

Practice Makes Perfect | Chapter 10

synopsis: you and yuji have been best friends basically as long as you can remember, and you made a promise to each other to stay friends and help each other be the best versions of yourselves for your future partners. but will things change when yuji finally starts looking for a relationship?

pairing: yuji itadori (18+) x f!reader

themes/content: modern college au (characters aged up to 18+). language. 18+, MDNI

word count: 1.7k

a/n: clarity by zedd playing softly in the background

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After your fight with Yuji, things get bad. The next month is a blur. Your mind is clouded, unable to focus on your classes, or anything else for that matter. You feel like you’re watching yourself going through the motions everyday - wake up, go to class, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. As you stare at yourself in the mirror while you brush your teeth, it’s like you’re not even there.

Yuji hasn’t tried texting you, so you don’t even bother going on your phone anymore. You didn’t realize how dark your life becomes without the light of his presence in it. It feels like you’ve lost your ability to feel anything, too burnt out from the anger, confusion, and guilt you’ve been fighting the past few weeks.

Megumi can tell something is off when you sit silently next to him in class, your normal smile now gone without a trace. He wants to ask, but he has a feeling he already knows what’s bothering you, and pressing you on it won’t help. After every lecture you get up with a sigh, muttering a soft, “See you later,” to him, the only words he hears you say anymore.

You become listless. You no longer know how to fill your time, so you start wandering around campus. A part of you hopes that the fresh air will clear the dirt you feel clouding your soul, but it doesn’t seem to help.

During one of these walks, your eyes unfocused as you look down to trace the outline of the bricks lining the path beneath your feet, you suddenly get the wind knocked out of you as you collide directly into someone.

“Sorry,” you mutter without looking up, trying to regain your footing.

“Shit, it’s okay,” you hear the voice of the person you ran into respond. “Oh wait, I know you!”

You sluggishly pull your eyes from your ground to the person standing in front of you. Your eyes meet their face and you recognize the familiar shoulder-length brown hair - Nobara. She stands in front of you in a plain sweatshirt and leggings, almost perfectly mirroring your outfit. You can’t say anything, and you’re not even sure what you would say, so you just stare at her.

Sensing the silence, she takes initiative to continue the conversation. “You’re Yuji’s friend, right?”

His name sends a pang of guilt through your body and your eyes shift down, not sure how to respond anymore. Are you friends? Does he hate you? Does he even want to talk to you anymore? The questions course through your mind, but you’re pulled back by the realization that you should probably respond to her question. You muster an empty nod, your face blank, eyes still on the ground.

“Yeah, I recognize you! He talks about you all the time,” she laughs. “Sorry, I realize it’s kind of weird that I just started talking to you because we’ve never actually met, I just knew your face from all the pictures Yuji has shown me of you guys together. I’m Nobara Kugisaki,” she says, holding her hand out to shake it.

You slowly raise your hand to hers, shaking it loosely, still not making eye contact. As you do, her words replay in your mind. He…talks about you? He shows her pictures of you two together?

She raises one eyebrow at your visibly dejected demeanor, and decides to take matters into her own hands. “Hey, I’m about to go grab a coffee, do you want to come? I’ve honestly been dying to meet you,” she follows.

Scanning her voice, you don’t find any hint of jealousy in it. She actually sounds shockingly genuine. For the first time your eyes move up to meet hers. “Okay,” you say meekly.

“Great!” she cheers, wrapping her arm through yours as she practically drags you down the street.

She brings you to a cafe right off campus that you and Megumi had been to before, one that he personally described as “just alright.” You pick a table as Nobara brings over your coffees, setting a latte down in front of you as she takes a sip of her iced coffee.

“So,” she starts, “what’s going on with you and Yuji?”

Of course. You knew this question was an inevitability. What had he told her about you? Does she know about his feelings for her? Is she asking because she’s jealous, or because she’s confident in her relationship with him? Do they even have a relationship?

“Um, we’re just friends,” you mutter, eyes glued to the table.

“Mm, nope, sorry but I don’t buy it,” she smirks, stirring her coffee in the air.

Shit. Clearly he’s told her about you, and now she’s here because she feels threatened. She must know about his feelings for her, and whatever Megumi thought about her was wrong.

“I-” you start.

“No, see, there’s no way Yuji thinks you’re just friends,” she cuts you off. “He’s, like, in love with you or something. He literally will not shut up about you, to the point that it’s almost annoying.”

Hearing her words your eyes flit up to meet hers, shock evident on your face.

“Wait, did you not know that?” she takes in your surprise. “Oh my god, that little shit!” she exclaims, throwing her head back to laugh. “I’ve been asking him to meet you for forever because I feel like I already know you after everything he’s told me about you. I figured we’d be great friends, but he always made some weird excuse about it. I just thought he was trying to hide you from me, but now I get it - he never told you he had feelings for you!” she thinks aloud, still chuckling.

You just stare blankly at her, mouth agape as you take in the information she’s presenting to you.

“Wait, did something happen between you guys?” she suddenly asks, turning her attention back to your face.

Hesitating for a moment, you sigh, figuring there’s no harm in just being honest with her - clearly she and Yuji are close, so it’ll come out eventually. “Um, yeah…” you trail off. “We got in a fight.”

“I knew it!” she almost yells. “I knew something was up with him. The past few weeks he’s been extra weird, like more weird than normal Yuji. I kept asking him about you and he wouldn’t answer, and it was almost like he flinched whenever your name came up.” She pauses, taking a big swig of her coffee. “What did you guys fight about, anyways?”

Swallowing, you try to mentally weigh your options, deciding to just get it over with. “Well, we were at that party,” you sigh, Nobara nodding intently across from you. “And I…um…I saw him with you. And I just got jealous, and I saw you guys leave together, and-”

“Wow there,” she cuts you off again. “When did you see us ‘leave together?’ Because, no offense here, I would rather rip off my own legs than ‘leave’ with Yuji,” she laughs.

“He had his arm above you, and I turned around and when I looked back, you both were gone,” you explain hesitantly.

Recognition suddenly flashes across her face. “Oh my god, yes I remember that! I was making fun of Yuji because I could see you across the room and I wanted him to go over and talk to you, but he said something about you looking ‘too pretty to bother,’ so I shoved him to try and get him to go say hi. But when I did, he knocked into someone, they got pissed, and they threw their drink over me! Can you believe that? It wasn’t even my fault,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I had to go upstairs to get a change of clothes since Maki was hosting and I knew she’d be cool about it, but Yuji just sat outside the door to make sure no one came in while I was getting dressed.”

“W-what? No, that…that can’t be right” you stutter. Your thoughts cloud again. You try to replay your memories of that night: Yuji next to Nobara, her shoving him, both of them disappearing…the timing would make sense.

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” she shrugs, “but you really have no reason to worry about me. I don’t really, how do I say this, go for the Yuji’s of the world, if you catch my drift,” she says with a smirk, taking another sip of her coffee.

“But…the two of you had a date?”

“Date?” she laughs. “He and I hang out for our group project sometimes, which he is totally not pulling his weight in, by the way, but we are definitely not going on dates.”

“But Yuji said…” you trail off.

“Yuji’s an idiot, respectfully. He starts talking before his brain can catch up sometimes. I wouldn’t put too much stock into what he says,” she continues. “All I know is that he’s been acting like an injured puppy for a while, and now I know why. Whatever he said or did, you don’t have to forgive him, but believe me when I say that he and I are nothing more than friends and you have nothing to worry about on that front.” She reaches her hand out across the table. “So, what do you say? Do you think you and I can still be friends?”

You nod, a smile starting to form on your face for the first time in a while as you reach out to shake her hand.

The two of you finish your coffee and you learn that she’s actually so much cooler than you ever could have expected. She’s a business major so she can learn how to run a national all-women tattoo shop, she was a semi-professional kickboxer, and she works as a carpenter on the side for a bit of extra cash. You silently thank the fates that she’s not interested in guys, otherwise you would never be able to compete with her. A few times throughout the conversation with her you find yourself laughing so hard your stomach hurts, a feeling you had all but forgotten.

As the two of you get up to part ways, you thank her for taking the time to talk with you. She punches you gently in the shoulder and tells you to call her any time.

On the walk home, you notice the sky starting to cloud as the wind picks up. The moment you step back into your dorm rain begins to pour against your window, as if the sky is cleansing the earth the same way you cleansed your conscience. The conversation with Nobara leaves you feeling rested and clear. Now, all that’s left is to apologize to Yuji.

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[junedenim]

a vision trip

part 1 part 3

one day with a familiar face in a foreign country

word count: 10.4k

It's May in Paris. The breeze is light and the air is sweet. Alex sits in a cafe, picking at his nails, waiting. He nurses a coffee, but it's too bitter, and he's too nervous to ask for sugar or cream. He debates ordering food but decides to wait for his counterpart. He's tired. Too many shows and an overwhelming amount of traveling. There isn't much keeping him awake other than the people bustling around him and the person he's awaiting.

She was supposed to be here at 12 and it's 12:10 now. He won't complain. He isn't one for punctuality either. He can't think about the show tonight. It's draining but he'll soak up every minute of it. He just doesn't want to wait. He wants to take a nap. He'll wait 10 more minutes and then leave. It's fair enough.

He's tapped out. People-watching in Paris is quite a thrill. People sitting outside are smoking and he wishes he picked a seat out there so he could at least have a cigarette keeping him awake. There's a couple across the street either arguing or just passionately talking. It's hard to tell the difference.

Then, the chair across from him screeches across the floor loudly, drawing his eyes up. All the color drains from his face, his ghostly appearance recognizing the phantom that stands before him. His heart has fallen out of him. It's lying on the floor somewhere, the blood spurting out of it. Alex is certain he has fallen and hit his head and this is the dream sequence that plays in the movie. He's lost in a circle of time. It could be minutes or seconds, he sits there with his mouth begging to catch flies.

She smiles. That same fucking smile. Bright, pearly, the kind she'd give that made him want to lean in and kiss her. She looks the exact same. Even has a bandana on, although, now it's tied around the back of her head, holding that blonde hair back. It's longer now. She's dressed in jeans and a blue-and-white pinstriped button-up. It's almost like they are matching. Could be, if they wanted to with his trousers and white button-up.

He blinks like twenty times trying to clear his vision, make sure of this sight. Confirm this is real. It stays the same. "Holy fucking shit," he finally utters.

Her smile grows wider. "Wow," she sighs, "your French has gotten much worse. You're supposed to say bonjour."

Alex finally allows a smile to crack his face, despite his certainty that this can not be real. "What—what are you doing here?" His brows furrow, still unable to take in her whole image.

She takes off the saddle bag. It's leather this time. Not her old cloth one with the pins. She sits fully down in the chair across from him. A wide smirk displays across her face as she rests her head on her left hand. "Interviewing you."

As if this interaction couldn't get crazier and his jaw could possibly hang open wider. "Seriously?"

She gives him a pleased nod. "I don't usually do music but someone atmy work mentioned the Arctic Monkeys concert coming to town and the opportunity for an interview and I begged my boss."

He tries to quail his quickened heartbeat but she isn't making it simple. None of this is simple and he's gone dazed and crazed. He must have. "I can't believe you're here. You're in front of me. I feel like you're so calm and I've completely lost it."

"Well, I knew I would be seeing you again for about a month and I tried to regain my cool in front of the bathroom mirror for about 45 minutes. Do you want to go do that?" She points behind her to the toilets with a dream-inducing grin. She's proud of that joke.

"I might have to. Go in there and se branler." He motions jerking off loosely with his hand and it gets that precious fucking laughter out of her.

"You remember any French other than that?"

He gives a quick shake of his head. "No, not really." Prompting more laughter from her. He stares at her, giving her a thorough examination. "I can't fucking believe it. It's been 11 years, you know, how fucking crazy is that?"

"Don't tell me that." She rests her forehead in the palm of her hand. "I'm still trying to deal with turning 30 and that was 2 years ago."

He's amused by her. It's 11 years ago and yesterday for him. He feels they've snapped right back into place. No time has shifted and they are 21 again and this is what life would have been like if they had July in Paris. "So, you finally figured out your life," he recalls her ramblings. Revels in them.

She shrugs. "For the most part. It took a while but we're here. It was kind of, well, our day in Brussels helped point me in that direction. You probably don't remember"—he remembers everything, seriously—"but you made this compliment about how I had all these good questions or something and I thought, after you, well, told me about the whole band thing, and I figured out how big you actually were that I could do that for a living. Interview people. I don't usually do rockstars though not since you."

A thumping rings in his red-hot ears. He tries to take a deep breath and has to try several times. "What do you usually do?"

"Mainly the art section. I go to at least a dozen gallery openings every week but I love it."

"It sounds perfect for you. You helped me understand Magritte."

She smiles with pride. "You always had a keen eye. I only pointed you in the right direction."

He lets out a puff of air loudly and shakes his head. He doesn't look down at his hands but already knows they're shaking. "I'm sorry. I just can't fucking believe you're in front of me. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

She giggles. "I didn't really either."

He becomes a tad solemn as he leans on his hand, closer to her. "Can I ask you something?" She nods. "Why didn't you come to the Paris show?"

She leans back in her chair and her demeanor shifts. She's remorseful-looking and toying with her hands. He supposes that habit has stayed the same. "I wanted to. I tried to be but I had got into this journalism program in Boston. I saw you there but I didn't think you'd want to see me after ditching you in Paris. I didn't really know how to get backstage or anything either. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. Why did you think I wouldn't want to see you?"

She tries to hide her face. "I swear I wasn't searching you up every night and stalking you but I saw you and your girlfriend back then, uh, Alexa. Didn't want to impose on anything because that was back when I didn't have the belief of women and men being friends."

"Like Harry Burns? I'd want to see you no matter what." He doesn't want to admit to her how hurt he was by her not showing up in Paris. How her name had been on every backstage list for the Favourite Worst Nightmare tour. Let alone that embarrassed trolling around Paris he had done. His start with Alexa, however serious that relationship ended up becoming, was rooted in getting over Lottie. He still hadn't fully dealt with that last part. Not until she sat in front of him and he realized.

"I had a different mind at 21," she explains. "I changed therapists."

He throws his head back in laughter. "What was the final straw?"

"Well." Her eyes drift away from his, looking down at her locked hands. "Moving to America was the main reason. I couldn't deal with any more defense of porn-addict boyfriend."

Alex takes a sip of his coffee, forgetting its bitterness, but enduring it to indulge in her sweetness. "She never let up on that one?"

"Not really."

Lottie orders a cappuccino and Alex, unsure of what to do, says, "You know, I have a concert later tonight."

"I know. I'm gonna go if that's alright. For the article and everything." She says it like she's informing him, rather than asking for permission.

"Well, I don't have to be at the venue for another couple of hours and I've never really gotten the chance to explore Paris." The smile that spreads across her face tells him she knows what he is thinking.

She snickers, "I should get a flat day rate for being your tour guide."

He leans forward on the little cafe table between them. "Come on, I'll give an exclusive. Complete unabridged day with a rockstar."

She giggles. "My boss would be very mad if I didn't take that."

"Perfect." He means every bit of that. His 21-year-old self's fantasies are finally coming true. Imagining life as it truly should have been. He thinks how much he has changed since then. How much he has stayed the same. She's stayed the same in his mind. A ghostly presence in his mind. An angel that came and visited for a day. She looks much of the same, especially compared to his differing appearance. Longer hair, less scrawny, light stubble regrowing post-goatie. He's grown into himself more, no longer an awkward boy under a hoodie. He's getting hot under his suit jacket. "So, what have you been up to the past 11 years?"

George points a finger at him. "Aren't I supposed to be asking you questions?"

He smirks and leans back in his chair. "No, see that's part of the deal. You tell me what you've been doing for the past decade and answer all my questions and I might tell you exclusive material. But you have to hold up your end of the bargain."

She raises an eyebrow but smiles and nods. "Let's see the last 11 years. I mean, I lived in Boston for 5 years. About 5 years too many."

"Why? Did you hate it?"

She tilts her head back and forth in an indifferent gesture. "It's a nice city but I don't think I belong in America. I fell into a fantasy there. By the time I had been there 5 years, I felt I had been living a lie the whole time. You know, I didn't like my apartment or my friends or even my job and I was 26 and it was either change my shit now or live like this for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, yeah. I feel that now. I've been out in LA for about 5 years now but had never really settled until this past year. I loved it my first year. It was so different than anywhere I've ever lived but last year was the first time I had been there a full year and I think I hate it."

"America's a mess now anyway. I couldn't imagine living in LA. It doesn't seem fun."

Alex shrugs. "I like it but I think I've fallen away from it. And everywhere is a mess now anyway. Brexit's happened and England's a mess and I haven't even lived there fully since 2008 but part of me thinks I'd like it."

"When I moved back to Paris after Boston, I felt my whole body realigned and I'm not one for that energy crap but I think there has to be something to these places because I immediately felt a relief I had never felt in Boston." His head is filled with thoughts of telling her, I know exactly what you mean, I feel it right now looking at you.

"Maybe after this next tour but I don't know if me girlfriend would do it. She already moved out to LA for me. I'd feel shitty making her move to a whole other country."

"Is she American?"

He nods, even though he has a feeling she already knew that but she's trying not to seem like she already has all the answers to him already from her research. "You seeing anyone?"

Her face crosses. "Kind of." Her resolve breaks with a laugh. "God, how embarrassing is it that I'm 32 and kind of in a relationship?"

"I think you're fine. 32 is still young. You don't have to worry about that for another decade."

She leans forward with intensity, the same level she had at 21. "Except, I'm getting down to the wire here as far as having children." He throws his head back in laughter. It's nice to know that she hasn't changed a bit in 11 years. "I'm serious. And, I know, I know, science is so advanced these days and there are millions of children to adopt and blah blah blah but I don't want to be a 50-year-old pregnant woman or a single mother. I mean, I'm not opposed to it but I don't think there's anything wrong with having the fantasy of the nuclear family. Except I don't know if I really want that or that's just societal pressure I'm feeling."

It's deja vu for him of the romantic nostalgia variety that if he could package it into a pill and take it as a prescription forever, he would. "You said the same thing in Brussels."

She groans in frustration. "Great, so I'm a broken loop. I'm a woman moaning about men and babies. I put shame on all the feminist icons."

He waves his hand at her. "I think you're fine and it's nice to know how you feel about these things, even if it's the same. I feel that way right now."

"With children?"

"Yeah, I mean, most of me friends have settled. Everyone in the band has kids and I don't know if I want that. Me girlfriend wants that, I think, but I can't imagine touring and having kids at home. I still feel too young to have kids or to get married."

She groans, "Yuck. Don't even get me started on marriage."

"Don't believe in it?"

"I don't want to. I think if I was with someone who really wanted it then maybe but when I was engaged it felt like such a doomful thing."

She nonchalantly says it but he needs to know. "You were in engaged?"

Lottie gives a small head nod and sips her cappuccino. The subject is still an odd one for her. "For about 6 months in 2012. It was a disaster, to say the least, mostly on my part. He was a good guy but I was too immature to settle and he was the last thing keeping me in Boston. Once that ended, I came back to Paris."

"You were engaged to an American?" He leans forward with intrigue. It shocks him for some reason. 

She furrows her brows. "Aren't you dating an American?"

"Yeah, but it's different," Alex excuses.

"How?"

There isn't actually a difference other than bubbling jealousy but he can't admit that. So, he shrugs. "I'm a lowly Brit and you're a sophisticated French girl dating an American, let alone one from Boston."

She tilts her head in slight agreement. "He was awfully rowdy."

"Was he a big Red Sox fan?" Alex jokingly asks.

She sticks her tongue out and shakes her head. "Yuck, don't talk to me about baseball. Sports is the primary reason I left. His family had season passes and it was like the Salem Witch Trails if you didn't go to every game."

"See this is why I can't picture you engaged to an American."

"Fair point," she says. "What about your girlfriend?"

"Oh." He doesn't know why he's taken aback by the question. It makes him stir with guilt. It's not that he doesn't love his girlfriend, he has a fucking tattoo with her name, but suddenly Lottie sits down in a cafe in Paris across from him and he is thrown. 

"She's great." He stops there but then Lottie stares at him and he realizes he's being short. He stares down at his cup. "She's—she's funny, beautiful, and very lovely." The description doesn't exactly help his case.

She doesn't push him any further. In fact, she smiles, and says, "She sounds nice. I'm sure you don't deserve her."

Alex chuckles initially at the comment but it grows painful inside of him. He struggles to digest it and the words weigh heavy as it turns from a joke into the truth. He shakes it off as best he can. "Who is this 'kind of' relationship?"

She sighs loudly. "We met at this weird work function. He works as a freelance photojournalist and travels to these warzones for months at a time and then he'll be here for a month or 2 before heading off again."

"Wow," Alex utters. How can I compete with a warzone photojournalist who is kind of her boyfriend? He shakes it. You don't need to compete because you have a fucking girlfriend, you idiot. "That's cool." Idiot.

"Yeah." She displays a similar demeanor as him: outmatched with no chance of catching up. "It's—he's a good guy. He does this incredible work but I can't help but constantly feel undercut by him. It's not his intention but—no offense to you—I'm telling him about some avant-garde art show I just reviewed and he's like 'That's great, I'm photographing Syrian refugee camps.' You feel like a complete loser next to him."

"You're helping keep art alive and maybe I'm stroking me ego too much but isn't that what we need during all these shitstorms? It feels like the only thing keeping me sane at times."

She leans forward onto her hand and smiles and, fuck, he feels his heart skip a beat. He can't shake her off of his skin, off his mind, off his heart. If he was a smart guy—a good guy—he'd do the interview, and leave. Play the show and leave France. Go home to his girlfriend and leave Lottie as a fantasy in his mind for the rest of his life. But then he thinks about his 21-year-old self who swore he wouldn't let her become that to him. Someone he would lie awake at night and imagine what life would be like if he got her. She's danced in and out of his mind through the years, but he'd be lying if he didn't think about what would have happened if she showed up in Paris. She got on that London-bound train. If they exchanged fucking phone numbers. He can't lie awake and think what would have happened if he didn't shun her. "Do you want to walk around now maybe?"

"Sure." She eagerly stands up.

She opens her bag and takes out her wallet. He holds his hand out. "You have to let me pay for your coffee, at least. I never paid you back for the hotel." The thought of the hotel room sends shivers down his spine. 

Alex tosses a few bills to cover the check and then some. She giggles, "You finally have Euros."

He shrugs with a hidden smirk too shy to show him how pleased he is that she remembers. Even if it's his dorky mistake. "A little more prepared this time."

They exit the cafe into the Latin Quarter with Lottie leading the way to their next location. Their pace is the same as it was in Brussels. In step with one another through talks of one another's lives. 

"What has the last 11 years been like for you?" She returns his question to him. "I mean," she admits, "I know some of it."

Alex narrows his eyes at her. "You've been keeping tabs on me, Lottie?"

She breaks eye contact away from him and shrugs but the smile that breaks through tells him everything he needs to know. He gets too much of a kick of that. "Well, you're not the easiest to avoid. I also did get really into your music after, you know, Brussels and all."

It pleases him until a realization drops his heart into his gut. He looks for a display of any reaction on her face but she keeps steady and walks ahead. He won't say it if she doesn't. Maybe she doesn't even know. Maybe only he paid attention to that kind of thing. Maybe only he paid attention to their hotel room number.

"I mean," he exhales loudly. "Everything you know is probably the extent."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on, in the last 11 years all you've done is music. That's not true."

And, sure, it's not, but it kind of is. He doesn't want to tell her about his ex-girlfriends and he doesn't need to indulge her in whatever stupid stories he has of LA. "I think it is. It sounds pretty depressing, doesn't it?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. You're living a pretty cool life. Unless you don't see it that way."

"No, it's just..."

"What?"

"I feel like I've been in the same place since I was 21. I'm stuck in some cycle that I can't stop. I know I've changed and I've had experiences. I mean, I lived in New York for a little and I've been in LA for a while but when you're touring for more than a year at a time for pretty much a decade, it's hard to feel significant changes."

"I feel the same way since moving back to Paris."

"Really?" It's hard to feel like anyone knows how he feels. Everyone around him has had big life changes and he feels...the same.

"Boston was a whirlwind but it was my 20s. Now, I get up and go to work every day and I go home and repeat it. I have friends and we go out for dinners but I'm not getting married, I'm not having children, and I'm not visiting Antarctica. I'm still. For years, I liked that feeling but now..."

He finishes, "You feel stuck."

"Yeah. I swear I'm not depressed. I'm not going to throw myself in the Seine or anything."

He chuckles. "No, no. I know what you mean. It's just growing pains."

"Pft," she says, "at 32 I thought that would be over with."

"I don't think it ever goes away."

"At least I'm not getting zits anymore."

"Small victories."

She points her finger out. "There's this park, the Luxembourg Gardens, down the road. It's beautiful if you'd like to go."

And just like before, where she leads, he will follow.

"My father died last year," she tells him.

He isn't sure what to say. For the first time, he touches her, places his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and shrugs. "No need. I never really knew him."

"Oh," he says, "I didn't know that." He suddenly realizes that the perception he had of Lottie for the last decade has been shaped by one day, not even a full 24 hours. A time they spent together where he didn't even know that she never knew her father. 

"Yeah, I never—I don't talk about it very much. I feel like I've finally started to work through some of the childhood trauma shit that I swept under the rug for so many years. My parents' relationship was complicated."

"In what way? I don't mean to be nosy—"

She interrupts to reassure, "Never. You never are." She smiles over at him like a sunray. "I like telling you these things. It feels like a vessel I can put it in and send out to sea. I know you'll never tell another soul, right?"

He motions locking his lips and tossing the key. It makes her giggle and he forgot the thrill he got from doing that.

"My father was married when my maman had my brother and me. Never divorced his wife. I have a half-sister I've never met. She's like 20 years older than me."

Alex doesn't mean to have a visible reaction but he can't help but utter, "Wow."

"Yeah." She slips her hands into her jeans' pockets. "I don't know. I've been trying to work my way through all of it. I think I feel grief over it but I'm not sure if I'm mourning his death or the potential relationship we could have had."

"I don't know. I've never been in that type of situation with death. You know, the finality of everything. But with people that I've drifted away from, I imagine all these what-ifs." It's hard to ignore the person he's talking about is right next to him. "What I could have done differently to make them stay or like me or whatever but I've realized that no matter what you do it doesn't change the way the other person is. With your dad, I can't imagine not wanting to know you. Something must have been wrong with him."

"Probably," she agrees before laughing. The thickness of the conversation is split in two as they both laugh lightness into the air.

"So, you just grew up with your brother and mother?" Alex asks.

Lottie pulls a face, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips. "I wish. My mom had her series of boyfriends. Some better, some worse. Nothing bad and she never married any of them but it was a weird revolving door. The longest one was the British diplomat. That's why my English is so good. Well, if I do say so myself."

"I still can't speak a lick of French so you're 1000 times better than me."

"I can't help it if I'm so fabulous," she jokes as she skips into the gardens. He's left watching her cheer from six paces behind. Mirth floods him and he feels a snap inside him like a glowstick coming to life. She's lit him up all over again. Prescribed him exactly what he needs. If he was smart, he'd leave now. He got his fix and he should go to the concert venue and leave it at that. He walks into the Luxembourg Gardens.

Alex follows her as she walks through the green parterre of gravel and lawn. The area is decently populated but the wide expansion of the park prevents any crowding. He can't stop staring at the back of her. It's not in some sexual desire way. He's not staring at her ass. He's not really focused on one area. He watches the way her trainers plant their way into the ground. The way her bandana flutters from the wind. The way her hair moves slightly side-to-side with each movement. He wonders if she takes him in this way. Noticed the way his loafers tap into one another every once in a while when he's walking. The way his hands are in his jacket to prevent the wind from blowing it around. The way he has had to keep pushing his hair behind his ears.

Then, she stops and sits in one of the metal chairs they have, Alex sits across from her, and she says, "Your hair is longer."

Witch! She must be psychic. He pushes his hair behind his ear again as if on instinct. "Yeah, that's different. It's changed a lot through the years."

"Yeah, I know. The quiff was a funny one."

"Are you mocking me?" He leans closer and teases. 

She giggles. "No, never."

"You don't look too different to me."

She scrunches her face up and scoffs, "Yeah, how plain am I."

Alex shakes his head slowly. "Not plain. You don't need to change anything about you. You were beautiful then and you're beautiful now." He's trending in territory he shouldn't but it makes her smile, like really smile. She turns her head away from him and covers her mouth with her hand.

"Whereas you still look ugly," she mocks with a smug smile.

His jaw opens dramatically. "You are mean, Lottie."

"I'm kidding," she reassures. "You've always been a charming-looking man."

"You make it sound like I'm some dandy."

Her face twists up again. "What's that?"

"A dandy?" She nods. "For once, I know something you don't."

"You know many things I don't."

"Yeah, right."

"I can't carry a tune to save my life. In fact, I should win an award for not attempting to ever play music."

"I don't know. I think if you applied yourself to it you could be good."

"Are you trying to recruit me to your music school, Mr. Turner?" It's the first time she's said his last name ever and he realizes he doesn't know hers.

"You could be a good triangle player." She punches his arm when he says that. He asks, "What's your last name?"

She smirks. "Guess."

"I don't know. Something really French."

"No. Guess."

"I don't know," he says again. "Something like Bonaparte or whatever."

"No. Guess."

"We're going to be here all day if you don't at least help me narrow it down."

She grabs hold of his face, hands on his cheeks, which are growing embarrassingly rosy. "My last name is Guess."

His face drops. "Wait. Your last name is Guess. Charlotte Guess."

"Yes and ew. Don't call me Charlotte."

He sighs loudly, "I don't know, Charlotte. You put me through a lot of trouble there."

She relinquishes her hold on his face and leans back in her chair. He's unnerved by how the cold rushes to his body as soon as she isn't close. "You'll manage."

She oozes cool, always has. She props a leg up on the chair and leans back with such freeness that wasn't there 11 years ago. She's not twisted up inside, she looks relaxed. He wants to ask her how to get there. Lately, he's felt like knots of stress. Any effort to dissipate has been met unsuccessfully because he can't put a finger on what's causing all of it.

"You know," she says, "I do have to interview you at some point."

He waves her off. "I know, I know, but I'm still adjusting to the fact that I'm seeing you right now. I want to know more about you."

That hint of a smile comes back to her cheeks. "Like what?" The tip of her shoe knocks on his shoe and he isn't sure what to make of it. Looks down and wishes he could take a photo of it.

"Do you still paint?"

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head in disbelief. "You remember that I paint?"

Alex doesn't see it as a big deal. Why wouldn't he remember all those little things? "Yeah, and you're a decent cook, right?"

"Jesus," she lets out under her breath. A quickened heart rate and a brush of pink to her cheeks. "I don't even think my mother remembers I paint. I still do it from time to time. I was never very good at it."

He shakes his head. "I doubt that."

"You never seen anything I've painted."

"I don't need to see it to believe it. If you think it's bad it's probably better than what most people, including myself—especially myself—can do."

"Well, maybe if you're lucky I show you something."

"I'd like that." He hates how much he'd like that. "What do you paint?"

She shrugs. "This. That. Abstract kind of things. I like painting faces but I'm not very good at that. I get the proportions all mixed up."

"Like Magritte or something?" He chuckles.

She shakes her head. "Not quite. More like that botched restoration of that Jesus painting."

Alex can't help but think of the two of them standing before A Stroke of Luck and the cigar, but not a cigar painting (so, screw him, he can't remember the name of it). His mind can't help but reminisce on them in the park sitting in the grass afterward. Lottie, delicate and cherubic, picking flowers to place behind his ear, and then, kissing her. If he reaches out into the memory, he can practically still feel his hands on her skin. 

"Do you want to go to another art museum?"

"What like the Louvre?"

"Sure."

She laughs. "I am not going to the Louvre."

But Alex is already standing and reaching his hand out to her. "Come on, I've never been."

She sighs and places her hand in his. It's soft like a baby's freshly washed skin. His hand feels rough against the smooth surface, callouses old and new can be felt. Alex pulls her up out of her chair and they begin to walk to the park's exit. "How have you never been to the Louvre?"

"I've never had time," he explains. "Generally when I've visited Paris it's been for a limited number of days."

"But didn't you record the album in La Frette? Couldn't come in on a day off for the Louvre?" She's still holding his hand. He's not being responsible, he knows. 

In fact, he's passed irresponsible when he leans in close to her ear and says, "I missed when you didn't know anything about me."

She giggles and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm the one taking you to the Louvre at 1 in the afternoon with no tickets. I think you can manage the sacrifice."

"You must go all the time considering your job," Alex says.

Lottie says, "Oh, I haven't been to the Louvre in over a decade," before bursting out into laughter.

"And you're shaming me for having never gone?"

She lets go of his hand and wags her finger at him. "Hey, I have at least gone. Multiple times! And the Louvre isn't exactly a place getting new and upcoming art all the time." She drops her hand back down to her side. Their hands never re-intertwined. "The last time I went I was 17 and I made out in the staircase with Alain Millardet the whole time."

"So, you really saw all the sights." He follows her directions as they cross the street.

Lottie gags from the memory alone. "He was a horrible kisser and we ended up getting caught by an employee. They told our school—our Catholic school, by the way—and it was the only time I ever got in trouble. The only thing that lessened the blow was that my maman was away with her boyfriend and never found out."

"You were a goody-two-shoes in school," Alex teases.

Lottie squishes up her face. "What does that mean?"

He grins at the way her little button nose is scrunched up, her eyes slightly squinted, the wrinkle formed between her brows. "Just means you're a rule follower."

"Oh." She giggles. "I just didn't get caught." Every inch of her intrigues him. The secrets she has buried deep within that he has an eagerness to uncover. The flip of her hair as she walks her way down the streets. Her hands clutch the brown leather strap of her bag. Those blue eyes glancing over at him as ripples of laughter echo through her.

They begin to cross over the Seine when she tells him, "This is the Pont des Arts. It used to be covered in locks, you know, the thing where couples put a lock on the bridge and throw away the key, but they had to remove it after the bridge nearly collapsed, which thank god because I had one with my ex-boyfriend on it and I couldn't bear the thought that we would be locked here together eternally."

Alex chuckles and puts his hands in his pockets. "Me first girlfriend did that with the lock she used for her locker. At the end of the school year, she wrote our names on the back and locked it to a fence. About a month after we broke up, I walked by the fence she'd put it on and it was gone. She had gone back and removed it."

"Aw," she coos, "poor girl. You probably broke her heart."

"Thanks for your lack of pity for me, Lot." She grins at the nickname. "How do you know she didn't break my heart?"

"Because only a heartbroken girl would go back and remove the lock."

"Yeah."

Alex gazes up and spots the glass pyramid, realizing they've already made their way to the Louvre. The courtyard is populated with people taking pictures of and with the structure. Someone is playing violin, likely busking, in the distance. 

As they approach the building, Lottie gasps and then begins to laugh. "What?" Alex asks with a hint of his own reactive laughter.

She gives him a funny frown. "It's Tuesday, isn't it?"

Alex confusedly responds with a dragged-out "Yeah."

She snickers. "The Louvre is closed on Tuesdays."

They both just take to laughing in the middle of all the tourists. Lottie clutches his forearm, which he reciprocates, making their arms plank over each other. Then, Lottie suddenly stops, stands up straight, and looks him in the eye, saying, "Time for me to interview you."

 Alex chuckles, "Nice try." He takes to guiding them out of the courtyard, walking ahead of her. "Where to next?"

She's right behind him. Alex can feel the edge of her bag touch his butt. "Are you trying to get me fired?"

The pleasure he gets out of taunting her should probably be illegal. "You'll get your interview," he promises. "I've already given you so much unknown information. I've never been to the Louvre, still to this day, my French is horrible, and I'm desperate to see some art so why don't you show me some of yours."

They pause at a crossing. "Are you trying to invite yourself to my apartment?" She has a habit of making him flustered easily. Her fluttering lashes flapped away at him. He swears they blow an ocean breeze his way.

He plays a tricky game. "Well, if we go to your apartment, maybe you'll finally get your interview." The light flashes green and he walks ahead.

She trails behind fighting a crooked grin. "I highly doubt that."

Alex hums.

Either way, they headed off in the direction of her place. Down the stairs to the metro where they wait for the 4 train. The platform is sparsely crowded, predictable for a Tuesday afternoon just before rush hour. 

"I have to say something." Her demeanor is coy. She's holding her hand in a fist up against her mouth. Her eyes peer up at him demurely. "I've been debating whether to say it or not but I figure out with it. No secrets, you know."

Alex nods curiously. "Okay."

"The song."

The two words make a chill go through him. Spins around his spine and hits each vertebrae. She does know. He can't help but physically react, muttering, "Oh, god," and placing his hand on his forehead in exasperation.

She giggles at his reaction. He is only calmed by the fact that she doesn't sound pissed. Still, he feels embarrassed. "It's one of your most popular songs."

Alex doesn't care. He lived up off the hope that she had somehow missed that one. Or she only ever listened to the most recent album for her work assignment. When he wrote it, it was felt under the impression he would see her again. Not under the impression that in 11 years he would be standing on a metro platform with her about to be interviewed by her. 

He re-establishes himself. He gets his footing, drops his hand from his face, and looks over at her. She's still looking amused by his reaction. The train pulls up to the station. "Which one?"

He is able to get a chuckle in when her jaw drops slightly. Feeling he has the upper hand, he hops on the train, having her dash behind him. Alex finds two empty seats and takes a seat next to the window. Lottie sits down next to him.

She seems to have composed herself. Tight jaw and curious lips. "Now, I meant 505, what are you on about?"

Alex shrugs. "Pft, who said 505 was about you?" He is staring straight ahead, calm, cool, and collected.

Her eyes are glued to him, watching his every move. "I'm not an idiot, Alex, I can read. Our hotel room was 505."

"Oh, what a weird coincidence." He is almost chuckling with pride in his humorous fibbing abilities. 

"Come on. I doubt many girls were lying on their side with their hands between their thighs for you, Alex." That memory strikes him hard. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can still trace the outline of her body in his mind, memorizing every crevice.

He chuckles with a wide grin. "It was a nice memory."

She crosses her arms in a pleased manner. "I knew it was about me."

"Yeah, well, I had a lovely time with you." His eyes are intently on hers. A knowing smile is splashed across his face. 

She returns the favour. They are in a duel with their eyes, fighting grins in their smiles. "Me too."

"Good."

She leans in closer. "Now, what's this other song about me?"

Alex looks away from her, gazing at the station they are approaching. "I think this is our stop."

He tries to stand up and she grabs his arm and yanks him back down. "Shush. You have no clue where we are even getting off."

Her hand stays gripping his forearm, keeping them steady. His gaze is resistant if ever pleasurable. His eyes trained on the doors and unsure of what to say, tossing between giving it up or burying it away. He plays with his hands, bringing them together, and then apart, and then back together. "I wrote this song, you know, in the, uh, hypothetical sense."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, whatever that means. Out with it. You know, people are usually flattered by the thought someone would think of them enough to write a song about them. Let alone two."

"Alright," he calms. "The song isn't really all about you. I guess, you sparked the original idea."

She gestures for him to continue. "And?"

"Cornerstone."

She leans back against the train's wall. A small smirk plays on her face. "Really? You were seeing me all around town?"

He can't help but smile, although, forced to shield it behind his hands covering the surface area of his face. "Don't make me sound like a creep."

"No, no. It all feels like flattery." She looks like she wants to say something else but keeps it to herself. He's tempted to ask but she's pointing slowly to the train station and softly saying, "This is our stop."

They get up as the train stops. The doors stay closed though. "Flip the handle up," Lottie says.

He grabs hold of the door handle and follows her instructions. The door opens at a quick speed. So quick that Alex, still with his hand on the handle, nearly gets his arm yanked off. Lottie erupts in laughter behind him. He sucks in a breath and steps off the train. She places her hands on his shoulder as she follows behind him, too blind with laughter to properly guide herself. 

"You're really making a fool out of me today." Alex turns around as they ride the escalator up.

She's still emitting giggles when she says, "I'm sorry. It was too tempting though."

Her apartment is just outside the metro station. The building, Haussmann in style, is cold and dark in the stairwell. Lottie tells him to watch his step as they head to the second floor before she flips on a switch outside her door. Before she unlocks it, she turns and tells him, "I'm a messy person and you have rudely barged in on me so you can not judge."

Alex agrees and she unlocks the door. She has, of course, exaggerated the mess of the place. It's a loft of a decent size. Her bed is in the far corner, unmade with a plum-coloured mandala-printed blanket thrown over it. Clothes from this morning are strewn about the floor. Her kitchen is small and her plate from breakfast is still in the sink. In the back corner, across from her bed is a collection of canvases. They are all turned inward making him unable to look at any of them.

Lottie stands awkwardly in the kitchen, hands behind her back, bobbing on her feet. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? Alcohol?"

He chuckles at her delivery, struck by her grace. "I'll take a tea."

"Okay." She busies herself with that as he examines the room closely. A shelf of books piled to the brim. There's a vase of flowers on a lower shelf. On the bottom: a record collection. He smiles to himself. "Can I put on a record?"

"Sure," she absentmindedly says. She's showing Alex her tea packets: black, green, mint, ginger. Black, he picks. 

She stills at the opening strings. Her heart patters at the clacking of the castanets. I found my love in Portofino...

She dips the tea bags into the hot water and turns around. She leans against the counter, staring at him at the place he has taken on her small loveseat. "You know, I got a record player because of this album."

His arms are crossed and he looks pleased with himself. "Inspiring a new generation to buy records. You know, AM is one of the best-selling vinyls of the 2010s."

She squints playfully. "Are you usually this boastful about yourself?"

"Stop, you're making me feel like a self-absorbed asshole."

Lottie crosses her arms, playing his game back to him. "What's the saying? If the shoe fits."

"Hush now. Sit." He pats the seat beside him. The air is thick and she cuts through it by walking over to him with two cups of tea. 

She prompts hopefully, "Interview time?"

Alex ignores her. "You know, I went and bought my own copy of this."

"The record?"

He nods. "God, I'm such a dweeb."

She shakes her head. "No. It's a good record."

He gazes over at her knowingly. His chin is tilted down and his eyes are blazing at her. "I didn't buy it because it was a good record."

Suddenly, she breaks. "You can't do that."

Alex gets the message, turns away, and focuses on the warm mug in his hand. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No," she reassures, calm and clear, "it's fine. I just can't sit next to you in my apartment with you saying things like that and not..."

"Not?" He tries to get more out of her.

She gazes over at him knowingly. Her chin is tilted down and her eyes are blazing at him. "You know."

He nods.

"I still have that photo of you. The one I took on that hill. It's buried deep in a drawer somewhere." She's tempting him and she knows it. She's not abandoning the topic of their romantic evening. She's not insisting on conducting an interview. She's flirting.

Alex smiles back pleased. "I probably look like a dork."

"Yeah," she dryly agrees making him laugh. "But a cute dork."

"Whenever I came to Paris, I would walk around, duck into all these cafes, and I had these visions of seeing you there. That's where Cornerstone came from," Alex confesses.

"I changed therapists because of you," Lottie confesses.

"What?"

She leans on her arm against the back of the couch. "It wasn't because I moved away. I came back from Brussels and told her about you and she said that you were a fantasy but not a realistic man. I shouldn't get my hopes up on delusions and should invest myself in some reliable man. That I was falling for a rockstar who probably did that thing all the time. The whole time she's saying this to me, I'm thinking, 'She has no fucking clue what she's talking about. Reliablity? Who has reliability at 21? My porn-addict boyfriend.'"

Alex laughs. "I still really love this porn-addict boyfriend of yours."

"Well, you and my therapist." The room goes quiet. She sinks into a corner of the couch and sighs. "So, you were the final straw."

"I've done that cafe shit every time I've been to Paris."

"What?" She sits up straighter.

"I just—I've always wanted to talk to you again. It felt weird when you didn't show up in July. I figured, or maybe hoped, something big happened for you not to be there."

She's stiff and awkward and looks down at her legs, awkwardly stiff. "I tried to be there. I wanted to. You have to know, if it weren't for the program, I would've. I mean, I still go to your shows, and listen to your records, and, for crying out loud, I harrassed my boss into letting me interview you. He probably thinks I'm some obsessive fan."

"Harrassed?" He raises an eyebrow in amusement.

Lottie looks up sheepishly with a shy smile. "Yeah, well, at this rate, I'm not even gonna have an interview."

"You'll have an interview. I'll give you the best fucking interview." There's something in the way he looks at her. The tone of his voice makes her believe he is a lion and she's the gazelle he's waiting to maul. But those eyes, soft and dreamy. Eyes she could fall asleep next to every night.

"And then you look at me like that and you think you're the soppy one. I'm falling to bits over here. I've felt crazy for 11 years but then you look at me like that."

"Why'd you feel crazy?"

"I thought I made the whole thing up in my head. Like I was some psycho who imagined a whole night with you just because I liked your song. I mean, I ruined every relationship because I was hung up on you."

"What?"

"And now I'm ruining any possible relationship with you by blabbing on about this. I can't help it, you've infected me, you've ruined me, and I sound crazy." She's messing with her hair to really emphasize this fact. "But I'm stuck on the Boston T, riding the slowest train ever, sitting next to this guy I'm about to marry, and we have nothing to talk about, and all I'm thinking is 4 years ago I got on the wrong train." 

Her breathing is heavy. Rattling and refusing to calm her heart down. She can't distinguish what his eyes mean.

Alex is quiet when he speaks. "Fucking hell, Lot."

Any move he thinks about making is interrupted when she quickly stands from the couch and separates herself from him by pacing in the kitchen. She clutches her hands around her face, cheeks trying red. She takes a deep breath and says, "I think you should leave. I'm sorry for that whole display. I'm so lost in myself and I'm crazy and I'm sorry."

Alex stands and takes a step toward her. She takes one back like they are the same side of a magnet repelling one another. "Lottie."

"I'm sorry."

He takes a moment for himself too. Runs his hands through his hair, heart pounding he puts his hand over to still it and takes a deep breath. "No," he insists. "First, you're not crazy. Second, I haven't seen you in 11 years and I have thought about you for too long to let you go—go on that other train again." Something chokes him inside. Maybe it's the guilt, the thought of his girlfriend back home. Maybe it's Lottie, who looks two steps away from crying, and all he can think about is being left on that train platform again. "Third, we have to do the interview."

"Oh, god, that stupid interview." And then he laughs. So, she laughs.

Alex attempts to step toward her again, cautiously like she's a cat he is afraid he is going to scare off. She stays in her place. He leans down and hugs her. She's hesitant but then she hugs back. Tight like they are each a moment away from slipping out of one another's grasp. 

Alex pulls away, but keeps an arm around her back, pushing them toward her front door. "So, let's go eat some lunch and do an interview."

She sniffles and then smiles over at him in a remorseful manner. "Okay."

They head to the cafe on the street corner. The conversation grew lighter and Alex joked that he still didn't get to see her paintings. She countered that she still hadn't interviewed him.

On opposite sides of the table, each holds a cigarette and chats over an ashtray. Lottie asks him questions regarding the album and Alex answers formally, which is almost too proper and comes off more jokey than serious. Nonetheless, she quotes him on it. 

He grows hot and takes his jacket off, halfway through, around the time their dishes arrive. The interview, more-or-less, ends there as they each inhale their meals and split the stack of bread. "I'll be here tomorrow too, you know."

She nods. Of course, she knows.

"We could do the Louvre then."

She smiles with amusement at him. "You're really obsessed with the Louvre."

"I'm determined to go and now to get you to go. Maybe we'll makeout in the stairway and get caught by one of the nuns." The comment is cheeky and they both laugh at it, even if it should hold more guilty weight than it does.

A woman then approaches them. She's old, enough to be someone's great-grandmother. She speaks in French to Lottie, who has grown a furrowed brow, as she repeatably says no to the woman, who holds up a necklace at her. 

"What's she saying?" Alex inquires.

Lottie sighs and says warningly, "Alex."

The woman smiles big and looks over at Alex. She speaks very broken English, but tells him, "Her neck, nothing." She gestures over to Lottie's bare neck, the way her top pulls down (notes of cleavage, but he's got to get his mind out of the gutter), accentuating the bareness of it. Alex has shameful thoughts in remembrance of kissing it. Fuck, he's screwed, if the pull of his pants says anything. The woman holds the necklace high in her hand. "For beauty. Beautiful woman needs beauty."

Lottie begins to speak in French to the woman as Alex wordlessly reaches into his wallet and pulls out a bill. The woman lights up in delight and accepts the €20 as Lottie shakes her head. "Her ears, nothing," the woman tries to push more.

Alex cheerfully says, "No, no, just the necklace. Merci beaucoup." The woman attempts again but Alex ignores her and her English is too poor to keep trying for another sale.

Lottie is staring at him. He can't decipher if it's a look of pleasure or unease. "You shouldn't have done that."

"The necklace is nice and I gave the poor woman some money. Now put it on."

She stays still for a moment but gives in and sits up to accept the necklace. It's simple. A chain with a small blue pendant on the bottom. It matches her eyes. She mutters a thank you, if for the gesture alone. After a few careful tries, she clasps the necklace. "I'll probably get some sort of infection from it."

He chuckles. "Probably."

They sit in silence with one another. They are stuck in the middle of a staring contest where fireworks spark between them. Alex breaks it and looks down at his empty plate, a flush of shyness overcoming him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Are you interviewing me now?" She giggles, pleased with her joke.

"Hey! I let you get all your questions in. It's my turn," he insists.

She relaxes back in her chair and crosses her legs. "Okay."

"What do you think would have happened if you got on the train with me? Or if you showed up to the concert?" 

It draws a rough breath out of her. "We wouldn't have worked out."

His heart stills. It's not the answer he expected. All that wishful thinking that had swirled in his mind for the last 11 years. The feeling that if he had been able to convince her or was able to find her, they'd be living happily ever after. "Really?

She shakes her head. "Are you kidding? I was a mess. I had no idea of a future for myself. I would have been in Paris or Boston and you would have been on the road all the time. I would've definitely been one of those girls who thought you were cheating on her the whole time. I probably would have convinced myself of it and not believed you when you told me the truth. I was born the product of an affair. It is my blueprint to assume every guy I'm with is getting it somewhere else."

Alex feels hungover with guilt at the thought that what he is doing right now might as well be an affair, if only emotionally. He sighs, "Yeah, I mean, I was a mess for like...forever." They both laugh. "Every time I feel like I've gotten my shit together. Something comes along to pull the rug out from under me."

"What's it this time?" She's staring at him, doe-eyed and smiling. 

He can't think of an excuse. So, he's honest. "You."

She's not offended by it. She smiles, though she does try and suppress it. "We should probably go to the venue. Right?"

Alex nods like hiding himself from the Parisian streets will get him out of this mess. Lottie insists on paying the bill, mainly because she isn't paying the bill, her work is. They could take a car over to the venue but Alex is overly enthusiastic about riding the metro over. "I have to redeem my shame. You know, in London we just have the button, so I can't be blamed for not knowing how to open the train door."

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

At the venue, Alex gives Lottie a quick introduction to his bandmates. He says nothing more than, "This is Lottie, the journalist," but they all respond with knowing looks. Alex gives her a tour, mostly through her insistence that it would be cool for the article if she could set the scene for the reader. Alex says, "You're a painter with your words." She rolls her eyes and he gives her the tour.

"And a soundcheck, what's that like?" She asks before, you guessed it, soundcheck.

Alex shrugs. He tends to be short with answers for most interviews, but with Lottie it's different. Not once has it felt like he is being interviewed. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing. "It's...good. You know, making sure everything works. Good, fun."

She's cheery with her questions like the kid who constantly raises their hand in class but she's endearingly earnest and the way she scribbles notes in her little notepad makes it feel so much more authentic than when someone sits a tape recorder in on their conversation.

She watches soundcheck in the same way. She'll write a little note at the end of each song but then she'll rest in her chair and observe the full play out.

Backstage, Alex separates himself and Lottie from the rest of the group, which is notable. He wishes they were walking around still, escaping all their responsibilities just like they were doing in Brussels. He supposes that's growing up.

Lottie says, "It's good. Last time I was a bumbling clueless girl with no idea of her future. Now, I'm a bumbling clueless woman with no idea of her future."

"Oh, come on, you have a great job. You're interviewing me and that might be one of the hardest tasks ever and you're doing amazing," Alex reassures.

She nods. "I know. I love my job but that's all I have. It's crazy when we were in Brussels, all I wanted was to figure out what I wanted to be. I finally did that and I feel just as lost."

"In what way?"

She thinks for a moment, deciding how she wants to form her words. "I wish I was like my old self more. You know, I used to be so hopeful, so romantic about the world. About myself. About the future. Now, I just think I'm going to be alone forever." She is quick to correct herself. "And—and I don't mean I have nobody. I have a great set of friends. I love my life but when I look toward the future, I see nothing. For so long, I didn't know what I wanted but there were always possibilities. Now, I don't know." 

"I feel the same way," Alex confesses.

Lottie lifts her head in surprise. "Really?"

He nods. "It's what used to be so exciting about my life. Being in a new city every day and being able to set your own path. I still like most of that stuff but I feel behind everyone else in a way. You know, like how all the guys have kids and I don't think I'm ready for kids but should I be ready for kids? Do I want that? To be married? To have a family?"

"I don't think you're ever ready for that kind of thing. You are just ready for the feeling. You'll never be prepared enough for children that's what everyone says but I had a thought a while ago when, well, I had this pregnancy scare, which really was terrifying because the guy I was with is not a guy you want to have children with. My first thought for so long would have been 'I don't want children. I will not be birthing anything in my lifetime.' But when I had this scare, I think I liked the idea. Then, the test was negative and I breathed a huge sigh of relief." Alex chuckles at her dramatics as she talks with her hands. "But for those couple of minutes, I thought that being a mother wouldn't be so bad."

Alex smiles at her. "You'd be a great mother."

She looks up at him, all hopeful and disbelieving. "Do you really think so?" 

Alex nods. "A few anti-depressants and you'll be fine."

Lottie rolls her eyes and raises her hands and starts moving her fingers. "Say stop."

"Stop."

She stops, extending her middle fingers only, flipping him off. 

"That's good. Can I steal that?"

Lottie shrugs. "I don't have copyright on it."

A stagehand comes over and they realize how much time has escaped from them. Alex shuffles fixing his jacket as he stands, going into rockstar mode. "How'd I look?" He imitates a deep voice, gruffly and surly.

She giggles. "Like an asshole."

"You're so kind to me, Lottie."

"Maybe lose the jacket," she advises. Total professional opinion and not because he has three buttons loose on that white button-up that make her crave his skin. She's going too far, she knows, but she's a single woman. It's fine for her to observe.

Alex shakes his head and tightens his hands around the lapels. "I'm going to keep it on just to spite you." (He takes it off 4 songs in).

She walks him up the stairs to the stage but then says teasingly, "I'm going to watch from my assigned seat if that's alright with you."

He chuckles. "I'll look for you in the crowd."

She turns to leave and it's almost like she's fading from him all over again. Sure, they could get drinks after this and there's that rough plan for the Louvre tomorrow, but the image of her back to him walking away strikes something in him. "Hey, Lottie!" He calls out.

Alex catches her before she walks down the stairs. She turns around, curious eyes, curious smile. He's 21 and he's on a train to Brussels. He's 32 and he's in a cafe in Paris. No more what could have been. He knows.

"I think it would have worked out." 

Lottie looks at him from across the wing. He toys with his fingers, hopeful eyes, hopeful smile. She's 21 and she's on a train platform in Brussels. She's 32 and she's backstage at a concert in Paris. No more doubts. She knows.

"I think so too." 

*

a/n: part 3? i don't know. maybe...

[tihgnari]

ꕤ 43. something more valuable

tw: sorta? kidnapping, violence / wc: 1k

you're currently sitting on the softest sofa known to man, staring back and forth as ayaka takes matters into her own hands. you weren't in the best of moods after getting shot down by aoki while trying to convince her to text ayato; she was so stubborn it felt like you were talking to a damn wall. 

"think of it this way," ayaka says, looking at a cross-armed aoki straight in the eye as they paced back and forth in the middle of the suite's living room. "you ask ayato where he is, he responds, then we go meet him, yn and him make up, and voila! no more wedding! happy ever after for everybody! doesn't that sound amazing?"

your eyebrows raise when you see the cogs working in aoki's brain.

ayaka sends you a tiny non-verbal message, and you immediately catch on. "right! if you ask him for us now, ayaka herself will guarantee ayato will no longer be your problem. i think that's a win-win situation right there."

aoki sighs. "...fine. i'll go ask him."

—

the hotel he's checked in may not be as fancy as the principe, but when he's too busy running away from a loveless marriage forced onto him, even a shabby inn can feel a hundred times better than the five star hotel his grandfather had arranged for them. 

"this hotel's kinda good, too, don't you think?" you whisper at ayaka inside the elevator, but there were too many people crammed into the cart for you to see her expression in the elevator's mirrored walls. 

"the carpets look unmaintained and the plants at the lobby are plastic but sure, the hotel's a-okay—ouch!" 

you pinch her side, panicked, before looking around if an employee might've overheard your conversation. 

"yn, i'm telling the truth," ayaka defends herself. "we just walked in, asked if an ayato kamisato had checked in in this establishment, they said yes and even gave us his door number. how is this safe? what if we were debt collectors or… or a gang looking for him? like—come on, is customer privacy not a thing here?"

ding!

"alright, this is our floor," you mutter, pulling a still complaining ayaka's wrist through the throng of people. you can still hear her talking as you walk down the hallway, silently chanting the door number of ayato's room as you pass by. 

502… 503… 504… there! 505!

only when you raised your fist to knock on the mahogany door did you realize there's a slight tremble in your hand. for a split second, you froze, the reality of the situation and what you're about to do and who you're about to face suddenly becomes too real and too overwhelming for you. 

"hey." 

ayaka gently squeezes your shoulder. 

"i know my brother, and i know he'll forgive you."

"thank you."

you knock. three times. your heart rate spikes when you hear movement on the other side of the door. heavy footfalls on the carpet, striding closer to the door. you see the door knob turn, practically hearing the mechanism inside turning into place as the door swings open and—

"girls, i've been expecting."

"wait, what? grandpa?!"

that was the only thing you heard, until a heavy object came in contact with the back of your head, successfully knocking you out cold. 

—

when you come to be, your head's still aching and you just want to go right back ahead to sleep, but the two people screaming didn't let that happen. the room seems to be barren and incredibly small. even in your half-conscious state, you've registered this fact solely for how loud their voices jumped within the small room. 

"what is the meaning of this, grandpa?! order them to untie me right this instant! i'm your granddaughter for god's sake!"

ayaka seems to have already grasped the full length of the situation you both were in. not that you were surprised. 

you were slowly but surely coming to, but the room has yet to notice. 

"i can't believe you just hit my best friend with a metal bat, you asshole! you're going to pay for that!" ayaka hisses at the person standing on her side. she recognizes his face. a guard his grandfather had since before she even came to be in this world. 

"i don't see any fault in my actions. she may be your friend as you so claim but to me? she's a lowly scum who managed to seduce my grandson and turn him away from me. ayato had always understood his duty of marrying for the sake of the family business—for my sake."

ayaka used to adore her grandfather as she never had a proper father figure in her entire life. but only now is she seeing the ugly truths her childlike mind had been too ignorant to miss. 

"what grandfather even makes—"

"i can't possibly fathom what this woman has that made ayato threaten his mother saying he'll renounce his inheritance! to make him want to leave behind everything i've built for this family! such selfishness should not be tolerated!"

"that's because he found something more valuable!"

you flinched at the resounding slap you heard. 

it was a split-second action. something that a normal person could've missed if he was too preoccupied with something else — but nothing slips past the current head of the kamisato family. 

"i see you're awake," he says, addressing you. "good. both of you should hear what i'm about to say next." 

their grandfather straightens his robes, adjusting the grip he has on his sterling-silver walking cane topped with an extravagant, swarovski-studded japanese camellia — the kamisato family crest. 

"i'm done tolerating your tricks, ayaka, may this punishment straighten your priorities and remind you that nothing is more important nor valuable than family. ayato and aoki are to be wed, and not one of you is to spoil those plans. you both will remain here, inside this room, locked away with no communication to the outside world at least until the ceremony is over. i'd hate to do this, but you girls left me with no choice."

he turns to leave and ayaka screams at the top of her lungs. 

"mom will never forgive you for doing this to me!"

her grandfather stops, standing at the frame of the door. 

"no, child. it's your mother that should ask for my forgiveness for raising such an insolent child like you."

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a kamisato ayato social media au

summary — it was only recently you found out kamisato ayaka was, in fact, not an only child after all! seeing ayato for the first time gave you the severest case of the butterflies but according to ayaka, he’s off limits, especially to you as her most treasured friend. well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt, right?

notes — yay chapter bc im in a good mood cuz i won my 50/50 hehe pray i get his cons and signature weap after i offer scara all my savings lmao

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